at the door. "Ah," he creeched, coming out wiping his rookers, "it will be
these people. I'll go." So he went and let them in, a kind of rumbling
hahaha of talk and hallo and filthy weather and how are things in the
hallway, then they ittied into the room with the fire and the book and the
article about how I had suffered, viddying me and going Aaaaah as they did
it. There were three lewdies, and F. Alex gave me their eemyas. Z.Dolin was
a very wheezy smoky kind of a veck, coughing kashl kashl kashl with the end
of a cancer in his rot, spilling ash all down his platties and then brushing
it away with like very impatient rookers. He was a malenky round veck, fat,
with big thick-framed otchkies on. Then there was Something Something
Rubinstein, a very tall and polite chelloveck with a real gentleman's
goloss, very starry with a like eggy beard. And lastly there was D. B. da
Silva who was like skorry in his movements and had this strong von of scent
coming from him. They all had a real horrorshow look at me and seemed like
overjoyed with what they viddied. Z. Dolin said:
"All right, all right, eh? What a superb device he can be, this boy. If
anything, of course, he could for preference look even iller and more
zombyish than he does. Anything for the cause. No doubt we can think of
something."
I did not like that crack about zombyish, brothers, and so I said:
"What goes on, bratties? What dost thou in mind for thy little droog have?"
And the F. Alexander swooshed in with:
"Strange, strange, that manner of voice pricks me. We've come into
contact before, I'm sure we have." And he brooded, like frowning. I would
have to watch this, O my brothers. D. B. da Silva said:
"Public meetings, mainly. To exhibit you at public meetings will be a
tremendous help. And, of course, the newspaper angle is all tied up. A
ruined life is the approach. We must inflame all hearts." He showed his
thirty-odd zoobies, very white against his dark-coloured litso, he looking a
malenky bit like some foreigner. I said:
"Nobody will tell me what I get out of all this. Tortured in jail,
thrown out of my home by my own parents and their filthy overbearing lodger,
beaten by old men and near-killed by the millicents--what is to become of
me?" The Rubinstein veck came in with:
"You will see, boy, that the Party will not be ungrateful. Oh, no. At
the end of it all there will be some very acceptable little surprise for
you. Just you wait and see."
"There's only one veshch I require," I creeched out, "and that's to be
normal and healthy as I was in the starry days, having my malenky bit of fun
with real droogs and not those who just call themselves that and are really
more like traitors. Can you do that, eh? Can any veck restore me to what I
was? That's what I want and that's what I want to know."
Kashl kashl kashl, coughed this Z. Dolin. "A martyr to the cause of
Liberty." he said. "You have your part to play and don't forget it.
Meanwhile, we shall look after you." And he began to stroke my left rooker
as if I was like an idiot, grinning in a bezoomny way. I creeched:
"Stop treating me like a thing that's like got to be just used. I'm not
an idiot you can impose on, you stupid bratchnies. Ordinary prestoopnicks
are stupid, but I'm not ordinary and nor am I dim. Do you slooshy?"
"Dim," said F. Alexander, like musing. "Dim. That was a name somewhere.
Dim."
"Eh?" I said. "What's Dim got to do with it? What do you know about
Dim?" And then I said: "Oh, Bog help us." I didn't like the look in F.
Alexander's glazzies. I made for the door, wanting to go upstairs and get my
platties and then itty off.
"I could almost believe," said F. Alexander, showing his stained
zoobies, his glazzies mad. "But such things are impossible. For, by Christ,
if he were I'd tear him. I'd split him, by God, yes yes, so I would."
"There," said D. B. da Silva, stroking his chest like he was a doggie
to calm him down. "It's all in the past. It was other people altogether. We
must help this poor victim. That's what we must do now, remembering the
Future and our Cause."
"I'll just get my platties," I said, at the stair-foot, "that is to say
clothes, and then I'll be ittying off all on my oddy knocky. I mean, my
gratitude for all, but I have my own jeezny to live." Because, brothers, I
wanted to get out of here real skorry. But Z. Dolin said:
"Ah, no. We have you, friend, and we keep you. You come with us.
Everything will be all right, you'll see." And he came up to me like to grab
hold of my rooker again. Then, brothers, I thought of fight, but thinking of
fight made me like want to collapse and sick, so I just stood. And then I
saw this like madness in F. Alexander's glazzies and said:
"Whatever you say. I am in your rookers. But let's get it started and
all over, brothers." Because what I wanted now was to get out of this mesto
called HOME. I was beginning not to like the look of the glazzies of F.
Alexander one malenky bit.
"Good," said this Rubinstein. "Get dressed and let's get started."
"Dim dim dim," F. Alexander kept saying in a like low mutter. "What or
who was this Dim?" I ittied upstairs real skorry and dressed in near two
seconds flat. Then I was out with these three and into an auto, Rubinstein
one side of me and Z. Dolin coughing kashl kashl kashl the other side. D. B.
da Silva doing the driving, into the town and to a flatblock not really all
that distant from what had used to be my own flatblock or home. "Come, boy,
out," said Z. Dolin, coughing to make the cancer-end in his rot glow red
like some malenky furnace. "This is where you shall be installed." So we
ittied in, and there was like another of these Dignity of Labour veshches on
the wall of the vestibule, and we upped in the lift, brothers, and then went
into a flat like all the flats of all the flatblocks of the town. Very very
malenky, with two bedrooms and one live-eat-work-room, the table of this all
covered with books and papers and ink and bottles and all that cal. "Here is
your new home," said D. B. da Silva. "Settle here, boy. Food is in the
food-cupboard. Pyjamas are in a drawer. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit."
"Eh?" I said, not quite ponying that.
"All right," said Rubinstein, with his starry goloss. "We are now
leaving you. Work has to be done. We'll be with you later. Occupy yourself
as best you can."
"One thing," coughed Z. Dolin kashl kashl kashl. "You saw what stirred
in the tortured memory of our friend F. Alexander. Was it, by chance--? That
is to say, did you--? I think you know what I mean. We won't let it go any
further."
"I've paid," I said. "Bog knows I've paid for what I did. I've paid not
only for like myself but for those bratchnies too that called themselves my
droogs." I felt violent so then I felt a bit sick. "I'll lay down a bit," I
said. "I've been through terrible terrible times."
"You have," said D. B. da Silva, showing all his thirty zoobies. "You
do that."
So they left me, brothers. They ittied off about their business, which
I took to be about politics and all that cal, and I was on the bed, all on
my oddy knocky with everything very very quiet. I just laid there with my
sabogs kicked off my nogas and my tie loose, like all bewildered and not
knowing what sort of a jeezny I was going to live now. And all sorts of like
pictures kept like passing through my gulliver, of the different chellovecks
I'd met at school and in the Staja, and the different veshches that had
happened to me, and how there was not one veck you could trust in the whole
bolshy world. And then I like dozed off, brothers.
When I woke up I could hear slooshy music coming out of the wall, real
gromky, and it was that that had dragged me out of my bit of like sleep. It
was a symphony that I knew real horrorshow but had not slooshied for many a
year, namely the Symphony Number Three of the Danish veck Otto Skadelig, a
very gromky and violent piece, especially in the first movement, which was
what was playing now. I slooshied for two seconds in like interest and joy,
but then it all came over me, the start of the pain and the sickness, and I
began to groan deep down in my keeshkas. And then there I was, me who had
loved music so much, crawling off the bed and going oh oh oh to myself and
then bang bang banging on the wall creching: "Stop, stop it, turn it off!"
But it went on and it seemed to be like louder. So I crashed at the wall
till my knuckles were all red red krovvy and torn skin, creeching and
creeching, but the music did not stop. Then I thought I had to get away from
it, so I lurched out of the malenky bedroom and ittied skorry to the front
door of the flat, but this had been locked from the outside and I could not
get out. And all the time the music got more and more gromky, like it was
all a deliberate torture, O my brothers. So I stuck my little fingers real
deep in my ookos, but the trombones and kettledrums blasted through gromky
enough. So I creeched again for them to stop and went hammer hammer hammer
on the wall, but it made not one malenky bit of difference. "Oh, what am I
to do?" I boohooed to myself. "Oh, Bog in Heaven help me." I was like
wandering all over the flat in pain and sickness, trying to shut out the
music and like groaning deep out of my guts, and then on top of the pile of
books and papers and all that cal that was on the tablein the living room I
viddied what I had to do and what I had wanted to do until those old men in
the Public Biblio and then Dim and Billyboy disguised as rozzes stopped me,
and that was to do myself in, to snuff it, to blast off for ever out of this
wicked and cruel world. What I viddied was the slovo DEATH on the cover of a
like pamphlet, even though it was only DEATH to THE GOVERNMENT. And like it
was Fate there was another malenky booklet which had an open window on the
cover, and it said:
"Open the window to fresh air, fresh ideas, a new way of living." And
so I knew that was like telling me to finish it all off by jumping out. One
moment of pain, perhaps, and then sleep for ever and ever and ever.
The music was still pouring in all brass and drums and the violins
miles up through the wall. The window in the room where I had laid down was
open. I ittied to it and viddied a fair drop to the autos and buses and
waiting chellovecks below. I creeched out to the world: "Good-bye, good-bye,
may Bog forgive you for a ruined life." Then I got on to the sill, the music
blasting away to my left, and I shut my glazzies and felt the cold wind on
my litso, then I jumped.
I jumped, O my brothers, and I fell on the sidewalk hard, but I did not
snuff it, oh no. If I had snuffed it I would not be here to write what I
written have. It seems that the jump was not from a big enough heighth to
kill. But I cracked my back and my wrists and nogas and felt very bolshy
pain before I passed out, brothers, with astonished and surprised litsos of
chellovecks in the streets looking at me from above. And just before I
passed out I viddied clear that not one chelloveck in the whole horrid world
was for me and that that music through the wall had all been like arranged
by those who were supposed to be my like new droogs and that it was some
veshch like this that they wanted for their horrible selfish and boastful
politics. All that was in like a million millionth part of one minoota
before I threw over the world and the sky and the litsos of the staring
chellovecks that were above me.
Where I was when I came back to jeezny after a long black black gap of
it might have been a million years was a hospital, all white and with this
von of hospitals you get, all like sour and smug and clean. These antiseptic
veshches you get in hospitals should have a real horrorshow von of like
frying onions or of flowers. I came very slow back to knowing who I was and
I was all bound up in white and I could not feel anything in my plott, pain
nor sensation nor any veshch at all. All round my gulliver was a bandage and
there were bits of stuff like stuck to my litso, and my rookers were all in
bandages and like bits of stick were like fixed to my fingers like on it
might be flowers to make them grow straight, and my poor old nogas were all
straightened out too, and it was all bandages and wire cages and into my
right rooker, near the pletcho, was red red krovvy dripping from a jar
upside down. But I could not feel anything, O my brothers. There was a nurse
sitting by my bed and she was reading some book that was all very dim print
and you could viddy it was a story because of a lot of inverted commas, and
she was like breathing hard uh uh uh over it, so it must have been a story
about the old in-out in-out. She was a real horrorshow devotchka, this
nurse, with a very red rot and like long lashes over her glazzies, and under
her like very stiff uniform you could viddy she had very horrorshow
groodies. So I said to her: "What gives, O my little sister? Come thou and
have a nice lay-down with your malenky droog in this bed." But the slovos
didn't come out horrorshow at all, it being as though my rot was all
stiffened up, and I could feel with my yahzick that some of my zoobies were
no longer there. But this nurse like jumped and dropped her book on the
floor and said:
"Oh, you've recovered consciousness."
That was like a big rotful for a malenky ptitsa like her, and I tried
to say so, but the slovos came out only like er er er. She ittied off and
left me on my oddy knocky, and I could viddy now that I was in a malenky
room of my own, not in one of these long wards like I had been in as a very
little malchick, full of coughing dying starry vecks all around to make you
want to get well and fit again. It had been like diphtheria I had had then,
O my brothers.
It was like now as though I could not hold to being conscious all that
long, because I was like asleep again almost right away, very skorry, but in
a minoota or two I was sure that this nurse ptitsa had come back and had
brought chellovecks in white coats with her and they were viddying me very
frowning and going hm hm hm at Your Humble Narrator. And with them I was
sure there was the old charles from the Staja govoreeting: "Oh my son, my
son," breathing a like very stale von of whisky on to me and then saying:
"But I would not stay, oh no. I could not in no wise subscribe to what those
bratchnies are going to do to other poor prestoopnicks. O I got out and am
preaching sermons now about it all, my little beloved son in J. C."
I woke up again later on and who should I viddy there round the bed but
the three from whose flat I had jumped out, namely D. B. da Silva and
Something Something Rubinstein and Z. Dolin. "Friend," one of these vecks
was saying, but I could not viddy, or slooshy horrorshow which one, "friend,
little friend," this goloss was saying, "the people are on fire with
indignation. You have killed those horrible boastful villains' chances of
re-election. They will go and will go for ever and ever. You have served
Liberty well." I tried to say:
"If I had died it would have been even better for you political
bratchnies, would it not, pretending and treacherous droogs as you are." But
all that came out was er er er. Then one of these three seemed to hold out a
lot of bits cut from gazettas and what I could viddy was a horrible picture
of me all krovvy on a stretcher being carried off and I seemed to like
remember a kind of a popping of lights which must have been photographer
vecks. Out of one glazz I could read like headlines which were sort of
trembling in the rooker of the chelloveck that held them, like BOY VICTIM OF
CRIMINAL REFORM SCHEME and GOVERNMENT AS MURDERER and there was like a
picture of a veck that looked familiar to me and it said OUT OUT OUT, and
that would be the Minister of the Inferior or Interior. Then the nurse
ptitsa said:
"You shouldn't be exciting him like that. You shouldn't be doing
anything that will make him upset. Now come on, let's have you out." I tried
to say:
"Out out out," but it was er er er again. Anyway, these three political
vecks went. And I went, too, only back to the land, back to all blackness
lit up by like odd dreams which I didn't know whether they were dreams or
not, O my brothers. Like for instance I had this idea of my whole plott or
body being like emptied of as it might be dirty water and then filled up
again with clean. And then there were really lovely and horrorshow dreams of
being in some veck's auto that had been crasted by me and driving up and
down the world all on my oddy knocky running lewdies down and hearing them
creech they were dying, and in me no pain and no sickness. And also there
were dreams of doing the old in-out in-out with devotchkas, forcing like
them down on the ground and making them have it and everybody standing
around claping their rookers and cheering like bezoomny. And then I woke up
again and it was my pee and em come to viddy their ill son, my em boohooing
real horrorshow. I could govoreet a lot better now and could say: "Well well
well well well, what gives? What makes you think you are like welcome?" My
papapa said, in a like ashamed way:
"You were in the papers, son. It said they had done great wrong to you.
It said how the Government drove you to try and do yourself in. And it was
our fault too, in a way, son. Your home's your home, when all's said and
done, son." And my mum kept on going boohoohoo and looking ugly as
kiss-my-sharries. So I said:
"And how beeth the new son Joe? Well and healthy and prosperous, I
trust and pray?" My mum said:
"Oh, Alex Alex. Owwwwwwww." My papapa said:
"A very awkward thing, son. He got into a bit of trouble with the
police and was done by the police."
"Really?" I said. "Really? Such a good sort of chelloveck and all.
Amazed proper I am, honest."
"Minding his own business he was," said my pee. "And the police told
him to move on. Waiting at a corner he was, son, to see a girl he was going
to meet. And they told him to move on and he said he had rights like
everybody else, and then they sort of fell on top of him and hit him about
cruel."
"Terrible," I said. "Really terrible. And where is the poor boy now?"
"Owwwww," boohooed my mum. "Gone back owwwwwwme."
"Yes," said dad. "He's gone back to his own home town to get better.
They've had to give his job here to somebody else."
"So now," I said, "You're willing for me to move back in again and
things be like they were before."
"Yes, son," said my papapa. "Please, son."
"I'll consider it," I said. "I'll think about it real careful."
"Owwwww," went my mum.
"Ah, shut it," I said, "or I'll give you something proper to yowl and
creech about. Kick your zoobies in I will." And, O my brothers, saying that
made me feel a malenky bit better, as if all like fresh red red krovvy was
flowing all through my plott. That was something I had to think about. It
was like as though to get better I had had to get worse.
"That's no way to speak to your mother, son," said my papapa. "After
all, she brought you into the world."
"Yes," I said. "And a right grahzny vonny world too." I shut my
glazzies tight in like pain and said: "Go away now. I'll think about coming
back. But things will have to be very different."
"Yes, son," said my pee. "Anything you say."
"You'll have to make up your mind," I said, "who's to be boss."
"Owwwwww," my mum went on.
"Very good, son," said my papapa. "Things will be as you like. Only get
well."
When they had gone I laid and thought a bit about different veshches,
like all different pictures passing through my gulliver, and when the nurse
ptitsa came back in and like straightened the sheets on the bed I said to
her:
"How long is it I've been in here?"
"A week or so," she said.
"And what have they been doing to me?"
"Well," she said, "you were all broken up and bruised and had sustained
severe concussion and had lost a lot of blood. They've had to put all that
right, haven't they?"
"But," I said, "has anyone been doing anything with my gulliver? What I
mean is, have they been playing around with inside like my brain?"
"Whatever they've done," she said, "it'll all be for the best."
But a couple of days later a couple of like doctor vecks came in, both
youngish vecks with these very sladky smiles, and they had like a picture
book with them. One of them said:
"We want you to have a look at these and to tell us what you think
about them. All right?"
"What giveth, O little droogies?" I said. "What new bezoomny idea dost
thou in mind have?" So they both had a like embarrassed smeck at that and
then they sat down either side of the bed and opened up this book. On the
first page there was like a photograph of a bird-nest full of eggs.
"Yes?" one of these doctor vecks said.
"A bird-nest," I said, "full of like eggs. Very very nice."
"And what would you like to do about it?" the other one said.
"Oh," I said, "smash them. Pick up the lot and like throw them against
a wall or a cliff or something and then viddy them all smash up real
horrorshow."
"Good good," they both said, and then the page was turned. It was like
a picture of one of these bolshy great birds called peacocks with all its
tail spread out in all colours in a very boastful way. "Yes?" said one of
these vecks.
"I would like," I said, "to pull out like all those feathers in its
tail and slooshy it creech blue murder. For being so like boastful."
"Good," they both said, "good good good." And they went on turning the
pages. There were like pictures of real horrorshow devotchkas, and I said I
would like to give them the old in-out in-out with lots of ultra-violence.
There were like pictures of chellovecks being given the boot straight in the
litso and all red red krovvy everywhere and I said I would like to be in on
that. And there was a picture of the old nagoy droog of the prison charlie's
carrying his cross up a hill, and I said I would like to have the old hammer
and nails. Good good good, I said:
"What is all this?"
"Deep hypnopaedia," or some such slovo, said one of these two vecks.
"You seem to be cured."
"Cured?" I said. "Me tied down to this bed like this and you say cured?
Kiss my sharries is what I say."
So I waited and, O my brothers, I got a lot better, munching away at
eggiwegs and lomticks of toast and peeting bolshy great mugs of milky chai,
and then one day they said I was going to have a very very very special
visitor.
"Who?" I said, while they straightened the bed and combed my luscious
glory for me, me having the bandage off now from my gulliver and the hair
growing again.
"You'll see, you'll see," they said. And I viddied all right. At
two-thirty of the afternoon there were like all photographers and men from
gazettas with noteboks and pencils and all that cal. And, brothers, they
near trumpeted a bolshy fanfare for this great and important veck who was
coming to viddy Your Humble Narrator. And in he came, and of course it was
none other than the Minister of the Interior or Inferior, dressed in the
heighth of fashion and with this very upper-class haw haw goloss. Flash
flash bang went the cameras when he put out his rooker to me to shake it. I
said:
"Well well well well well. What giveth then, old droogie?"
Nobody seemed to quite pony that, but somebody said in a like harsh
goloss:
"Be more respectful, boy, in addressing the Minister."
"Yarbles," I said, like snarling like a doggie. "Bolshy great
yarblockos to thee and thine."
"All right, all right," said the Interior Inferior one very skorry. "He
speaks to me as a friend, don't you, son?"
"I am everyone's friend," I said. "Except to my enemies."
"Well," said the Int Inf Min, sitting down by my bed. "I and the
Government of which I am a member want you to regard us as friends. Yes,
friends. We have put you right, yes? You are getting the best of treatment.
We never wished you harm, but there are some who did and do. And I think you
know who those are."
"Yes yes yes," he said. "There are certain men who wanted to use you,
yes, use you for political ends. They would have been glad, yes, glad for
you to be dead, for they thought they could then blame it all on the
Government. I think you know who those men are."
"There is a man," said the Intinfmin, "called F. Alexander, a writer of
subversive literature, who has been howling for your blood. He has been mad
with desire to stick a knife in you. But you're safe from him now. We put
him away."
"He was supposed to be like a droogie," I said. "Like a mother to me
was what he was."
"He found out that you had done wrong to him. At least," said the Min
very very skorry, "he believed you had done wrong. He formed this idea in
his mind that you had been responsible for the death of someone near and
dear to him."
"What you mean," I said, "is that he was told."
"He had this idea," said the Min. "He was a menace. We put him away for
his own protection. And also," he said, "for yours."
"Kind," I said. "Most kind of thou."
"When you leave here," said the Min, "you will have no worries. We
shall see to everything. A good job on a good salary. Because you are
helping us."
"Am I?" I said.
"We always help our friends, don't we?" And then he took my rooker and
some veck creeched: "Smile!" and I smiled like bezoomny without thinking,
and then flash flash crack flash bang there were pictures being taken of me
and the Intinfmin all droogy together. "Good boy," said this great
chelloveck.
"Good good boy. And now, see, a present."
What was brought in now, brothers, was a big shiny box, and I viddied
clear what sort of a veshch it was. It was a stereo. It was put down next to
the bed and opened up and some veck plugged its lead into the wall-socket.
"What shall it be?" asked a veck with otchkies on his nose, and he had in
his rookers lovely shiny sleeves full of music. "Mozart? Beethoven?
Schoenberg? Carl Orff?"
"The Ninth," I said. "The glorious Ninth."
And the Ninth it was, O my brothers. Everybody began to leave nice and
quiet while I laid there with my glazzies closed, slooshying the lovely
music. The Min said: "Good good boy," patting me on the pletcho, then he
ittied off. Only one veck was left, saying: "Sign here, please." I opened my
glazzies up to sign, not knowing what I was signing and not, O my brothers,
caring either. Then I was left alone with the glorious Ninth of Ludwig van.
Oh it was gorgeosity and yumyumyum. When it came to the Scherzo I could
viddy myself very clear running and running on like very light and
mysterious nogas, carving the whole litso of the creeching world with my
cut-throat britva. And there was the slow movement and the lovely last
singing movement still to come. I was cured all right.
Words that do not appear to be of Russian origin are distinguished by
asterisks. (For help with the Russian, I am indebted to the kindness of my
colleague Nora Montesinos and a number of correspondents.)
*appy polly loggy--apology
baboochka--old woman
*baddiwad--bad
banda--band
bezoomny--mad
biblio--library
bitva--battle
Bog--God
bolnoy--sick
bolshy--big, great
brat, bratty--brother
bratchny--bastard
britva--razor
brooko--belly
brosay--to throw
bugatty--rich
cal--feces
*cancer--cigarette
cantora--office
carman--pocket
chai--tea
*charles, charlie--chaplain
chasha--cup
chasso--guard
cheena--woman
cheest--to wash
chelloveck--person, man, fellow
chepooka--nonsense
choodesny--wonderful
*chumble--to mumble
clop--to knock
cluve--beak
collocoll--bell
*crack--to break up or `bust'
*crark--to yowl?
crast--to steal or rob; robbery
creech--to shout or scream
*cutter--money
dama--lady
ded--old man
deng--money
devotchka--girl
dobby--good
*dook--trace, ghost
domy--house
dorogoy--dear, valuable
dratsing--fighting
*drencrom--drug
droog--friend
*dung--to defecate
dva--two
eegra--game
eemya--name
*eggiweg--egg
*filly--to play or fool with
*firegold--drink
*fist--to punch
*flip--wild?
forella - `trout'
gazetta--newspaper
glazz--eye
gloopy--stupid
*golly--unit of money
goloss--voice
goober--lip
gooly--to walk
gorlo--throat
govoreet--to speak or talk
grahzny--dirty
grazzy--soiled
gromky--loud
groody--breast
gruppa--group
*guff--guffaw
gulliver--head
*guttiwuts--guts
*hen-korm--chickenfeed
*horn--to cry out
horrorshow--good, well
*in-out in-out--copulation
interessovat--to interest
itty--to go
*jammiwam--jam
jeezny--life
kartoffel--potato
keeshkas--guts
kleb--bread
klootch--key
knopka--button
kopat--to `dig'
koshka--cat
kot--tomcat
krovvy--blood
kupet--to buy
lapa--paw
lewdies--people
*lighter--crone?
litso--face
lomtick, piece, bit
loveted--caught
lubbilubbing--making love
*luscious glory--hair
malchick--boy
malenky--little, tiny
maslo--butter
merzky--filthy
messel--thought, fancy
mesto--place
millicent--policeman
minoota--minute
molodoy--young
moloko--milk
moodge--man
morder--snout
*mounch--snack
mozg--brain
nachinat--to begin
nadmenny--arrogant
nadsat--teenage
nagoy--naked
*nazz--fool
neezhnies--underpants
nochy--night
noga--foot, leg
nozh--knife
nuking--smelling
oddy knocky--lonesome
odin--one
okno--window
oobivat--to kill
ookadeet--to leave
ooko--ear
oomny--brainy
oozhassny--terrible
oozy--chain
osoosh--to wipe
otchkies--eyeglasses
*pan-handle--erection
*pee and em--parents
peet--to drink
pishcha--food
platch--to cry
platties--clothes
pletcho--shoulder
plenny--prisoner
plesk--splash
*plosh--to splash
plott--body
podooshka--pillow
pol--sex
polezny--useful
*polyclef--skeleton key
pony--to understand
poogly--frightened
pooshka - `cannon'
prestoopnick--criminal
privodeet--to lead somewhere
smeck--laugh
*pretty polly--money
prod--to produce
ptitsa - `chick'
pyahnitsa--drunk
rabbit--work, job
radosty--joy
raskazz--story
rassoodock--mind
raz--time
razdraz--upset
razrez--to rip, ripping
rook, rooker--hand, arm
rot--mouth
rozz--policeman
sabog--shoe
sakar--sugar
sammy--generous
*sarky--sarcastic
scoteena - `cow'
shaika--gang
*sharp--female
sharries--buttocks
shest--barrier
*shilarny--concern
*shive--slice
shiyah--neck
shlem--helmet
*shlaga--club
shlapa--hat
shoom - noise
shoot--fool
*sinny--cinema
skazat--to say
*skolliwoll--school
skorry--quick, quickly
*skriking--scratching
skvat--to grab
sladky--sweet
sloochat--to happen
sloosh, slooshy--to hear, to listen
slovo--word
smot--to look
sneety--dream
*snoutie--tobacco?
*snuff it--to die
sobirat--to pick up
*sod--to fornicate, fornicator
soomka - `bag'
soviet--advice, order
spat--to sleep
*splodge, splosh--splash
*spoogy--terrified
*Staja--State Jail
starry--ancient
strack--horror
*synthemesc--drug
tally--waist
*tashtook--handkerchief
*tass--cup
tolchock--to hit or push; blow, beating
toofles--slippers
tree--three
vareet--to `cook up'
*vaysay--washroom
veck--(see chelloveck)
*vellocet--drug
veshch--thing
viddy--to see or look
voloss--hair
von--smell
vred--to harm or damage
yahma--hole
*yahoodies--Jews
yahzick--tongue
*yarbles--testicles
yeckate--to drive
*warble--song
zammechat--remarkable
zasnoot--sleep
zheena--wife
zoobies--teeth
zvonock--bellpull
zvook--sound
Библиотека "Артефакт"--http://artefact.cns.ru/library/
these people. I'll go." So he went and let them in, a kind of rumbling
hahaha of talk and hallo and filthy weather and how are things in the
hallway, then they ittied into the room with the fire and the book and the
article about how I had suffered, viddying me and going Aaaaah as they did
it. There were three lewdies, and F. Alex gave me their eemyas. Z.Dolin was
a very wheezy smoky kind of a veck, coughing kashl kashl kashl with the end
of a cancer in his rot, spilling ash all down his platties and then brushing
it away with like very impatient rookers. He was a malenky round veck, fat,
with big thick-framed otchkies on. Then there was Something Something
Rubinstein, a very tall and polite chelloveck with a real gentleman's
goloss, very starry with a like eggy beard. And lastly there was D. B. da
Silva who was like skorry in his movements and had this strong von of scent
coming from him. They all had a real horrorshow look at me and seemed like
overjoyed with what they viddied. Z. Dolin said:
"All right, all right, eh? What a superb device he can be, this boy. If
anything, of course, he could for preference look even iller and more
zombyish than he does. Anything for the cause. No doubt we can think of
something."
I did not like that crack about zombyish, brothers, and so I said:
"What goes on, bratties? What dost thou in mind for thy little droog have?"
And the F. Alexander swooshed in with:
"Strange, strange, that manner of voice pricks me. We've come into
contact before, I'm sure we have." And he brooded, like frowning. I would
have to watch this, O my brothers. D. B. da Silva said:
"Public meetings, mainly. To exhibit you at public meetings will be a
tremendous help. And, of course, the newspaper angle is all tied up. A
ruined life is the approach. We must inflame all hearts." He showed his
thirty-odd zoobies, very white against his dark-coloured litso, he looking a
malenky bit like some foreigner. I said:
"Nobody will tell me what I get out of all this. Tortured in jail,
thrown out of my home by my own parents and their filthy overbearing lodger,
beaten by old men and near-killed by the millicents--what is to become of
me?" The Rubinstein veck came in with:
"You will see, boy, that the Party will not be ungrateful. Oh, no. At
the end of it all there will be some very acceptable little surprise for
you. Just you wait and see."
"There's only one veshch I require," I creeched out, "and that's to be
normal and healthy as I was in the starry days, having my malenky bit of fun
with real droogs and not those who just call themselves that and are really
more like traitors. Can you do that, eh? Can any veck restore me to what I
was? That's what I want and that's what I want to know."
Kashl kashl kashl, coughed this Z. Dolin. "A martyr to the cause of
Liberty." he said. "You have your part to play and don't forget it.
Meanwhile, we shall look after you." And he began to stroke my left rooker
as if I was like an idiot, grinning in a bezoomny way. I creeched:
"Stop treating me like a thing that's like got to be just used. I'm not
an idiot you can impose on, you stupid bratchnies. Ordinary prestoopnicks
are stupid, but I'm not ordinary and nor am I dim. Do you slooshy?"
"Dim," said F. Alexander, like musing. "Dim. That was a name somewhere.
Dim."
"Eh?" I said. "What's Dim got to do with it? What do you know about
Dim?" And then I said: "Oh, Bog help us." I didn't like the look in F.
Alexander's glazzies. I made for the door, wanting to go upstairs and get my
platties and then itty off.
"I could almost believe," said F. Alexander, showing his stained
zoobies, his glazzies mad. "But such things are impossible. For, by Christ,
if he were I'd tear him. I'd split him, by God, yes yes, so I would."
"There," said D. B. da Silva, stroking his chest like he was a doggie
to calm him down. "It's all in the past. It was other people altogether. We
must help this poor victim. That's what we must do now, remembering the
Future and our Cause."
"I'll just get my platties," I said, at the stair-foot, "that is to say
clothes, and then I'll be ittying off all on my oddy knocky. I mean, my
gratitude for all, but I have my own jeezny to live." Because, brothers, I
wanted to get out of here real skorry. But Z. Dolin said:
"Ah, no. We have you, friend, and we keep you. You come with us.
Everything will be all right, you'll see." And he came up to me like to grab
hold of my rooker again. Then, brothers, I thought of fight, but thinking of
fight made me like want to collapse and sick, so I just stood. And then I
saw this like madness in F. Alexander's glazzies and said:
"Whatever you say. I am in your rookers. But let's get it started and
all over, brothers." Because what I wanted now was to get out of this mesto
called HOME. I was beginning not to like the look of the glazzies of F.
Alexander one malenky bit.
"Good," said this Rubinstein. "Get dressed and let's get started."
"Dim dim dim," F. Alexander kept saying in a like low mutter. "What or
who was this Dim?" I ittied upstairs real skorry and dressed in near two
seconds flat. Then I was out with these three and into an auto, Rubinstein
one side of me and Z. Dolin coughing kashl kashl kashl the other side. D. B.
da Silva doing the driving, into the town and to a flatblock not really all
that distant from what had used to be my own flatblock or home. "Come, boy,
out," said Z. Dolin, coughing to make the cancer-end in his rot glow red
like some malenky furnace. "This is where you shall be installed." So we
ittied in, and there was like another of these Dignity of Labour veshches on
the wall of the vestibule, and we upped in the lift, brothers, and then went
into a flat like all the flats of all the flatblocks of the town. Very very
malenky, with two bedrooms and one live-eat-work-room, the table of this all
covered with books and papers and ink and bottles and all that cal. "Here is
your new home," said D. B. da Silva. "Settle here, boy. Food is in the
food-cupboard. Pyjamas are in a drawer. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit."
"Eh?" I said, not quite ponying that.
"All right," said Rubinstein, with his starry goloss. "We are now
leaving you. Work has to be done. We'll be with you later. Occupy yourself
as best you can."
"One thing," coughed Z. Dolin kashl kashl kashl. "You saw what stirred
in the tortured memory of our friend F. Alexander. Was it, by chance--? That
is to say, did you--? I think you know what I mean. We won't let it go any
further."
"I've paid," I said. "Bog knows I've paid for what I did. I've paid not
only for like myself but for those bratchnies too that called themselves my
droogs." I felt violent so then I felt a bit sick. "I'll lay down a bit," I
said. "I've been through terrible terrible times."
"You have," said D. B. da Silva, showing all his thirty zoobies. "You
do that."
So they left me, brothers. They ittied off about their business, which
I took to be about politics and all that cal, and I was on the bed, all on
my oddy knocky with everything very very quiet. I just laid there with my
sabogs kicked off my nogas and my tie loose, like all bewildered and not
knowing what sort of a jeezny I was going to live now. And all sorts of like
pictures kept like passing through my gulliver, of the different chellovecks
I'd met at school and in the Staja, and the different veshches that had
happened to me, and how there was not one veck you could trust in the whole
bolshy world. And then I like dozed off, brothers.
When I woke up I could hear slooshy music coming out of the wall, real
gromky, and it was that that had dragged me out of my bit of like sleep. It
was a symphony that I knew real horrorshow but had not slooshied for many a
year, namely the Symphony Number Three of the Danish veck Otto Skadelig, a
very gromky and violent piece, especially in the first movement, which was
what was playing now. I slooshied for two seconds in like interest and joy,
but then it all came over me, the start of the pain and the sickness, and I
began to groan deep down in my keeshkas. And then there I was, me who had
loved music so much, crawling off the bed and going oh oh oh to myself and
then bang bang banging on the wall creching: "Stop, stop it, turn it off!"
But it went on and it seemed to be like louder. So I crashed at the wall
till my knuckles were all red red krovvy and torn skin, creeching and
creeching, but the music did not stop. Then I thought I had to get away from
it, so I lurched out of the malenky bedroom and ittied skorry to the front
door of the flat, but this had been locked from the outside and I could not
get out. And all the time the music got more and more gromky, like it was
all a deliberate torture, O my brothers. So I stuck my little fingers real
deep in my ookos, but the trombones and kettledrums blasted through gromky
enough. So I creeched again for them to stop and went hammer hammer hammer
on the wall, but it made not one malenky bit of difference. "Oh, what am I
to do?" I boohooed to myself. "Oh, Bog in Heaven help me." I was like
wandering all over the flat in pain and sickness, trying to shut out the
music and like groaning deep out of my guts, and then on top of the pile of
books and papers and all that cal that was on the tablein the living room I
viddied what I had to do and what I had wanted to do until those old men in
the Public Biblio and then Dim and Billyboy disguised as rozzes stopped me,
and that was to do myself in, to snuff it, to blast off for ever out of this
wicked and cruel world. What I viddied was the slovo DEATH on the cover of a
like pamphlet, even though it was only DEATH to THE GOVERNMENT. And like it
was Fate there was another malenky booklet which had an open window on the
cover, and it said:
"Open the window to fresh air, fresh ideas, a new way of living." And
so I knew that was like telling me to finish it all off by jumping out. One
moment of pain, perhaps, and then sleep for ever and ever and ever.
The music was still pouring in all brass and drums and the violins
miles up through the wall. The window in the room where I had laid down was
open. I ittied to it and viddied a fair drop to the autos and buses and
waiting chellovecks below. I creeched out to the world: "Good-bye, good-bye,
may Bog forgive you for a ruined life." Then I got on to the sill, the music
blasting away to my left, and I shut my glazzies and felt the cold wind on
my litso, then I jumped.
I jumped, O my brothers, and I fell on the sidewalk hard, but I did not
snuff it, oh no. If I had snuffed it I would not be here to write what I
written have. It seems that the jump was not from a big enough heighth to
kill. But I cracked my back and my wrists and nogas and felt very bolshy
pain before I passed out, brothers, with astonished and surprised litsos of
chellovecks in the streets looking at me from above. And just before I
passed out I viddied clear that not one chelloveck in the whole horrid world
was for me and that that music through the wall had all been like arranged
by those who were supposed to be my like new droogs and that it was some
veshch like this that they wanted for their horrible selfish and boastful
politics. All that was in like a million millionth part of one minoota
before I threw over the world and the sky and the litsos of the staring
chellovecks that were above me.
Where I was when I came back to jeezny after a long black black gap of
it might have been a million years was a hospital, all white and with this
von of hospitals you get, all like sour and smug and clean. These antiseptic
veshches you get in hospitals should have a real horrorshow von of like
frying onions or of flowers. I came very slow back to knowing who I was and
I was all bound up in white and I could not feel anything in my plott, pain
nor sensation nor any veshch at all. All round my gulliver was a bandage and
there were bits of stuff like stuck to my litso, and my rookers were all in
bandages and like bits of stick were like fixed to my fingers like on it
might be flowers to make them grow straight, and my poor old nogas were all
straightened out too, and it was all bandages and wire cages and into my
right rooker, near the pletcho, was red red krovvy dripping from a jar
upside down. But I could not feel anything, O my brothers. There was a nurse
sitting by my bed and she was reading some book that was all very dim print
and you could viddy it was a story because of a lot of inverted commas, and
she was like breathing hard uh uh uh over it, so it must have been a story
about the old in-out in-out. She was a real horrorshow devotchka, this
nurse, with a very red rot and like long lashes over her glazzies, and under
her like very stiff uniform you could viddy she had very horrorshow
groodies. So I said to her: "What gives, O my little sister? Come thou and
have a nice lay-down with your malenky droog in this bed." But the slovos
didn't come out horrorshow at all, it being as though my rot was all
stiffened up, and I could feel with my yahzick that some of my zoobies were
no longer there. But this nurse like jumped and dropped her book on the
floor and said:
"Oh, you've recovered consciousness."
That was like a big rotful for a malenky ptitsa like her, and I tried
to say so, but the slovos came out only like er er er. She ittied off and
left me on my oddy knocky, and I could viddy now that I was in a malenky
room of my own, not in one of these long wards like I had been in as a very
little malchick, full of coughing dying starry vecks all around to make you
want to get well and fit again. It had been like diphtheria I had had then,
O my brothers.
It was like now as though I could not hold to being conscious all that
long, because I was like asleep again almost right away, very skorry, but in
a minoota or two I was sure that this nurse ptitsa had come back and had
brought chellovecks in white coats with her and they were viddying me very
frowning and going hm hm hm at Your Humble Narrator. And with them I was
sure there was the old charles from the Staja govoreeting: "Oh my son, my
son," breathing a like very stale von of whisky on to me and then saying:
"But I would not stay, oh no. I could not in no wise subscribe to what those
bratchnies are going to do to other poor prestoopnicks. O I got out and am
preaching sermons now about it all, my little beloved son in J. C."
I woke up again later on and who should I viddy there round the bed but
the three from whose flat I had jumped out, namely D. B. da Silva and
Something Something Rubinstein and Z. Dolin. "Friend," one of these vecks
was saying, but I could not viddy, or slooshy horrorshow which one, "friend,
little friend," this goloss was saying, "the people are on fire with
indignation. You have killed those horrible boastful villains' chances of
re-election. They will go and will go for ever and ever. You have served
Liberty well." I tried to say:
"If I had died it would have been even better for you political
bratchnies, would it not, pretending and treacherous droogs as you are." But
all that came out was er er er. Then one of these three seemed to hold out a
lot of bits cut from gazettas and what I could viddy was a horrible picture
of me all krovvy on a stretcher being carried off and I seemed to like
remember a kind of a popping of lights which must have been photographer
vecks. Out of one glazz I could read like headlines which were sort of
trembling in the rooker of the chelloveck that held them, like BOY VICTIM OF
CRIMINAL REFORM SCHEME and GOVERNMENT AS MURDERER and there was like a
picture of a veck that looked familiar to me and it said OUT OUT OUT, and
that would be the Minister of the Inferior or Interior. Then the nurse
ptitsa said:
"You shouldn't be exciting him like that. You shouldn't be doing
anything that will make him upset. Now come on, let's have you out." I tried
to say:
"Out out out," but it was er er er again. Anyway, these three political
vecks went. And I went, too, only back to the land, back to all blackness
lit up by like odd dreams which I didn't know whether they were dreams or
not, O my brothers. Like for instance I had this idea of my whole plott or
body being like emptied of as it might be dirty water and then filled up
again with clean. And then there were really lovely and horrorshow dreams of
being in some veck's auto that had been crasted by me and driving up and
down the world all on my oddy knocky running lewdies down and hearing them
creech they were dying, and in me no pain and no sickness. And also there
were dreams of doing the old in-out in-out with devotchkas, forcing like
them down on the ground and making them have it and everybody standing
around claping their rookers and cheering like bezoomny. And then I woke up
again and it was my pee and em come to viddy their ill son, my em boohooing
real horrorshow. I could govoreet a lot better now and could say: "Well well
well well well, what gives? What makes you think you are like welcome?" My
papapa said, in a like ashamed way:
"You were in the papers, son. It said they had done great wrong to you.
It said how the Government drove you to try and do yourself in. And it was
our fault too, in a way, son. Your home's your home, when all's said and
done, son." And my mum kept on going boohoohoo and looking ugly as
kiss-my-sharries. So I said:
"And how beeth the new son Joe? Well and healthy and prosperous, I
trust and pray?" My mum said:
"Oh, Alex Alex. Owwwwwwww." My papapa said:
"A very awkward thing, son. He got into a bit of trouble with the
police and was done by the police."
"Really?" I said. "Really? Such a good sort of chelloveck and all.
Amazed proper I am, honest."
"Minding his own business he was," said my pee. "And the police told
him to move on. Waiting at a corner he was, son, to see a girl he was going
to meet. And they told him to move on and he said he had rights like
everybody else, and then they sort of fell on top of him and hit him about
cruel."
"Terrible," I said. "Really terrible. And where is the poor boy now?"
"Owwwww," boohooed my mum. "Gone back owwwwwwme."
"Yes," said dad. "He's gone back to his own home town to get better.
They've had to give his job here to somebody else."
"So now," I said, "You're willing for me to move back in again and
things be like they were before."
"Yes, son," said my papapa. "Please, son."
"I'll consider it," I said. "I'll think about it real careful."
"Owwwww," went my mum.
"Ah, shut it," I said, "or I'll give you something proper to yowl and
creech about. Kick your zoobies in I will." And, O my brothers, saying that
made me feel a malenky bit better, as if all like fresh red red krovvy was
flowing all through my plott. That was something I had to think about. It
was like as though to get better I had had to get worse.
"That's no way to speak to your mother, son," said my papapa. "After
all, she brought you into the world."
"Yes," I said. "And a right grahzny vonny world too." I shut my
glazzies tight in like pain and said: "Go away now. I'll think about coming
back. But things will have to be very different."
"Yes, son," said my pee. "Anything you say."
"You'll have to make up your mind," I said, "who's to be boss."
"Owwwwww," my mum went on.
"Very good, son," said my papapa. "Things will be as you like. Only get
well."
When they had gone I laid and thought a bit about different veshches,
like all different pictures passing through my gulliver, and when the nurse
ptitsa came back in and like straightened the sheets on the bed I said to
her:
"How long is it I've been in here?"
"A week or so," she said.
"And what have they been doing to me?"
"Well," she said, "you were all broken up and bruised and had sustained
severe concussion and had lost a lot of blood. They've had to put all that
right, haven't they?"
"But," I said, "has anyone been doing anything with my gulliver? What I
mean is, have they been playing around with inside like my brain?"
"Whatever they've done," she said, "it'll all be for the best."
But a couple of days later a couple of like doctor vecks came in, both
youngish vecks with these very sladky smiles, and they had like a picture
book with them. One of them said:
"We want you to have a look at these and to tell us what you think
about them. All right?"
"What giveth, O little droogies?" I said. "What new bezoomny idea dost
thou in mind have?" So they both had a like embarrassed smeck at that and
then they sat down either side of the bed and opened up this book. On the
first page there was like a photograph of a bird-nest full of eggs.
"Yes?" one of these doctor vecks said.
"A bird-nest," I said, "full of like eggs. Very very nice."
"And what would you like to do about it?" the other one said.
"Oh," I said, "smash them. Pick up the lot and like throw them against
a wall or a cliff or something and then viddy them all smash up real
horrorshow."
"Good good," they both said, and then the page was turned. It was like
a picture of one of these bolshy great birds called peacocks with all its
tail spread out in all colours in a very boastful way. "Yes?" said one of
these vecks.
"I would like," I said, "to pull out like all those feathers in its
tail and slooshy it creech blue murder. For being so like boastful."
"Good," they both said, "good good good." And they went on turning the
pages. There were like pictures of real horrorshow devotchkas, and I said I
would like to give them the old in-out in-out with lots of ultra-violence.
There were like pictures of chellovecks being given the boot straight in the
litso and all red red krovvy everywhere and I said I would like to be in on
that. And there was a picture of the old nagoy droog of the prison charlie's
carrying his cross up a hill, and I said I would like to have the old hammer
and nails. Good good good, I said:
"What is all this?"
"Deep hypnopaedia," or some such slovo, said one of these two vecks.
"You seem to be cured."
"Cured?" I said. "Me tied down to this bed like this and you say cured?
Kiss my sharries is what I say."
So I waited and, O my brothers, I got a lot better, munching away at
eggiwegs and lomticks of toast and peeting bolshy great mugs of milky chai,
and then one day they said I was going to have a very very very special
visitor.
"Who?" I said, while they straightened the bed and combed my luscious
glory for me, me having the bandage off now from my gulliver and the hair
growing again.
"You'll see, you'll see," they said. And I viddied all right. At
two-thirty of the afternoon there were like all photographers and men from
gazettas with noteboks and pencils and all that cal. And, brothers, they
near trumpeted a bolshy fanfare for this great and important veck who was
coming to viddy Your Humble Narrator. And in he came, and of course it was
none other than the Minister of the Interior or Inferior, dressed in the
heighth of fashion and with this very upper-class haw haw goloss. Flash
flash bang went the cameras when he put out his rooker to me to shake it. I
said:
"Well well well well well. What giveth then, old droogie?"
Nobody seemed to quite pony that, but somebody said in a like harsh
goloss:
"Be more respectful, boy, in addressing the Minister."
"Yarbles," I said, like snarling like a doggie. "Bolshy great
yarblockos to thee and thine."
"All right, all right," said the Interior Inferior one very skorry. "He
speaks to me as a friend, don't you, son?"
"I am everyone's friend," I said. "Except to my enemies."
"Well," said the Int Inf Min, sitting down by my bed. "I and the
Government of which I am a member want you to regard us as friends. Yes,
friends. We have put you right, yes? You are getting the best of treatment.
We never wished you harm, but there are some who did and do. And I think you
know who those are."
"Yes yes yes," he said. "There are certain men who wanted to use you,
yes, use you for political ends. They would have been glad, yes, glad for
you to be dead, for they thought they could then blame it all on the
Government. I think you know who those men are."
"There is a man," said the Intinfmin, "called F. Alexander, a writer of
subversive literature, who has been howling for your blood. He has been mad
with desire to stick a knife in you. But you're safe from him now. We put
him away."
"He was supposed to be like a droogie," I said. "Like a mother to me
was what he was."
"He found out that you had done wrong to him. At least," said the Min
very very skorry, "he believed you had done wrong. He formed this idea in
his mind that you had been responsible for the death of someone near and
dear to him."
"What you mean," I said, "is that he was told."
"He had this idea," said the Min. "He was a menace. We put him away for
his own protection. And also," he said, "for yours."
"Kind," I said. "Most kind of thou."
"When you leave here," said the Min, "you will have no worries. We
shall see to everything. A good job on a good salary. Because you are
helping us."
"Am I?" I said.
"We always help our friends, don't we?" And then he took my rooker and
some veck creeched: "Smile!" and I smiled like bezoomny without thinking,
and then flash flash crack flash bang there were pictures being taken of me
and the Intinfmin all droogy together. "Good boy," said this great
chelloveck.
"Good good boy. And now, see, a present."
What was brought in now, brothers, was a big shiny box, and I viddied
clear what sort of a veshch it was. It was a stereo. It was put down next to
the bed and opened up and some veck plugged its lead into the wall-socket.
"What shall it be?" asked a veck with otchkies on his nose, and he had in
his rookers lovely shiny sleeves full of music. "Mozart? Beethoven?
Schoenberg? Carl Orff?"
"The Ninth," I said. "The glorious Ninth."
And the Ninth it was, O my brothers. Everybody began to leave nice and
quiet while I laid there with my glazzies closed, slooshying the lovely
music. The Min said: "Good good boy," patting me on the pletcho, then he
ittied off. Only one veck was left, saying: "Sign here, please." I opened my
glazzies up to sign, not knowing what I was signing and not, O my brothers,
caring either. Then I was left alone with the glorious Ninth of Ludwig van.
Oh it was gorgeosity and yumyumyum. When it came to the Scherzo I could
viddy myself very clear running and running on like very light and
mysterious nogas, carving the whole litso of the creeching world with my
cut-throat britva. And there was the slow movement and the lovely last
singing movement still to come. I was cured all right.
Words that do not appear to be of Russian origin are distinguished by
asterisks. (For help with the Russian, I am indebted to the kindness of my
colleague Nora Montesinos and a number of correspondents.)
*appy polly loggy--apology
baboochka--old woman
*baddiwad--bad
banda--band
bezoomny--mad
biblio--library
bitva--battle
Bog--God
bolnoy--sick
bolshy--big, great
brat, bratty--brother
bratchny--bastard
britva--razor
brooko--belly
brosay--to throw
bugatty--rich
cal--feces
*cancer--cigarette
cantora--office
carman--pocket
chai--tea
*charles, charlie--chaplain
chasha--cup
chasso--guard
cheena--woman
cheest--to wash
chelloveck--person, man, fellow
chepooka--nonsense
choodesny--wonderful
*chumble--to mumble
clop--to knock
cluve--beak
collocoll--bell
*crack--to break up or `bust'
*crark--to yowl?
crast--to steal or rob; robbery
creech--to shout or scream
*cutter--money
dama--lady
ded--old man
deng--money
devotchka--girl
dobby--good
*dook--trace, ghost
domy--house
dorogoy--dear, valuable
dratsing--fighting
*drencrom--drug
droog--friend
*dung--to defecate
dva--two
eegra--game
eemya--name
*eggiweg--egg
*filly--to play or fool with
*firegold--drink
*fist--to punch
*flip--wild?
forella - `trout'
gazetta--newspaper
glazz--eye
gloopy--stupid
*golly--unit of money
goloss--voice
goober--lip
gooly--to walk
gorlo--throat
govoreet--to speak or talk
grahzny--dirty
grazzy--soiled
gromky--loud
groody--breast
gruppa--group
*guff--guffaw
gulliver--head
*guttiwuts--guts
*hen-korm--chickenfeed
*horn--to cry out
horrorshow--good, well
*in-out in-out--copulation
interessovat--to interest
itty--to go
*jammiwam--jam
jeezny--life
kartoffel--potato
keeshkas--guts
kleb--bread
klootch--key
knopka--button
kopat--to `dig'
koshka--cat
kot--tomcat
krovvy--blood
kupet--to buy
lapa--paw
lewdies--people
*lighter--crone?
litso--face
lomtick, piece, bit
loveted--caught
lubbilubbing--making love
*luscious glory--hair
malchick--boy
malenky--little, tiny
maslo--butter
merzky--filthy
messel--thought, fancy
mesto--place
millicent--policeman
minoota--minute
molodoy--young
moloko--milk
moodge--man
morder--snout
*mounch--snack
mozg--brain
nachinat--to begin
nadmenny--arrogant
nadsat--teenage
nagoy--naked
*nazz--fool
neezhnies--underpants
nochy--night
noga--foot, leg
nozh--knife
nuking--smelling
oddy knocky--lonesome
odin--one
okno--window
oobivat--to kill
ookadeet--to leave
ooko--ear
oomny--brainy
oozhassny--terrible
oozy--chain
osoosh--to wipe
otchkies--eyeglasses
*pan-handle--erection
*pee and em--parents
peet--to drink
pishcha--food
platch--to cry
platties--clothes
pletcho--shoulder
plenny--prisoner
plesk--splash
*plosh--to splash
plott--body
podooshka--pillow
pol--sex
polezny--useful
*polyclef--skeleton key
pony--to understand
poogly--frightened
pooshka - `cannon'
prestoopnick--criminal
privodeet--to lead somewhere
smeck--laugh
*pretty polly--money
prod--to produce
ptitsa - `chick'
pyahnitsa--drunk
rabbit--work, job
radosty--joy
raskazz--story
rassoodock--mind
raz--time
razdraz--upset
razrez--to rip, ripping
rook, rooker--hand, arm
rot--mouth
rozz--policeman
sabog--shoe
sakar--sugar
sammy--generous
*sarky--sarcastic
scoteena - `cow'
shaika--gang
*sharp--female
sharries--buttocks
shest--barrier
*shilarny--concern
*shive--slice
shiyah--neck
shlem--helmet
*shlaga--club
shlapa--hat
shoom - noise
shoot--fool
*sinny--cinema
skazat--to say
*skolliwoll--school
skorry--quick, quickly
*skriking--scratching
skvat--to grab
sladky--sweet
sloochat--to happen
sloosh, slooshy--to hear, to listen
slovo--word
smot--to look
sneety--dream
*snoutie--tobacco?
*snuff it--to die
sobirat--to pick up
*sod--to fornicate, fornicator
soomka - `bag'
soviet--advice, order
spat--to sleep
*splodge, splosh--splash
*spoogy--terrified
*Staja--State Jail
starry--ancient
strack--horror
*synthemesc--drug
tally--waist
*tashtook--handkerchief
*tass--cup
tolchock--to hit or push; blow, beating
toofles--slippers
tree--three
vareet--to `cook up'
*vaysay--washroom
veck--(see chelloveck)
*vellocet--drug
veshch--thing
viddy--to see or look
voloss--hair
von--smell
vred--to harm or damage
yahma--hole
*yahoodies--Jews
yahzick--tongue
*yarbles--testicles
yeckate--to drive
*warble--song
zammechat--remarkable
zasnoot--sleep
zheena--wife
zoobies--teeth
zvonock--bellpull
zvook--sound
Библиотека "Артефакт"--http://artefact.cns.ru/library/