A Clockwork Orange - 08

more firing squads, then the old Nazi flag and THE END. But
when the lights came on this Dr. Brodsky and also Dr. Branom
were standing in front of me, and Dr. Brodsky said:
"What's all this about sin, eh?"
"That," I said, very sick. "Using Ludwig van like that. He did
no harm to anyone. Beethoven just wrote music." And then I
was really sick and they had to bring a bowl that was in the
shape of like a kidney.
"Music," said Dr. Brodsky, like musing. "So you're keen on
music. I know nothing about it myself. It's a useful emotional
heightener, that's all I know. Well, well. What do you think
about that, eh, Branom?"
"It can't be helped," said Dr. Branom. "Each man kills the
thing he loves, as the poet-prisoner said. Here's the punishment element, perhaps. The Governor ought to be
pleased."
"Give me a drink," I said, "for Bog's sake."
"Loosen him," ordered Dr. Brodsky. "Fetch him a carafe of
ice-cold water." So then these under-vecks got to work and
soon I was peeting gallons and gallons of water and it was
like heaven, O my brothers. Dr. Brodsky said:
"You seem a sufficiently intelligent young man. You seem,
too, to be not without taste. You've just got this violence
thing, haven't you? Violence and theft, theft being an aspect
of violence." I didn't govoreet a single slovo, brothers, I was
still feeling sick, though getting a malenky bit better now. But
it had been a terrible day. "Now then," said Dr. Brodsky, "how
do you think this is done? Tell me, what do you think we're
doing to you?"
"You're making me feel ill. I'm ill when I look at those filthy
pervert films of yours. But it's not really the films that's
doing
it. But I feel that if you'll stop these films I'll stop feeling
ill."
"Right," said Dr. Brodsky. "It's association, the oldest educational method in the world. And what really causes you to
feel ill?"
"These grahzny sodding veshches that come out of my gulliver and my plott," I said, "that's what it is."
"Quaint," said Dr. Brodsky, like smiling, "the dialect of the
tribe. Do you know anything of its provenance, Branom?"
"Odd bits of old rhyming slang," said Dr. Branom, who did
not look quite so much like a friend any more. "A bit of gipsy
talk, too. But most of the roots are Slav. Propaganda. Subliminal penetration."
"All right, all right, all right," said Dr. Brodsky, like
impatient
and not interested any more. "Well," he said to me, "it isn't
the
wires. It's nothing to do with what's fastened to you. Those
are just for measuring your reactions. What is it, then?"
I viddied then, of course, what a bezoomny shoot I was not
to notice that it was the hypodermic shots in the rooker.
"Oh," I creeched, "oh, I viddy all now. A filthy cally vonny
trick. An act of treachery, sod you, and you won't do it
again."
"I'm glad you've raised your objections now," said Dr.
Brodsky. "Now we can be perfectly clear about it. We can get
this stuff of Ludovico's into your system in many different
ways. Orally, for instance. But the subcutaneous method is the
best. Don't fight against it, please. There's no point in your
fighting. You can't get the better of us."
"Grahzny bratchnies," I said, like snivelling. Then I said: "I
don't mind about the ultra-violence and all that cal. I put up
with that. But it's not fair on the music. It's not fair I
should
feel ill when I'm slooshying lovely Ludwig van and G. F. Handel
and others. All that shows you're an evil lot of bastards and I
shall never forgive you, sods."
They both looked a bit like thoughtful. Then Dr. Brodsky
said: "Delimitation is always difficult. The world is one, life
is
one. The sweetest and most heavenly of activities partake in
some measure of violence - the act of love, for instance;
music, for instance. You must take your chance, boy. The
choice has been all yours." I didn't understand all these
slovos,
but now I said:
"You needn't take it any further, sir." I'd changed my tune a
malenky bit in my cunning way. "You've proved to me that all
this dratsing and ultra-violence and killing is wrong wrong
and terribly wrong. I've learned my lesson, sirs. I see now
what I've never seen before. I'm cured, praise God." And I
raised my glazzies in a like holy way to the ceiling. But both
these doctors shook their gullivers like sadly and Dr. Brodsky
said:
"You're not cured yet. There's still a lot to be done. Only
when your body reacts promptly and violently to violence, as
to a snake, without further help from us, without medication,
only then - " I said:
"But, sir, sirs, I see that it's wrong. It's wrong because it's
against like society, it's wrong because every veck on earth
has the right to live and be happy without being beaten and
tolchocked and knifed. I've learned a lot, oh really I have."
But Dr. Brodsky had a loud long smeck at that, showing all his
white zoobies, and said:
"The heresy of an age of reason," or some such slovos. "I
see what is right and approve, but I do what is wrong. No, no,
my boy, you must leave it all to us. But be cheerful about it.
It
will soon be all over. In less than a fortnight now you'll be a
free man." Then he patted me on the pletcho.
Less than a fortnight, O my brothers and friends, it was like
an age. It was like from the beginning of the world to the end
of it. To finish the fourteen years without remission in the
Staja would have been nothing to it. Every day it was the
same. When the devotchka with the hypodermic came round,
though, four days after this govoreeting with Dr. Brodsky and
Dr. Branom, I said: "Oh, no you won't," and tolchocked her on
the rooker, and the syringe went tinkle clatter on to the
floor. That was like to viddy what they would do. What they
did was to get four or five real bolshy white-coated bastards
of under-vecks to hold me down on the bed, tolchocking me
with grinny litsos close to mine, and then this nurse ptitsa
said: "You wicked naughty little devil, you," while she jabbed
my rooker with another syringe and squirted this stuff in real
brutal and nasty. And then I was wheeled off exhausted to this
like hell sinny as before.
Every day, my brothers, these films were like the same, all
kicking and tolchocking and red red krovvy dripping off of
litsos and plotts and spattering all over the camera lenses. It
was usually grinning and smecking malchicks in the heighth of
nadsat fashion, or else teeheeheeing Jap torturers or brutal
Nazi kickers and shooters. And each day the feeling of wanting to die with the sickness and gulliver pains and aches in the
zoobies and horrible horrible thirst grew really worse. Until
one morning I tried to defeat the bastards by crash crash
crashing my gulliver against the wall so that I should tolchock
myself unconscious, but all that happened was I felt sick with
viddying that this kind of violence was like the violence in the
films, so I was just exhausted and was given the injection and
was wheeled off like before.
And then there came a morning when I woke up and had my
breakfast of eggs and toast and jam and very hot milky chai,
and then I thought: "It can't be much longer now. Now must
be very near the end of the time. I have suffered to the
heighths and cannot suffer any more." And I waited and
waited, brothers, for this nurse ptitsa to bring in the syringe,
but she did not come. And then the white-coated under-veck
came and said:
"Today, old friend, we are letting you walk."
"Walk?" I said. "Where?"
"To the usual place," he said. "Yes, yes, look not so astonished. You are to walk to the films, me with you of course.
You are no longer to be carried in a wheelchair."
"But," I said, "how about my horrible morning injection?"
For I was really surprised at this, brothers, they being so keen
on pushing this Ludovico veshch into me, as they said. "Don't
I get that horrible sicky stuff rammed into my poor suffering
rooker any more?"
"All over," like smecked this veck. "For ever and ever amen.
You're on your own now, boy. Walking and all to the
chamber of horrors. But you're still to be strapped down and
made to see. Come on then, my little tiger." And I had to put
my over-gown and toofles on and walk down the corridor to
the like sinny mesto.
Now this time, O my brothers, I was not only very sick but
very puzzled. There it was again, all the old ultra-violence and
vecks with their gullivers smashed and torn krovvy-dripping
ptitsas creeching for mercy, the like private and individual
fillying and nastiness. Then there were the prison-camps and
the Jews and the grey like foreign streets full of tanks and
uniforms and vecks going down in withering rifle-fire, this
being the public side of it. And this time I could blame nothing
for me feeling sick and thirsty and full of aches except what I
was forced to viddy, my glazzies still being clipped open and
my nogas and plott fixed to the chair but this set of wires and
other veshches no longer coming out of my plott and gulliver. So what could it be but the films I was viddying that were
doing this to me? Except, of course, brothers, that this Ludovico stuff was like a vaccination and there it was cruising
about in my krovvy, so that I would be sick always for ever
and ever amen whenever I viddied any of this ultra-violence.
So now I squared my rot and went boo hoo hoo, and the
tears like blotted out what I was forced to viddy in like all
blessed runny silvery dewdrops. But these white-coat
bratchnies were skorry with their tashtooks to wipe the tears
away, saying: "There there, wazzums all weepy-weepy den."
And there it was again all clear before my glazzies, these
Germans prodding like beseeching and weeping Jews - vecks
and cheenas and malchicks and devotchkas - into mestos
where they would all snuff it of poison gas. Boo hoo hoo I
had to go again, and along they came to wipe the tears off,
very skorry, so I should not miss one solitary veshch of what
they were showing. It was a terrible and horrible day, O my
brothers and only friends.
I was lying on the bed all alone that nochy after my dinner
of fat thick mutton stew and fruit-pie and ice-cream, and I
thought to myself: "Hell hell hell, there might be a chance for
me if I get out now." I had no weapon, though. I was allowed
no britva here, and I had been shaved every other day by a fat
bald-headed veck who came to my bed before breakfast, two
white-coated bratchnies standing by to viddy I was a good
non-violent malchick. The nails on my rookers had been scissored and filed real short so I could not scratch. But I was
still
skorry on the attack, though they had weakened me down,
brothers, to a like shadow of what I had been in the old free
days. So now I got off the bed and went to the locked door
and began to fist it real horrorshow and hard, creeching at the
same time: "Oh, help help. I'm sick, I'm dying. Doctor doctor
doctor, quick. Please. Oh, I'll die, I shall. Help." My gorlo
was
real dry and sore before anyone came. Then I heard nogas
coming down the corridor and a like grumbling goloss, and
then I recognized the goloss of the white-coated veck who
brought me pishcha and like escorted me to my daily doom.
He like grumbled:
"What is it? What goes on? What's your little nasty game in
there?"
"Oh, I'm dying," I like moaned. "Oh, I have a ghastly pain in
my side. Appendicitis, it is. Ooooooh."
"Appendy shitehouse," grumbled this veck, and then to my
joy, brothers, I could slooshy the like clank of keys. "If
you're
trying it little friend, my friends and me will beat and kick you
all through the night." Then he opened up and brought in like
the sweet air of the promise of my freedom. Now I was like
behind the door when he pushed it open, and I could viddy
him in the corridor light looking round for me puzzled. Then
I raised my two fisties to tolchock him on the neck nasty, and
then, I swear, as I viddied him in advance lying moaning or out out out and felt the like joy rise in my guts, it was
then that this sickness rose in me as it might be a wave and I
felt a horrible fear as if I was really going to die. I like
tottered
over to the bed going urgh urgh urgh, and the veck, who was
not in his white coat but an over-gown, viddied clear enough
what I had in mind for he said:
"Well, everything's a lesson, isn't it? Learning all the time,
as you could say. Come on, little friend, get up from that bed
and hit me. I want you to, yes, really. A real good crack
across
the jaw. Oh, I'm dying for it, really I am." But all I could
do,
brothers, was to just lay there sobbing boo hoo hoo. "Scum,"
like sneered this veck now. "Filth." And he pulled me up by
like
the scruff of my pyjama-top, me being very weak and limp,
and he raised and swung his right rooker so that I got a fair
old tolchock clean on the litso. "That," he said, "is for
getting
me out of my bed, you young dirt." And he wiped his rookers
against each other swish swish and went out. Crunch crunch
went the key in the lock.
And what, brothers, I had to escape into sleep from then
was the horrible and wrong feeling that it was better to get
the hit than give it. If that veck had stayed I might even have
like presented the other cheek.
7
I could not believe, brothers, what I was told. It seemed that I
had been in that vonny mesto for near ever and would be
there for near ever more. But it had always been a fortnight
and now they said the fortnight was near up. They said:
"Tomorrow, little friend, out out out." And they made with
the old thumb, like pointing to freedom. And then the whitecoated veck who had tolchocked me and who had still
brought me my trays of pishcha and like escorted me to my
everyday torture said: "But you still have one real big day in
front of you. It's to be your passing-out day," and he had a
leery smeck at that.
I expected this morning that I would be ittying as usual to
the sinny mesto in my pyjamas and toofles and over-gown.
But no. This morning I was given my shirt and underveshches
and my platties of the night and my horrorshow kick-boots,
all lovely and washed or ironed and polished. And I was even
given my cut-throat britva that I had used in those old happy
days for fillying and dratsing. So I gave with the puzzled frown
at this as I got dressed, but the white-coated under-veck just
like grinned and would govoreet nothing, O my brothers.
I was led quite kindly to the same old mesto, but there were
changes there. Curtains had been drawn in front of the sinny
screen and the frosted glass under the projection holes was
no longer there, it having perhaps been pushed up or folded
to the sides like blinds or shutters. And where there had been
just the noise of coughing kashl kashl kashl and like shadows
of the lewdies was now a real audience, and in this audience
there were litsos I knew. There was the Staja Governor and
the holy man, the charlie or charles as he was called, and the
Chief Chasso and this very important and well-dressed chelloveck who was the Minister of the Interior or Inferior. All the
rest I did not know. Dr. Brodsky and Dr. Branom were there,
though not now white-coated, instead they were dressed as
doctors would dress who were big enough to want to dress in
the heighth of fashion. Dr. Branom just stood, but Dr. Brodsky
stood and govoreeted in a like learned manner to all the
lewdies assembled. When he viddied me coming in he said:
"Aha. At this stage, gentlemen, we introduce the subject himself. He is, as you will percieve, fit and well nourished. He
comes straight from a night's sleep and a good breakfast,
undrugged, unhypnotized. Tomorrow we send him with
confidence out into the world again, as decent a lad as you
would meet on a May morning, inclined to the kindly word
and the helpful act. What a change is here, gentlemen, from
the wretched hoodlum the State committed to unprofitable
punishment some two years ago, unchanged after two years.
Unchanged, do I say? Not quite. Prison taught him the false
smile, the rubbed hands of hypocrisy, the fawning greased
obsequious leer. Other vices it taught him, as well as
confirming him in those he had long practised before. But
gentlemen, enough of words. Actions speak louder than.
Action now. Observe, all."
I was a bit dazed by all this govoreeting and I was trying to
grasp in my mind that like all this was about me. Then all the
lights went out and then there came on two like spotlights
shining from the projection-squares, and one of them was full
on Your Humble and Suffering Narrator. And into the other
spotlight there walked a bolshy big chelloveck I had never
viddied before. He had a lardy like litso and a moustache and
like strips of hair pasted over his near-bald gulliver. He was
about thirty or forty or fifty, some old age like that, starry.
He ittied up to me and the spotlight ittied with him, and soon
the two spotlights had made like one big pool. He said to me,
very sneery: "Hello, heap of dirt. Pooh, you don't wash much,
judging from the horrible smell." Then, as if he was like dancing, he stamped on my nogas, left, right, then he gave me a
finger-nail flick on the nose that hurt like bezoomny and
brought the old tears to my glazzies then he twisted at my left
ooko like it was a radio dial. I could slooshy titters and a
couple of real horrorshow hawhawhaws coming from like
the audience. My nose and nogas and ear-hole stung and
pained like bezoomny, so I said:
"What do you do that to me for? I've never done wrong to
you, brother."
"Oh," this veck said, "I do this" - flickedflicked nose again -
"and that" - twisted smarting ear-hole - "and the other" -
stamped nasty on right noga - "because I don't care for your
horrible type. And if you want to do anything about it, start,
start, please do." Now I knew that I'd have to be real skorry
and get my cut-throat britva out before this horrible killing
sickness whooshed up and turned the like joy of battle into
feeling I was going to snuff it. But, O brothers, as my rooker
reached for the britva in my inside carman I got this like
picture in my mind's glazzy of this insulting chelloveck howling for mercy with the red red krovvy all streaming out of his
rot, and hot after this picture the sickness and dryness and
pains were rushing to overtake, and I viddied that I'd have to
change the way I felt about this rotten veck very very skorry
indeed, so I felt in my carmans for cigarettes or for pretty
polly, and, O my brothers, there was not either of these
veshches, I said, like all howly and blubbery:
"I'd like to give you a cigarette, brother, but I don't seem to
have any." This veck went:
"Wah wah. Boohoohoo. Cry, baby." Then he flickflickflicked with his bolshy horny nail at my nose again, and I
could slooshy very loud smecks of like mirth coming from the
dark audience. I said, real desperate, trying to be nice to this
insulting and hurtful veck to stop the pains and sickness
coming up:
"Please let me do something for you, please." And I felt in
my carmans but could find only my cut-throat britva, so I
took this out and handed it to him and said: "Please take this,
please. A little present. Please have it." But he said:
"Keep your stinking bribes to yourself. You can't get round
me that way." And he banged at my rooker and my cut-throat
britva fell on the floor. So I said:
"Please, I must do something. Shall I clean your boots? Look,
I'll get down and lick them." And, my brothers, believe it or
kiss my sharries, I got down on my knees and pushed my red
yahzick out a mile and half to lick his grahzny vonny boots.
But all this veck did was to kick me not too hard on the rot.
So then it seemed to me that it would not bring on the sickness and pain if I just gripped his ankles with my rookers tight
round them and brought this grashzny bratchny down to the
floor. So I did this and he got a real bolshy surprise, coming
down crack amid loud laughter from the vonny audience. But
viddying him on the floor I could feel the whole horrible feeling coming over me, so I gave him my rooker to lift him up
skorry and up he came. Then just as he was going to give me
a real nasty and earnest tolchock on the litso Dr. Brodsky said:
"All right, that will do very well." Then this horrible veck
sort of bowed and danced off like an actor while the lights
came up on me blinking and with my rot square for howling.
Dr. Brodsky said to the audience: "Our subject is, you see,
impelled towards the good by, paradoxically, being impelled
towards evil. The intention to act violently is accompanied by
strong feelings of physical distress. To counter these the subject has to switch to a diametrically opposed attitude. Any
questions?"
"Choice," rumbled a rich deep goloss. I viddied it belonged
to the prison charlie. "He has no real choice, has he? Selfinterest, fear of physical pain, drove him to that grotesque act
of self-abasement. Its insincerity was clearly to be seen. He
ceases to be a wrongdoer. He ceases also to be a creature
capable of moral choice."
"These are subtleties," like smiled Dr. Brodsky. "We are not
concerned with motive, with the higher ethics. We are concerned only with cutting down crime - "
"And," chipped in this bolshy well-dressed Minister, "with
relieving the ghastly congestion in our prisons."
"Hear hear," said somebody.
There was a lot of govoreeting and arguing then and I just
stood there, brothers, like completely ignored by all these
ignorant bratchnies, so I creeched out:
"Me, me, me. How about me? Where do I come into all
this? Am I just some animal or dog?" And that started
them off govoreeting real loud and throwing slovos at me. So
I creeched louder, still creeching: "Am I just to be like a
clockwork orange?" I didn't know what made me use those slovos,
brothers, which just came like without asking into my gulliver. And that shut all those vecks up for some reason for a
minoota or two. Then one very thin starry professor type
chelloveck stood up, his neck like all cables carrying like
power from his gulliver to his plott, and he said:
"You have no cause to grumble, boy. You made your choice
and all this is a consequence of your choice. Whatever now
ensues is what you yourself have chosen." And the prison
charlie creeched out:
"Oh, if only I could believe that." And you could viddy the
Governor give him a look like meaning that he would not
climb so high in like Prison Religion as he thought he would.
Then loud arguing started again, and then I could slooshy the
slovo Love being thrown around, the prison charles himself
creeching as loud as any about Perfect Love Casteth Out Fear
and all that cal. And now Dr. Brodsky said, smiling all over his
litso:
"I am glad, gentlemen, this question of Love has been
raised. Now we shall see in action a manner of Love that was
thought to be dead with the Middle Ages." And then the lights
went down and the spotlights came on again, one on your
poor and suffering Friend and Narrator, and into the other
there like rolled or sidled the most lovely young devotchka
you could ever hope in all your jeezny, O my brothers, to
viddy. That is to say, she had real horrorshow groodies all of
which you could like viddy, she having on platties which came
down down down off her pletchoes. And her nogas were like
Bog in His Heaven, and she walked like to make you groan in
your keeshkas, and yet her litso was a sweet smiling young
like innocent litso. She came up towards me with the light like
it was the like light of heavenly grace and all that cal coming
with her, and the first thing that flashed into my gulliver was
that I would like to have her right down there on the floor
with the old in-out real savage, but skorry as a shot came the
sickness, like a like detective that had been watching round a
corner and now followed to make his grahzny arrest. And
now the von of lovely perfume that came off her made me
want to think of starting to heave in my keeshkas, so I
knew I had to think of some new like way of thinking about
her before all the pain and thirstiness and horrible sickness
come over me real horrorshow and proper. So I creeched out:
"O most beautiful and beauteous of devotchkas, I throw
like my heart at your feet for you to like trample all over. If
I
had a rose I would give it to you. If it was all rainy and cally
now on the ground you could have my platties to walk on so
as not to cover your dainty nogas with filth and cal." And as I
was saying all this, O my brothers, I could feel the sickness
like slinking back. "Let me," I creeched out, "worship you and
be like your helper and protector from the wicked like world."
Then I thought of the right slovo and felt better for it, saying:
"Let me be like your true knight," and down I went again on
the old knees, bowing and like scraping.
And then I felt real shooty and dim, it having been like an
act again, for this devotchka smiled and bowed to the audience and like danced off, the lights coming up to a bit of
applause. And the glazzies of some of these starry vecks in the
audience were like popping out at this young devotchka with
dirty and like unholy desire, O my brothers.
"He will be your true Christian," Dr. Brodsky was creeching
out, "ready to turn the other cheek, ready to be crucified
rather than crucify, sick to the very heart at the thought even
of killing a fly." And that was right, brothers, because when he
said that I thought of killing a fly and felt just that tiny bit
sick, but I pushed the sickness and pain back by thinking of the
fly being fed with bits of sugar and looked after like a bleeding
pet and all that cal. "Reclamation," he creeched. "Joy before
the Angels of God."
"The point is," this Minister of the Inferior was saying real
gromky, "that it works."
"Oh," the prison charlie said, like sighing, "it works all right,
God help the lot of us."
Part Three
1
"What's it going to be then, eh?"
That, my brothers, was me asking myself the next morning,
standing outside this white building that was like tacked on to
the old Staja, in my platties of the night of two years back in
the grey light of dawn, with a malenky bit of a bag with my
few personal veshches in and a bit of cutter kindly donated by
the vonny Authorities to like start me off in my new life.
The rest of the day before had been very tiring, what with
interviews to go on tape for the telenews and photographs
being took flash flash flash and more like demonstrations of
me folding up in the face of ultra-violence and all that embarrassing cal. And then I had like fallen into the bed and then,as
it looked to me, been waked up to be told to get off out, to
itty off home, they did not want to viddy Your Humble Narrator never not no more, O my brothers. So there I was, very
very early in the morning, with just this bit of pretty polly in
my left carman, jingle-jangling it and wondering:
"What's it going to be then, eh?"
Some breakfast some mesto, I thought, me not having
eaten at all that morning, every veck being so anxious to
tolchock me off out to freedom. A chasha of chai only I had
peeted. This Staja was in a very like gloomy part of the town,
but there were malenky workers' caffs all around and I soon
found one of these, my brothers. It was very cally and vonny,
with one bulb in the ceiling with fly-dirt like obscuring its bit
of light, and there were early rabbiters slurping away at chai
and horrible-looking sausages and slices of kleb which they
like wolfed, going wolf wolf wolf and then creeching for
more. They were served by a very cally devotchka but with
very bolshy groodies on her, and some of the eating vecks
tried to grab her, going haw haw haw while she went he he he,
and the sight of them near made me want to sick, brothers.
But I asked for some toast and jam and chai very politely and
with my gentleman's goloss, then I sat in a dark corner to eat
and peet.
While I was doing this, a malenky little dwarf of a veck
ittied in, selling the morning's gazettas, a twisted and grahzny
prestoopnick type with thick glasses on with steel rims, his
platties like the colour of very starry decaying currant pudding.
I kupetted a gazetta, my idea being to get ready for plunging