«A Clockwork Orange»

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But there were two or three shelves of books there too, and there was, as I
thought there must be, a copy of `A Clockwork Orange,' and on the back of
the book, like on the spine, was the author's eemya--F. Alexander. Good Bog,
I thought, he is another Alex. Then I leafed through, standing in his
pyjamas and bare nogas but not feeling one malenky bit cold, the cottage
being warm all through, and I could not viddy what the book was about. It
seemed written in a very bezoomny like style, full of Ah and Oh and all that
cal, but what seemed to come out of it was that all lewdies nowadays were
being turned into machines and that they were really--you and me and him and
kiss-my-sharries--more like a natural growth like a fruit. F. Alexander
seemed to think that we all like grow on what he called the world-tree in
the world-orchard that like Bog or God planted, and we were there because
Bog or God had need of us to quench his thirsty love, or some such cal. I
didn't like the shoom of this at all, O my brothers, and wondered how
bezoomny this F. Alexander really was, perhaps driven bezoomny by his wife's
snuffing it. But then he called me down in a like sane veck's goloss, full
of joy and love and all that cal, so down Your Humble Narrator went.
"You've slept long," he said, ladling out boiled eggs and pulling black
toast from under the grill. "It's nearly ten already. I've been up hours,
working."
"Writing another book, sir?" I said.
"No no, not that now," he said, and we sat down nice and droogy to the
old crack crack crack of eggs and crackle crunch crunch of this black toast,
very milky chai standing by in bolshy great morning mugs. "No, I've been on
the phone to various people."
"I thought you didn't have a phone," I said, spooning egg in and not
watching out what I was saying.
"Why?" he said, very alert like some skorry animal with an egg-spoon in
its rooker. "Why shouldn't you think I have a phone?"
"Nothing," I said, "nothing, nothing." And I wondered, brothers, how
much he remembered of the earlier part of that distant nochy, me coming to
the door with the old tale and saying to phone the doctor and she saying no
phone. He took a very close smot at me but then went back to being like kind
and cheerful and spooning up the old eggiweg. Munching away, he said:
"Yes, I've rung up various people who will be interested in your case.
You can be a very potent weapon, you see, in ensuring that this present evil
and wicked Government is not returned in the forthcoming election. The
Government's big boast, you see, is the way it has dealt with crime these
last months." He looked at me very close again over his steaming egg, and I
wondered again if he was viddying what part I had so far played in his
jeezny.