Will Self - The Book of Dave

It was true — there were very few kids for a manor of Risbro's size. Carl counted thirty-odd mummies in all, but there were only five opares and a handful of kids. Wunce we bin up ve duff, an old boiler explained to Carl, weer untuchabubble! Untuchabubble! í doan matta if we av a kiddë aw nó — untuchabubble! Chellish! R dads R ve wurs inawl uv Ing.

At night they made him go from one of the mummies' semis to the next. No sooner was he settled in a box bed than some greasy-skinned old boiler plumped in beside him, reached under his T-shirt and jollied him up so she could mount on top, slop-slop. Carl felt nothing save shame after these couplings — his first — but if he tried to wriggle away the entire semi would rise up against him.

By day Carl was allowed out to do the miserable graft of slaughtering Sweetë. With Carl acting as gaffer the older lads knocked up a crude gibbet, gathered seasoned crinkleleaf chips for the smoking fire and forayed in the woods for a suitable hollow log.

The Driver of Risbro, 76534, was impressed by the breadth of Antonë Böm's Knowledge, even if he didn't believe the other queer's claim to be a stalker. The Driver was far from being a learned bloke; he was almost as ignorant as his fares, yet here in the remote hinterland of Chil what strength of character he possessed was roused in condemnation of the Lawyer.

The two spent the half-blob until next Changeover discussing the finer points of the Knowledge as they related to the parlous condition of the manor. In truth, 76534 told Böm, the Guvnor's appropriation of the moto is understandable. Here we are, our fields entirely surrounded by the Lawyer's forest, yet we are forbidden to gather any of the fruits thereof save a scant allowance of timber. The munchjack and bambi grub up our crops when they're fresh in the field, yet if a Risbroman so much as lays a hand on these beasts the Guvnor must send him to Wyc, where he's sold into chavery. It is the same for the fez and the snip, the whirrcock and the grouse — all are to be found hereabouts in abundance, while my fares make do with a few pork scratchings and chicken pieces — rat flesh even. Yet where in the Book does it make mention of any of this? Where does it say that mums and dads should live in such bondage? Yes — he sighed and took a pull on one of Böm's fags — there's scant regard for the finer points of the Knowledge here in Risbro, or throughout the rest of Chil.

Carl slit Sweetë's throat under a cloudy screen. Smoke from the Risbro semis mingled with the rags of mist that snagged in the brooding trees. The dogs wouldn't lay off the dying moto and darted in to nip at Sweetë even as her blood coursed. The dogs terrified Carl. With their teeth and claws they were like big rats, and in common with rats they were always hungry. Yet even so the lairy Risbro lads kicked and punched them unmercifully. At the corner of the home field there was a gibbet from which dangled four or five dog carcasses. Crows flapped down and lazily pecked at these until stoned by the kids. When they were well hung, the dogs were cut down and their meagre flesh tried for fat.

Yeth 2 pway, yeth 2 pway, yeth 2 pway wiv U awl ve day. Yeth 2 Runti, yeth 2 Champ, yeth 2 Hunnë an Tyga 2 … The lifeblood flowed out of the moped in a haunting, sing-song rhyme: Yeth 2 Am, luverlë Am, yeth 2 Am, bootiful Am. Bì-bì, Cawl, bì-bì, Tonë … Sniggering and catcalling, the Risbro lads hauled on the ropes and Sweetë was winched up. She moaned, her jonckheeres twitched, her jowls flopped into her staring eyes, then she was gone, rising up into the tortured sky of this Daveforsaken clearing. Carl wept as he called over the slaughter run.

It took a blob to smoke all of Sweetë's flesh, render her blubber and try out her fat. Carl was in no hurry, for he understood that when the last tank of moto oil was sealed, his and Antonë's fate would be as well.

That night the Risbromen returned from the resurfacing work they'd been doing on the Emwun. They came with a car, although only the Guvnor was allowed to sit atop it and whip up the spavined jeejees. It was the first wheeled vehicle that Carl had ever seen, and he was transfixed by its curiously fluid motion. It moved as if it were a pedalo rising and falling on a sea of mud.

When Carl had changed over, he was told to join the lads and dads who were gathered in the Shelter. Böm was there — although of 76534 there was no sign. The Shelter was well equipped by Ham standards, with an irony urn, a large micro, a blackboard and bits of printed London cloth hung over the tiny windows. Carl had already given belly meat and offal to the opares, and they'd made bangers for the dads. These were frying in a huge pan together with chopped crybulbs. The smell of sizzling moto oil and fag smoke filled the air, and the Risbromen's gaunt faces were like skulls in the flickering lectric light. Carl shrank into a corner, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, but the Guvnor called to him.

— Yeah, he said, U dunna gúd job wiv viss moto, boy, an thass jususswel, coz we gotta graft lyke fukkin Paddies on vat Emwun if we wanna survyv ve kipper. Ve Loyahs Hack tayks a grayt big waduv R arvest B4 ve cölsnaps, an we aynt per-mí-éd 2 flog ve ress til buddowt.

The other dads gobbled their assent through mouthfuls of meat.

— Ayntí ve troof, said a tall fellow with greasy black hair. Vey go arfta ve lore abydin an lé awlsorts uv culluds gé awä wiv fukkin murda.

— Weer lukkë 2 gé a warkup lyke U 2, said the Guvnor. Lars cölsnap we ad 4 blokes flogged, 4 fukkin chavs, ayn vat rì?

The other dads groaned and chawed.

— And what d'you imagine the Lawyer will give you when you hand us over? Böm asked.

— Mebë a munkee, mebë a wunna — Eye dunno. The Guvnor spat in the fire under the urn. Mayn fing iz weel gé sum. Í aynt nuffing pursnul — bleev me, iz juss everyfing iz dosh rahnd viss wä an we aynt evah gó Enuff.

Carl wondered why Böm didn't offer the Guvnor some of the dosh he was carrying; heavy brown coins, which he kept wrapped up in a piece of moto skin and tucked in his girdle. Böm, however, said nothing further, only blinked myopically at the leering, sated Risbromen, who were puffing on their purloined fags.

— What if we tell the Lawyer's chaps that it was you who stole the moto? Carl heard himself saying. What'll happen then?

— Wot fukkin moto! The Guvnor reached across the table and cuffed Carl in the face. We dunno nuffing abaht í, vairizit? Iss gawn, ve meet iz curried an iddun, ve oyl iz stashed, eevun ve boans iz awl smashed up. Nah, doanchoo fukk wiv me, U lyttul cunt, sooninuff Eyel Bcummin 2 fukk wiv U!

These past days the opares had been fattening Carl up, feeding him Sweetë's sweetmeats, her finest belly meat, and letting him drink as much gubbins as he could hold down. Ure a plump Enuff peece, one of the Risbromen had said on the night before they left for the Emwun. Weel fá-én U up sum mor B4 we giv U a röstin! Remembering this, Carl shrank down on the bench, his face stinging, his stomach fluid. Antonë glared at him from the other side of the table. As from a long way off dibbles of the Risbromen's jawing reached his hot ears: We put vem speed bumps in ve röd an ooze í bovverin? Uss. ĺ doan bovva ve pikeys an ve culluds — vey aynt gó no cars, vey juss go rahn, but R axles R fukked … Carl fell into a fitful sleep, then woke to the ugly grumble of a run called over by many drunk dads: Leffbìforrud vebrorway, bare rì crouchenill, rì ornsëlayn, leff azlevil röd, rì saynjonzwä. He collected himself and stumbled from the Shelter with the dads calling after him: B luckë, mì sun!

The weather snapped so cold that Risbro was blanketed by powdery rime. Frost twinkled on the bare boughs of the woodland, and icicles hung from the eaves of the semis. The dogs took refuge in the landfill, digging down for whatever warmth they could garner. The community retreated to its bëthan semis, and there, dads and mums alike, they overindulged in their own watery booze. Carl realized that the dads meant to have him the night before the next Changeover, and he readied himself as best he could. The night before that, as he lay sleepless in the box bed with a couple of the lairy lads, Böm appeared with a stump of letric that threw sharp shadows on the toshed walls. The dads lay higgledy-piggledy on the floor and the hearth, snuffling like bäcön and hugging each other for warmth. Don't worry, Antonë said, they've had a skinful, they're mullered. They don't think we'll make a run for it without takeaway or evian — but I've sorted all that.