The room they were standing1 in was long-shaped and softly lit. The telescreen was dimmed to a low murmur2; the richness of the dark-blue carpet gave one the impression of treading on velvet3. At the far end of the room O'Brien was sitting at a table under a green-shaded lamp, with a mass of papers on either side of him. He had not bothered to look up when the servant showed Julia and Winston in.
Winston's heart was thumping4 so hard that he doubted whether he would be able to speak. They had done it, they had done it at last, was all he could think. It had been a rash act to come here at all, and sheer folly5 to arrive together; though it was true that they had come by different routes and only met on O'Brien's doorstep. But merely to walk into such a place needed an effort of the nerve. It was only on very rare occasions that one saw inside the dwelling-places of the Inner Party, or even penetrated6 into the quarter of the town where they lived. The whole atmosphere of the huge block of flats, the richness and spaciousness7 of everything, the unfamiliar8 smells of good food and good tobacco, the silent and incredibly rapid lifts sliding up and down, the white-jacketed servants hurrying to and fro -- everything was intimidating9. Although he had a good pretext10 for coming here, he was haunted at every step by the fear that a black-uniformed guard would suddenly appear from round the corner, demand his papers, and order him to get out. O'Brien's servant, however, had admitted the two of them without demur11. He was a small, dark-haired man in a white jacket, with a diamond-shaped, completely expressionless face which might have been that of a Chinese. The passage down which he led them was softly carpeted, with cream-papered walls and white wainscoting, all exquisitely12 clean. That too was intimidating. Winston could not remember ever to have seen a passageway whose walls were not grimy from the contact of human bodies.
O'Brien had a slip of paper between his fingers and seemed to be studying it intently. His heavy face, bent13 down so that one could see the line of the nose, looked both formidable and intelligent. For perhaps twenty seconds he sat without stirring. Then he pulled the speakwrite towards him and rapped out a message in the hybrid14 jargon15 of the Ministries16:
'Items one comma five comma seven approved fullwise stop suggestion contained item six doubleplus ridiculous verging17 crimethink cancel stop unproceed constructionwise antegetting plusfull estimates machinery18 overheads stop end message.'
He rose deliberately19 from his chair and came towards them across the soundless carpet. A little of the official atmosphere seemed to have fallen away from him with the Newspeak words, but his expression was grimmer than usual, as though he were not pleased at being disturbed. The terror that Winston already felt was suddenly shot through by a streak20 of ordinary embarrassment21. It seemed to him quite possible that he had simply made a stupid mistake. For what evidence had he in reality that O'Brien was any kind of political conspirator22? Nothing but a flash of the eyes and a single equivocal remark: beyond that, only his own secret imaginings, founded on a dream. He could not even fall back on the pretence23 that he had come to borrow the dictionary, because in that case Julia's presence was impossible to explain. As O'Brien passed the telescreen a thought seemed to strike him. He stopped, turned aside and pressed a switch on the wall. There was a sharp snap. The voice had stopped.
Julia uttered a tiny sound, a sort of squeak24 of surprise. Even in the midst of his panic, Winston was too much taken aback to be able to hold his tongue.
'You can turn it off!' he said.
'Yes,' said O'Brien, 'we can turn it off. We have that privilege.'
He was opposite them now. His solid form towered over the pair of them, and the expression on his face was still indecipherable. He was waiting, somewhat sternly, for Winston to speak, but about what? Even now it was quite conceivable that he was simply a busy man wondering irritably25 why he had been interrupted. Nobody spoke26. After the stopping of the telescreen the room seemed deadly silent. The seconds marched past, enormous. With difficulty Winston continued to keep his eyes fixed27 on O'Brien's. Then suddenly the grim face broke down into what might have been the beginnings of a smile. With his characteristic gesture O'Brien resettled his spectacles on his nose.
'Shall I say it, or will you?' he said.
'I will say it,' said Winston promptly28. 'That thing is really turned off?'
'Yes, everything is turned off. We are alone.'
'We have come here because --'
He paused, realizing for the first time the vagueness of his own motives29. Since he did not in fact know what kind of help he expected from O'Brien, it was not easy to say why he had come here. He went on, conscious that what he was saying must sound both feeble and pretentious30:
'We believe that there is some kind of conspiracy31, some kind of secret organization working against the Party, and that you are involved in it. We want to join it and work for it. We are enemies of the Party. We disbelieve in the principles of Ingsoc. We are thought-criminals. We are also adulterers. I tell you this because we want to put ourselves at your mercy. If you want us to incriminate ourselves in any other way, we are ready.'
He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, with the feeling that the door had opened. Sure enough, the little yellow-faced servant had come in without knocking. Winston saw that he was carrying a tray with a decanter and glasses.
'Martin is one of us,' said O'Brien impassively. 'Bring the drinks over here, Martin. Put them on the round table. Have we enough chairs? Then we may as well sit down and talk in comfort. Bring a chair for yourself, Martin. This is business. You can stop being a servant for the next ten minutes.'
The little man sat down, quite at his ease, and yet still with a servant-like air, the air of a valet enjoying a privilege. Winston regarded him out of the corner of his eye. It struck him that the man's whole life was playing a part, and that he felt it to be dangerous to drop his assumed personality even for a moment. O'Brien took the decanter by the neck and filled up the glasses with a dark-red liquid. It aroused in Winston dim memories of something seen long ago on a wall or a hoarding32 -- a vast bottle composed of electric lights which seemed to move up and down and pour its contents into a glass. Seen from the top the stuff looked almost black, but in the decanter it gleamed like a ruby33. It had a sour-sweet smell. He saw Julia pick up her glass and sniff34 at it with frank curiosity.
'It is called wine,' said O'Brien with a faint smile. 'You will have read about it in books, no doubt. Not much of it gets to the Outer Party, I am afraid.' His face grew solemn again, and he raised his glass: 'I think it is fitting that we should begin by drinking a health. To our Leader: To Emmanuel Goldstein.'
Winston took up his glass with a certain eagerness. Wine was a thing he had read and dreamed about. Like the glass paperweight or Mr Charrington's half-remembered rhymes, it belonged to the vanished, romantic past, the olden time as he liked to call it in his secret thoughts. For some reason he had always thought of wine as having an intensely sweet taste, like that of blackberry jam and an immediate35 intoxicating36 effect. Actually, when he came to swallow it, the stuff was distinctly disappointing. The truth was that after years of gin-drinking he could barely taste it. He set down the empty glass.
'Then there is such a person as Goldstein?' he said.
'Yes, there is such a person, and he is alive. Where, I do not know.'
'And the conspiracy -- the organization? Is it real? It is not simply an invention of the Thought Police?'
'No, it is real. The Brotherhood37, we call it. You will never learn much more about the Brotherhood than that it exists and that you belong to it. I will come back to that presently.' He looked at his wrist-watch. 'It is unwise even for members of the Inner Party to turn off the telescreen for more than half an hour. You ought not to have come here together, and you will have to leave separately. You, comrade' -- he bowed his head to Julia -- 'will leave first. We have about twenty minutes at our disposal. You will understand that I must start by asking you certain questions. In general terms, what are you prepared to do?'
'Anything that we are capable of,' said Winston.
O'Brien had turned himself a little in his chair so that he was facing Winston. He almost ignored Julia, seeming to take it for granted that Winston could speak for her. For a moment the lids flitted down over his eyes. He began asking his questions in a low, expressionless voice, as though this were a routine, a sort of catechism, most of whose answers were known to him already.
'You are prepared to give your lives?'
'Yes.'
'You are prepared to commit murder?'
'Yes.'
'To commit acts of sabotage38 which may cause the death of hundreds of innocent people?'
'Yes.'
'To betray your country to foreign powers?'
'Yes.'
'You are prepared to cheat, to forge, to blackmail39, to corrupt40 the minds of children, to distribute habit-forming drugs, to encourage prostitution, to disseminate41 venereal diseases -- to do anything which is likely to cause demoralization and weaken the power of the Party?'
'Yes.'
'If, for example, it would somehow serve our interests to throw sulphuric acid in a child's face -- are you prepared to do that?'
'Yes.'
'You are prepared to lose your identity and live out the rest of your life as a waiter or a dock-worker?'
'Yes.'
'You are prepared to commit suicide, if and when we order you to do so?'
'Yes.'
'You are prepared, the two of you, to separate and never see one another again?'
'No!' broke in Julia.
It appeared to Winston that a long time passed before he answered. For a moment he seemed even to have been deprived of the power of speech. His tongue worked soundlessly, forming the opening syllables42 first of one word, then of the other, over and over again. Until he had said it, he did not know which word he was going to say. 'No,' he said finally.
'You did well to tell me,' said O'Brien. 'It is necessary for us to know everything.'
He turned himself toward Julia and added in a voice with somewhat more expression in it:
'Do you understand that even if he survives, it may be as a different person? We may be obliged to give him a new identity. His face, his movements, the shape of his hands, the colour of his hair -- even his voice would be different. And you yourself might have become a different person. Our surgeons can alter people beyond recognition. Sometimes it is necessary. Sometimes we even amputate a limb.'
Winston could not help snatching another sidelong glance at Martin's Mongolian face. There were no scars that he could see. Julia had turned a shade paler, so that her freckles43 were showing, but she faced O'Brien boldly. She murmured something that seemed to be assent44.
'Good. Then that is settled.'
There was a silver box of cigarettes on the table. With a rather absent-minded air O'Brien pushed them towards the others, took one himself, then stood up and began to pace slowly to and fro, as though he could think better standing. They were very good cigarettes, very thick and well-packed, with an unfamiliar silkiness in the paper. O'Brien looked at his wrist-watch again.
'You had better go back to your Pantry, Martin,' he said. 'I shall switch on in a quarter of an hour. Take a good look at these comrades' faces before you go. You will be seeing them again. I may not.'
Exactly as they had done at the front door, the little man's dark eyes flickered45 over their faces. There was not a trace of friendliness46 in his manner. He was memorizing their appearance, but he felt no interest in them, or appeared to feel none. It occurred to Winston that a synthetic47 face was perhaps incapable48 of changing its expression. Without speaking or giving any kind of salutation, Martin went out, closing the door silently behind him. O'Brien was strolling up and down, one hand in the pocket of his black overalls49, the other holding his cigarette.
'You understand,' he said, 'that you will be fighting in the dark. You will always be in the dark. You will receive orders and you will obey them, without knowing why. Later I shall send you a book from which you will learn the true nature of the society we live in, and the strategy by which we shall destroy it. When you have read the book, you will be full members of the Brotherhood. But between the general aims that we are fighting for and the immediate tasks of the moment, you will never know anything. I tell you that the Brotherhood exists, but I cannot tell you whether it numbers a hundred members, or ten million. From your personal knowledge you will never be able to say that it numbers even as many as a dozen. You will have three or four contacts, who will be renewed from time to time as they disappear. As this was your first contact, it will be preserved. When you receive orders, they will come from me. If we find it necessary to communicate with you, it will be through Martin. When you are finally caught, you will confess. That is unavoidable. But you will have very little to confess, other than your own actions. You will not be able to betray more than a handful of unimportant people. Probably you will not even betray me. By that time I may be dead, or I shall have become a different person, with a different face.'
He continued to move to and fro over the soft carpet. In spite of the bulkiness of his body there was a remarkable50 grace in his movements. It came out even in the gesture with which he thrust a hand into his pocket, or manipulated a cigarette. More even than of strength, he gave an impression of confidence and of an understanding tinged51 by irony52. However much in earnest he might be, he had nothing of the single-mindedness that belongs to a fanatic53. When he spoke of murder, suicide, venereal disease, amputated limbs, and altered faces, it was with a faint air of persiflage54. 'This is unavoidable,' his voice seemed to say; 'this is what we have got to do, unflinchingly. But this is not what we shall be doing when life is worth living again.' A wave of admiration55, almost of worship, flowed out from Winston towards O'Brien. For the moment he had forgotten the shadowy figure of Goldstein. When you looked at O'Brien's powerful shoulders and his blunt-featured face, so ugly and yet so civilized56, it was impossible to believe that he could be defeated. There was no stratagem57 that he was not equal to, no danger that he could not foresee. Even Julia seemed to be impressed. She had let her cigarette go out and was listening intently. O'Brien went on:
'You will have heard rumours58 of the existence of the Brotherhood. No doubt you have formed your own picture of it. You have imagined, probably, a huge underworld of conspirators59, meeting secretly in cellars, scribbling60 messages on walls, recognizing one another by codewords or by special movements of the hand. Nothing of the kind exists. The members of the Brotherhood have no way of recognizing one another, and it is impossible for any one member to be aware of the identity of more than a few others. Goldstein himself, if he fell into the hands of the Thought Police, could not give them a complete list of members, or any information that would lead them to a complete list. No such list exists. The Brotherhood cannot be wiped out because it is not an organization in the ordinary sense. Nothing holds it together except an idea which is indestructible. You will never have anything to sustain you, except the idea. You will get no comradeship and no encouragement. When finally you are caught, you will get no help. We never help our members. At most, when it is absolutely necessary that someone should be silenced, we are occasionally able to smuggle61 a razor blade into a prisoner's cell. You will have to get used to living without results and without hope. You will work for a while, you will be caught, you will confess, and then you will die. Those are the only results that you will ever see. There is no possibility that any perceptible change will happen within our own lifetime. We are the dead. Our only true life is in the future. We shall take part in it as handfuls of dust and splinters of bone. But how far away that future may be, there is no knowing. It might be a thousand years. At present nothing is possible except to extend the area of sanity62 little by little. We cannot act collectively. We can only spread our knowledge outwards63 from individual to individual, generation after generation. In the face of the Thought Police there is no other way.'
He halted and looked for the third time at his wrist-watch.
'It is almost time for you to leave, comrade,' he said to Julia. 'Wait. The decanter is still half full.'
He filled the glasses and raised his own glass by the stem.
'What shall it be this time?' he said, still with the same faint suggestion of irony. 'To the confusion of the Thought Police? To the death of Big Brother? To humanity? To the future?'
'To the past,' said Winston.
'The past is more important,' agreed O'Brien gravely.
They emptied their glasses, and a moment later Julia stood up to go. O'Brien took a small box from the top of a cabinet and handed her a flat white tablet which he told her to place on her tongue. It was important, he said, not to go out smelling of wine: the lift attendants were very observant. As soon as the door had shut behind her he appeared to forget her existence. He took another pace or two up and down, then stopped.
'There are details to be settled,' he said. 'I assume that you have a hiding-place of some kind?'
Winston explained about the room over Mr Charrington's shop.
'That will do for the moment. Later we will arrange something else for you. It is important to change one's hiding-place frequently. Meanwhile I shall send you a copy of the book' -- even O'Brien, Winston noticed, seemed to pronounce the words as though they were in italics -- 'Goldstein's book, you understand, as soon as possible. It may be some days before I can get hold of one. There are not many in existence, as you can imagine. The Thought Police hunt them down and destroy them almost as fast as we can produce them. It makes very little difference. The book is indestructible. If the last copy were gone, we could reproduce it almost word for word. Do you carry a brief-case to work with you?' he added.
'As a rule, yes.'
'What is it like?'
'Black, very shabby. With two straps64.'
'Black, two straps, very shabby -- good. One day in the fairly near future -- I cannot give a date -- one of the messages among your morning's work will contain a misprinted word, and you will have to ask for a repeat. On the following day you will go to work without your brief-case. At some time during the day, in the street, a man will touch you on the arm and say "I think you have dropped your brief-case." The one he gives you will contain a copy of Goldstein's book. You will return it within fourteen days.'
They were silent for a moment.
'There are a couple of minutes before you need go,' said O'Brien. 'We shall meet again -- if we do meet again -'
Winston looked up at him. 'In the place where there is no darkness?' he said hesitantly.
O'Brien nodded without appearance of surprise. 'In the place where there is no darkness,' he said, as though he had recognized the allusion65. 'And in the meantime, is there anything that you wish to say before you leave? Any message? Any question?'
Winston thought. There did not seem to be any further question that he wanted to ask: still less did he feel any impulse to utter high-sounding generalities. Instead of anything directly connected with O'Brien or the Brotherhood, there came into his mind a sort of composite picture of the dark bedroom where his mother had spent her last days, and the little room over Mr Charrington's shop, and the glass paperweight, and the steel engraving66 in its rosewood frame. Almost at random67 he said:
'Did you ever happen to hear an old rhyme that begins "Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's"?'
Again O'Brien nodded. With a sort of grave courtesy he completed the stanza68:
'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's,
You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St Martin's,
When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey
When I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch.'
'You knew the last line!' said Winston.
'Yes, I knew the last line. And now, I am afraid, it is time for you to go. But wait. You had better let me give you one of these tablets.'
As Winston stood up O'Brien held out a hand. His powerful grip crushed the bones of Winston's palm. At the door Winston looked back, but O'Brien seemed already to be in process of putting him out of mind. He was waiting with his hand on the switch that controlled the telescreen. Beyond him Winston could see the writing-table with its green-shaded lamp and the speakwrite and the wire baskets deep-laden with papers. The incident was closed. Within thirty seconds, it occurred to him, O'Brien would be back at his interrupted and important work on behalf of the Party.
他们来了，他们终于来了！
他们站着的那间屋子是长方形的，灯光柔和。电幕的声音放得狠低，只是一阵低声细语。厚厚的深蓝色地毯，踩上去使你觉得好象是踩在天鹅绒上。在屋子的那一头，奥勃良坐在一张桌边，桌上有一盏绿灯罩的台灯，他的两边都有一大堆文件。仆人把裘莉亚和温斯顿带进来的时候，他连头也不抬。
温斯顿的心房跳得厉害，使他担心说不出话来。他心里想的只有一句话：他们来了，他们终于来了。到这里来，本身就是一件冒失的事，两人一起来就更是纯粹的胡闹。不错，他们是走不同的路线来的，只是到了奥勃良家的门口才碰头。但是，光是走进这样一个地方就需要鼓起勇气。只有在极偶然的情况下，你才有机会见到核心党员住宅里面是什么样子，或者有机会走进到他们的住宅区来。什么东西都令人望而生畏——公寓大楼的整个气氛就不一样，什么东西都十分华丽，什今地方都十分宽敞，讲究的食品和优质的烟草发出没有闻惯的香味，电梯升降悄然无声，快得令人难以置信，穿着白上衣的仆人来回忙碌着。他到这里来虽然有很好的借口，但是每走一步总是担心半路上会突然杀出一个穿黑制服的警卫来，要查看他的证件，把他撵走。但是，奥勃良的仆人二话不说，让他们两人进来。他是个小个子，长着黑头发，穿着一件白上衣，脸型象块钻石，完全没有表情，很可能是个中国人的脸。他带他们走过一条过道，地上铺着柔软的地毯，墙上糊着奶油色的墙纸，嵌壁漆成白色，一切都是一尘不染，十分清洁。这也使人望而生畏。温斯顿还记不起曾经在什么地方看到过有一条过道的墙上不是由于人体的接触而弄得污黑的。
奥勃良手里捏着一张纸条，似乎在专心阅读。他的粗眉大眼的脸低俯着，使你可以看清他的鼻子的轮廓，样子可怕，又很聪明。他坐在那里一动也不动，大约有二十秒钟。
然后他拉过听写器来，用各部常用的混合行话，发了一个通知：
“一逗号五逗号七等项完全批准句点六项所含建议加倍荒谬接近罪想取消句点取得机器行政费用充分估计前不进行建筑句点通知完。”
他慢吞吞地从椅子上欠身站了起来，走过无声的地毯，向他们这边过来。说完了那些新话，他的官架子似乎放下了一点，但是他的神情比平时严肃，好象因为有人来打扰他而很不高兴。温斯顿本来已经感到恐惧，这时却突然又掺杂了一般的不好意思的心情。他觉得很有可能，自己犯了一个愚蠢的错误。他真的有什么证据可以确定奥勃良是个政治密谋家呢？只不过是眼光一闪，一句模棱两可的话，除此之外，只有他自已秘密幻想，那是完全建筑在睡梦上的。他甚至不能退而依靠他是来借那本辞典的那个借口了，因为在那种情况下就无法解释裘莉亚的在场。奥勃良走过电幕旁边，临时想到了一个念头，就停了下来，转过身去，在墙上按了一下按钮。啪的一声，电幕上的说话声中断了。
裘莉亚轻轻惊叫了一声，即使在心情慌乱中，温斯顿也惊异得忍不住要说：
“原来你可以把它关掉！”
“是的，”奥勃良说，“我们可以把它关掉。我们有这个特权。”
他这时站在他们前面。他的魁梧的身材在他们两人面前居高临下，他脸上的表情仍旧使人捉摸不透。他有点严峻地等待着温斯顿开腔，可是等他说什么？就是现在也可以想象，他是个忙人，有人来打扰他，心里感到很恼火。没有人说话。电幕关掉以后，屋子里象死一般的静寂。时间滴嗒地过去，压力很大。温斯顿仍旧凝视着奥勃良的眼睛，但是感到很困难。接着那张严峻的脸突然露出了可以说是一丝笑容。奥勃良用他习惯的动作。端正一下他鼻梁上的眼镜。
“我来说，还是你来说？”他问道。
“我来说吧，”温斯顿马上说。“那玩意儿真的关掉了？”
“是的，什么都关掉了。这里就只有我们自已。”
“我们到这里来，因为——”他停了下来，第一次发现自己的动机不明。由于他实际上并不知道他能从奥勃良那儿指望得到什么帮助，因此要说清楚他为什么到这里来，很不容易。他尽管意识到他说的话听起来一定很软弱空洞，还是继续说道：
“我们相信一定有种密谋，有种秘密组织在进行反对党的活动，而你是参加的。我们也想参加，为它工作。我们是党的敌人。我们不相信英社原则。我们是思想犯。我们也是通奸犯。我这样告诉你是因为我们完全相信你，把我们的命运交给你摆布。如果你还要我们用其他方式表明我们自己，我们也愿意。”
他觉得后面门己开了。就停了下来，回头一看，果然不错，那个个子矮小、脸色发黄的仆人没有敲门就进来了。温斯顿看到他手中端着一只盘子，上面有酒瓶和玻璃杯。
“马丁是咱们的人，”奥勃良不露声色地说。“马丁，把酒端到这边来吧。放在圆桌上，椅子够吗？那么咱们不妨坐下来，舒舒服服地谈一谈。马丁，你也拉把椅子过来。这是谈正经的。你暂停十分钟当仆人吧。”
那个小个子坐了下来，十分自在，但仍有一种仆人的神态，一个享受特权的贴身仆人的神态。温斯顿从眼角望去，觉得这个人一辈子就在扮演一个角色，意识到哪怕暂且停止不演这种角色也是危险的。奥勃良把酒瓶拿了过来，在玻璃杯中倒了一种深红色的液体。这使温斯顿模糊地想起很久很久以前在墙上或者广告牌上看到过的什么东西——用电灯泡组成的一只大酒瓶，瓶口能上下移动，把瓶里的酒倒到杯子里。从上面看下去，那酒几乎是黑色的，但在酒瓶里却亮晶晶地象红宝石。它有一种又酸又甜的气味。他看见裘莉亚毫不掩饰她的好奇，端起杯子送到鼻尖闻。
“这叫葡萄酒，”奥勃良微笑道。“没有问题，你们在书上一定读到过。不过，没有多少卖给外围党的人。”他的脸又严肃起来，他举起杯。“我想应该先喝杯酒祝大家健康。为我们的领袖爱麦虞埃尔果尔德施坦因干杯。”
温斯顿很热心地举起了酒杯。葡萄酒是他从书本子上读到过，很想尝一下的东西，又象玻璃镇纸或者却林顿先生记不清的童谣一样，属于已经消失的、罗曼蒂克的过去，他私下里喜欢把这过去叫做老时光。不知为什么缘故，他一直认为葡萄酒味道极甜，象黑莓果酱的味道，而且能马上使人喝醉。实际上，等到他真的一饮而尽时，这玩意儿却很使人失望。原来他喝了多年的杜松子酒，已喝不惯葡萄酒了。他放下空酒杯。
“那么真的有果尔德施坦因这样一个人？”他问道。
“是啊，有这样一个人，他还活着。至于在哪里，我就不知道了。”
“那么那个密谋——那个组织？这是真的吗？不是秘密警察的捏造吧？”
“不是，这是真的。我们管它叫兄弟会。除了它确实存在，你们是它的会员以外，你们就别想知道别的了。关于这一点，我等会再说。”他看了一眼手表。“哪怕是核心党里的人，把电幕关掉半个小时以上也是不恰当的。你们不应该一起来，走时得分开走。你，同志——”他对裘莉亚点一点头，“先走。我们大约有二十分钟的时间可以利用。我首先得向你们提一些问题，这你们想必是能理解的。总的来说，你们打算干什么？”
“凡是我们能够干的事，”温斯顿说。
奥勃良坐在椅上略为侧过身来，可以对着温斯顿。他几乎把裘莉亚撇开在一边不顾了，大概是视为当然地认为，温斯顿可以代表她说话。他的眼皮低垂了一下。他开始用没有感情的声音轻轻地提出他的问题，好象是例行公事一般，大多数问题的答案他心中早已有数了。
“你们准备献出生命吗？”
“是的。”
“你们准备杀人吗？”
“是的。”
“你们准备从事破坏活动，可能造成千百个无辜百姓的死亡吗？”
“是的。”
“你们准备把祖国出卖给外国吗？”
“是的。”
“你们准备欺骗、伪造、讹诈、腐蚀儿童心灵、贩卖成瘾毒品、鼓励卖淫、传染花柳病——凡是能够引起腐化堕落和削弱党的力量的事都准备做吗？”
“是的。”
“比如，如果把硝锵水撒在一个孩子的脸上能够促进我们的事业，你们准备这么做吗？”
“是的。”
“你们准备隐姓埋名，一辈子改行去做服务员或码头工人吗？”
“是的。”
“如果我们要你们自杀，你们准备自杀吗？”
“是的。”
“你们两个人准备愿意分手，从此不再见面吗？”
“不！”裘莉亚插进来叫道。
温斯顿觉得半晌说不出话来。他有一阵子仿佛连说话的功能也被剥夺了。他的舌头在动，但是出不来声，嘴型刚形成要发一个宇的第一个音节，出来的却是另外一个字的第一个音节，这样反复了几次。最后他说的话，他也不知道怎么说出来的。他终于说，“不。”
“你这么告诉我很好，”奥勃良说。“我们必须掌握一切。”
他转过来又对裘莉亚说，声音里似乎多了一些感情。
“你要明白，即使他侥幸不死，也可能是另外一个人了。
我们可能使他成为另外一个人。他的脸，他的举止，他的手的形状，他的头发的颜色，甚至他的声音也会变了。你自己也可能成为另外一个人。我们的外科医生能够把人变样，再也认不出来。有时这是必要的。有时我们甚至要锯肢。”
温斯顿忍不住要偷看一眼马丁的蒙古人种的脸。他看不到有什么疤痕，袭莉亚脸色有点发白，因此雀斑就露了出来，但是她大胆面对着奥勃良。她喃喃地说了句什么话，好象是表示同意。
“很好。那么就这样说定了。”
桌子上有一只银盒子装着香烟，奥勃良心不在焉地把香烟盒朝他们一推，自己取了一支，然后站了起来，开始慢慢地来回踱步，好象他站着可以更容易思考一些。香烟很高级，烟草包装得很好，扎扎实实的，烟纸光滑，很少见到。
奥勃良又看一眼手表。
“马丁，你可以回到厨房去了，”他说。“一刻钟之内我就打开电幕。你走以前好好看一眼这两位同志的脸。你以后还要见到他们。我却不会见到他们了。”
就象在大门口时那样，那个小个子的黑色眼睛在他们脸上看了一眼。他的态度里一点也没有善意的痕迹。他是在记忆他们的外表，但是他对他们并无兴趣，至少表面上没有兴趣。温斯顿忽然想到，也许人造的脸是不可能变换表情的。
马丁一言不发，也没有打什么招呼，就走了出去，悄悄地随手关上了门。奥勃良来回踱着步，一只手插在黑制服的口袋里，一只手夹着香烟。
“你们知道，”他说，“你们要在黑暗里战斗。你们永远是在黑暗之中。你们会接到命令，要坚决执行，但不知道为什么要发这样的命令。我以后会给你们一本书，你们就会从中了解我们所生活的这个社会的真正性质，还有摧毁这个社会的战略。你们读了这本书以后，就成了兄弟会的正式会员。但是除了我们为之奋斗的总目标和当前的具体任务之外，其他什么也不会让你们知道的。我可以告诉你们兄弟会是存在的，但是我不能告诉你们它有多少会员，到底是一百个，还是一千万。从你们切身经验来说，你们永远连十来个会员也不认识。你们会有三、四个联系，过一阵子就换人，原来的人就消失了。由于这是你们第一个联系，以后就保存下来。你们接到的命令都是我发出的。如果我们有必要找你们，就通过马丁。你们最后被逮到时，总会招供。这是不可避免的。但是你们除了自己干的事以外，没有什么可以招供．你们至多只能出卖少数几个不重要的人物。也许你们甚至连我也不能出卖。到时候我可能已经死了，或者变成了另外一个人，换了另外一张脸。”
他继续在柔软的地毯上来回走动。尽管他身材魁梧，但他的动作却特别优雅。甚至在把手插进口袋或者捏着一支香烟这样的动作中也可以表示出来。他给人一种颇有自信，很体谅别人的印象，甚至超过有力量的印象，但这种体谅带着讥讽的色彩。他不论如何认真，都没有那种狂热分子才有的专心致志的劲头。他谈到杀人、自杀、花柳病、断肢、换脸型的时候，隐隐有一种揶揄的神情。“这是不可避免的，”他的声音似乎在说，“这是我们必须毫不犹豫地该做的事。但是等到生活值得我们好好过时，我们就不干这种事了。”温斯顿对奥勃良产生了一种钦佩，甚至崇拜的心情。他一时忘记了果尔德施坦因的阴影。你看一眼奥勃良的结实的肩膀，粗眉大眼的脸，这么丑陋，但是又这么文雅，你就不可能认为他是可以打败的。没有什么谋略是他所不能对付的，没有什么危险是他所没有预见到的。甚至裘莉亚似乎也很受感染。
她听得入了迷，连香烟在手中熄灭了也不知道．奥勃良继续说：
“你们会听到关于存在兄弟会的传说。没有疑问，你们已经形成了自己对它的形象。你们大概想象它是一个庞大的密谋分子地下网，在地下室里秘密开会，在墙上刷标语，用暗号或手部的特殊动作互相打招呼。没有这回事。兄弟会的会员没有办法认识对方，任何一个会员所认识的其他会员，人数不可能超过寥寥几个。就是果尔德施坦因本人，如果落入思想警察之手，也不能向他们提供全部会员名单，或者提供可以使他们获得全部名单的情报。没有这种名单。兄弟会所以不能消灭掉就是因为它不是一般观念中的那种组织。把它团结在一起的，只不过是一个不可摧毁的思想。除了这个思想之外，你们没有任何东西可以作你们的依靠。你们得不到同志之谊，得不到鼓励。你们最后被逮住时，也得不到援助。我们从来不援助会员。至多，绝对需要灭口时，我们有时会把一片剃须刀片偷偷地送到牢房里去。你们得习惯于在没有成果、没有希望的情况下生活下去。你们工作一阵子以后，就会被逮住，就会招供，就会死掉。这是你们能看到的唯一结果。在我们这一辈子里，不可能发生什么看得见的变化。我们是死者。我们的唯一真正生命在于将来。我们将是作为一撮尘土，几根枯骨参加将来的生活。但是这将来距现在多远，谁也不知道。可能是一千年。目前除了把神志清醒的人的范围一点一滴地加以扩大以外，别的事情都是不可能的。我们不能采取集体行动。我们只能把我们的思想通过个人传播开去，通过一代传一代传下去。在思想警察面前，没有别的办法。”
他停了下来，第三次看手表。
“同志，该是你走的时候了。”他对裘莉亚说。“等一等，酒瓶里还有半瓶酒。”
他斟满了三个酒杯，然后举起了自己的一杯酒。
“这次为什么干杯呢？”他说，仍隐隐带着一点嘲讽的口气。“为思想警察的混乱？为老大哥的死掉？为人类？为将来？”
“为过去，”温斯顿说。
“过去更重要。”奥勃良神情严肃地表示同意。他们喝干了酒，裘莉亚就站了起来要走。奥勃良从柜子顶上的一只小盒子里取出一片白色的药片，叫她衔在舌上。他说，出去千万不要给人闻出酒味：电梯服务员很注意别人的动静。她走后一关上门，他就似乎忘掉她的存在了。他又来回走了一两步，然后停了下来。
“有些细节问题要解决，”他说。“我想你大概有个藏身的地方吧？”
温斯顿介绍了却林顿先生铺子楼上的那间屋子。
“目前这可以凑合。以后我们再给你安排别的地方。藏身的地方必须经常更换。同时我会把那书送一本给你——”温斯顿注意到，甚至奥勃良在提到这本书的时候，也似乎是用着重的口气说的——“你知道，是果尔德施坦因的书，尽快给你。不过我可能要过好几天才能弄到一本。你可以想象，现有的书不多。思想警察到处搜查销毁，使你来不及出版。不过这没有什么关系。这本书是销毁不了的。即使最后一本也给抄走了，我们也能几乎逐字逐句地再印行。你上班去的时候带不带公文包？”他又问。
“一般是带的。”
“什么样子？”
“黑色，很旧。有两条搭扣带。”
“黑色，很旧，两条搭扣带——好吧。不久有一天——
我不能说定哪一天——你早上的工作中会有一个通知印错了一个字，你得要求重发。第二天你上班时别带公文包。那天路上有人会拍拍你的肩膀说，‘同志，你把公文包丢了’。他给你的公文包中就有一本果尔德施坦因的书。你得在十四天内归还。”
他们沉默不语一会。
“还有几分钟你就须要走了，”奥勃良说，“我们以后再见——要是有机会再见的话——”温斯顿抬头看他。“在没有黑暗的地方？”他迟疑地问。
奥勃良点点头，并没有表示惊异。“在没有黑暗的地方，”他说，好象他知道这句话指的是什么。“同时，你在走以前还有什么话要想说吗？什么信？什么问题？”
温斯顿想了一想他似乎没有什么问题再要问了；他更没有想说些一般好听的话。他心中想到的，不是同奥勃良或兄弟会直接有关的事情，却是他母亲临死前几天的那间黑暗的卧室、却林顿先生铺子楼上的小屋子、玻璃镇纸、花梨木镜框中那幅蚀刻钢版画这一切混合起来的图像。他几乎随口说：
“你以前听到过一首老歌谣吗，开头一句是‘圣克利门特教堂的钟声说，橘子和柠檬？’”奥勃良又点一点头。他带着一本正经、彬彬有礼的样子，唱完了这四句歌词：
“圣克利门特教堂的钟声说，橘子和柠檬，圣马丁教堂的钟声说，你欠我三个铜板，老巴莱教堂的钟声说，你什么时候归还？
肖尔迪区教堂的钟声说，等我发了财。”
“你知道最后一句歌词！”温斯顿说。
“是的，我知道最后一句歌词。我想现在你得走了。不过等一等。你最好也衔一片药。”
温斯顿站起来时，奥勃良伸出了手。他紧紧一握，把温斯顿手掌的骨头几乎都要捏碎了。温斯顿走到门口回过头来，但是奥勃良似乎已经开始把他忘掉了。他把手放在电幕开关上等他走。温斯顿可以看到他身后写字桌上绿灯罩的台灯、听写器、堆满了文件的铁丝框。这件事情已经结束了。
他心里想，在六十秒钟之内，奥勃良就已回去做他为党做的、暂时中断的重要工作。
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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3
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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4
thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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5
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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6
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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7
spaciousness
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| n.宽敞 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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9
intimidating
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| vt.恐吓，威胁( intimidate的现在分词) | |
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10
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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13
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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hybrid
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| n.(动，植）杂种，混合物 | |
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jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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16
ministries
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| （政府的）部( ministry的名词复数 )； 神职； 牧师职位； 神职任期 | |
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verging
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| 接近，逼近（verge的现在分词形式） | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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21
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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conspirator
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| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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squeak
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| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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27
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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30
pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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32
hoarding
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| n.贮藏；积蓄；临时围墙；囤积v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
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ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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34
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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38
sabotage
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| n.怠工，破坏活动，破坏；v.从事破坏活动，妨害，破坏 | |
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blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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40
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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41
disseminate
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| v.散布；传播 | |
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42
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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43
freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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45
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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47
synthetic
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| adj.合成的，人工的；综合的；n.人工制品 | |
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48
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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49
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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51
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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53
fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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54
persiflage
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| n.戏弄；挖苦 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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56
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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57
stratagem
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| n.诡计，计谋 | |
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58
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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60
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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61
smuggle
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| vt.私运；vi.走私 | |
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62
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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outwards
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| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
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straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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65
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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66
engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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67
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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68
stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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