Chapter 4 Part 2 1-3

one One morning Winston left his office to go to the toilet. The long corridor was brightly lit, and a lonely figure was walking towards him from the opposite side. It was the black-haired girl.It had been four days since he had met her at the thrift store that night.He noticed that her arm was bandaged. The bandage was the same color as her overalls and could not be noticed from a distance.Maybe I hurt my hand when turning the big kaleidoscope to "conceive" the novel--in the General Bureau of Fiction, this is a common accident. About four meters away from him, the girl tripped and nearly fell to the ground.She screamed in pain, and must have hit her bad arm.Winston stopped immediately and saw that the girl had already knelt down.Her face was sallow, but her lips were twice as bright red.Her eyes were fixed on him, her expression was full of panic, but there was not much pain.

It seemed strange to Winston.In front of him was an enemy who was trying to take his life, but he was also a living person, the pain was unbearable, and his bones might have been broken.Instinctively, he took a few steps to help her.Seeing that she was breaking her bandaged arm, he felt as if he was in pain. "Does it hurt?" he asked. "It's ok, my arm... will be fine in a while." Her heart seemed to be pounding.Look how pale her face is! "It won't break, will it?" "No, it's okay. It hurts a bit, really." She offered him her good hand, and he helped her to her feet.Her complexion recovered a little, and she looked much better.

"It's all right," she said again curtly. "Just touched my neck with my hand. Thank you, comrade!" So she walked straight in the original direction, her movements were very brisk, as if it really didn't matter at all.This happened in less than half a minute.It had become a matter of habit not to let the expressions on their faces show what they were feeling, and they were standing in front of a telescreen when this happened.Even so, he could hardly hold back the surprise that within two or three seconds of helping the girl up, she had thrust something into his hand.Needless to say, she must have done this on purpose.The little thing was flat; he had hidden it in his pocket and poked it with his fingertips as he entered the toilet door.It turned out to be a note, but she folded it into a square.

He peed standing up, trying to spread it out with his fingers.Needless to say, she must have written on it what she wanted to say to him.For a while, he wanted to run to some toilet and see what was written on it.But he also knew that it would be foolish to do so.The telescreens kept a constant watch on the people, and could not have been more advisable anywhere. When he returned to the office and sat down, he put the piece of paper in the pile of papers on the desk, put on his glasses, and pulled the dictation device closer. "Five minutes," he said to himself, "five minutes at least!" His heart was pounding and pounding in his chest, and the sound was terrifying.Fortunately, what he was doing was purely routine at the moment, correcting a long list of numbers or something, and didn't need much attention.

Whatever was written on that note must have had political significance.The scenarios he could come up with were no more than two extremes.One, the more probable one, was that the girl was really an agent of the Thought Police, as he had feared.He did not know why the Thought Police had sent their letters in this way, but perhaps there was a reason for them.What was written on the piece of paper was either a threat to him, or a subpoena for him, or an order to commit suicide, or some other trap.But another possibility, even more impractical, kept showing up, and he couldn't suppress it.Perhaps the note was not from the Thought Police at all, but a message from some underground organization!Maybe the Brotherhood really exists, too!Maybe this girl is a member too!Needless to say, this idea is so ridiculous, but this is what he thought of when he just received the note.It was several minutes before he thought of the more likely explanation.But even now, even though his reason told him that the message might mean death, he still couldn't believe it, that irrational hope still lingered.His heart was pounding, and he could barely contain the tremor of his voice as he murmured the numbers into the dictation device.

He rolled up the pile of finished work and threw it into the pneumatic tube.It's been eight minutes now.He straightened his glasses on the bridge of his nose, sighed, and pulled the batch of work below him closer - the note was on top.He flattened the note, and saw that there were several immature big characters written on it: I love you. He was so dazed with shock that for a few seconds he even forgot to throw the wretch into the memory hole.At last he remembered to throw it in; and now, knowing the danger of appearing too interested, he couldn't bear to look at it again--if only to make sure that those words were really written on it.

So I couldn't work in the morning.It was true that he had to concentrate on those trivial tasks; but what was worse, he had to hide his excitement from the telescreen.He only felt that it was in his stomach, as if there was a raging fire.The cafeteria was crowded, hot, and noisy, and eating lunch was a pain.He wanted to eat alone and spend a while alone, but unfortunately that stupid Parsons sat down beside him.The guy stinks of sweat, drowning out the slightest aroma of the stew, and babbles endlessly about preparations for Hate Week.He remarked with particular fervor that his daughter's scouting party had made a Big Brother head that was two meters high.The annoying thing was that there was such a buzzing all around them that Winston couldn't hear what he was saying and had to tell him to repeat the stupid stuff over and over again.Only once did Winston catch a glimpse of the girl, who was sitting with two girls on the other side of the mess hall.She didn't seem to see him, and he didn't look that way again.

Things got better in the afternoon.After lunch, there is a difficult job, and I have to push aside other things and work for several hours.This job involves falsifying a batch of production reports from two years ago, so as to discredit a high-ranking Inner Party official who is now beginning to fall out of favor.Winston did such a job so beautifully that for two hours he almost forgot about the girl.Then, he thought of her face again, and a burst of unbearable desire forced him to want to be alone for a while.If he didn't think about it alone, it would be extremely difficult for him to sort out this new situation.Tonight, it was time for him to join the activities of the street center; he wolfed down a tasteless dinner in the cafeteria, then rushed to the activity center, participated in a "discussion group" serious stupid discussion, played two sets of ping pong Ball, drink a few glasses of gin, and listen to a half-hour report called "The Relationship between Ingsoc and Chess".It was all very tiresome, but this time, he didn't feel the urge to avoid the evening activities at the center.Ever since he saw the three words I love you, he suddenly aroused a desire to live, and he immediately became foolish to take such a small risk.It wasn't until twenty-three o'clock, when he got home and lay in bed, that he could think coherently—in the dark, as long as he kept silent, he could avoid the telescreen without incident.

There was a practical problem to be solved: how to get in touch with the girl and arrange a date.He no longer thought that she might have set some trap for him.He knew it was impossible because she was visibly agitated when she handed him the note.She was evidently frightened; how could she not be frightened!It never occurred to him that he would refuse her love.Only five days ago, he had tried to smash her head with a stone, but it didn't matter!He thought of her naked young body, which he had seen in his dream.He once imagined that she was as stupid as others, her head was full of lies and hatred, and her stomach was as cold as ice.Thinking of losing her, that white and young body would slip away from his hands, his heart was filled with madness!The most frightening thing is that if he doesn't get in touch with her soon, she might change her mind.And yet what practical difficulties there were in dating her!It's like playing a game of chess, when someone checkmates him tomorrow morning, he still has to struggle to make the next move.Whichever way you turn it, the telescreen is in your face.In fact, after reading her note, within five minutes, he thought of all the possibilities of contacting her.Now, given him the time to think, he thought about these ways one by one, as if laying out some tools one by one on the table.

It was obvious that an encounter like this morning's could not be repeated.If her job was also in the Records Bureau, things would be simpler; but the Fiction Bureau, he only had a very vague idea of ​​where it was in the building, and there was no excuse to go there.If he knew where she lived and when she left work, he could try to meet her on her way home from get off work.But it would be too unsafe to follow her home, since she would have to wander around outside the Ministry of Truth building, which would inevitably attract attention.As for sending her a letter at the post office, that was simply impossible.It is no secret that all letters need to be opened for inspection.In fact, very few people still write any letters.Sometimes when I really need to convey some information, I just use a printed postcard with a long list of sentences printed on it, just cross out the ones that don't apply.Needless to say, he didn't even know the girl's name, let alone her address.In the end, he decided that the safest place was still the cafeteria.If he had approached her when she was alone, and chosen a place in the middle of the room, not too close to the telescreen, and there was a commotion all around, and everyone was busy talking—if those conditions lasted thirty seconds, You can say a few words.

For a week after that, life was like an endless dream.The next day, she didn't come until he was about to leave the cafeteria, and the whistle had already sounded by then.She must have switched to the night shift.They passed by without even looking.On the third day she was in the canteen when she was supposed to be, but she was with three girls and there was a telescreen right over her head.After that, she didn't show up for three full days, causing his whole body and mind to become unbearably tense and fragile, as if every word, every action, every contact and conversation had become a great pain.While sleeping, he would dream of the image of the girl.These days, he dare not even touch the diary.If there was any relief, it was his work—sometimes he could forget it for ten minutes.He had no idea what had happened to her, and it was impossible to find out.She might have been evaporated, she might have committed suicide, she might have been transferred to the other side of Oceania—and the worst was always the most likely: she had simply changed her mind and decided to leave him. The next day, she appeared in the cafeteria again.Her arm had already gone from the sling bandage, but there was still a circle of adhesive plaster on her wrist.There was a burst of relief at seeing her, and he couldn't help looking straight at her for a few seconds.On the third day, he almost succeeded in talking to her.Walking into the cafeteria, she was sitting alone at a table, far away from the wall.It was still early at that time, and there were not many people in the house.The food line moved slowly forward; Winston was about to reach the counter, but the line stopped for two minutes - a man in front complained that he had not received a saccharine tablet.Winston took the tray and walked towards the girl's table, who was still alone at the time.He walked towards her as if nothing had happened, but his eyes were looking for the table behind her.She is only three meters away from him, and it only takes two seconds to succeed.Just then, someone shouted from behind: "Smith!" He pretended not to hear. "Smith!" the man called again, and raised his voice.It's useless.He had to turn around - it was a silly blond boy named Welcher.He was not familiar with the young man, but he smiled and invited Winston to take the vacant seat at his table.It was dangerous enough to refuse his invitation, for he was recognized by others, and he could no longer sit with a girl who was alone.This is really too eye-catching.He just smiled kindly and sat down beside Wilshere.The blond stupid face also greeted him with a smile.Winston could not help thinking that it would be better to hit that stupid face with an ax and smash him to pieces.Within a few minutes, the girl's table was full of people. However, she must have seen him walking towards her, and perhaps understood his hint.The next day he deliberately went early, but she was sitting in the same place again, and she was still alone.The man ahead of him in the line was a short, quick-moving man with a flat face and small, suspicious eyes, who looked like a beetle.Winston had just left the counter with the tray when he saw the little man walking straight towards the girl's table.His hope is afraid that it will be in vain again.There was also a vacancy at a table farther away, but judging by the appearance of the little man, it was obvious that he paid great attention to making himself comfortable, and he was sure to find the vacant table.Winston felt a chill in his heart, and had to follow behind him.What's the use unless I'm alone with the girl for a while?At this moment, there was a sudden thud, the little man fell on all fours, dropped the plate, hit the bowl, and the coffee and vegetable soup spilled all over the floor.He got to his feet and cast a savage glance at Winston, evidently suspecting that he had tripped him.But fuck it!Five seconds later, with a beating of his heart, Winston sat down at the girl's table. He didn't even look at her, just put down the tray and started eating quickly.The important thing was to speak quickly before anyone else came, but suddenly he felt a terrible fright.It was already a week ago that she approached him.She might have changed her mind--she might have changed her mind!In fact, it is absolutely impossible to make such a thing happen, and this kind of thing simply cannot happen in real life.At this moment, he saw Ampleforth, the long-haired poet, looking for a seat with a tray, and then he made up his mind to speak-for some reason, Ampleforth had a special feeling for Winston. Clock, if Winston was in sight, he was sure to sit at this table.The time to act may only be one minute.Winston and the girl were both eating a stew of beans in a consommé, almost like a soup.Winston began to grunt under his breath.Without looking up, both of them poured the thin vegetable soup straight into their mouths, and whispered the necessary sentences in a low voice, with no expression on their faces. "What time do you leave work?" "Eighteen thirty." "Where will I see you?" "Victory Square. The Monument." "The telescreen over there." "It's okay if there are too many people." "What about the password?" "No. See how many people are around me before coming here. Don't look at me. Be next to me." "What time is it?" "Nineteen o'clock." "OK." Umpforth, not seeing Winston, sat down at a nearby table.They didn't say anything more, and they didn't look at each other—it was unlikely that they were sitting at the same table facing each other.The girl quickly finished her meal and went away, while Winston stayed behind to smoke a cigarette. Winston arrived at Victory Square early.Winston wandered around in circles under the huge column carved with grooves.At the top of the column is a statue of Big Brother, gazing into the southern sky--there he was when he wiped out the Eurasian planes (or Eastasian planes, so to speak, a few years ago) at the Battle of Airfield One.There is also a statue in the street in front of the monument, someone on a horse, people say, this is Oliver Cromwell.Five minutes had passed since the appointed time, and the girl hadn't shown up yet.Another wave of fear filled Winston's heart.She didn't come, she changed her mind!He walked slowly to the north side of the square, and was a little pleased when he recognized St. Martin's Church.The church bell (of course, when it was still ringing), also chanted "You owe me three copper coins".At this moment, he saw the girl standing under the monument, reading a poster that was soaring up on the pedestal-of course, she probably just pretended to read.There are too few people here, it is not safe to approach her.Around the gable of the monument, there are telescreens again.But at this moment, people shouted, and somewhere to the left there was the rattle of a heavy truck.Suddenly, everyone ran across the square, and the girl nimbly jumped over the lion sculpture at the base of the monument and squeezed into the crowd.Winston followed.As he was running, he heard from the shouts of others that a convoy of Eurasian prisoners of war was about to drive past. The dense crowd has already crowded the south side of the square.Usually Winston would have slipped away from such a crowd; this time he pushed his way into the center of the crowd.Soon, his arm was within reach of her, and there was only a big, proletarian man in the middle, and an equally fat woman, who must have been the fat man's fat wife—the two husband and wife formed an impenetrable bond. An impenetrable wall of fat.Winston turned his body slightly to one side, and with a sudden effort, his shoulders were squeezed between the pair of fat men.His internal organs were almost grinded into pulp by those two fat buttocks; however, he was dripping with sweat and managed to squeeze it out.Now he is next to the girl.They were shoulder to shoulder, but their eyes were staring straight ahead. A long line of trucks drove slowly across the street, with dumbfounded guards carrying light machine guns.A group of small yellow men, wearing tattered green military uniforms, squatted on the car, huddled together.Their Mongolian faces were extremely ugly, and they stared at the crowd under the car indifferently.Sometimes when the truck jolted, there was a metallic clang—too much for all the prisoners of war to wear shackles.Carloads of ugly yellow faces drove by, and Winston knew they were going on forever, but he only glanced at them now and then.The girl's shoulders, the girl's arms, were all against him.Her face was so close to his that he even felt her warm.So she immediately took control of the situation, just like in the cafeteria.She spoke as dumbly as ever, without moving her lips.The uproar of people and the sound of rumbling cars immediately drowned out her soft murmur. "Can you hear me?" "Well." "Can you come out on Sunday afternoon?" "Well." "Well, listen. Gotta remember. Go to Paddington Station..." She described the route he was going to take one by one, as precise as a military deployment, which surprised him.Take the train for half an hour, turn left at the station, and walk on the road for two hours. There is a door, but there is no roof beam on the door. There is a road in the field, and grass grows on the other road. It is a dead tree with moss.She said this as if she had a map in her head.Finally she whispered: "Almighty remember?" "Well." "Left, right, left. There's no beam on the door." "Hmm. What time?" "Around fifteen. Might have to wait. I'll go the other way. Remember?" "Well." "Okay. Let's go." There is no need for her to say that.However, they were trapped in the crowd and couldn't get out for a while.Trucks still go by, people still greedily look.Someone hissed and shouted: "Bah! Bah!" But those who shouted this were all party members in the crowd, and they quickly fell silent.The mood of the entire crowd was nothing more than curiosity.Foreigners, Eurasians or Eastasians, are just weird animals.Except for looking at the prisoners of war, you can't see them at all at ordinary times, and you can only take a quick look at the prisoners of war.No one knew what would happen to them—a few would be hanged as war criminals, while others would disappear, perhaps sent to forced labor camps.Behind this round Mongolian face, the guys who came over were more like Europeans, dirty and haggard, with stubble.This group of hairy-faced people looked straight at Winston. It was unexpected that they stared so closely at times, but they passed by with a glance.The convoy finally drove past.In the last car was an old man with long gray hair, standing upright in the car, with his hands crossed in front of his chest, as if he had long been used to handcuffing his hands in front of him.It was time for Winston to part with the girl--but at the last moment, taking advantage of the crowd, the girl reached out to feel him, and gave his hand a quick shake. This grip will never exceed ten seconds, but it seems to be a long time.He had time to work out all the details of her hand.Long and slender fingers, beautiful nails, calluses on the palms from work, and smooth skin on the wrists.Just by touching it, he knew the whole picture of her hand.At this moment, he thought again that he still didn't know the color of the girl's eyes.Probably brown, but people with black hair sometimes have blue eyes.Looking back at her, it was a little silly.Holding hands together, they can be inconspicuous among the cluttered crowd; they stare closely at the front-so, it is not the girl, but the old prisoner of war, who casts his mournful eyes through the messy long hair, straight to the front. stared at Winston. two The shadows of the trees on that path are mottled, and where the branches are separated, golden sunlight shines through.Under the tree on the left, hyacinths bloom densely.The air seems to kiss the skin lightly.It was the second day of May, and the singing of turtledoves could still be heard deep in the woods. Winston was a little early.There was no trouble along the way, and the girl's evident experience made him less frightened than usual.Maybe Man can trust her and find a safe place.Generally speaking, the country cannot be said to be safer than London.Of course, there are no telescreens in the country, but there is always the danger of a bug hidden away, picking up your voice, and identifying you.Besides, it is not so easy to go out alone without being conspicuous.You don’t need to bring your passport to ask for approval if you can’t walk more than 100 kilometers; but sometimes there will be patrol officers near the station, and they will stop you when you meet a party member to check your passport and ask some annoying questions.But Winston did not meet the patrolman.On the way to the station, he looked back from time to time, and no one was sure to be watching him.The trains were full of proletarians, delighted by the warm weather.The hard-seat car he sat in filled a large family, from a toothless grandma to a baby who was just full moon.They were going to spend the afternoon with relatives in the country, and--they told Winston plainly--to get some butter on the black market. The path he followed widened until he came to the path she had spoken of, which was really just a trail made by the cattle in the bushes.He didn't have a watch, but it was definitely not fifteen o'clock.There are hyacinths everywhere under the feet, and it is impossible not to step on the flowers.He knelt down and picked some flowers, one to pass the time, and the other to vaguely realize that when he saw the girl, he should give a bouquet to her.He picked a large bunch and smelled it, the fragrance was faint and a bit unpleasant.At this moment, there was a crackling sound behind him, obviously someone stepped on the branch, which frightened him dumbfounded.He went on to pick his flowers--which was, of course, the wisest thing to do.Maybe it was the girl, but it was also possible that he was being followed by others.Look back -- isn't it obvious that you have committed a crime?He picked and picked, a hand resting lightly on his shoulder. He looked up, it was the girl.She shook her head, apparently telling him he couldn't talk, and she pushed aside the branches and quickly led him along the narrow path into the woods.It was obvious that she had been here before, and she was so familiar with the movements of hiding in mudholes that she was used to it.Winston followed her, still clutching the bouquet he had just picked.His first feeling was relief, but when he saw the strong and slender body walking in front, the red belt just showed the beautiful buttocks, and the feeling of inferiority immediately weighed on his heart.Even now, just looking back at him, she could still pull away.The air was sweet and the leaves were green, but it only made him shy and flustered.When he came out of the station, the sunshine of May made him feel dirty and haggard after staying in the house for a long time, and his pores were full of the smoke and dust of London.Until now, perhaps she had not seen him in broad daylight.They came to the dead tree she had spoken of.The girl jumped over and parted the bushes--at first glance, there was really no way to see that there was a hidden path.Winston followed her, and saw that there was a natural clearing, a small grassy mound, surrounded by tall young trees, which was hiding the clearing.The girl stopped, turned to him and said: "Here we are!" He faced her, only a few steps away from her.But he still didn't dare approach her. "I don't want to talk on the road," she went on, "sometimes there's a bug in there. I don't think so, but who knows. Some of the pigs can hear you. It's all right here!" He still didn't have the courage to approach her. "It's all right here?" He learned a word with a clumsy tongue. "Yes. Look at these trees." Here are all young ash trees that have been felled before, and have sprouted new branches, no bigger than an arm. "Too small to hide a bug. Besides, I've been here!" This is just talking for nothing.Now he tries to get closer to her.She stood straight in front of him, with a mocking smile on her face, as if she was laughing at why he moved so slowly.Hyacinth fell to the ground slumped.He grabs her hand. "Believe it or not," he said, "I don't even know what color your eyes are?" It turned out that her eyes were brown, a faint dark brown, with black eyelashes. "You saw my face. Can you see me again?" "Okay, it's very simple." "I'm thirty-nine. I have a wife I can't get rid of. I have varicose veins. And five dentures." "I don't care," said the girl. Then, it was hard to say who made the move, but she fell into his arms.He didn't feel it at first, only that he couldn't believe it at all.The young body was pressed against him, and the thick black hair brushed his face, really!She really lifted her face and opened her bright red lips to follow his kiss.She wrapped her arms around his neck and called him darling, darling, and darling.He pulled her to the ground, and she didn't resist at all, letting him do anything to her.But in fact, he didn't feel the passion of the body, only the pleasure of touching the skin.He just felt a kind of pride, a kind of disbelief.Glad it finally happened, but he had no carnal desires.It happened so quickly, her youthful beauty terrified him, he was used to living without women--and God knows why.The girl sat up and plucked a sprig of hyacinth out of her hair.She sat leaning against him, putting her arms around his waist. "It's all right, honey, don't worry. The whole afternoon is ours. This place is very hidden, isn't it? I found it once when I got lost on a group field trip. Someone came, a hundred meters away can hear him!" "What's your name?" he asked. "Julia. I know your name. Winston--Winston Smith." "How do you know?" "Honey, I'm better than you at asking about it. Tell me, what do you think of me before I send you a note?" It never occurred to him to lie to her.Telling her the worst from the start was a way of expressing love. "I hate you when I see you," he said. "I wanted to rape you and then kill you. I wanted to smash your head with a rock two weeks ago. Do you really want to know? I think you're working for the Thought Police." The girl laughed out loud, obviously feeling that he was complimenting her on her realism. "What Thought Police? Do you really think so?" "Well, maybe not quite. But the way you look—just because you're young and healthy, you know—I thought, maybe..." "You make me a good party member. Pure in words and deeds! Flags, parades, slogans, contests, field trips--the whole shit. You think I'm going to expose you as a thought prisoner and give you to kill?" "Well, more or less. Most young girls are like that, you know." "It's just a dead thing," she said, taking off the red sash of the Anti-Sex Youth League and throwing it on the branch.As if touching her waist reminded her of something, she took out a small piece of chocolate from the pocket of her overalls, broke it in two, and handed Winston half.He didn't even have to eat it in his mouth to smell that it was anything out of the ordinary.It was dark and shiny, and wrapped in silver paper.The chocolate is generally sloppy and broken, and it tastes like, to be precise, like the smell of burning garbage.He had eaten chocolate like the one she gave him before, and the first scent of it brought back his memory—but even though this memory was strong and haunting, he couldn't remember it clearly . "Where did you get this thing?" he asked. "The black market," she replied nonchalantly. "Look, that's the kind of girl I am. I'm good at the game. I've been a squad leader in the Scouts, three nights a week for the Anti-Sex Youth League. Posting their shit in London all the time. Parade I always I am carrying the big banner, usually I am always smiling, never backing down, always shouting with everyone—if I want to be safe, what else can I do.” The first bar of chocolate melted on the tip of Winston's tongue, and it was delicious.However, the memory kept turning around at the edge of his consciousness. He clearly felt its existence, but couldn't find its exact shape, as hazy as something glimpsed out of the corner of his eye.He simply brushed it off, knowing only that it was something he had done - something he wanted to give up, but it was too late. "You are very young," he said, "you must be more than ten years younger than me. What do you like in a man like me?" "There's something on your face. I'm trying my luck. I've got a lot of patience for someone who isn't with them. Just one look at you and I know you're against them." They, which obviously meant the Party, and especially the Inner Party, she always spoke of with a mocking resentment.Winston felt uneasy, though he knew that if there was any place that could be called safe it was where they were now.One thing that astonished Winston was the roughness with which she spoke.Party members were not supposed to use foul language, and Winston himself rarely did, at least not out loud.But Julia, when it comes to the party, especially the Inner Party, is always full of obscenities, using all the dirty words used in graffiti in small alleys.He didn't think she did it.It was only a sign of her rebellion against the Party and all its lines; moreover, it seemed as natural and healthy as a horse sniffs at the smell of rotten grass.They left the clearing for walks in the dappled shade of trees, and put their arms around each other's waists as long as the path was wide enough for them to walk side by side.Julia's waist was much softer when she took off the belt.They could only speak in soft whispers.Julia added that it was best not to speak out of the clearing.They were now at the edge of the grove.So she stopped him. "Don't go out. Someone might be peeping. You'll be fine hiding behind a tree." They stood under the shade of the hazel tree.The sun shines on their faces through thousands of leaves, and it still feels hot.Winston, looking out at the distant fields, could not help being curious and somewhat astonished when he recognized the place.He really knows it at a glance.The old pasture is a patch of grass, a winding path, and a mole-humped mound.In the tall and low bushes on the opposite side, willow branches dance in the breeze, and clusters of willow leaves sway gently, like a woman's hair.Wouldn't there have to be a brook with deep green carps swimming in it?He couldn't see them, but he knew they were nearby. "Is there a creek nearby?" he said softly. "Yes, there is a small stream. Actually, it's right on the edge of the field. There are fish in it, big fish! They swim and swim in the pool under the willow tree, and even flick their tails!" "It's El Dorado—as it should be," he murmured. "El Dorado?" "It's okay, really. Sometimes I dream about this." "Look!" whispered Julia. A thrush landed on a branch five meters away, almost at their face height.Presumably it didn't see them—it was in the sun, but they hid in the shade.It spread its wings, then closed them carefully, bowed its head for a while, as if saluting the sun.Then, suddenly, it sang loudly.It was a quiet afternoon, and the chirping of the birds was startlingly loud.Winston and Julia hugged together, dumbfounded.The bird sang incessantly, with so many changes and never repeating itself, that it was amazing, as if it wanted to show how superb its skills were.Sometimes it paused for a moment, stretched its wings, folded them again, and continued singing with its mottled chest out.Winston looked at it with only a vague reverence.Bird, for whom and for what are you singing like this?No one is watching it sing - no competition with anyone, no courtship to anyone.This lonely edge of the woods, why does it land here, singing into nothingness?Who knows if there is a bug hidden nearby.He and Julia spoke so lowly that it was impossible to record what they said, but the thrushes sang.Maybe at the other end of the instrument, there's a little beetle listening—let him listen to the song.However, the endless singing dispelled all the considerations in his heart.It was as if the nectar poured on him, allowing him to become one with the sunlight leaking from the leaves.He stopped thinking, only feeling remained.The girl's waist was in his arms, so warm and soft.He turned her around so that their breasts were pressed together; her body seemed to melt into his.Wherever his hands touched, they were as obedient as water.They kissed their lips together, which was very different from the violent kiss just now.When they parted their faces, they couldn't help but let out a long sigh.The bird was startled, flapped its wings and flew away. Winston pressed his lips to her ear. "Just now," he said softly. "Not here," she replied softly. "Go back to the clearing. Be safe there." 他们快手快脚折回空地，踩得树枝劈啪作响。回到小树丛，她便转过身，面对着他。他们剧烈地喘息，她的嘴角又现出了微笑。她站着看他一会儿，便伸手去拉工作服的拉链。而后，没错！差不多和他的梦境一模一样。就跟他的想象那样快，她脱去了衣服，顺手扔在一旁，那动作同样的美妙绝伦，仿佛把全部的文明一扫而空。阳光下，她的肉体白得耀眼。可有那么一会儿，他没来得及看她的身体，吸引他的，倒是那张雀斑脸上勇敢的微笑。他跪在她面前，抓住了她的手。 "你干过这事么？" "当然啦。上百次--哟，少说好几十次啦。" "跟党员？" "是呀，全是跟党员。" "核心党？" "谁跟那帮猪，才没有呢。可他们有机会，准全跟馋猫似的。哪儿像装的那样假正经。" 他的心咚咚地跳。她已经干过几十次：他真希望，她干过了几百次--几千次。任何事情，只要表现得腐化堕落，便叫他觉出种狂热的希望。有谁晓得，没准儿在党道貌岸然的表面下充满了腐朽，它崇尚紧张自制，不过是掩饰骨子里的邪恶。要是他能给他们全员传上麻风梅毒，他会做得何其高高兴兴！所有的腐化堕落，只要削弱了党，干他娘！他拉她跪下来，他们脸对着脸。 "听我说。你干过越多，我越爱你。明白么？" "certainly." "我恨纯洁，我恨善良！我不希望，还有什么美德留下来。我愿大家，全从骨子里腐化堕落！" "那，我正合你，亲爱的。我就从骨子里腐化堕落。" "爱干这事么？不光说我，我说的是这件事！" "爱干透啦。" 这便是他希望听到的全部。不仅一个人的爱，便是动物的本能，简单滥施的欲望，单是这样的力量，也能够把党击个粉碎。他把她压倒在草地上，压倒在掉落满地的风信子花上。这一次，他们轻而易举。很快，他们胸脯的起伏回复到正常，在愉悦的疲软当中分开了身体。阳光照在身上，仿佛更加温暖，他俩全有了睡意。他拉过她丢在一边的工作服，给她盖上。他们马上睡去，直睡了半个小时。 温斯顿先醒过来。他坐起身，端详她那张雀斑脸，枕着自己的掌心，恬然安睡。除去嘴唇，她简直算不上漂亮；细看一下，眼角还有一两条皱纹。短短的黑发，浓密极了，也柔软极了。他想起还不知她姓什么，住在哪里。 这年轻健壮的身体在安睡，是那样无依无靠，他不禁满心怜爱，真想保护她安全。方才在榛树下面，听那鸫鸟歌唱，他心里也充满了柔情；然而那情感好没来由，跟现在不太一样。他拉开工作服，看她白皙的侧身。他便想，在从前，男人见到姑娘的身体，便动了欲望，事情就这样成了。然而如今，全没有纯洁的爱情，全没有纯洁的欲望。激情早不再纯洁，因为一切都夹杂着恐惧和仇恨。他们的拥抱便是战斗，他们的高潮便是胜利。这是对党的一次打击。这是个政治行动。 three "这儿我们还能来一回，"朱莉亚说。"一个地方要是隐蔽，用两次还能安全。当然啦，总得隔上一两个月才能用。" 她一睡醒，那动作便截然不同。她变得警觉精明，穿上衣服，腰间扎好红腰带，开始安排回家路线的细节。把这些听由她安排，显得天经地义；不用说，实际生活当中她远比温斯顿游刃有余，对伦敦周围又是了如指掌，这全是她无数次集体野游积累的经验。她为他安排的路线，跟来的那条截然不同，连火车站指的都是另一个。"绝不能走同一条路回家，"她说这话，宛如宣示个重要的普遍原理一个样。她得先离开，温斯顿则需等上半小时才能跟着她。 她说了一个地方，四天后晚上下班，他们能在那儿见一面。那条街在一个贫民区，有个露天市场，平日里一例嘈杂又拥挤。她会在货摊中间闲转悠，装着找鞋带或线团。若是她看出平安无事，他来时她便醒鼻子；否则他就装不认识，一径走过去。可要是运气好，他们便可以安全混在人群当中，说上十五分钟话儿，另安排一次约会。 "我得走啦，"见他记熟了安排，她马上说道。"十九点三十分我得回去。得替反性青年团干上俩小时，贴传单什么的，够该死了，是不是？给我梳梳头，行不？头发里有没有树枝儿？真没有？好啦，再见啦，亲爱的，再见！" 她投在他怀里，狠劲地吻他，转眼就拨开小树，无声无息消失在了树林里。到如今，他还不知她姓什么、住哪里，可这也差不了什么。反正他们不可能在屋里见上面，也没法给对方写封信。 在这以后，他们再没回过树林里的那空地。五月里，他们只有一次真的做了爱。这个隐蔽的所在，又是朱莉亚很熟悉，三十年前有颗原子弹落下来，把这里几乎炸成了废墟。瓦砾堆里有座倾圮的教堂，他们跑到了教堂的钟楼里。要是走得到那里，那地方隐蔽起来简直天造地设；然而走到那里，却何其危险！其它时候他们就只能在街上见个面，每次在不同的地方，时间也绝不超过半小时。一般在街上，总能马马虎虎说点话儿。人行道上面挨挨挤挤，他们便给人群拥着走，绝不肩并肩，绝不看一眼，只是进行一种奇特之极、时断时续的谈话，犹如灯塔的光芒一明一灭。见了个党员工作服，见了个电幕在身边，他们便突然闭口，过几分钟再把那半截话说下去；到约好分手的地方，谈话立时中断，下一天用不着提示，还能接上去。朱莉亚仿佛对这种交谈的方式挺习惯，她还有个名儿，叫"分期谈话"。她那技术娴熟得叫人惊异不叠，讲话时嘴唇也不动。差不多一个月，他们晚间见面，只有一次成功接了吻。那时他们默然在一条胡同里面走；出了大街，朱莉亚便照例不讲话。这时，突然一声震耳欲聋的爆炸，大地震荡，天空乌黑，温斯顿摔倒在地，伤痕累累，吓得要命。准是附近掉了个火箭弹。突然间，他发现朱莉亚的脸就在几厘米开外，惨白惨白，像白灰一样。连她的嘴唇，竟也是一片惨白。她死啦！他抱过她来狂吻--吻的还是个活人暖烘烘的脸。可他的嘴唇，碰到的却是粉末一样的东西--原来他俩的脸上，厚厚的落了一层灰泥。 还有些晚上，他们到了约会的地方，却只好走过去，招呼也不能打。这是街角刚好来了伙巡警，或者头顶刚好转着直升机。撇开这些危险不谈，找个时间见面也是困难不堪。温斯顿一星期得干六十小时，朱莉亚干得还要久，休息天得按工作忙闲定，经常休不到一起去。不管怎样，朱莉亚都绝少有哪个晚上完全空闲。极多的时间，给她用来听报告，参加游行，替反性青年团散发传单，为仇恨周准备旗子，给节约运动筹集捐款，等等等等。她说，这值得，这是件伪装。小规矩若是守得好，大规矩就能犯得来。她甚至说服温斯顿，献出他一个晚上，参加热心的党员制造军火的义务献工。于是每星期便得有个晚上，温斯顿要花上四小时，在个昏暗漏风的车间，干昏昏欲睡的烦人活--伴着铁锤沉闷的敲打跟电幕的音乐，把什么金属小零件拧到一起去--兴许是炸弹导火线的一个部分。 到了教堂的钟楼，他们零碎谈话的空隙才算给填满。那个下午赤日炎炎，钟楼上那方形的小屋，空气闷热凝滞，鸽粪味儿大得扑鼻孔。地板上满是尘土断枝，他们便坐在这儿一气聊了几小时。过不一会儿，他们得轮流站起身，从窗缝往外瞟一眼，好知道是不是有人走过来。 朱莉亚二十六岁。她跟三十个姑娘合住一间宿舍（她补了一句道："尽是女人臭！我真恨女人！"），而她的工作，正像他猜的，是在小说总局拾掇小说写作器。这工作她很是喜欢，主要是维修台电机，它功率不小，却毛病不少。她"不聪明"，可是乐意动动手，跟机器在一块儿就像到了家。她说得出制造小说的流程，从计划委员会的总指示，到改写组的最后修饰。但是对最后的成品，她毫无兴趣。她说，自己"不怎么愿意看书"。书籍不过是需要生产的商品，如同果酱或者鞋带一个样。 六十年代以前的事，她一件没记住。她认识的人，只有她爷爷不停地讲着革命前，老头儿在她八岁上便失踪了。上学时她做曲棍球队长，连着两年得了体操奖杯。她做过侦察队的分队长，青年团的支部书记，后来是反性青年团。她得的鉴定总是第一流。她甚至给选到小说总局色处去工作，这里专给无产者们生产色情小说廉价本，只有品行兼优的人才能选进去。她讲，色处工人给这里起了个外号，就叫大粪场。她在那儿干了一年，帮着生产小册子，什么《过瘾故事集》，什么《女校一夜游》，密封寄送出去。无产阶级年轻人，便偷偷摸摸买去读，仿佛搞着了什么违禁品。 "这些书写了啥？"温斯顿挺好奇。 "嗨，鬼垃圾呗。无聊透顶，真的。就六个情节，抄来抄去的。当然啦，我是只管万花筒，都没进过改写组。我笔头子可不行，亲爱的--就是个做不来！" 原来色处的工人，除去领导之外，清一色全是姑娘，这叫他感到挺吃惊。他们的理论说，男人性本能比女人难控制，他们造出的垃圾，就更容易把他们自己腐蚀掉。 "他们连结了婚的女人也不要，"她又说。"老觉着姑娘最纯洁--本姑娘可是脏得很！" 她第一次发生关系只有十六岁，跟了个六十岁的老党员。老头儿怕给抓起来，自杀了事。"干得真不赖，"朱莉亚道，"要么他一坦白，我就暴露啦。"以后她又干过好几次。生活在她眼里，实在简单得很。人人想过好日子，可"他们"（这是指党）偏偏拦着不许这样过。只要能够做得到，不妨把他们的条条框框给打破。她似乎觉得，"他们"老企图夺你的乐子，你就老企图不给抓得住，这来来去去全是天经地义。她痛恨党，提起党总用顶难听的话来说，然而从不做普遍性的批判。对党的清规戒律，除非影响到她的生活，她毫无兴趣。他还发现她不讲新话，只有流行的几个词儿，才用上一用。她从没听过兄弟会，也绝不信有这么个东西。组织严密地反对党，除去一败涂地没旁的下场，她便觉得简直愚不可及。聪明的做法，是把规矩破得巧，同时又得活得好。他隐隐感觉，新一代这样的人何止成千上万--他们长在革命后，除了革命便一无所知，把党当成了万古不变，就像头顶的天空一个样。他们绝不反抗党的权威，只是想方设法去规避，就如同兔子躲猎狗。 他们没谈过是不是可能结婚。这遥远得实在不值得想一想。就算温斯顿的老婆没了影儿，谁想得出哪个委员会，肯批准这样的婚姻！这样的婚事绝无可能，不啻白日做梦。 "她怎么样，你老婆？"朱莉亚问道。 "她么……知不知道新话有个词儿，叫好思想？说的是天生正统，从来没有坏思想。" "不知道这词儿。这号人我倒知道，知道透啦。" 他便说给她他婚后的日子。怪得很，那生活实质的部分，她仿佛早已了然于心。她会讲给他，他一碰到凯瑟琳，那婆娘身子就会绷绷硬，即便她拿胳膊紧紧搂着他，那感觉倒像是全力推开他--活像她看见了这一切，经过了这一切！跟朱莉亚在一起，他讲这些一点不犯难：不管怎样，凯瑟琳早不是痛苦的回忆，而不过是一桩烦人的回忆。 "要不是为了一件事，我还忍得下去，"他说。他便告诉她那种索然无味的小仪式--每星期同一天晚上，凯瑟琳准会逼他干那事儿。"她恨死了那事儿，可什么也不能叫她罢手不去做。她管它叫--嘿，你猜也猜不着。" "咱们为党尽义务，"朱莉亚马上说了出来。 "你咋知道？" "我也上过学呀，亲爱的。过了十六岁，每月都有次性教育讲座。青年运动里也有哩。他们成年灌给你的尽这些。我敢说，好多人这还真有用！当然啦，谁也不跟你说这些。人人都是伪君子！" 她开始就这个题目大肆发挥。对朱莉亚而言，万事万物都需回溯到她的性意识。只消触及这一点，她准变得极敏锐。不像温斯顿，她把握了党在性行为方面禁欲主义的内在意义。这还不光因为，性本能创造出自己的天地，超越了党的控制，因此只要做得到，党总要设法毁了它。更加重要的是，剥夺性行为势必导致歇斯底里大爆发，党需要的正是这状态--因为这样的状态，转得成对战争的狂热，对领袖的崇拜。她这样说道： "做爱总得费精力；干完了，叫人心里快乐，管他娘的出啥事。他们才忍不下你这样想。他们要你每时每刻精力旺盛。齐步走，挥旗子，喊口号，还不是些个性欲变得酸臭扑鼻子？要是心里快乐，凭什么为了老大哥、三年计划、两分钟仇恨这些混帐玩意儿兴高采烈？" 他想，这些全都没有错。纯洁身心跟政治正统，真有种直接又紧密的联系。党是要求它的党员，保持一定的恐惧、仇恨跟疯狂的信仰呀；除去抑制某种有力的本能，将其转变成为推动力，这样的目的怎能达得到？在党的眼里，性冲动充满了危险，它索性转而加以利用。对人们要做父母的本能，它耍的是同样的伎俩。事实上，家庭根本不可能废除；反之，他们鼓励大家爱护自己的孩子，那几乎是种老派的方式。至于孩子，却给他们系统地培养得反对父母，教他们侦察父母的言行，报告父母的悖离。家庭便成了思想警察的延伸。用这样的手段，跟你亲近的人给变成了告密者，好没日没夜监视你。 他一下又想起了凯瑟琳。要不是她太愚蠢，看不透他思想里的不正统，她铁定向思想警察揭发了他。然而这当儿，他真正想起她，倒因为这下午的天气闷热难当，热得他满头大汗淋漓。他便说给朱莉亚，十一年前一个同样酷热的下午发生的事情--或不如说，没能发生的事情。 那时候，他们结婚刚有三四个月。有次去肯特参加集体野游，他们走丢了。他们落在队伍后面只有几分钟，可是转错了个弯，跑到个白垩矿旧址的边上来。那里悬崖足有十几二十多米深，底下堆满了大石块。也见不着个人问问路。发现迷了路，凯瑟琳登时不安起来。哪怕跟那般吵吵嚷嚷的家伙分开半分钟，她也会觉得做了什么大错事儿。她便想赶着从来路返回去，换个方向找他们。就在这时，温斯顿发现，他们脚下悬崖的石缝里，长着几簇黄连花。有一簇有洋红跟砖红俩颜色，两种颜色的花，显然是从同一个根上长出来。他以前从来没有见到过，便叫着凯瑟琳过来看。 "看呀，凯瑟琳，看这花呀！靠坑底那簇。看见没，它们俩颜色？" 她早已转身往回走，听他叫她，才烦躁地转回身来看了一眼。她在悬崖上，甚至弯着身子，看他手指的方向。他站在她身后一两步，把手放在她腰间扶着她。这当儿他猛然想到，他们完全是彻底的孤单。到处没有个人影，树叶不动，鸟儿不鸣。这样的地方，藏了窃听器的危险小而又小，即便装了窃听器，录到的也只有声音。正是下午里最赤日炎炎、最昏昏欲睡的时分，太阳烘烤着他们，他的脸上大汗淋漓。他一下想到了这个念头…… "干吗不推她一把？"朱莉亚说。"我就会推她。" "唔，亲爱的，你会推。换了现在的我，我也会推。也许会罢……我不能肯定。" "你没推后悔么？" "唔。总起来说，我后悔。" 他们并肩坐在灰尘累累的地板上，他把她拉到面前。她的头偎在他肩上，头发的香味盖住了鸽屎臭。她这样年轻，对生活还有期望，她不懂把个把烦人的人推下悬崖，根本不解决任何问题。 "其实没有任何差别么，"他说。 "那你干吗后悔没推？" "只因为我更喜欢积极，不喜欢消极。我们参加的这场比赛，我们赢不了。只是说，有一些失败，比旁的一些好一点。" 他觉出她的肩膀扭动一下，表示她的反对。他说这样的话，她总是跟他抵触。按照自然法则，个人总免不了要失败，这一点她却不接受。某种程度上她也明白，她自己已经命中注定，思想警察迟早总会抓住她，杀死她；然而在心里的另一部分，她相信可能构筑个隐秘的世界，可以按自己的选择来生活。只消有点子运气、狡猾和勇敢，这样的事情便能成功。她不懂没有幸福这码事儿，惟一的胜利只在于遥远的未来，你死后很久的未来；自从向党宣战那天起，顶好把自个儿当一具尸体。 "我们都死啦，"他说。 "我们还没死哩，"朱莉亚干巴巴地答道。 "肉体是没死。六个月，一年--五年，这都想象得出来。我很怕死。你还年轻，准保比我还怕死。不用说，我们得尽量把死亡往后推，可这里没有什么大区别。只要人还做个人，死跟生就是一样的东西。" "嘿，蠢话！呆会儿你要跟谁睡觉？跟我？还是跟个骨头架子？你不喜欢人活着？瞧瞧这样的感觉：这是我，我的手，我的腿，我真真切切，我实实在在，我活着哩！你不喜欢这些？" 她扭转身子，把胸脯压在他身上。隔着工作服，他觉得出她的乳房，成熟又结实。她的身体，仿佛把青春与活力灌注到他的身上。 "是呀，我喜欢这些，"他说。 "那就别说什么死啦。听我说，亲爱的，我们得安排下次见面啦。我们能回到树林里那地方哩，好长时间没去啦。可这次你得另走一条路。我全给你计划好啦。你坐火车--喏，我画给你看！" 她便按照自己的那种实际做法，扫来一小堆尘土，拿根鸽子窝的小树枝，在地上给他画了个地图。