«A Clockwork Orange»

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"
"Did he, did he? Of course he did. He'd have to, wouldn't he, being a
Christian? Well, now then," he said, still wiping the same plate he'd been
wiping ten minutes ago, "we shall have a few people in to see you tomorrow.
I think you can be used, poor boy. I think that you can help dislodge this
overbearing Government. To turn a decent young man into a piece of clockwork
should not, surely, be seen as any triumph for any government, save one that
boasts of its repressiveness." He was still wiping this same plate. I said:
"Sir, you're still wiping that same plate, I agree with you, sir, about
boasting. This Government seems to be very boastful."
"Oh," he said, like viddying this plate for the first time and then
putting it down. "I'm still not too handy," he said, "with domestic chores.
My wife used to do them all and leave me to my writing."
"Your wife, sir?" I said. "Has she gone and left you?" I really wanted
to know about his wife, remembering very well.
"Yes, left me," he said, in a like loud and bitter goloss. "She died,
you see. She was brutally raped and beaten. The shock was very great. It was
in this house," his rookers were trembling, holding a wiping-up cloth, "in
that room next door. I have had to steel myself to continue to live here,
but she would have wished me to stay where her fragrant memory still
lingers. Yes yes yes. Poor little girl." I viddied all clearly, my brothers,
what had happened that far-off nochy, and viddying myself on that job, I
began to feel I wanted to sick and the pain started up in my gulliver. This
veck viddied this, because my litso felt it was all drained of red red
krovvy, very pale, and he would be able to viddy this. "You go to bed now,"
he said kindly. "I've got the spare room ready. Poor poor boy, you must have
had a terrible time. A victim of the modern age, just as she was. Poor poor
poor girl."


5



I had a real horrorshow night's sleep, brothers, with no dreams at all,
and the morning was very clear and like frosty, and there was the very
pleasant like von of breakfast frying away down below. It took me some
little time to remember where I was, as it always does, but it soon came
back to me and then I felt like warmed and protected. But, as I laid there
in the bed, waiting to be called down to breakfast, it struck me that I
ought to get to know the name of this kind protecting and like motherly
veck, so I had a pad round in my nagoy nogas looking for `A Clockwork
Orange,' which would be bound to have his eemya in, he being the author.
There was nothing in my bedroom except a bed and a chair and a light, so I
ittied next door to this veck's own room, and there I viddied his wife on
the wall, a bolshy blown-up photo, so I felt a malenky bit sick remembering.