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There were signs. They were subtle.
Ones you could chalk up to McMurphy being strange, like with many of the things he did. Like his painting, and his singing, and his dancing, and his bad dreams. His teasing and his joking and his touching and his laughing.
But now that things were out in the open, it explained things. Instances that had more to them, but nobody could figure out at the time. But they’re clear now.
***
One morning, after breakfast, Martini was being talkative, and that was rare. So people were listening. But Harding and Billy brushed him off when he finally confessed what it is he saw that had him so wound up, enough to spew out more nonsense than he usually does.
“But it’s true !” Martini’d tell ‘em.
“Of course it’s true, Martini.” Harding had his chin in his palm, knowing better than to enable him, but Lord he couldn’t help himself. “But why would McMurphy do something like that?”
Martini shrugged, that smile on his face never faltering. “I dunno. But I swear, I saw it! McMurphy was stuffing a roll of socks in his pants!”
“But wh-why would Mack d-d-d- do someth-thing like that?” Billy echoed.
“Why would I do what?”
Billy nearly jumped out of his chair. McMurphy snuck up on the three of them, looming over Billy. Like a teacher catching you gossiping during the lesson.
“Sh-sh-sh it! ”
“Nothing, McMurphy,” Harding assured. But McMurphy wasn’t satisfied, and his eyes flickered to Martini. And Martini, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
“Why were you putting socks in your pants?”
McMurphy gawked at him, unable to form any kind of words. He glanced down at Billy and Harding, and they were watching him to see how he’d react.
But McMurphy, he’s smart. He’s slick. So he played along.
He gestured to the front of his pants. “What? You see me stuffing little people and seashells down here too?”
It got others to laugh. He played it off like nothing, smacked his knee, and put a hand on Martini’s shoulder.
“You wanna have a look-see, Mar tini? Is that it?” McMurphy’s voice dripped with sarcasm, baring his teeth at him as he leaned over and got eye level with Martini.
Martini shook his head, face still holding a grin. He tightened the grip on Martini’s shoulder, narrowing his eyes as he stared him down.
“Don’t go spreadin’ ‘round shit that ain’t true, Martini. It ain’t a good look.”
And Martini smiled and nodded, none the wiser. McMurphy patted his shoulder like he was done scolding a kid, raised himself up, and stood straight again, before asking if they were up for playing cards. And Martini never brought up anything like that again.
***
There was another instance in the showers. The way they worked, they were almost stalls. You had the first half that stayed dry, with a shelf for your clothes, and the second half deeper in with the showerhead and the knobs. Little cubbies that had curtains one would pull across a rod and close up for privacy. Now, not real privacy. The men still had orderlies checking in on them every couple minutes and making sure they didn’t take too long, wasting water or slitting wrists. But nobody ever took too long. And nobody had the right to sharp objects in the shower room anyhow.
McMurphy was always the first to shower. The first to go in and the first ready to leave, already dressed in his fresh set of clothes and his old pair rolled up under his arm, his towel slung over his shoulder. Carrying his things in both hands. Hair still dripping wet, clinging to his forehead.
Everyone agreed that that efficiency, that speed was from his time in the military. When you’d have to shower for sixty seconds or else your commanding officer would be dragging you out of the showers himself.
But Bromden could see that his priority didn’t come from a place of habit but from a place of necessity. This was something he had to do fast. He had to .
And Bromden didn’t know why. And he wouldn’t tell him.
McMurphy was late getting into the showers one day. Fast enough he went in before everybody else but too late that he wasn’t finished by the time the other men came in. Billy, God bless him, was so preoccupied talking to Sefelt and Frederickson who were debating with him about only God remembers what. Nobody remembered the topic of the conversation, not after what happened. Billy, carrying all his things with one arm, pulled back the curtain of the shower McMurphy was in.
And you’d think McMurphy wouldn’t have any reason to be too mad. It was an honest mistake. Billy even pushed the curtain back close, being decent enough to try and cover his eyes by squeezing them shut. He was mumbling an apology.
But McMurphy caught him. Oh, he caught him, alright.
Not thirty seconds later McMurphy nearly tore the curtain down from its rod as he stormed out of his shower stall, towel around his waist. He grabbed Billy by the collar of his shirt and slammed him into the wall, nearly eye level with him.
“What the fuck were you tryin’ to do, huh?” He started to yell in Billy’s face. “What the fuck’s the matter with you?”
“I’m—I’m s-s-s- sorry , Mack! I didn’t—!”
McMurphy let go of his shirt and pointed in Billy’s face like he was threatening him, face beet red.
“You ever do somethin’ like that again, and I’ll cut your dick off ‘fore you can even use it on a lady. You understand me?”
Billy couldn’t say anything even if he wanted to. Everyone was staring at the two of them. Billy just nodded his head, his bottom lip pouting. McMurphy exhaled, breath shaking from actual anger. He looked around at everybody, then he grabbed the clothes from his shower stall and left the room before anybody could stop him. Nobody wanted to stop him.
Afterward, Billy was shaken up. He was frightened, sure, but he was also angry. Harding took the time to pat Billy on the shoulder as he fidgeted with his towel, looking at the floor like an embarrassed little kid.
“I j-j-just do-don’t u-u-u-u—“ Billy swallowed, growling in frustration, before kneeling down to pick up his things. Sefelt knelt down to help him, picking up his bottle of shampoo and handing it to him. Billy nodded in thanks. Harding stood over him, arms crossed in contemplation.
“Very strange. Very strange… I’m sure it had nothing to do with you, Billy. He might have done that to anybody. Even big old Chief Bromden here. But he’s been in a good mood as of lately. I wonder what got into him.”
“I d-don’t give a-a-a fuuuu-fuck. He didn’t n-n-need to yell-l-l-l at me.”
Billy was right. Everyone thought so.
A couple hours later, McMurphy even approached him and apologized. Told him he was sorry. He had a hand gripping the back of Billy’s chair, smiling down at Billy as he leaned back in his chair and looked up at McMurphy. Too nervous to look him in the eye; he stared at the collar of his shirt instead.
“I didn’t mean to yell at y’ like that, Billy, I swear,” McMurphy explained.
“S-s-s-sure, Mack.”
McMurphy’s smile dropped, and he furrowed his brow. “No. I swear to you. I didn’t mean those things I said, I was just—“
“It’s al-al-al right , Mack.” He paused. “I j— I didn’t see anything. You didn’t— you— you didn’t need t-to yell at me.”
McMurphy raised his brow, gaze softening. “No, I believe you, Billy.” He pulled the chair next to him out and sat down next to Billy, hand still on the back of his chair. “I’m not mad at you. Honest, Billy. But…”
His brain worked for a moment. “But ‘sides the nighttime, the shower’s the only time in this damned place a man can be alone with his thoughts , y’know? Even if only for a minute.”
“Yeah, th-that’s true.”
“And you caught me off guard. Got the drop on me. That’s all.”
“…Sorry, Mack.”
McMurphy waved his hand. “No, no, I’m apologizin’ to you .” He pressed his finger to Billy’s chest. Billy got enough to look at his face, but McMurphy couldn’t right tell, with Billy always having his head down like a scared dog. McMurphy cocked his head and leaned down to look up at him in his eye, quirking his brow and giving an innocent smile. “Forgive me?”
He saw the smile teasing at Billy’s lips, that he was trying to hide. Billy scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, o-okay.”
McMurphy clapped him on his shoulder, grinning at him like nothing ever happened. “Great. Al right! What d’you think about a pack of smokes, huh? On me. Really.”