and my droogs, and then only for a yell or a razrez or a bit of
in-out-in-out in the dark. We could viddy from the poster on
the Filmdrome's face, a couple of fly-dirtied spots trained on
it, that there was the usual cowboy riot, with the archangels
on the side of the US marshal six-shooting at the rustlers out
of hell's fighting legions, the kind of hound-and-horny veshch
put out by Statefilm in those days. The autos parked by the
sinny weren't all that horrorshow, crappy starry veshches
most of them, but there was a newish Durango 95 that I
thought might do. Georgie had one of these polyclefs, as they
called them, on his keyring, so we were soon aboard - Dim
and Pete at the back, puffing away lordly at their cancers - and
I turned on the ignition and started her up and she grumbled
away real horrorshow, a nice warm vibraty feeling grumbling
all through your guttiwuts. Then I made with the noga,
and we backed out lovely, and nobody viddied us take off.
We fillied round what was called the backtown for a bit,
scaring old vecks and cheenas that were crossing the roads
and zigzagging after cats and that. Then we took the road
west. There wasn't much traffic about, so I kept pushing the
old noga through the floorboards near, and the Durango 95
ate up the road like spaghetti. Soon it was winter trees and
dark, my brothers, with a country dark, and at one place I ran
over something big with a snarling toothy rot in the head-
lamps, then it screamed and squelched under and old Dim at
the back near laughed his gulliver off - "Ho ho ho" - at that.
Then we saw one young malchick with his sharp, lubbilubbing
under a tree, so we stopped and cheered at them, then we
bashed into them both with a couple of half-hearted tol-
chocks, making them cry, and on we went. What we were after
now was the old surprise visit. That was a real kick and good
for smecks and lashings of the ultra-violent. We came at last
to a sort of village, and just outside this village was a small
sort of a cottage on its own with a bit of garden. The Luna
was well up now, and we could viddy this cottage fine and clear
as I eased up and put the brake on, the other three giggling like
bezoomny, and we could viddy the name on the gate of this
cottage veshch was HOME, a gloomy sort of a name. I got out
of the auto, ordering my droogs to shush their giggles and act
like serious, and I opened this malenky gate and walked up to
the front door. I knocked nice and gentle and nobody came,
so I knocked a bit more and this time I could slooshy some-
body coming, then a bolt drawn, then the door inched open
an inch or so, then I could viddy this one glazz looking out
at me and the door was on a chain. "Yes? Who is it?" It
was a sharp's goloss, a youngish devotchka by her sound, so
I said in a very refined manner of speech, a real gentleman's
goloss:
"Pardon, madam, most sorry to disturb you, but my friend
and me were out for a walk, and my friend has taken bad all of
a sudden with a very troublesome turn, and he is out there on
the road dead out and groaning. Would you have the good-
ness to let me use your telephone to telephone for an am-
bulance?"
"We haven't a telephone," said this devotchka. "I'm sorry,
but we haven't. You'll have to go somewhere else." From
inside this malenky cottage I could slooshy the clack clack
clacky clack clack clackity clackclack of some veck typing
away, and then the typing stopped and there was this
chelloveck's goloss calling: "What is it, dear?"
"Well," I said, "could you of your goodness please let him
have a cup of water? It's like a faint, you see. It seems as
though he's passed out in a sort of a fainting fit."
The devotchka sort of hesitated and then said: "Wait." Then
she went off, and my three droogs had got out of the auto
quiet and crept up horrorshow stealthy, putting their maskies
on now, then I put mine on, then it was only a matter of me
putting in the old rooker and undoing the chain, me having
softened up this devotchka with my gent's goloss, so that she
hadn't shut the door like she should have done, us being
strangers of the night. The four of us then went roaring in,
old Dim playing the shoot as usual with his jumping up and
down and singing out dirty slovos, and it was a nice malenky
cottage, I'll say that. We all went smecking into the room
with a light on, and there was this devotchka sort of cower-
ing, a young pretty bit of sharp with real horrorshow
groodies on her, and with her was this chelloveck who was
her moodge, youngish too with horn-rimmed otchkies on
him, and on a table was a typewriter and all papers scattered
everywhere, but there was one little pile of paper like that
must have been what he'd already typed, so here was another
intelligent type bookman type like that we'd fillied with some
hours back, but this one was a writer not a reader. Anyway, he
said:
"What is this? Who are you? How dare you enter my house
without permission." And all the time his goloss was trem-
bling and his rookers too. So I said:
"Never fear. If fear thou hast in thy heart, O brother, pray
banish it forthwith." Then Georgie and Pete went out to find
the kitchen, while old Dim waited for orders, standing next to
me with his rot wide open. "What is this, then?" I said, picking
up the pile like of typing from off of the table, and the horn-
rimmed moodge said, dithering:
"That's just what I want to know. What is this? What do
you want? Get out at once before I throw you out." So poor
old Dim, masked like Peebee Shelley, had a good loud smeck
at that, roaring like some animal.
"It's a book," I said. "It's a book what you are writing." I
made the old goloss very coarse. "I have always had the strong-
est admiration for them as can write books." Then I looked
at its top sheet, and there was the name - A C L O C K W O R K
O R A N G E - and I said: "That's a fair gloopy title. Who ever
heard of a clockwork orange?" Then I read a malenky bit out
loud in a sort of very high type preaching goloss: " - The
attempt to impose upon man, a creature of growth and
capable of sweetness, to ooze juicily at the last round the
bearded lips of God, to attempt to impose, I say, laws and
conditions appropriate to a mechanical creation, against this
I raise my sword-pen - " Dim made the old lip-music at that and
I had to smeck myself. Then I started to tear up the sheets and
scatter the bits over the floor, and this writer moodge went
sort of bezoomny and made for me with his zoobies clenched
and showing yellow and his nails ready for me like claws. So
that was old Dim's cue and he went grinning and going er er
and a a a for this veck's dithering rot, crack crack, first left
fistie then right, so that our dear old droog the red - red vino
on tap and the same in all places, like it's put out by the same
big firm - started to pour and spot the nice clean carpet and
the bits of this book that I was still ripping away at, razrez
razrez. All this time this devotchka, his loving and faithful
wife, just stood like froze by the fireplace, and then she
started letting out little malenky creeches, like in time to the
like music of old Dim's fisty work. Then Georgie and Pete
came in from the kitchen, both munching away, though with
their maskies on, you could do that with them on and no
trouble. Georgie with like a cold leg of something in one
rooker and half a loaf of kleb with a big dollop of maslo on it
in the other, and Pete with a bottle of beer frothing its gulli-
ver off and a horrorshow rookerful of like plum cake. They
went haw haw haw, viddying old Dim dancing round and
fisting the writer veck so that the writer veck started to platch
like his life's work was ruined, going boo hoo hoo with a
very square bloody rot, but it was haw haw haw in a muffled
eater's way and you could see bits of what they were eating. I
didn't like that, it being dirty and slobbery, so I said:
"Drop that mounch. I gave no permission. Grab hold of this
veck here so he can viddy all and not get away." So they put
down their fatty pishcha on the table among all the flying
paper and they clopped over to the writer veck whose horn-
rimmed otchkies were cracked but still hanging on, with old
Dim still dancing round and making ornaments shake on the
mantelpiece (I swept them all off then and they couldn't shake
no more, little brothers) while he fillied with the author of 'A
Clockwork Orange', making his litso all purple and dripping
away like some very special sort of a juicy fruit. "All right,
Dim," I said. "Now for the other veshch, Bog help us all." So he
did the strong-man on the devotchka, who was still creech
creech creeching away in very horrorshow four-in-a-bar,
locking her rookers from the back, while I ripped away at this
and that and the other, the others going haw haw haw still,
and real good horrorshow groodies they were that then exhi-
bited their pink glazzies, O my brothers, while I untrussed and
got ready for the plunge. Plunging, I could slooshy cries of
agony and this writer bleeding veck that Georgie and Pete held
on to nearly got loose howling bezoomny with the filthiest
of slovos that I already knew and others he was making up.
Then after me it was right old Dim should have his turn, which
he did in a beasty snorty howly sort of a way with his Peebee
Shelley maskie taking no notice, while I held on to her. Then
there was a changeover, Dim and me grabbing the slobbering
writer veck who was past struggling really, only just coming
out with slack sort of slovos like he was in the land in a milk-
plus bar, and Pete and Georgie had theirs. Then there was like
quiet and we were full of like hate, so smashed what was left
to be smashed - typewriter, lamp, chairs - and Dim, it was
typical of old Dim, watered the fire out and was going to dung
on the carpet, there being plenty of paper, but I said no. "Out
out out out," I howled. The writer veck and his zheena were
not really there, bloody and torn and making noises. But
they'd live.
So we got into the waiting auto and I left it to Georgie to
take the wheel, me feeling that malenky bit shagged, and we
went back to town, running over odd squealing things on the
way.
3
We yeckated back townwards, my brothers, but just outside,
not far from what they called the Industrial Canal, we viddied
the fuel needle had like collapsed, like our own ha ha ha
needles had, and the auto was coughing kashl kashl kashl. Not
to worry overmuch, though, because a rail station kept
flashing blue - on off on off - just near. The point was
whether to leave the auto to be sobiratted by the rozzes or,
us feeling like in a hate and murder mood, to give it a fair
tolchock into the starry watersfor a nice heavy loud plesk
before the death of the evening. This latter we decided on, so
we got out and, the brakes off, all four tolchocked it to the
edge of the filthy water that was like treacle mixed with
human hole products, then one good horrorshow tolchock
and in she went. We had to dash back for fear of the filth
splashing on our platties, but splussshhhh and glolp she went,
down and lovely. "Farewell, old droog," called Georgie, and
Dim obliged with a clowny great guff - "Huh huh huh huh."
Then we made for the station to ride the one stop to Center,
as the middle of the town was called. We paid our fares nice
and polite and waited gentlemanly and quiet on the platform,
old Dim fillying with the slot machines, his carmans being full
of small malenky coin, and ready if need be to distribute
chocbars to the poor and starving, though there was none
such about, and then the old espresso rapido came lumbering
in and we climbed aboard, the train looking to be near empty.
To pass the three-minute ride we fillied about with what they
called the upholstery, doing some nice horrorshow tearing-
out of the seats' guts and old Dim chaining the okno till the
glass cracked and sparkled in the winter air, but we were all
feeling that bit shagged and fagged and fashed, it having been
an evening of some small energy expenditure, my brothers,
only Dim, like the clowny animal he was, full of the joys-of,
but looking all dirtied over and too much von of sweat on
him, which was one thing I had against old Dim.
We got out at Center and walked slow back to the
Korova Milkbar, all going yawwwww a malenky bit and exhi-
biting to moon and star and lamplight our back fillings, be-
cause we were still only growing malchicks and had school in
the daytime, and when we got into the Korova we found it
fuller than when we'd left earlier on. But the chelloveck that
had been burbling away, in the land, on white and synthemesc
or whatever, was still on at it, going: "Urchins of deadcast in
the way-ho-hay glill platonic time weatherborn." It was prob-
able that this was his third or fourth lot that evening, for he
had that pale inhuman look, like he'd become a 'thing', and like
his litso was really a piece of chalk carved. Really, if he wanted
to spend so long in the land, he should have gone into one of
the private cubies at the back and not stayed in the big mesto,
because here some of the malchickies would filly about with
him a malenky bit, though not too much because there were
powerful bruiseboys hidden away in the old Korova who
could stop any riot. Anyway, Dim squeezed in next to this
veck and, with his big clown's yawp that showed his hanging
grape, he stabbed this veck's foot with his own large filthy
sabog. But the veck, my brothers, heard nought, being now all
