«A Clockwork Orange»

Загрузить книгу на мобильный телефон.

But he said: "Recruiting brutal young roughs for the police.
Proposing debilitating and will-sapping techniques of conditioning." All
these long slovos, brothers, and a like mad or bezoomny look in his
glazzies. "We've seen it all before," he said, "in other countries. The thin
end of the wedge. Before we know where we are we shall have the full
apparatus of totalitarianism." "Dear dear dear," I thought, egging away and
toast-crunching. I said:
"Where do I come into all this, sir?"
"You," he said, still with this bezoomny look, "are a living witness to
these diabolical proposals. The people, the common people must know, must
see." He got up from his breakfast and started to walk up and down the
kitchen, from the sink to the like larder, saying very gromky: "Would they
like their sons to become what you, poor victim, have become? Will not the
Government itself now decide what is and what is not crime and pump out the
life and guts and will of whoever sees fit to displeasure the Government? He
became quieter but did not go back to his egg. "I've written an article," he
said, "this morning, while you were sleeping. That will be out in a day or
so, together with your unhappy picture. You shall sign it, poor boy, a
record of what they have done to you." I said:
"And what do you get out of all this, sir? I mean, besides the pretty
polly you'll get for the article, as you call it? I mean, why are you so hot
and strong against this Government, if I may make like so bold as to ask?"
He gripped the edge of the table and said, gritting his zoobies, which
were very cally and all stained with cancer-smoke: "Some of us have to
fight. There are great traditions of liberty to defend. I am no partisan
man. Where I see the infamy I seek to erase it. Party names mean nothing.
The tradition of liberty means all. The common people will let it go, oh
yes. They will sell liberty for a quieter life. That is why they must be
prodded, prodded--" And here, brothers, he picked up a fork and stuck it two
or three razzes into the wall, so that it got all bent. Then he threw it on
the floor. Very kindly he said: "Eat well, poor boy, poor victim of the
modern world," and I could viddy quite clear he was going off his gulliver.
"Eat, eat. Eat my egg as well." But I said:
"And what do I get out of this? Do I get cured of the way I am? Do I
find myself able to slooshy the old Choral Symphony without being sick once
more? Can I live like a normal jeezny again? What, sir, happens to me?"
He looked at me, brothers, as if he hadn't thought of that before and,
anyway, it didn't matter compared with Liberty and all that cal, and he had
a look of surprise at me saying what I said, as though I was being like
selfish in wanting something for myself.