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By Root 5274 0

and watching the meters, they must have been more cally and filthy than any prestoopnick in the Staja itself. Because I did not think it was possible for any veck to even think of making films of what I was forced to viddy, all tied to this chair and my glazzies made to be wide open. All I could do was to creech very gromky for them to turn it off, turn it off, and that like part drowned the noise of dratsing and fillying and also the music that went with it all. You can imagine it was like a terrible relief when I’d viddied the last bit of film, and this Dr. Brodsky said, in a very yawny and bored like goloss: “I think that should be enough for Day One, don’t you, Branom?” And there I was with the lights switched on, my gulliver throbbing like a bolshy big engine that makes pain, and my rot all dry and cally inside, and feeling I could like sick up every bit of pishcha I had ever eaten, O my brothers, since the day I was like weaned. “All right,” said this Dr. Brodsky, “he can be taken back to his bed.” Then he like patted me on the pletcho and said: “Good, good. A very promising start,” grinning all over his litso, then he like waddled out, Dr. Branom after him, but Dr. Branom gave me a like very droogy and sympathetic type smile as though he had nothing to do with all this veshch but was like forced into it as I was.

Anyhow, they freed my plott from the chair and they let go the skin above my glazzies so that I could open and shut them again, and I shut them, O my brothers, with the pain and throb in my gulliver, and then I was like carried to the old wheelchair and taken back to my malenky bedroom, the under-veck who wheeled me singing away at some hound-and-horny popsong so that I like snarled: “Shut it, thou,” but he only smecked and said: “Never mind, friend,” and then sang louder. So I was put into the bed and still felt bolnoy but could not sleep, but soon I started to feel that soon I might start to feel that I might soon start feeling just a malenky bit better, and then I was brought some nice hot chai with plenty of moloko and sakar and, peeting that, I knew that that like horrible nightmare was in the past and all over. And then Dr. Branom came in, all nice and smiling. He said: “Well, by my calculations you should be starting to feel all right again. Yes?”

“Sir,” I said, like wary. I did not quite kopat what he was getting at govoreeting about calculations, seeing that getting better from feeling bolnoy is like your own affair and nothing to do with calculations. He sat down, all nice and droogy, on the bed’s edge and said:

“Dr. Brodsky is pleased with you. You had a very positive response. Tomorrow, of course, there’ll be two sessions, morning and afternoon, and I should imagine that you’ll be feeling a bit limp at the end of the day. But we have to be hard on you, you have to be cured.” I said: “You mean I have to sit through - ? You mean I have to look at - ? Oh, no,” I said. “It was horrible.”

“Of course it was horrible,” smiled Dr. Branom. “Violence is a very horrible thing. That’s what you’re learning now. Your body is learning it.”

“But,” I said, “I don’t understand. I don’t understand about feeling sick like I did. I never used to feel sick before. I used to feel like very the opposite. I mean, doing it or watching it I used to feel real horrorshow. I just don’t understand why or how or what - “

“Life is a very wonderful thing,” said Dr. Branom in a like very holy goloss. “The processes of life, the make-up of the human organism, who can fully understand these miracles? Dr. Brodsky is, of course, a remarkable man. What is happening to you now is what should happen to any normal healthy human organism contemplating the actions of the forces of evil, the workings of the principle of destruction. You are being made sane, you are being made healthy.”

“That I will not have,” I said, “nor can understand at all. What you’ve been doing is to make me feel very ill.”

“Do you feel ill now?” he said, still