A/N: A bit of attempted cuteness, but also some gruesomeness. No direct reference to the "viddy well" part in the movie, but you'll see why "viddy" is important...

6. Viddy Well

Before I ittied off homewards, brothers, I paused on the Singh family's front step, breathing in the cool nochy air. The old Luna shone faintly in a sky still blue. The houses did not look so squarish in the softer light, and I viddied I could have grown up to be some sort of artist or poet or even a dobby violinist had I lived here instead of Flatblock 18A. But maybe not.

I was just about to gooly away when I heard the creak creak of a door. Out stepped Melody, a dark purple shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She sat on the step like casual, and I sat next to her, searching my rassoodock for something to say. I could not think of one single smart or intelligent slovo, brothers, until Melody broke the silence. "Alex? You're not still angry, are you?"

"Angry?" I skazatted. "Why would I be angry?"

Melody rolled her glazzies. "The man plays innocent... Angry at Jaydeep, of course." She sighed and shook her gulliver back and forth. "I bet your family isn't half as crazy as ours. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Not one."

"Grandparents?"

"All dead and gone."

"I'm sorry about that. What about aunts, uncles, cousins?"

I messeled a bit. "Some up in Manchester, a few in Paris. I don't know them very well."

"Wait, wait—Paris, France?" Melody was like interressovated.

"Well, yes. From my dear papa's side of the family."

"Your father's French?"

I grinned. "With an eemya like Pierre DeLarge, je pense que oui." I don't know where those slovos came from, brothers. I hadn't govoreeted in French for years except to say bon joor to my pee, deliberately badly.

She clasped her rookers together. "Oh, that's so exotic! You never told me you were half French. Someday I want to travel all around the continent. I'll go to France, Spain, Italy, Portugal..." She stood up and stretched out her shawl like airplane wings. "Greece, Holland, Denmark, Monaco, Lichtenstein..." She listed near twenty countries that were real and five or six she'd made up, but then stopped very skorry. "But not Austria. At least not Vienna."

"And why not Vienna?" I asked, playing innocent or whatever.

Her otchkies flashed with twin Lunas as she turned her head. "It's too touristy. All that yodelay-hee-hoo Sound of Music crap."

I clicked-clicked my tongue. "Ah ah. And that is the reason?"

"That is very much the reason," she said, stubborn-like, and sat back down. Her shawl brushed my pletcho as she adjusted it. Was I bezoomny or was she sitting closer to me this raz?

I touched the shawl with one of my rookers and she did not move away. "Very nice stuff, this. A lot of pretty polly?"

She looked confused, then her glazzies brightened. "Expensive? No, it's just cotton... although in medieval Europe purple meant royalty. But I never grew up thinking I was a princess. No, no, I just used to imagine conducting huge orchestras in giant concert halls with crowds of thousands clapping. Selfish, but at least not strictly impossible."

She smiled at me and I felt a shivery sort of feeling I could not give an eemya to. "You seem very lucky, Melody, to have such a like kind and like loving family," I slooshied myself govoreeting. Stranger and stranger, brothers. I did not know what part of my rassoodock these slovos had come from either.

Then the ptitsa snorted, smecking like, and that odd shivering feeling went away. "Kind and loving? If that's what you call it." She spread out her left rooker and tapped each of her fingers. "Yes yes. Taking today as our example... first it's me acting childish and snapping at Jay the Rebel." (Thumb.) "Then Dr. Important comes home and ignores us all." (First finger.) "Mrs. Brain-turned-Matchmaker, my kind and loving mother, shows off by translating a German article about old Vijay Mozart, not to mention listing the names of half the Asian boys in the school." (Middle finger.) "At which point Mr. Goodygood decides that homophobia is cool and rainbows are pink." (Ring finger.) "And then Jay the Rebel says something completely incomprehensible about oranges..."

I took her rooker. She hadn't tapped her little finger yet but I did not want to hear about Jay. Like they'd say on a gloopy detective show, he knew too much. "Slow down, slow down. You are talking very skorry. Did you say your father is a doctor?"

Melody shook her head and freed her hand from mine. "Not a real doctor. Professor of political science. Mum's finishing up her thesis in linguistics and then she'll have 'Dr' in front of her name too. Bloody deceptive I call it."

I did not know science could be political, brothers. I thought it was about atoms and cells and telescopes and all that cal. But I wanted her to viddy I was oomny rather than dim, so I said, "But Melody, don't you think education is good? That's why I'm going to music skolliwoll. To get a bit of education, like."

Mel grinned. "But not too much education. It's cute when you say 'skolliwoll' for 'school.'"

"Cute?" I raised my gulliver. "Spare a grown-up veck some dignity, sister. I am not, as you say, cute."

"No," said Mel very seriously, though I could tell she was still smecking inside, "no, not as cute as Jatin from Jazz Studies. Is that better...? But one question before you go: what the hell is a clockwork orange?"

I coughed kashl kashl in surprise. I didn't want to tell her about the Ludovico Technique, because that would mean telling her the whole grazhny rotten story. "Well, well, nothing really. It's just from this book, it's an expression for people who are forced to act like clockwork. Like a machine you know, like a robot."

She smiled, a softer smile this time. "I think we can safely say you're not a robot after Jaydeep's physiological version of the Turing Test. The Curry Test I call it."

The Luna shone silver on her black voloss. I reached out very slowly and touched it. Like very thin threads of silk it was. My rooker went under her chin and I pulled her litso closer to mine. "I can't pony all the slovos you're govoreeting," I like murmured, "but your lips look beautiful govoreeting them..."

And then Melody pulled back, frowning. What had I done wrong? I'd been gentler with her than any other devotchka, even the ones that'd fancied me. And I'd said lips instead of goobers, brothers, because goobers did not sound very romantic.

"My appy polly loggies," I began, but Mel shook her head.

"No need for apologies," she whispered. "It's just that someone might be watching. Mum still has her heart set on me and Vijay, if you've noticed. Jaydeep, well... Never mind. Can we maybe meet again sometime?"

And then I had a horrorshow dobby idea. "Right right right. As a matter of fact I am going to a little party at this veck Greg's domy on Friday. Very civilized, with wine and cheese and word games. My friend Pete is bringing his wife Georgina, and he very much encouraged me to bring a date too." Actually he didn't skazat anything about it, but he would not mind, brothers, would he?

Melody squeezed my rooker. "Yes. Very much yes. Call me with the details." And as I was ittying down the path, brothers, she winked and blew me a kiss.

...

In my daze of mind I had turned the wrong way, brothers, and instead of catching the autobus at The Corner Store I goolied onto a different bus. I finally ponied my mistake when I viddied bright lights and traffic out the window, but I just stayed put, hoping it would itty back somewhere closer to my own domy. Finally, the traffic got lighter, the lights dimmer, the streets more familiar. Then I saw a mesto up ahead whose eemya I recognized: the Korova Milkbar. But when the bus turned left, away from the Milkbar and not in the direction of the flatblocks at all, I pulled the bell. Soon I ittied off, and set out towards the Milkbar. I figured I'd have just one milk plus, a small one, to calm my nerves.

The street was dark, but my eyes were very skorry at darting around, alert for trouble and all that cal. There did not seem to be many nadsats out this Monday nochy. In the grass next to the sidewalk I saw an open purse, and around it papers and plastic cards and lipstick tubes scattered like bezoomny—all the pretty polly crasted, of course, but one of the cards caught my glazzy. I picked it up and read "Public Library." My luck was dobby tonight, since the devotchka hadn't signed her eemya on it, so I tucked the card into my carman. I figured a Public Biblio card would make me look smarter, brothers. I could even borrow books with it.

The Korova Milkbar had not changed much. You could still viddy plastic statues of naked cheenas, as well as the newer plastic korovas, or cows. I nodded at the bartender and he ignored me. Well, brothers, I did not have to think I was famous like a sinny star, but for a young malchick I had a bit of a reputation, and some vecks admired me. Others would as soon stab me as viddy me. I wasn't sure where Jaydeep fit into all this...

"Alex!" some veck called, and I turned around real skorry. At the closest table were my newer droogs, Len, Rick, and Bully. I relaxed. Soon Rick and Bully were giving me friendly tolchocks on the back, I was sipping a milk-plus, and I felt like the Singh house was just a strange sneety. As the four of us govoreeted, the Korova filled up with customers. Noise blasted out gromky through the speakers—some very bezoomny non-song called "Like a G8" by Walky Talky and the Trotskys.

Bully was trying to govoreet something, so I leaned closer and bumped heads with Len. Len was short, skinny, and rather dim, but I didn't want to make him razdraz. When old Dim got razdraz, for example... not dobby for me. "Appy polly loggies," I said.

"I NEVER DID TELL YOU WHAT WE DID THE NOCHY YOU LEFT US!" Bully shouted into my ooko.

"Not so loud, please!" I creeched.

"Well I never did tell, did I?"

"Let me guess, you did some man-size crast and smecked away with jewels and diamonds?" I said. The knives from the moloko made this crasting and drasting seem like radosty again, but I kept my goloss sort of sarky.

Bully shook his bulldog litso, jowls wiggling. "No, unfortunately not. But it was very funny, this. I think you'll have a right smeck. It was just some little corner store called The Corner Store." Len and Rick let out a guff, right on cue. "The owner being a big bolshly chelloveck, we waited until he left in his truck on an errand."

"Then we all went up to the counter, real polite," Rick added. "There was only one other lewdie in the store—or so we thought—a gloopy-looking Arab boy with otchkies."

"It was this raz last year, almost egg-zackly," continued Len, "but I remember he was very like unprofessional. Slouching and all. Gave us a very bored glazzy. 'Hello how can I help you' but not very helpful-like."

"He wasn't doing his job very well, so he needed discipline," agreed Rick. "So I grabbed his gulliver and put it in a choke-hold, like this." I felt a rooker around my shiyah and shook it off. "Exactly. But this malchick was weak and caught by surprise. He tried to beat me with his little fisties, but I squeezed squeezed squeezed and then he sort of flopped over. Not dead but out out out. So we smashed the till and crasted piles of sladky candy and cancers and such, just stuffing them into shopping bags. Then Bully went and opened the door of the supply closet—"

"Hold your yahzick!" Bully interrupted. "I'm skazatting this part. So I opened the door to the closet, and this shest, that is, this huge stick, came out of nowhere and near tolchocked my gulliver in two. I ducked quick enough that it only hit my rooker, but it hurt like hell." Len guffawed ha ha ha. Bully glared. "Shut it. That's not the funny part. I got all razdraz and I grabbed at the air. (Still not the funny part.) I found myself holding a broom in my rookers, and THEN I saw that the lewdie holding the other end was only a little blond ptitsa, not more than fourteen. (Shut your hole, Rick, she near killed me.) There was a very fierce and murderous look in those glazzies."

"Very rude," Len said. "She tried to oobivat poor Bully and now she was looking at us funny, so of course we had to punish her."

Bully went on: "So I pulled the broom out of her hands. I gave her a tolchock on the brooko and each noga and rooker, until she platched boo hoo hoo at me to stop. Then I gave Len and Rick the signal" (he snapped his fingers—very horrorshow signal) "and they wrestled her to the floor, Len holding her rookers and Rick her nogas."

"It was the other way around," complained Len. He squeezed the udder of the cow statue next to him, seeing if it would give moloko, but it wasn't made to do that.

"Doesn't matter," said Bully. His big bulldog face widened in a grin. "Now that our little ptitsa couldn't itty away, I—"

"Stop," I govoreeted all of a sudden. I don't know why, but I felt bolnoy, not with any veshch like the Ludovico-pains but with this strange inside sickness. "I don't need to know what you did. I can guess it all right." I tried to sound sarky and bored again.

Rick frowned at me, and then started to chortle. "Oh ho ho, I know what little Alex is thinking."

"Get your mind out of the gutter," squeaked Len in this high falsetto voice.

"Please do," said Bully, in a snobby though more serious voice. "I have better taste than that. She was just a grazhny little shopgirl with a plain litso and hardly any groodies. And since she had such murderous little blue glazzies, I had something else in mind. You know how there's all these chemical veshches in cleaning closets? All these strong like acids and bases and things that are baddiwad for the old environment?"

"Is that where political science comes from?" I wondered out loud. People in politics govoreeted about the environment sometimes, and chemicals were science.

Bully gave me a very strange smot. "What? Hast thou had too much moloko? ...Anyway, and I'm coming up to the funny part, I searched round and found this bolshy white bottle of drain cleaner or bleach or some veshch like that right on the bottom shelf."

"Poison, corrosive, do not touch," Rick added with great joy and radosty.

"I took the lid off, gave it a sniff. Better than moloko plus! Then I held open the devotchka's glazzy with one rooker, and with the other poured juuust enough of this cleaner veshch right in. She creeched like bezoomny. Then we did the other glazzy, and repeated the whole veshch a few more razzes, just for kicks, with the poor malenky ptitsa creech-creech-creeching away." Bully and the others smecked ha ha ha ha ha.

"But why? Why?" I could not help feeling this strange in-sickness again. I imagined I was being held down, and—no, Bog, no. I rubbed my glazzies over and over. "I'm going. I'm ittying out. I have a pain in my gulliver."

They kept laughing. "Methinks you can't hold your moloko, me heartie," said Len, now in a pirate goloss or some such cal.

I wanted to govoreet something very cutting but I held my yahzick. Maybe Len was right, the bastard, maybe it was the moloko. I stumbled out the door onto the now pitch-dark street. In the distance I could hear some lewdie creeching for his life. I turned back to take one last smot at the Korova, to make sure I was ittying the right way, when a pair of brights from an auto flashed at me. The auto, sleek and black, screeched to a stop and I started running. "No! Wait!" a devotchka called out. "Is that Alex?"

I rubbed my glazzies again. "Melody Singh!"

She drove forward a few paces and opened the door. Yes, Melody Singh. Good Bog, was I ever relieved. "Get in. Now. It's dangerous out here alone." I jumped in very skorry and she shut the door and spun the auto around, not quite lawfully but very skillfully. Some nadsat hooted and flung a rookerful of pebbles, but they just clattered off the window. Clearly Mel was not yeckating with the convertible part down. "So, what happened?" she asked me, making another sharp turn. "Did you see Jay at all?"

"Jay?" I said. I rubbed my glazzies. "Vijay R. Mozart?"

"No," said Mel, annoyed. "My brother. We thought he was in his room but he ran off again, and now Mum expects me to go and find him."