A Clockwork Orange / Заводной апельсин. Энтони Бёрджесс

was round that counter skorry as a bird, and what you could viddy then was a sort of a big ball rolling into the inside of the shop behind the curtain, this being old Dim and Slouse sort of locked in a death struggle.

      Then you could slooshy[98] panting and snoring and kicking behind the curtain and veshches falling over and swearing and then glass going smash smash smash. Mother Slouse, the wife, was sort of froze behind the counter. We could tell she would creech murder[99] given one chance, so I was round that counter very skorry and had a hold of her. I'd got my rooker round her rot to stop her belting out death, but this lady doggie gave me a large foul big bite on it and it was me that did the creeching, and then she opened up beautiful with a flip[100] yell for the millicents. Well, then she had to be tolchocked proper with one of the weights for the scales[101], and then a fair tap with a crowbar they had for opening cases, and that brought the red out like an old friend. So we had her down on the floor and a rip of her platties for fun and a gentle bit of the boot to stop her moaning. And, viddying her lying there with her groodies on show, I wondered should I or not, but that was for later on in the evening. Then we cleaned the till[102], and there was horrorshow takings that nochy, and we had a few packs of the very best top cancers apiece, then off we went, my brothers.

       “A real big heavy great bastard he was,” Dim kept saying. I didn't like the look of Dim: he looked dirty and untidy, like a veck who'd been in a fight, which he had been, of course, but you should never look as though you have been. His cravat was like someone had trampled on it, his maskie had been pulled off and he had floor-dirt on his litso, so we got him in an alleyway and tidied him up a malenky bit, soaking our tashtooks[103] in spit to cheest[104]the dirt off. We were back in the Duke of New York very skorry and I reckoned by my watch we hadn't been more than ten minutes away. The starry old baboochkas were still there on the suds and Scotchmen we'd bought them, and we said: “Hallo there, girlies, what's it going to be?” They started on the old “Very kind, lads, God bless you, boys,” and so we rang the collocol[105] and brought a different waiter in this time and we ordered beers with rum in, being sore athirst, my brothers, and whatever the old ptitsas wanted. Then I said to the old baboochkas: “We haven't been out of here, have we? Been here all the time, haven't we?” They all caught on real skorry and said:

      “That's right, lads. Not been out of our sight, you haven't. God bless you, boys,” drinking.

      Not that it mattered much, really. About half an hour went by before there was any sign of life among the millicents, and then it was only two very young rozzes that came in their big copper's shlemmies[106]. One said: “You lot know anything about the happenings at Slouse's shop this night?”

      “Us?” I said, innocent. “Why, what happened?”

      “Stealing and roughing. Two hospitalizations.

      Where've you lot been this evening?”

      “I don't go for that nasty tone,” I said. “I don't care much for these nasty insinuations, my little brothers.”

      “They've been in here all night, lads,” the old sharps started to creech out. “God bless them, there's no better lot of boys living for kindness and generosity. Been here all the time they have. Not seen them move we haven't.”

      “We're only asking,” said the other young millicent. “We've got ourjob to do like anyone else.” But they gave us the nasty warning look before they went out. As they were going out we handed them a bit of lip-music: brrrrzzzzrrrr. But, myself, I couldn't help a bit of disappointment at things as they were those days. Nothing to fight against really. Everything as easy as kiss-my-sharries[107]. Still, the night was still very young.

      2

      When we got outside of the Duke of New York we viddied an old pyahnitsa[108] or drunkie, singing the filthy songs of his fathers. One veshch I could never stand was that. I could never stand to see a moodge[109] all filthy and burping and drunk, whatever his age might be, but more especially when he was real starry like this one was. He was sort of flattened to the wall and his platties were a disgrace, all creased and untidy and covered in cal[110] and mud and filth and stuff. So we got hold of him and cracked him with a few good horrorshow tolchocks, but he still went on singing. The song went:

      And I will go back to my darling, my darling,

      When you, my darling, are gone.

      But when Dim fisted him a few times on his filthy drunkard's rot he shut up singing and started to creech: “Go on, do me in, you bastard cowards, I don't want to live anyway, not in a stinking world like this one.” I told Dim to lay off a bit then, because it used to interest me sometimes to slooshy what some of these starry decreps[111]had to say about life and the world. I said: “Oh. And what's stinking about it?” He cried out: “It's a stinking world because it lets the young get on to the old like you done, and there's no law nor order no more.” He was creeching out loud and waving his rookers and making real horrorshow with the slovos: “It's no world for any old man any longer, and that means that I'm not one bit scared of you, my boyos, because I'm too drunk to feel the pain if you hit me, and if you kill me I'll be glad to be dead.” We smecked and then grinned but said nothing, and then he said: “What sort of a world is it at all? Men on the moon and men spinning round, and there's not more attention paid to earthly law nor order no more. So you may do your worst, you filthy cowardly hooligans.” Then he gave us some lip-music – “Prrrrzzzzrrrr” – like we'd done to those young millicents, and then he started singing again:

      Oh dear dear land, I fought for thee[112]

      And brought thee peace and victory —

      So we cracked into him lovely, grinning all over our litsos, but he still went on singing. Then we tripped him so he laid down flat and heavy and a bucketload of beervomit came out. That was disgusting so we gave him the boot[113], one go each, and then it was blood, not song nor vomit, that came out of his filthy old rot. Then we went on our way. It was round by the Municipal Power Plant that we came across Billyboy and his five droogs. Now in those days, my brothers, the teaming up was mostly by fours or fives. Sometimes gangs would gang up so as to make like malenky armies for big night-war, but mostly it was best to roam in these like small numbers. Billyboy was something that made me want to sick just to viddy his fat grinning litso[114], and he always had this von[115] of very stale oil that's been used for frying over and over, even when he was dressed in his best platties, like now. They viddied us just as we viddied them: this would be real, this would be proper, this would be the nozh[116], the oozy[117], the britva[118], not just fisties and boots. Billyboy and his droogs stopped what they were doing, which was just getting ready to perform something on a weepy young devotchka they had there, not more than ten, she creeching away but with her platties still on. Billyboy holding her by one rooker and his number-one, Leo, holding the other. They'd probably just been doing the dirty slovo part of the act before getting down to a malenky bit of ultra-violence. When they viddied us a-coming they let go of this little ptitsa, and she ran with her thin white legs flashing through the dark, still going “Oh oh oh”. I said, smiling very wide and droogie: “ Well, if it isn't fat stinking billygoat

98

слышать

99

кричать караул

100

дикий

101

весовая гиря

102

обчистили кассу

103

носовые платки

104

чистить, стереть

105

звонок

106

шлемы

107

шары, ягодицы

108

пьяница

109

мужчина, мужик

110

кал, испражнения

111

выжившие из ума

112

you

113

мы его попинали

114

лицо

115

вонь, запах

116

нож

117

узы, цепь

118

бритва