The Book of Dave by Will Self Page B

of the Book, there could never be any question of
Symun reaching the first cab of the Shelter. He was an orphan, his mummy the knee woman. This meant that, unlike his best
mate, Fred Ridmun, he was destined to be always a waver-upper, never the fare.
    The autumn he and Fred turned fourteen, the two lads changed over for the last time and took their permanent place in the
dads' gaffs. Then a peculiar thing happened to Sy. While he was still growing up he had never thought to question any of the
kids about what they felt at Changeover – mummytime was for mummies, daddy time for daddies. He knew that, like him, they
left their mummyselves on the east bank of the stream and that even their most recent memories of cuddleup and snuggledown
were as half-remembered dreams.
    Yet, when he changed over for the last time Symun Deviish took his mummyself with him – not entire but enough of it for him
to feel marked out from the other Hamstermen. Unlike Fred, Sy couldn't prevent himself from looking at the mummies and kids
when he saw them together – he even had eyes for the old boilers. Fred noticed it and teased him, saying, If U wanna lookit
byrds, vares plenny uv opares on vis syde uv ve streem. Although Sy became more circumspect, Effi noticed his gaze as well,
and when she returned it, Sy saw in turn that she knew what had happened, she understood what she had done by seeding his
fertile imagination with such potent lore. She smiled at him often and strangely. However, he couldn't detect much love in
these smiles, only fear.

    â€“ Eyem gonna go onna bí! Symun called to the rest of the gang, C if vairs anyfing bettah ovah vair!
    And Fred called back:
    â€“ Yeah, orlrì, but nó 2 fa.
    â€“ Eye ear yer, Symun called back, while to himself he said, Sillë gí.
    He shouldered his mattock and pushed his way between two banks of pricklebush that scratched him through his shirt. It was
an overcast day in SEP and a year since Symun's Changeover. Foggy rags snagged at the soaking foliage and the screenwasher
was on. This was good weather for gathering building material, the soil loose and yielding. If they found a pile of brickwork,
beat back the undergrowth, then wedged and wielded their mattocks efficiently, the morta would crumble away and the individual
bricks tumble from the earth – Dave's bounty for the young dads of Ham.
    At Council that first tariff the five young dads had asked if they could go to the edge of the Ferbiddun Zön and fetch some
brick to repair the pedalo gaff. It took most of the rest of the tariff for consensus to emerge, for each of the nine older
dads had a view, and they all had tremendous affection for the sound of their own voices. There were moto gibbets to be built,
fowling equipment to be repaired, the pedalo needed caulking – however, eventually permission was given. It mattered that
it was Fred Ridmun's idea. The whole community understood that despite Fred's youth he would be the new Guvnor once Dave Brudi
was dead, and the way the old dad retched and hawked blood that couldn't be far off. It was an important liberty for the five
to be alone together for a shift. In the next year duty would bear down still more heavily upon them. Caff Funch, old Benni's
daughter, was already knocked up by Fred – more of them would become dads soon enough. Meanwhile the older generation was
passing into the shadows. Ham, as was the way every thirty years or so, stood on the cusp.
    The posse had worked hard and soon amassed sufficient brick, so Sy's desire to press further into the zone wasn't governed
by any necessity. The impulse puzzled him – he felt the place's aura as strongly as any of his companions did – perhaps even
more. He had been among the most enthusiastic of the Hamsters when the bounds of the zone had been beaten that buddout. He
had lashed at the sawleaf and fireweed with such frenzy that the granddads had muttered among themselves: Eye rekkun ees