A Clockwork Orange - Burgess, Anthony [57]
“I never forget a shape, by God. I never forget the shape of anything. By God, you young swine, I’ve got you now.” Crystallography, that was it. That was what he’d been taking away from the Biblio that time. False teeth crunched up real hor-rorshow. Platties torn off. His books razrezzed, all about Crystallography. I thought I had best get out of here real skorry, brothers. But this starry old moodge was on his feet,
creeching like bezoomny to all the starry old coughers at the gazettas round the walls and to them dozing over mags at the tables. “We have him,” he creeched. “The poisonous young swine who ruined the books on Crystallography, rare books, books not to be obtained ever again, anywhere.” This had a terrible mad shoom about it, as though this old veck was really off his gulliver. “A prize specimen of the cowardly brutal young,” he creeched. “Here in our midst and at our mercy. He and his friends beat me and kicked me and thumped me. They stripped me and tore out my teeth. They laughed at my blood and my moans. They kicked me off home, dazed and naked.” All this wasn’t quite true, as you know, brothers. He had some platties on, he hadn’t been completely nagoy. I creeched back: “That was over two years ago. I’ve been punished since then. I’ve learned my lesson. See over there -my picture’s in the papers.”
“Punishment, eh?” said one starry like ex-soldier type. “You lot should be exterminated. Like so many noisome pests. Punishment indeed.”
“All right, all right,” I said. “Everybody’s entitled to his opinion. Forgive me, all. I must go now.” And I started to itty out of this mesto of bezoomny old men. Aspirin, that was it. You could snuff it on a hundred aspirin. Aspirin from the old drugstore. But the crystallography veck creeched: “Don’t let him go. We’ll teach him all about punishment, the murderous young pig. Get him.” And, believe it, brothers, or do the other veshch, two or three starry dodderers, about ninety years old apiece, grabbed me with their trembly old rookers, and I was like made sick by the von of old age and disease which came from these near-dead moodges. The crystal veck was on to me now, starting to deal me malenky weak tolchocks on my litso, and I tried to get away and itty out, but these starry rookers that held me were stronger than I had thought. Then other starry vecks came hobbling from the gazettas to have a go at Your Humble Narrator. They were creeching veshches like: “Kill him, stamp on him, murder him, kick his teeth in,” and all that cal, and I could viddy what it was clear enough. It was old age having a go at youth, that’s what it was. But some of them were saying: “Poor old Jack, near killed poor old Jack he did, this is the young swine” and so on, as though it had all happened yesterday. Which to them I suppose it had. There was now like a sea of vonny runny dirty old men trying to get at me with their like feeble rookers and horny old claws, creeching and panting on to me, but our crystal droog was there in front, dealing out tolchock after tolchock. And I daren’t do a solitary single veshch, O my brothers, it being better to be hit at like that than to want to sick and feel that horrible pain, but of course the fact that there was violence going on made me feel that the sickness was peeping round the corner to viddy whether to come out into the open and roar away.
Then an attendant veck came along, a youngish veck,and he creeched: “What goes on here? Stop it at once. This is a reading room.” But nobody took any notice. So the attendant veck said: “Right, I shall phone the police.” So I creeched, and I never thought I would ever do that in all my jeezny: “Yes yes yes, do that, protect me from these old madmen.” I noticed that the attendant veck was not too anxious to join in the dratsing and rescue me from the rage and madness of these starry vecks’ claws; he just scatted off to his like office or wherever the telephone was. Now these old men were panting a lot now, and