Chapter 10 3

three "There are three steps to your transformation," said O'Brien. "One is to learn, the other is to understand, and the third is to accept. Now it's time for you to move on to step two." Winston lay on his back as usual, but of late the straps that bound him had loosened a little.He was still tied to the bed, but he could move his knees, turn his head, and lift his arms.That appearance no longer made him feel scared and flustered, as long as he turned his mind a little faster, he could avoid suffering.Mostly O'Brien would pull the lever when he was blaming him for being slow.Sometimes they finished a conversation without using the instrument once.He couldn't remember how many conversations there were in total, but it seemed to him that it had been a long, unlimited time--perhaps a few weeks at all.The interval between the two times is sometimes a few days, sometimes only an hour or two.

"You lie there," said O'Brien, "you've been thinking, and you've asked me, why the Ministry of Care has spent so much time and trouble on you. When you were a free man, the question It makes you wonder. The society you live in, its structure you can understand; but you can't understand its underlying motives. Remember, you write in your diary, I know the means; but I don't know the why When you think about why, you start to wonder if you're sane. You've read that book, Goldstein's, at least in part. What does it say that you don't know?"

"Have you read it?" asked Winston. "I wrote it. Or rather, I helped write it. No book is a personal product, you know." "Is it all right, what's written in there?" "From the description, it is correct. But the program it puts forward is full of nonsense! Secret accumulation of knowledge-gradual promotion of enlightenment-finally the rebellion of the proletariat-overthrow the party. Anyone can guess what it will say Nonsense! The proletarians will never rebel, not in a thousand years, not in a million years. They won't! I don't need to tell you why, you know the reason. What violent revolution do you still dream of? Don't Dreaming! There is no way to overthrow the party. The party's rule will never change forever! Your thinking should start from this point!"

He moved closer to the bed. "It will never change forever!" he repeated. "Now, let's talk about the means and the why. You are well aware of the party's means of maintaining power. Tell me, we hold on to power, what is the reason here. What is our motivation? Why do we desire power?" Winston said nothing for a second or two.It was very annoying, to see O'Brien, with the flickering frenzy of passion again in his face.He knew exactly what O'Brien would say--the Party was not seeking power for its own sake, but only for the benefit of the majority of the people.The masses of the people are weak and cowardly, unable to endure freedom, and unable to face the truth, so a group of strong men must rule over them and systematically deceive them—this is the reason why the party pursues power.Human beings need to choose between freedom and happiness; for most people, happiness is always preferable.The party is always the protector of the weak, a sect dedicated to the cause, it does evil to bring good, it sacrifices its own happiness for the happiness of others.The frightening thing was that O'Brien had said that, and he, Winston, had to believe him.From his face, it could be seen that there was nothing this O'Brien didn't know.He was a thousand times better than Winston, he knew what the world really looked like, how far man had fallen, and what lies and brutality the Party had used to keep them at that level.He knew all this, O'Brien, and thought it out; and it didn't matter, because the end justified the means.Such a madman is smarter than you, and you can speak freely, but he is still obsessed with it--what can you do in the face of such a madman?

"You rule us for our benefit," he said softly. "You believe that man is unfit to govern himself, so..." He was so startled that he almost cried out.He felt a pain all over his body, and O'Brien pushed the handle of the meter to thirty-five. "Stupid, Winston, you are so stupid!" he said. "What do you mean by that? You should think better." He pulled back the handle and went on: "Now, let me tell you the answer to this question. Listen: The party seeks power for its own sake. We don't care about the interests of others. We are only interested in power. Not wealth, not luxury, not longevity, Nor is it happiness--only power, pure power! What pure power means, you will see. We are different from all the oligarchies that have ever been, and we know what we are doing. All those oligarchies, all Cowards, all hypocrites, even those who resemble us. The Nazis in Germany, the Communists in Russia, acted just like us, but they never had the courage to admit their motives. They pretended, perhaps I really believe that they did not seize power voluntarily, but only for a limited period of time. It will not be long before a paradise of freedom and equality for everyone will appear. This is not the case with us! We know that whoever seizes power has no purpose. It is to give up power. Power is not a means, it is an end! A dictatorship is not established to defend the revolution; Purpose is power. Are you beginning to understand?"

How tired was O'Brien's face.Winston had been shocked at first, and he still was.It was a face that was resolute, fat, and cruel; a face full of wisdom and a subdued passion that made him powerless.And yet, how tired was that face.The bags under the eyes are prominent, and the skin on the cheeks is saggy.O'Brien bent over him, deliberately bringing his weather-beaten face closer to him. "You're thinking," he said, "that my face is old and tired. You're thinking, I'm talking nonsense about power, but I can't even control my own aging. But don't you understand, Winston, a man is just a Cells? The aging of a single cell means the vitality of the body! Cut off your nails, and you will die?"

He walked away from the bed, put one hand in his pocket, and began pacing up and down again. "We are priests of power," he said. "God is power. But now, power is just a word to you. It's time for you to figure out what power means. First of all, you have to know that so-called power is collective power. Individuals, only Only by being an individual can we have power. You know the slogan of the party that says: Freedom is slavery. Have you ever thought that this slogan can be reversed! Slavery is freedom! A single person, a free person, can always be Failure. There is no running away, because everyone is doomed, and that is the greatest failure. But if he can obey completely, obey completely, if he can get rid of his personal status and become one with the party, he becomes the party, So he is omniscient, omnipotent, and immortal. Secondly, you must also know that the so-called power is power over people. It is power over people's bodies—especially, people's minds! Power over matter, power over what you call external reality Power is irrelevant. Our power over matter has already reached an absolute level!"

For a moment Winston forgot about the instrument.He tried all of a sudden to sit up, only to end up writhing in pain. "But how do you control matter?" he exclaimed. "You can't even control the climate, you can't even control the force of gravity. What about sickness? Pain? Death?  …" O'Brien waved his hand and stopped him. "We control mind, so we control matter. Reality exists in the head! You'll find out, Winston. We've become omnipotent. Invisibility? Elevation? There's nothing impossible." If I want to do it, I can float on the ground like a soap bubble. I don't want to do it because the party doesn't want to do it. Nineteenth century notions of natural law, you have to get rid of all these things. We created natural law !"

"You don't! You don't even have masters of this planet. What about Eurasia and Eastasia? You haven't conquered them yet!" "It doesn't matter. We'll conquer them if it fits. What does it matter if we don't? We can deny their existence. Oceania is the world!" "But this world is nothing more than a speck of dust. Human beings are insignificant, weak and incompetent! How long have human beings existed? For millions of years, there was no human habitation on the earth!" "Nonsense. Earth is as old as us, never longer. How can it outlive man? Nothing exists except through man's consciousness!"

"But inside the rocks, there are all the bones of prehistoric animals—mammoths, mastodons, and dinosaurs. Before humans, they were on the earth long ago!" "Have you ever seen their skeletons, Winston? Of course not. They were fabricated by biologists in the nineteenth century! There was nothing before man, and there is nothing after man - if man If it is really going to be extinct, there will be nothing but humans!" "But what about the whole universe? It's beyond us! Look at the stars! Some stars are a million light-years away. We'll never reach them."

"What are the stars?" said O'Brien dryly. "A little fire a few miles away. We can go if we want to. Or we can erase them. The earth is the center of the universe! The sun and the stars Around the Earth!" Winston convulsed again, but this time he said nothing.O'Brien went on, as if in answer to his objection: "From a certain point of view, this statement is of course wrong. When we sail on the ocean, when we predict solar and lunar eclipses, we often feel that assuming that the earth revolves around the sun, assuming that the stars are hundreds of millions of kilometers away from us, this comparison Convenient. But so what? Do you think we can’t create a dual astronomical system? Starting from our needs, the stars can be close or far away. Do you think our mathematicians are so Incompetent? Have you forgotten doublethink?" Winston could not help curling up.No matter what he said, O'Brien quickly refuted it back, as if giving him a heavy sap.But he knew after all, he knew, he was right.The belief that there is nothing outside the mind - there must be a way to prove that such a belief is false.Didn't the error of this idea be exposed earlier?It had a name--but he couldn't remember it.O'Brien looked down at him, and a slight smile formed on the corners of his lips. "I told you, Winston," he said, "that metaphysics is not your forte. The word you were going to think of is called solipsism. But you are wrong again. It is not solipsism, let's call it Collective solipsism. The two are very different; strictly speaking, opposites. That's a digression," he said again. "Real power, the power we fight for day and night, is never power over things, but power over people!" He paused, then changed into the teacher's question to promising students: "A How does one demonstrate one's power to others, Winston?" Winston thought about it. "By causing others to suffer," he said. "Excellent. By making others suffer. Obedience is not enough. How can you be sure that he is obeying your will and not his own if you don't make him suffer? Power brings pain and shame. Power, It will tear the human mind to shreds and put it back together again according to your choice. Then, you should start to see what kind of world we are going to build. Those old reformers, the hedonistic utopia they imagined, really Stupid! The world we want to build is the exact opposite of this utopia! This world will be full of fear, betrayal and pain, this world will be full of trampling and being trampled, this world will be more cruel when it purifies itself, not Tenderness! The progress of our world is the progress towards more pain. The old-fashioned civilizations claim that their foundation is love and justice. But our civilization, its foundation is hatred! In our world, there is only fear, only rage, only Carnival, nothing but inferiority—other than that, there is no emotion! Beyond that, everything must be destroyed, everything! We have destroyed all the habits of thought left over from before the revolution. The connection between children and parents, human We have completely cut off the connection with people, the connection between men and women. No one dares to trust wives, children and friends anymore. But in the future, there will be no wives and no friends! When a child is born, he will be hugged by his mother. Go, take it away from the hen as the egg is laid. The sexual instinct will be eradicated, and reproduction will become an annual procedure, like changing a ration card. Orgasm will be abolished! Our neurologists are working on Study this matter. There is no loyalty but loyalty to the Party! There is no love but love for Big Brother! There is no laughter but laughter at defeating the enemy! No more art, no more Literature, no more science - we are omnipotent, what science is needed! There is no difference between beauty and ugliness! No more curiosity, no joy in life! Eliminate all coexisting pleasures! Don't forget , Winston—the obsession with power, but always there, always there, and ever increasing, ever more refined. Every moment, always the thrill of victory, the thrill of trampling a defenseless foe. If you To see a picture of the future, imagine stomping a foot on someone's face -- and stomping forever!" He stopped and waited for Winston to speak.Winston, for his part, longed to hide under the bed again.He couldn't speak, but felt that his heart was also frozen.O'Brien continued: "Remember, it's always stomping! That face is always there, waiting to be stomped on. Heretics, social enemies, they're always there, waiting to be beaten and humiliated by you over and over again. You are in our hands Everything that Li has experienced since then-all of this will continue and intensify! Espionage, treason, arrests, torture, executions and disappearances, all of this will never end. This world is a world of conquest, but it is also a world of terror! The stronger the party, the less tolerant it is; the weaker the opposition, the harsher the autocratic system. Goldstein and his heresies will last forever! Every moment, they are hit, doubted, Ridiculous, spurned--yet they'll last forever! I've played this play with you for seven years; it's going to be played over and over again, forever and ever, only in a more subtle form. We'll always put Heretics brought in to our mercy, screaming in pain, utterly defeated, humiliated—and finally utterly repentant, willing to crawl to our feet. That's the world we've made, Winston. In this world , one victory after another, one conquest after another; oppressing, oppressing, oppressing the nerves of power. I can see that you are beginning to understand what the world is like. But in the end. You just understand It's not enough. You have to accept it, welcome it, become a part of it!" At last Winston was able to speak. "You can't do that!" he said weakly. "What do you mean, Winston?" "The world you mentioned, you just can't build it. This is a dream, it's impossible!" "why?" "Civilization cannot be built on fear, hatred and cruelty. Such a civilization cannot last." "Why can't it last?" "It won't be alive. It will fall apart. It's suicide." "Nonsense. Do you think hatred consumes people more than love? Why? Even if it does, what does it matter? What if we just want to age faster? What if we just want to speed up life so that at thirty What about old age? What does it matter! Don't you understand that personal death is not death! The Party is immortal!" These remarks, as usual, knocked Winston into a powerless blow.And he was also afraid that if he stubbornly opposed it, O'Brien would show up again.But he couldn't be silent.So weakly he went on the offensive, but that was no argument at all, and he had nothing to back him up except the unspeakable horror at O'Brien's words. "I don't know—and I don't care. You're going to fail anyway. You're going to beat. Life's going to beat you." "We have life under our control, Winston, in all its aspects. You can imagine that there is something called humanity, which would be outraged by what we do, and rise up against us. But humanity is what we create. Yes! Humans are infinitely malleable! Or you're reminded of your old idea that the proletariat, those slaves, will rise up and overthrow us. Give up! They're like animals, they can't do anything. Human nature is the party! Don't It's all external -- it's irrelevant!" "I don't care. They'll beat you in the end. Sooner or later they'll see you for what you are, and tear you apart!" "What can prove such a process, have you seen it? Why is there such a process?" "There's no evidence, but I just believe it. I know you're going to fail. There's something in the universe, I don't know, maybe some spirit, some principle—you just can't beat it." "Do you believe in God, Winston?" "Do not believe." "Then, what is this principle that defeats us?" "I don't know. The human spirit." "You consider yourself human?" "Well." "If you were a human being, Winston, you would be the last of us. Your species is extinct, and we are the ones to succeed. Don't understand that you are alone? You are outside history, you are a non-existence!" His attitude As soon as he changed his tone, his tone became harsher, "Do you think we lie and we are cruel, so you are morally better than us?" "Hmm. I think I'm strong." O'Brien said nothing, but two other voices spoke.It was not long before Winston recognized that one of them was himself.It was a recording of his conversation with O'Brien the night he attended the fraternity.He heard himself promise to lie, steal, forge, kill, advocate drugs and prostitution, infect sexually transmitted diseases, and throw acid in the face of children.O'Brien made an impatient little gesture, as if to say that the recording was not worth playing.He turned a switch and the sound stopped. "Get up," he said. The straps that bound him loosened automatically.Winston got out of bed and staggered to his feet. "You are the last man standing," said O'Brien. "You are still the guardian of the human spirit. Look at yourself, what you look like! Undressed." The overalls were fastened with a cord, which Winston untied.The zipper has long since been removed.He couldn't remember whether he had stripped naked after being arrested.Under the work clothes, there were some yellow and dirty pieces of cloth hanging on his body, which could barely be recognized as pieces of underwear.He let them slide to the floor, and across the room, there was a three-sided mirror.He walked over, but stopped immediately, and couldn't help screaming. "In the past," said O'Brien. "Stand in the middle of the mirror so you can look sideways." He stopped because he was frightened.Something hunched over was coming toward him, like a leaden skeleton of bones.That appearance is very scary, not all because he knows it is himself.He took a few more steps toward the mirror.The thing seemed to be headed forward because the body was already arched.That face was like a miserable prisoner, with pimples on the forehead, baldness on the top of the head, twisted nose, sunken cheeks, but burning eyes, full of vigilance.His face was wrinkled and his mouth was empty.There is no doubt that this is his face, but it seems to him that the change in his heart is greater.The emotion shown on this face was completely different from the emotion in his heart.His head was half bald; at first he thought his hair was gray, but it was his scalp.Except for his hands and the circle around his face, his whole body was gray and terribly dirty.Under the dirt, there were red scars everywhere, varicose veins on the ankles were rotten, and the skin peeled off piece by piece.But what is really scary is his emaciation.The ribs are as narrow as a pile of skeletons, and the thighs are not as thick as the knees.Only then did he understand what O'Brien meant by telling him to look sideways.It turned out that his spine was frighteningly curved.The bony shoulders were thrust forward, the chest was sunken, and the lean neck seemed to be tottering under the weight of the head.Ask him to guess, and he will say that this is a sixty-year-old man suffering from some malignant disease. "Sometimes you think," said O'Brien. "My face, the face of an inner party, is really old and tired. What do you think about your face?" He grabbed Winston by the shoulders and turned him to face him. "Look at yourself!" he said. "Look how dirty you are! Look at the mud between your toes! Look at the sores on your ankles, it's disgusting! Didn't you know you stink like a pig? You can't even smell it. Look at you so thin Look! See? I can wrap your arms around with my thumb and forefinger! Breaking your neck is like breaking a carrot! You know, since you fell into our hands, you lost twenty-five kilograms And your hair is also falling down in handfuls. Look!" He grabbed Winston's hair and pulled out a bunch of it. "Open your mouth. Nine, ten, eleven teeth left! How many teeth did you have when you came here? The remaining ones, drop them if you say so. Look!" His strong thumb and forefinger held Winston's remaining front tooth.There was a sharp pain in Winston's palate, which O'Brien had wrenched out of the gum and thrown on the other side. "You're rotten," he said, "you're rotten. What are you? A pile of rubbish! Go, turn around, look in the mirror again. See the thing in front of you? That's the last man! You If it's a person, it's humanity! Put on your clothes." Winston dressed slowly and clumsily.He hadn't noticed how thin he was.He only thought of one thing: the time he landed here was guaranteed to be longer than he thought.And when he put on these miserable rags, he was suddenly filled with pity--look what he's been spoiled for!There was a small bench next to the bed, and he sat down on it, crying loudly, not paying attention to what he was doing for a while.Then he realized it: he was too ugly, too ugly, with a pile of bones covered in dirty underwear, sitting under the harsh light and crying—but he couldn't stop it.O'Brien put a hand on his shoulder and spoke almost kindly. "It won't always be like this," he said. "You can get out of this if you will. It's all up to you!" "You did it!" sobbed Winston. "It's you guys who made me like this!" "No, Winston, it was you who made you what you were. You accepted it from the moment you started against the Party. It was all included in that first act. Things you didn't foresee at all. does not exist." He paused, then went on: "We beat you, Winston. We beat you. You saw what your body became. Your heart, too. I don't think you have much self-respect left. You got kicked." Kicked, whipped, insulted, you screamed in pain, rolled in your own blood and vomit. You cried for mercy, you betrayed everyone and everything. Come to think of it, and What depraved thing did you not do?" Winston stopped crying, but the tears were still welling in his eyes.He looked up at O'Brien. "I didn't betray Julia," he said. O'Brien looked down at him thoughtfully. "No," he said, "no, quite right. You didn't betray Julia." Again Winston felt in his heart a special respect for O'Brien--a respect which nothing seemed to be able to destroy.How clever, how clever!O'Brien never understood what he said.Anybody would have said at once that he had betrayed Julia.Under torture, what else did he not explain?He told all about her, her habits, her character, her past life; he told all the trivial details of their trysts, everything they said to each other, black market things, adultery, anti-Party Conspiracy - everything.Yet, in the sense of the word he used, he had not betrayed her.He didn't stop loving her; his affection for her was as strong as ever.O'Brien understood without explanation. "Tell me," he said, "when will they shoot me?" "It may be a long time," replied O'Brien. "Your situation is too difficult. But don't give up hope. There is a cure for everyone sooner or later. In the end, we will shoot you." Four He is much better.Every day he grew fatter and stronger--if any days could be told. The white lights and buzzing sounds have not changed at all, but this cell is a little more comfortable than before.A pillow was added to the plank bed, a mattress was added, and there was a bench for him to sit on.They gave him a bath, and allowed him to wash in the basin frequently.They even gave him lukewarm water for bathing.They issued him new underwear, and a clean set of overalls.His varicose veins, they put painkiller cream on them.They pulled out his remaining teeth and fitted him with a new set of dentures. This will guarantee a few weeks, or a few months.If he was still interested, he would be able to figure out the time now, because they brought him meals regularly.He reckoned that he could have three meals in twenty-four hours; but sometimes he couldn't tell whether the meals were delivered at night or during the day.The food is amazingly good, and there must be meat once in three meals.He even gave him a pack of cigarettes - he didn't have a match, so the silent guard who delivered the food lit him a fire.Smoking for the first time made him nauseous, but he held on to it.In this way, I smoked half a cigarette after every meal, and I smoked a pack of cigarettes for a long time. They gave him a whiteboard with a pencil stub tied to the corner.At first he was of no use at all.Even when he woke up, he was completely numb.Often after a meal, he would lie motionless and wait for the next meal. Sometimes he fell asleep, and sometimes he was dizzy and tranced, and he didn't bother to open his eyes.Now the bright light was on his face, and he was used to sleeping too.In fact, this is no different, except that the dream is extraordinarily coherent and clear.During these days he had many dreams, and one of these dreams was very happy.He was in the El Dorado, sitting among the sun-drenched ruins, with his mother, Julia, O'Brien—they had nothing to do but sit in the sun and do their daily chores.When he woke up, he was mostly thinking about his dream.He seemed to have lost the ability to think, and he couldn't even feel pain.He wasn't bored, but he didn't want to talk, and he didn't want to be entertained.As long as he was left alone, not tortured, not interrogated, fed enough, clean enough, he was completely satisfied. He actually slept less and less, but he still didn't feel like getting up.He just wanted to lie quietly on the bed and feel that his physical strength was gradually recovering.He would feel his body here and there, trying to make sure that it wasn't an illusion after all: the muscles had really grown, the skin had really tightened.In the end, there was no doubt that he was really putting on weight, and his thighs must be thicker than his knees.Afterwards, he began to exercise regularly, and he was reluctant at first, but after a while, he was able to walk three kilometers, which can be calculated by the width of the prison number.The bent shoulders also began to straighten.He then tried to do some complicated exercises; to his surprise, he couldn't do some exercises, which made him feel ashamed.He couldn't walk fast, lift a bench, or stand on one leg without falling over.Squatting down and then standing up, my thigh and calf hurt like hell.Even if you lie down and do push-ups, you can't do it, and you can't stand up to a centimeter.But in a few days (or a few more meals!), he can even do push-ups.He can hold six at a time.He really began to be proud of his body, and sometimes he believed that his face must have returned to normal.Only occasionally, when he touched his bald head, he would remember the face he saw in the mirror, that broken and wrinkled face. Thoughts also become active.He sat on the plank bed, with his back against the wall, and the whiteboard on his knees, intentionally set about re-educating himself. He has raised his hands in surrender, no one disputes that.In fact, thinking about it now, long before making this decision, he was ready to surrender.From the moment he entered the Ministry of Care—yes, even from the moment he and Julia stood helpless, listening to the grim voice on the telescreen ordering them to do this and that—he knew what an attempt to rebel against party power was. Weak.He knew now that for seven years the Thought Police had watched him like a bug under a magnifying glass.Any action, any word, is under their noses; any thought, there is nothing that they cannot guess.Even the white clay grain on the cover of the diary, they put it back carefully.They played tapes to him and showed him pictures, some of them with Julia, yes, and even... He couldn't fight the Party anymore.Besides, is the party right?Surely so; how could the collective brain, the immortal brain, be wrong?By what external standard can its judgment be checked?Sanity, statistically significant.The problem is just, learn to think things according to their way of thinking!only……! Holding the pencil between my fingers, I feel thick and clumsy.He began to write down the thoughts that came to his head.He began by writing awkwardly in capital letters: freedom is slavery Then, almost in one breath, he wrote: two plus two equals five He stopped writing suddenly.I can't concentrate all the time, as if I want to avoid something.He knew that he knew what to write in the next sentence, but for a while, he just couldn't remember it.When he remembered it, it was purely deliberate reasoning, and he figured out what it should be, and he definitely didn't think of it automatically.He wrote: god is power All in all, he accepted it all.The past can be changed.The past never changes.Oceania was at war with Eastasia.Oceania has been at war with Eastasia.Jones, Aaronson and Rutherford, they did what they were charged with.He had never seen any pictures that could prove their innocence.That photo didn't exist at all, it was all fabricated by him.He remembered that he had remembered things the other way around, but those memories were all wrong, the product of self-deception.Look how easy it is!As long as you surrender first, everything else will be solved.It's like swimming against the current. No matter how hard you try, the current pushes you back; but you suddenly decide to turn around -- and you go with the current, a thousand miles away.Nothing remains the same except your attitude, what is meant to happen will happen after all.He couldn't understand why he rebelled!How easy everything is!Apart from……! Anything can be right.The so-called laws of nature are pure nonsense.What gravity is, is pure nonsense. "If I wanted to," said O'Brien, "I could float up here like a soap bubble." Winston thought: "If he thinks he is floating, I think at the same time that I see him floating." Wake up, this thing will happen." Meng Keli, like a shipwreck emerging from the water, thought: "This didn't really happen--it's all in our imagination! It's pure hallucination!" He immediately put this Thoughts suppressed.Ridiculous, obviously ridiculous!It presupposes that, somewhere, there is a "real" world outside of us, where "real" events take place.But how can such a world exist?How can we know anything except through our minds?Everything happens in thought.As long as it happens in all thoughts, it is really happening. There was no difficulty in resolving such a fallacy, and he was not at risk of accepting it.Still, he shouldn't have thought of it after all.As soon as dangerous thoughts arise, the mind is bound to become a blind spot.The process should be automatic, instinctive—in Newspeak, it's called crime cessation. He set about practicing crime stopping.He posed several propositions to himself—"The Party says the earth is flat" and "The Party says ice is heavier than water"—to train himself not to see or understand the opposite propositions.It's not easy.The reasoning ability it needs, and the ability to improvise, are simply astonishing.Arithmetic problems like "two plus two equals five" were beyond his intellectual capacity.It also requires a kind of mental exercise, the ability to use logic at its finest beforehand, and to ignore its crudest logical fallacies at once.Stupidity is as necessary as cleverness, and equally difficult to train. At the same time, his mind was still wondering how soon it would take them to shoot him. "It's all up to you," O'Brien had said to him; yet he knew that he could do nothing consciously to bring this imminent death.Maybe in another ten minutes, maybe in his ten years.They could keep him in solitary confinement for years and years, they could send him to a labor camp, or, as they sometimes did, they could let him out for a while.It is very likely that before the shooting, the scene of arrest and interrogation will have to be re-acted in full.What is certain is that death will never come to you at the expected moment.传统的做法，是在脑袋后面开一枪，总是在脑袋后面，没有任何警告，在你从一个监号，搬到另一个监号的走廊上--这做法没人说起过，没人听说过，可是没人不知道。 有一天--其实"有一天"这说法不准确，也有可能是半夜，不如说有一次--他沉浸在一种极其幸福的奇特幻境里。他在走廊上走，等着挨子弹。他知道没多久，这子弹就要来啦。所有的一切，都解决啦，消除啦，和解啦。再没有怀疑，再没有争论，再没有疼痛，再没有恐惧。他的身体，是健康又强壮。他走得很轻松，动作高高兴兴，直觉得走在阳光里。他再不是走在爱护部狭窄的白色走廊上，而是走上了一条阳光灿烂的大路，足有一公里宽呢。他就在这路上走，神志昏迷，仿佛给人用了麻醉剂。他就是在那黄金国，在那野兔啃得七零八落的牧场，穿过足迹踏出的小径。他觉得出脚下软软的短草，脸上和暖的阳光。原野边缘是那棵榆树，轻轻摆动不已；再远处还有条小溪，鲤鱼在柳树下的绿色水潭里遨游。 猛然间一阵恐惧，叫他惊跳起来，后背出了一层冷汗。他听见自己叫出了声来： "朱莉亚！朱莉亚！朱莉亚，我亲爱的！朱莉亚！" 一时间，他满心充满了幻觉，仿佛她就在身边。仿佛她不仅在身边，也渗进他的身体里，溶进他的皮肤里。在这时，比他们在一起的时候，比他们还自由的时候，他格外地爱她。他也知道她还活在什么地方，她需要他的帮助。 他躺到床上，努力平静下来。他干了什么呀？这瞬间的软弱，会加给他多少年的苦役！ 再耽一会儿，他准保听得见外边的皮靴响。他们绝不会听凭他这样大嚷大叫，而不去惩罚他。从前他们或许不知道，现在就知道啦--他撕毁了跟他们签署的协议。他是服从了党，然而却依然仇恨党。从前他把自己的歪理邪说，深藏在表面的顺从之下。如今他是又退了一步：思想上固然投了降，却企图保持内心不受侵凌。他明知道自己错啦，可是宁愿坚持错误。他们一定知道的--奥勃良，他一定知道的。那声愚不可及的叫喊，坦白了这一切。 所有这些，他还得重新经一次，这准保又得好几年。他摸摸脸，想熟悉一下自己的新模样。脸上的皱纹真深呀。颧骨耸得老高，鼻子瘪瘪塌塌。况且，打从上次照了镜子，他们给他换了整套的新假牙。要是闹不清自己的尊容什么样，想拿个莫测高深的表情都很难。而且，单单控制表情也不够呀。他平生第一次觉出来，要叫一件事情秘而不宣，先得藏起来不叫自己知道。你得清楚这个秘密在哪里，然而不到需要，就万万不可叫它跑到你的记忆里来--随它变成何种名目的形状也不行。从今往后，光是想得正确就不够啦，他得感觉得正确，梦做得正确。在这期间，他必得把仇恨锁在心里，当它是个脓包，又是身体的一部分，又跟其它部分不发生关系--就当它是块囊肿好啦。 总有一天，他们会定下来枪毙他。没人告诉你，这会是在哪一天，不过几秒钟之前，总归猜得出来。永远是走在走廊上，从脑袋后面开一枪。十秒钟，足够干完啦。就这十秒钟，他的内心世界就翻转了过来。用不着说话，用不着停步，脸上的表情也不用变，猛可里--猛可里伪装撕了下来，于是砰！他的仇恨开了炮。仇恨犹如熊熊的火焰，充满了他的胸膛。几乎就在这瞬间，砰！子弹射了过来--要么太晚，要么太早啦。他的大脑，他们没等改造，就先打了个稀巴烂。歪理邪说得不到惩罚，经不着悔改，永远脱离了他们。在他们的完美无缺当中，这是打下了个漏洞--仇恨他们而死，这就是自由！ He closed his eyes.这可比思想受训还要难呀。问题是他得贬低自己，他得阉割自己。他得趴到顶脏顶脏的脏东西里去。最最可怕的事情，最最恶心的事情，那能是什么？他又想起了老大哥，那张大脸呀，温斯顿老在海报上见得到，他只觉得足有一米宽--瞧那浓密的黑胡髭，眼睛总是盯着你，这样的形象，就自动浮现在了脑海里。对老大哥，他的真实感情怎么样？ 走廊里一阵沉重的皮靴响。铁门锵地打开来，奥勃良跨进了监号。他的身后，是那个蜡像脸的军官，和一个黑衣警卫。 "起来，"奥勃良说。"到我这儿来。" 温斯顿站到他的面前。奥勃良用他有力的双手抓住温斯顿的肩膀，紧紧盯着他。 "你想骗我，"他说。"这蠢透啦。站直啦！看我的脸！" 他停了一下，换了种温和点的口气。 "你是在进步。在思想上，你的问题不大啦。只是在感情上，你可没有进步。告诉我，温斯顿，记着别撒谎--你知道，谎话我总是发现得了的！告诉我，对老大哥，你的真实感情怎么样？" "我恨他。" "你恨他。很好。到时候啦，你该走最后一步啦。你得爱老大哥。服从他还不够，你得爱他。" 他轻轻把温斯顿推给警卫。 "Room 101," he said. Fives 在他被关着的所有阶段，他都知道自己在大楼的什么地方，纵然这座建筑根本就没有窗户。起码，他似乎是知道的，八成因为气压总有点不同。警卫揍他那监号在地底，奥勃良提审他的房间却高得很，快要到房顶上。如今这地方却在地下好多米，深到不能再深的程度。 这监号比他呆过的许多地方都要大。可他看不见周围什么样，只看见面前两张小桌子，还铺着绿绒布。一张离他只有一两米，另一张稍远，靠着房门。他给用皮带，直挺挺绑在一把椅子上，紧得根本不能动，连脑袋也没法转一下。有块垫子，从后面把他的脑袋紧紧固定住，逼着他只能向前看。 起初只有他自己在房里。一会儿，门开了，奥勃良走了进来。 "你问过我，"奥勃良道，"一○一房间有什么。我跟你说，答案你早就知道。这答案每个人都知道。一○一房间的东西，是天下最最可怕的东西。" 门又打开了，进来个警卫，手拿一个铁丝编成的东西，像个盒子，又像个篮子。他就把它放在离温斯顿较远的桌子上。奥勃良站在那儿，温斯顿看不清那东西是什么。 "天下最最可怕的东西，"奥勃良道，"人人都不相同。可能是活埋，烧死，水里淹死，尖桩上戳死，或其它无数种死法。有些情形下，这东西微不足道，甚至根本不致命。" 他朝旁边移了一点，温斯顿便看清了桌上是什么。那是个长方形的铁笼子，笼顶有把手可以拎起来。笼子前面安了个击剑面罩一样的东西，不过凹面朝外。这笼子离他足有三四米远，他还是看见，笼子按长向分成了两半，每一半里都有些动物。是几只老鼠。 "对你而言，"奥勃良道，"天下最最可怕的东西是老鼠！" 温斯顿刚瞥见那个铁笼子，全身便预感般觉出一阵颤栗，一阵莫名的恐惧。这时，他突然明白了，笼子前面那面罩一样的东西要干什么用，登时吓得屁滚尿流。 "别，别这样！"他扯着嗓子叫起来。"别这样，别这样！不能这样！" "记得么，"奥勃良道，"在梦里你常常惊慌失措？你面前有堵黑漆漆的墙，你耳畔听见震耳的怒吼。墙那边有什么吓人的东西，吓得你要命。你明知道自己清楚有什么，可就是不敢明白说出来。--墙那边有老鼠！" "奥勃良！"温斯顿使劲控制住声音，"你知道用不着这样。你想要我干什么呀？" 奥勃良不直接回答他。等他开口，那语气又变成他有时拿出的教师腔。他沉思地看着远处，仿佛对着温斯顿身后的听众在演说。 "就自身而言，"他说，"疼痛永远不够用。有时人会坚持扛着不怕疼，哪怕疼得要死。可每个人，都有些东西叫他受不了，想也不敢想。这根本不涉及勇敢和怯懦。你从高处摔下来，抓住根绳子，就算不得怯懦。要是你得从深水里边浮上来，深深吸口气，也算不得怯懦。这不过是种本能，你没法不服从罢了。其实，老鼠也是一样。对你来说，老鼠就叫你受不了。这样的压力你没法扛，哪怕再想也不灵。叫你干什么，你都得干！" "叫我干什么呀，干什么呀？我还不知道呢，怎么干呀？" 奥勃良提起笼子，拿到温斯顿近前的桌子这边，小心地放在绒布的桌面上。温斯顿只听见耳朵里热血上涌，仿佛坐在绝对寂寥无人的地方。他正在一片空旷的平原中央，一块阳光灼人的沙漠，所有辽远的声音一起传到了耳畔。可那鼠笼离他只有两米远。那些老鼠真是大得很，胡子硬挺，毛色发灰。 "老鼠，"奥勃良依然对那般隐身的听众在演说，"虽然是啮齿动物，可是也吃肉。这些你也该知道。你准听过，伦敦贫民区里出的事儿--有些街上，当妈的就不敢叫小孩子单独呆在家，哪怕只呆上五分钟。老鼠准保会来咬孩子，没一会儿，吃得只剩骨头。有病的人，快死的人，它们一样咬。它们晓得哪个人没能力抵抗，聪明得可真惊人！" 笼子里，那老鼠尖声叫了一下，温斯顿只觉得这声音来自很远的地方。老鼠在打架哩，它们想穿过隔板，把对方杀死。他还听到一声绝望的呻吟，同样仿佛来自他身后的什么地方。 奥勃良提起笼子，一面锵地一声，按一下笼子上的什么东西。温斯顿拼命挣扎，想从椅子上挣脱开来--可毫无用处，身体的每个部分，连他的脑袋，还是动不了。奥勃良把笼子再挪近一点，离温斯顿的脸还不到一米。 "第一个手杆我已经按下啦，"奥勃良说。"你知道这笼子的构造。面罩正合你的脑袋，严丝合缝。一按第二个手杆，笼门就会滑开。那些东西饿坏啦，它们会像子弹一样射出来。见没见过老鼠往高跳？它们会跳到你脸上，紧紧咬进去。有时候它们先奔眼睛。有时候它们从脸钻进去吃舌头！" 笼子越来越近，快靠着他啦。温斯顿听见不断的尖叫，仿佛从他的脑袋上面传过来。可他拼着命企图摆脱惊慌。动动脑子，动动脑子，哪怕只剩下半秒钟--动动脑子，这可是惟一的希望呀！突然间，他闻到那东西强烈的腐臭，猛可里一阵恶心，几乎失去了知觉，眼前一片漆黑。一时间，他尖叫着，成了个发狂的野兽。然而他抓住个想法，从黑地里挣了出来。有一个方法，惟有那一个办法，才救得了他。他必得在他跟老鼠之间，插进去一个人，插进去一个人的身体。 面罩的铁圈，正大到叫他看不见旁的东西。铁门离他，只有一两只手那样近。老鼠晓得会发生什么事，有一只开始上窜下跳，另一只老态龙钟，竟站了起来，粉色的爪子扒着铁丝，拼命嗅个不停。温斯顿甚至看得见它的胡子，跟它的黄牙。一种漆黑的恐惧，再次攫住了他。他束手无策，眼前是黑暗，脑里是空白。 "在中华帝国的刑罚里，这是家常便饭，"奥勃良依旧训诲道。 面罩挨到他的脸上。铁丝贴在他的面颊上。于是--哦这没法脱身，只是个希望，些微的一线希望。太晚啦，或许太晚啦。可他一下子明白，在这世界上，只有一个人，容他把惩罚转移过去--只有一个人的身体，他可以隔在他跟老鼠之间。他就一遍又一遍，拼命嚷了起来： "咬朱莉亚！咬朱莉亚！别咬我，咬朱莉亚呀！怎么对她我不管，咬她的脸，嗑她的骨头呀！别咬我！咬朱莉亚呀！别咬我呀！" 他身子往后倒，直到无穷无尽的深渊，脱开了老鼠。他还给绑在椅子上，可却穿过了地板，穿过了墙壁，穿过了地球，穿过了海洋，穿过了空气，直落入太空，落入星际--他远远地落，远远地落，脱开了老鼠。他下落的距离以光年计，可奥勃良依然站在身边。他的脸上，还觉得出铁丝的冰凉。然而透过黑暗，他分明又听得一声金属的铿锵，他知道笼门已经关上，没有打开。 six 栗树咖啡馆几乎空无一人。一抹斜阳透过窗户，黄澄澄照在积满尘垢的桌子上。十五点，正是寂寥的时光。电幕上流出一阵轻轻的乐声。 温斯顿坐在他惯常坐的角落里，呆呆瞧着一只空酒杯。对面墙上盯着他的大脸孔，他时不时便要瞟一眼。下面还写着一行字，道是：老大哥看着你。用不着劳他招呼，一个服务员便走过来，替他斟满胜利牌杜松子酒，又用吸管透过另一个瓶子的木塞，吸几滴什么东西给他加进去。这便是丁香味儿糖精，这咖啡馆的特色。 温斯顿听着电幕的广播。这会儿还只播音乐，然而随时会播出和平部的特别公报。非洲来的消息，直叫人牵肠挂肚，害得他整天价忧心如焚。一支欧亚国的军队（大洋国在跟欧亚国打仗！大洋国一直在跟欧亚国打仗！）向南方神速挺进，中午的公报还没说具体地点，但八成已经在刚果河口交上了火，布拉柴维尔跟利奥波德维尔危在旦夕。不消看地图，谁也晓得这意味着什么--这还不仅仅丢掉了非洲，整场战争当中头一遭，大洋国本土受到了威胁。 他突然觉出一种剧烈的激动。还算不上恐惧，大抵是种模糊一片的兴奋。没一会儿，这情绪便消失啦。他不去想什么战争。这阵子不论任何事，他都没法集中精力想上几分钟。他端起酒，一口干了下去。跟往常一样，杜松子酒冲得他打个哆嗦，还有点恶心。这鬼东西可真够呛！丁香味儿和糖精，本身就已经叫人呕得慌，那股子油味又是死也压不住；而顶糟糕的还有一件事，便是那种杜松子酒臭，没日没夜从他的身上散出来，在他心里难缠难解地混着另一种臭味儿，那种…… 他从不提那东西的名字，即便想想也不干。只要做得到，他甚至不去想它的模样。那东西给他的印象朦朦胧胧，在他的眼前转来转去，一股臭味扑鼻子。杜松子酒气漾上来，他咧开紫色的嘴唇打个嗝儿。放他出来，他就开始发胖，恢复了往日的脸色--实说比原来还要好。身形变得挺粗大，鼻子跟脸颊又红又糙，秃瓢上未免忒红了点。服务员还是不用他招呼，便送来棋盘跟当天的《泰晤士报》，还给他翻到残局征解那一版。而后，见温斯顿把酒喝光，便拿瓶再给他斟满，根本不劳他叫酒。他们很了解他的习惯。棋盘总是等着他，角落里的桌子总是留给他；即便咖啡馆里坐满人，这张桌子还是没人占。没有人爱跟他凑得近。他从不费神算算喝了几杯酒。过不了一会儿，他们便给他一张脏兮兮的纸片，说这是帐单；然而他觉得，他们老是给他少算帐。其实多算帐也不打紧，反正眼下他钱多得是。他还有个工作，一个挂名的闲差，不过比他原来的工作挣得多。 电幕上中断了音乐，有人讲起话来。温斯顿抬起头听，却不是前线的公报，不过是富裕部的一份简报。听那简报里说，敢情上个季度，第十个三年计划的鞋带产量超额完成了百分之九十八。 他琢磨一下报上的残局征解，便摆开了棋子。那残局狡猾得很，主要靠的是双马。"白先黑后，两步将死。"温斯顿抬头瞧瞧老大哥像。白子总是将死黑子，他朦胧间觉得挺神秘。一切全这样安排妥帖，绝无例外。自从开天辟地，就没有一盘残局，叫黑子赢了去。这岂不象征着，善永恒不变地就会战胜恶？那大脸盘子紧紧盯着他，有力又安详。白子总是将死黑子。 电幕上的声音停了下来，又换了种更加庄重的语气："十五点三十分有重要公报，请注意收听。十五点三十分有重要新闻，请注意收听，不要错过。十五点三十分！"而后，那叮叮咚咚的音乐又响了起来。 温斯顿立时心乱如麻。这准是前线的公报啦；他凭直觉感到，传来的准保是条坏消息。这一天里，他一直带了点激动，听凭非洲败绩的惊人消息在脑海里时隐时现。他仿佛亲眼看见，欧亚国的军队如蚂蚁一般，蜂拥越过从未破过的边界，涌进非洲的底端。干吗就不能用什么办法，从侧翼包围了它？他明明想到了西非海岸的轮廓。他捡起白马往前走，这一步走的没得说。甚至当他见了黑色的乌合之众飞也似地往南冲，他依然看得见另一支军队神秘地集结起来，猛可里部署在他们的后方，拦腰切断他们的海陆交通。他只觉得由于他的一厢情愿，那军队竟真的变成了现实。然而，兵贵神速呀。要是叫他们控制了全非洲，要是叫他们把好望角的海空基地抢到手，大洋国便给一分为二啦。这便意味着--大祸临了头：战败，溃退，重新划分世界，党也会土崩瓦解！他不由得猛抽一口气。何其杂乱的感觉呀--然而其实，还称不上杂乱，只是层层叠叠，依次连属。而最下面的一层，没人说得出是什么--却在他的心里绞斗不休。 这痉挛般的心绪平静了下来。他又把白马放回原位，然而一时间，他还无法消停下来想残局。他的思想又漂移开来，几乎无意识地用手指，在桌上的尘垢里写道： 2+2= "他们钻不到你身子里面去，"她这样说过。可他们真真钻到了你的身子里面去。"你在这儿遇到的事情永远不会消失，"奥勃良是这样说的，这可说到了点子上。有那么些东西，你做过的事情，根本就无法挽回。在你的心里，有什么东西给杀死啦--烧掉了，熔掉了。 他见过她；他甚至跟她说过话，这样做早没有危险。他本能地清楚，如今他的所作所为，他们几乎毫无兴趣。要是他们两个都愿意，他都能再安排跟她见一次。其实他们那次见面挺偶然。那是个三月天，在公园里。那天冷极了，也坏极了，土地坚硬，草木凋败，惟有点点藏红花冒了头，也给寒风撕得七零八落。他冻手冻脚地急着赶路，眼睛冷得流眼泪。这当儿，他见她就在十米开外走过来。他吓了一跳，见她变了样子，可说不清变了什么。他们几乎漠然地擦身走过去，他便回转身来跟着她，不过动作并不热切。他明知道没危险，谁也不对他们的行为感兴趣。她一言不发，斜向穿过草地，像是打算摆脱他，见甩不开，便听任他走到身边来。他们正走到一簇灌木丛间，那树丛枝条光秃，破败凋残，挡不住人，也遮不住风。他们便停下了脚步。天冷得要命，寒风在树枝间呼啸，抽打着脏兮兮的藏红花。他伸手搂住了她的腰。 这里没有电幕，可一准藏着窃听器。况且，人人都看得见他们呀。可这没关系，什么都没关系。他们要是愿意，不妨就躺到地上干那事儿。想起这个，他的肌肉也骇得绷绷硬。他把胳膊搂着她，她却一点反应也没有，甚至都没想挣开他。现在他看出来她哪里变了样：她的脸色变得一片灰黄，一条长长的伤疤，从前额直伸到太阳穴，给头发盖住了一点。然而，这还算不上变化。她的腰身比以前粗实，而且叫人吃惊的是，也比以前僵硬。他记得有一次，炸了一颗火箭弹，他帮人从废墟里拽了具尸体出来。令他吃惊的，倒不是那尸体沉得要命，而是它那种僵硬难抓，仿佛抬的不是肉，而是块石头。她的身体，他觉得也是这样。恐怕她的皮肤，也不像从前那样细嫩啦。 他没打算吻她，他们也没说话。他们转身往回走，穿过草地，她这才第一次正眼看看他。那仅仅是短短的一瞥，充满了轻蔑和厌恶，也闹不清这厌恶纯粹由于过去的经历，还是也加上他肿胀的面孔，以及风吹得他满眼流泪的缘故。他们并着肩，在两把长椅上坐下来，可没有挨在一起。他见她好像要说话。她把自己笨重的鞋子挪了一点点，成心踩断了一根小树枝。连她的脚，仿佛也比以前长宽啦。 "我背叛了你，"她毫不掩饰地说。 "我背叛了你，"他说。 她又很快朝他厌恶地一瞥。 "有时候，"她说，"他们拿什么东西威胁你--那东西你根本经不起，想都不敢想。你就会说，别冲我，冲旁人去，冲谁谁去。事后你可以装模作样，说这不过是在玩花招，这么说不过是叫他们快住手，不真是这意思。可是，才不是这样。那会儿你就是这意思。你觉得没有别的办法能救你，就真的打算用这办法救自己。你真想这事冲别人。他们受什么罪，你他娘才不管。只剩关心你自己啦。" "只剩关心你自己啦，"他重复道。 "再往后，你对旁人的感情再不一样啦。" "是呀，"他说，"感情再不一样啦。" 好像再没什么话可以说。寒风把他们单薄的工作服，吹得紧贴在身上。坐着不说话未免太尴尬，这样一动不动也太冷。她说要去赶地铁，就站起来要走。 "我们再见罢，"他说。 "唔，"她说，"我们再见罢。" 他隔开半步远，迟迟疑疑跟了她一段。他们再没有说什么。她没有真打算甩开他，可是走得飞快，害得他没法跟她并肩走。他本想就送她去到地铁站，可是突然间，又觉得这样冷飕飕地送下去，就没什么意思，他也受不了。他一心只想不如离开朱莉亚，回到栗树咖啡馆，那地方从来没像现在这般吸引他。他依依想着他角落里的桌子，还有那报纸、棋盘，跟满杯满盏的杜松子酒。关键是，那里准保很暖和呀。于是接下来，不全是出于偶然，他听任一小群人把他跟朱莉亚分隔了开来。他半心半意打算追上去，又放慢脚步，掉转身来往回走。走出五十米，他才又回头看一眼。大街上人不多，可已经认不出哪个人是她。十几个人急匆匆地往前赶，她可能是其中的任一个。或许她的身体又胖又僵硬，从后面压根儿就认不出来啦。 她刚才说，"那会儿你就是这意思。"他也就是这意思。不光说了，他也真盼着这样。他盼着把她，而不是他，送去喂…… 电幕上播放的音乐变了调儿。这回的腔调沙哑又讥嘲，正是那种黄色小调。而后，一个声音唱了起来--或许也没有谁真在唱，只是他记起了这样的声音： "这栗树荫荫影迷离， 你卖了我，我也卖了你……" 他眼里不禁涌出了泪水。一个服务员从身边经过，见他的酒杯已经喝空，便再把酒瓶拿了回来。 他端起酒杯闻了闻。这东西一口口喝下去，感觉没好起来，倒是越发骇人。然而这成了他沉耽的尤物。这是他的生命，他的死亡，他的复活。每晚他靠杜松子酒晕得昏天黑地，到早晨，他又靠杜松子酒扎挣起来。他难得在十一点以前醒转来，眼皮发粘，嘴巴发干，脊背折断也似地疼；要不是前晚把酒瓶和茶杯放在床边，他一准爬不起来。中午那几小时，他便呆呆地坐着听电幕，面前放着酒瓶子。到十五点，他照例要去栗树咖啡馆，直耽到关门才回家。再没人管他干什么，再没有哨声惊扰他，再没有电幕责备他。有时候，每星期该有个一两次罢，他要去真理部，那里有间灰头土脸的办公室，早给人忘在了脑后，他要在这里做点子小工作，全是些名义上的工作。为解决十一版新话词典编纂过程中出现的次要问题，设置了不计其数的委员会；其中的一个委员会，它的一个小组委员会下设的小组委员会，他便给任命了进去。他们正忙着草拟份东西，叫什么中期报告，可报告的是什么玩意儿，他却从来没有闹清过--好像是什么逗号该放在括号内，还是括号外的问题。委员会还有四个人，全跟他半斤八两。今天他们刚开上会就散会，老老实实表示，根本就没事可以做。到明天，他们坐下来，工作又来了劲头儿，事无巨细做记录，没完没了写呈文--那便是他们装模作样讨论的东西，变得极尽复杂深奥，于是混搅定义，离题千里，争吵辩论--甚至威胁着报告领导。可猛然间，他们全泄了气，便围坐在桌前，懵懵懂懂大眼瞪小眼，有如单等雄鸡一唱，便销声匿迹的鬼魂。 电幕一时间静了下来，温斯顿抬起脑袋。公报！哦不是，只是要换首曲子。仿佛在他的眼前，就是幅非洲地图，军队的调动便是幅图表：一个黑箭头径直开向南，一个白箭头却横向冲向东，斩断那黑箭头的尾巴。他抬头看看海报上那冷静的面孔，像是要打消心里的疑虑。怎能设想，那第二个箭头根本不存在？ 他又失却了兴趣。他喝口杜松子酒，捡起白马试着走一步。Will!不过这步显然不对，因为…… 他的心里，没来由想起一件事。仿佛一间屋子，给烛光照亮，一张大床铺着白床罩。他也就十来岁，坐在地板上，摇着一个骰子盒，一面开怀大笑。妈妈坐在对面也在笑。 这准在她失踪之前一个月左右。那算是暂时的和解，他忘了没完没了的肚饿，一时间孩提的爱心也开始甦醒。他清楚记得那一天，大雨倾盆，雨水在玻璃窗上滚滚流下来，屋里太暗，看不了书，两个孩子在黑暗狭仄的卧室里穷极无聊，简直受不住啦。温斯顿开始哭哭啼啼，唠唠叨叨，吵着闹着要吃的，翻箱倒柜，横拉竖拽，擂墙擂得山响，把邻居烦得直敲墙。他的小妹，只是一阵阵地嚎哭。最后，妈就说，"乖乖的，给你买玩具！好玩极啦--你准保喜欢！"她便顶着雨出去，到附近一家小百货店，那样的小店，当时偶而还能开开的。等妈回来，她带给他一个硬纸盒，盒里装了副运动棋。他还记得那硬纸板潮乎