Энтони Бёрджесс – A Clockwork Orange / Заводной апельсин (страница 6)

The day was very different from the night. The night belonged to me and my droogs and all the rest of the nadsats, and the starry bourgeois stayed indoors drinking in the gloopy worldcasts, but the day was for the starry ones, and there always seemed to be more rozzes or millicents about during the day, too. I got the autobus from the corner and rode to Center, and then I walked back to Taylor Place, and there was the disc-bootick I favoured. It had the gloopy name of MELODIA, but it was a real horrorshow mesto and skorry, most times, at getting the new recordings. I walked in and the only other customers were two young ptitsas sucking away at ice-sticks. These two ptitsas couldn't have been more than ten, and they too, like me, it seemed, evidently, had decided to take the morning off from the old skolliwoll. They saw themselves, you could see, as real grown-up devotchkas already, what with the old hip-swing when they saw your Faithful Narrator[220], and padded groodies and red all put on their goobers. I went up to the counter, smiling at old Andy behind it. Hesaid:

“Aha. I know what you want, I think. Good news, good news. It has arrived.” And he went to get it. The two young ptitsas started giggling, as they will at that age, and I gave them a like cold glazzy. Andy was back real skorry, waving the great shiny Ninth, which had on it, brothers, the frowning litso of Ludwig van himself. “Here,” said Andy. “Shall we give it the trial spin?[221]” But I wanted it back home on my stereo to slooshy on my oddy knocky. I fumbled out the deng to pay and one of the little ptitsas said:

“Who you getten, bratty[222]? What biggy, what only?” These young devotchkas had their own like way of govoreeting. And both giggled. Then an idea hit me and made me near fall over with the ecstasy of it, so I could not breathe for near ten seconds. I recovered and made with my new-clean zoobies and said: “What you got back home, little sisters, to play your new discs on? Come with uncle,” I said, “and hear all proper. You are invited.” And I like bowed. They giggled again and one said: “Oh, but we're so hungry. Oh, but we could so eat.” The other said: “Yah, she can say that.” So I said: “Eat with uncle. Name your place.”

Then they viddied themselves as real sophistoes[223], which was like pathetic, and started talking in big-lady golosses about the Ritz and the Bristol and the Hilton. But I stopped that with “Follow uncle,” and I led them to the Pasta Parlour just round the corner and let them fill their innocent young litsos on spaghetti and sausages and cream-puffs and banana-splits and hot choc-sauce, till I near sicked with the sight of it, I, brothers, lunching a cold ham-slice and a dollop of chilli. These two young ptitsas were much alike, though not sisters. They had the same ideas, and the same colour hair. Well, they would grow up real today. Today I would make a day of it. No school this afterlunch, but education certain, Alex as teacher. Their names, they said, were Marty and Sonietta, bezoomny enough and in the height of their childish fashion, so I said:

“Righty right, Marty and Sonietta. Time for the big spin. Come.” When we were outside on the cold street they thought they would not go by autobus, oh no, but by taxi, so I called a taxi from the rank near Center. The driver, a starry veck in very stained platties, said: “No tearing up, now. No nonsense with them seats. Just re-upholstered they are.” I quieted his gloopy fears and off we went to Municipal Flatblock 18A, these two bold little ptitsas giggling and whispering. So, to cut all short, we arrived, and I led the way up to 10-8, and they panted and smecked away the way up, and then they were thirsty, they said, so I unlocked the treasure-chest in my room and gave these ten-year-young devotchkas a real horrorshow Scotchman apiece, though well filled with soda. They sat on my bed, smecking and peeting their highballs, while I spun their like pathetic malenky discs through my stereo. While I spun this cal for them I encouraged them to drink and have another, and they didn't mind. So by the time their pathetic pop-discs had been twice spun each they were getting near the pitch of like young ptitsa's hysterics, what with jumping all over my bed and me in the room with them.

What was actually done that afternoon there is no need to describe, brothers, as you may easily guess all. Those two were unplattied and smecking in no time at all, and they thought it the bolshiest fun[224] to viddy old Uncle Alex standing there all nagoy and pan-handled[225]. Then I pulled the lovely Ninth out of its sleeve, so that Ludwig van was now nagoy too, and I set the needle to the last movement, which was all bliss. There it was then, the bass strings like govoreeting away from under my bed at the rest of the orchestra, and then the male human goloss coming in and telling them all to be joyful, and then the lovely blissful tune all about Joy being a glorious spark like of heaven, and then I felt the old tigers leap in me and then I leapt on these two young ptitsas. This time they thought nothing fun and had to submit to the strange and weird desires of Alexander the Large which, what with the Ninth, were choodessny[226]and zammechat[227] and very demanding, O my brothers. But they were both very very drunken and could hardly feel very much. When the last movement had gone round for the second time, then these two young ptitsas were not acting the big lady sophisto no more. They were like waking up to what was being done to their malenky persons and saying that they wanted to go home and like I was a wild beast. They looked like they had been in some big bitva[228], as indeed they had. Well, if they would not go to school they must still have their education. And education they had had. They were creeching and going ow ow ow as they put their platties on, and they were like punchipunching[229] me with their small fists as I lay there dirty and nagoy and fair shagged and fagged on the bed. This young Sonietta was creeching: “Beast and hateful animal. Filthy horror.” So I let them get their things together and get out, which they did, talking about how the rozzes should be got on to me and all that cal. Then they were going down the stairs and I dropped off to sleep, still with the old Joy Joy Joy of the last movement sounding in my ear.

5

What happened, though, was that I woke up late (near seven-thirty by my watch) and, as it turned out, that was not so clever. You can pony that one thing always leads to another. Right right right. My stereo was no longer on, so some veck had stopped it, and that would be either pee or em, both of them now slooshying in the living-room, at their tired meal after the day's rabbiting. The poor starry. I put on my over-gown and looked out to say:

“Hihihi, there. A lot better after the day's rest. Ready now for evening work to earn that little bit.” For that's what they believed I did these days. “Yum, yum, mum. Any of that for me?” It was like some frozen pie that she'd unfroze and then warmed up and it looked not so very appetitish[230], but I had to say what I said. Dad looked at me with a suspicious like look but said nothing, knowing he dared not, and mum gave me a tired like little smeck. I danced to the bathroom and had a real skorry cheest all over, then back to my den for the evening's platties. Then, shining, combed, brushed and gorgeous, I sat to my lomtick of pie. Papapa said:

“Not that I want to pry, son, but where exactly is it you go to work of evenings?”

“Oh,” I chewed, “it's mostly odd things, helping like[231]. Here and there, as it might be.” I gave him a straight dirty glazzy, as to say to mind his own and I'd mind mine[232]. “I never ask for money, do I? Not money for clothes or for pleasures? All right, then, why ask?”

My dad was like humble mumble chumble[233]. “Sorry, son,” he said. “But I get worried sometimes. Sometimes I have dreams. You can laugh if you like, but there's a lot in dreams. Last night I had this dream with you in it and I didn't like it one bit.”

“Oh?” He had gotten me interessovatted[234] now, dreaming of me like that. “Yes?” I said, stopping chewing my pie.

“I saw you lying on the street and you had been beaten by other boys,” said my dad. “These boys were like the boys you used to go around with before you were sent to that last Corrective School.”

“Oh?” I had an in-grin at that[235], papapa believing I had really reformed. And then I remembered my own dream, which was a dream of that morning, of Georgie giving his general's orders and old Dim smecking around toothless as he held the whip. “Never worry about your son, O my father,” I said. “Fear not. He can take care of himself, verily.”

“And,” said my dad, “you were like helpless in your blood and you couldn't fight back.” I had another quiet malenky grin within and then I took all the deng out of my carmans and put it on the table-cloth. I said:

“Here, dad, it's not much. It's what I earned last night. But perhaps for the odd peet of Scotchman somewhere for you and mum.”