3

We yeckated^[152] back townwards, but just outside, not far from the Industrial Canal, we viddied the fuel needle^[153]had like collapsed, and the auto was coughing kashl^[154]kashl kashl. The point was whether to leave the auto to be sobiratted^[155] by the rozzes or to give it a fair tolchock into the starry waters for a nice heavy loud plesk^[156]. This latter we decided on, so we got out and, the brakes off^[157], all four tolchocked it to the edge of the filthy water, 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 she went, down and lovely. “Farewell, old droog,” called Georgie, and Dim gave a clowny great guff^[158] – “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^[159] to distribute chocbars^[160] to the poor and hungry, though there was none such about, and then the old espresso rapido came noisy 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^[161] till the glass cracked, but we were all feeling that bit shagged and fagged, it having been an evening of some small energy expenditure, my brothers, only Dim, like the clowny animal he was, full of the joys, 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, when we got into it we found it fuller than when we'd left earlier on.

But the chelloveck that had been burbling away on some senseless things was still on at it. It was probably his third or fourth lot that evening, for he had that pale inhuman look, like he'd become a 'thing'. Really, if he wanted to spend so long in the land, he should have gone into one of the private cubies^[162] at the back and not stayed in the big mesto, because here some of the malchickies^[163] would filly about with him a malenky bit, though not too much because there were powerful bruiseboys^[164] hidden away in the old Korova who could stop any riot. Anyway, Dim squeezed in next to this veck and he stabbed this veck's foot with his own large filthy sabog^[165]. But the veck, my brothers, heard nought, being now all above the body. It was nadsats^[166] milking and coking and fillying around, but there were a few of the more starry ones, vecks and cheenas alike (but not of the bourgeois, never them) laughing and govoreeting^[167] at the bar. You could tell them from their clothes that they'd been on rehearsals at the TV studios around the corner. The devotchkas among them had these very lively litsos and wide big rots, very red, showing a lot of teeth, and smecking away and not caring about the wicked world. And then the disc on the stereo ended, and in the like interval, the short silence before the next one came on, one of these devotchkas – very fair and with a big smiling red rot and in her late thirties I'd say – suddenly came with singing, only a bar and a half and as though she was like giving an example of something they'd all been govoreeting about, and it was like for a moment, O my brothers, some great bird had flown into the milkbar, and I felt all the little malenky hairs on my plott standing endwise^[168]. Because I knew what she sang. It was from an opera by Friedrich Gitterfenster called 'Das Bettzeug'^[169], and it was the bit where she's singing it with her throat cut, and the slovos are 'Better like this maybe'. Anyway, I shivered.

But old Dim, as soon as he'd slooshied this dollop of song, let off one of his vulgarities followed by a clowny guffaw. I felt myself all of a fever and slooshying and viddying Dim's vulgarity I said: “Bastard. Filthy drooling mannerless bastard^[170].” Then I leaned across Georgie, who was between me and horrible Dim, and fisted Dim skorry on the rot. Dim looked very surprised, his rot open, wiping the krovvy off of his goober with his rook. “What for did you do that for?” he said in his ignorant way. Not many viddied what I'd done, and those that viddied cared not. The stereo was on again and was playing a very sick electronic guitar veshch. I said:

“For b eing a bastard with no manners, O my brother. ”

Dim put on a look of evil, saying: “I don't like you should do what you done then. And I'm not your brother no more and wouldn't want to be.” He'd taken a big snotty tashtook from his pocket and was mopping the red flow puzzled, keeping on looking at it frowning as if he thought that blood was for other vecks and not for him. I said:

“If you don't like this and you wouldn't want that, then you know what to do, little brother.” Georgie said, in a sharp way that made me look: “All right. Let's not be starting.”

“Dim can't go on all his jeezny^[171] being as a little child,” I said and looked sharp at Georgie. Dim said, and the red krovvy was easing its flow now: “What natural right does he have to think he can give the orders and tolchock me whenever he likes? Yarbles is what I say to him, and I'd chain his glazzies out as soon as look.”

“Watch that,” I said, as quiet as I could. “Do watch that, O Dim, if to continue to be on live thou dost wish^[172].”

“Yarbles,” said Dim, sneering, “What you done then you had no right. I'll meet you with chain or nozh or britva any time.”

Pete said: “Oh now, don't, both of you malchicks. Droogs, aren't we? It isn't right droogs should behave thiswise.”

“Dim,” I said, “has got to learn his place. Right?”

“Wait,” said Georgie. “What is all this about place? This is the first I ever hear about lewdies learning their place.” Pete said: “If the truth is known, Alex, you shouldn't have given old Dim that tolchock. I'llsayit onceandnomore. I say it with all respect, but if it had been me you'd given it to you'd have to answer. I say no more.” And he lowered his litso in his milk-glass.

I could feel myself getting all razdraz inside, but I tried to cover it, saying calm: “There has to be a leader. Discipline there has to be. Right?” N one of them skazatted a word or nodded even. I got more razdraz inside, calmer out. “I,” I said, “have been in charge long now. We are all droogs, but somebody has to be in charge. Right? Right?” They all like nodded. Dim was osooshing^[173] the last of the krovvy off. It was Dim who said now:

“Right, right. A bit tired, maybe, everybody is. Best not to say more.” I was surprised and just that malenky bit poogly to sloosh Dim govoreeting that wise. Dim said: “Bedways is rightways now, so best we go homeways^[174]. Right?” I was very surprised. The other two nodded, going right right right. I said:

“You understand about that tolchock on the rot, Dim. It was the music, see. I get all bezoomny when any veck interferes with a ptitsa singing. Like that then^[175].”

“Best we go off homeways and get a bit of spatchka^[176],” said Dim. “A long night for growing malchicks. Right?” Right right nodded the other two. I said:

“I think it best we go home now. Dim has made a real horrorshow suggestion. Well then, O my brothers, same time same place tomorrow?”

“Oh yes,” said Georgie. “I think that can be arranged.” “I might,” said Dim, “be just that malenky bit late. But same place and near same time tomorrow surely.” He was still wiping at his goober, though no krovvy flowed any longer now. “And,” he said, “it is to be hoped there won't be no more of them singing ptitsas in here.” Then he gave his old Dim guff, a clowny big hohohohoho. It seemed like he was too dim to take much offence^[177].

So off we went our several ways, me belching on the cold coke I'd peeted. I had my cut-throat britva handy in case any of Billyboy's droogs should be around near the flat-block waiting, or for that matter any of the other bandas or gruppas or shaikas^[178] that from time to time were at war with one. Where I lived was with my dadda and mum in the flats of Municipal Flatblock 18A, between Kingsley Avenue and Wilsonsway. I got to the big main door with no trouble, though I did pass one young malchick creeching and moaning in the gutter, all cut about lovely, and saw in the lamplight also streaks of blood here and there like signatures, my brothers, of the night's Allying^[179]. In the hallway was the good old municipal painting on the walls – vecks and ptitsas very well developed^[180], at workbench and machine with no platties on their well-developed plotts. But of course some of the malchicks living in 18A had, as was to be expected, decorated the said big painting with handy pencil and ballpoint, adding hair and stiff rods and dirty ballooning slovos out of the rots of these nagoy^[181] (bare, that is) cheenas and vecks. I went to the lift, but there was no need to press the electric knopka^[182] to see if it was working or not, because it had been tolchocked real horrorshow this night, the metal doors all broken, so I had to walk the ten floors up. I cursed and panted climbing, being tired in plott if not so much in brain. I wanted music very bad this evening, that singing devotchka in the Korova having perhaps started me off. I opened the door of 10-8 with my own little klootch^[183], and inside our malenky quarters all was quiet, the pee and em^[184] both being in sleepland, and mum had laid out on the table on malenky bit of supper – a couple of lomticks of tinned meat^[185] with kleb^[186]and butter, a glass of the old cold moloko. Hohoho, the old moloko, with no knives or synthemesc or drencrom in it. How wicked, my brothers, innocent milk must always seem to me now. Still I drank and ate growling, being more hungry than I thought at first, and I got fruit-pie from the larder and tore chunks off it to stuff into my greedy rot. Then I went into my own little room or den, taking off my platties as I did so. Here was my bed and my stereo, pride of myjeezny, and my discs in their cupboard, and banners and flags on the wall, these being like remembrances of my corrective school life^[187] since I was eleven. The little speakers of my stereo were all arranged round the room, on ceiling, walls, floor, so, lying on my bed slooshying the music, I was like plunged in the orchestra. Now what I fancied first tonight was this new violin concerto by the American Geoffrey Plautus, so I switched it on and waited. Then, brothers, it came. Oh, bliss, bliss and heaven. I lay all nagoy to the ceiling, my gulliver on my rookers on the pillow, glazzies closed, rot open in bliss, slooshying the lovely sounds. Oh, it was gorgeousness, it was wonder of wonders. And then came the violin solo above all the other strings, and those strings were like a cage of silk around my bed. Then flute and oboe bored their way. I was in such bliss, my brothers. Pee and em in their bedroom next door had learnt now not to knock on the wall with complaints of what they called noise. I had taught them. Now they would take sleep-pills. Perhaps, knowing the joy I had in my night music, they had already taken them. As I slooshied, my glazzies tight shut to shut in the bliss that was better than any synthemesc Bog or God, I knew such lovely pictures. There were vecks and ptitsas, both young and starry, lying on the ground screaming for mercy, and I was smecking all over my rot and grinding my boot in their litsos. And there were devotchkas ripped and creeching against walls and I plunging like a shlaga^[188] into them, and indeed when the music rose to the top of its big highest tower, then, lying there on my bed with glazzies tight shut and rookers behind my gulliver, I broke and spattered and cried aaaaaaah with the bliss of it. And so the lovely music came to its glowing close. After that I had lovely Mozart, the Jupiter, and there were new pictures of different litsos to be ground and splashed, and it was after this that I thought I would have just one last disc, and I wanted something starry and strong and very firm, so it was J. S. Bach I had, the Brandenburg Concerto^[189] just for strings. And, slooshying with different bliss than before, I viddied again this name on the paper I'd razrezzed that night, a long time ago it seemed, in that cottage called HOME. The name was about a clockwork orange. Listening to the J. S. Bach, I began to pony^[190] better what that meant now, and I thought, slooshying away to the gorgeousness of the starry German master, that I would like to have tolchocked them both harder and ripped them to ribbons^[191] on their own floor.