The room was full of solid men in black uniforms,
with iron shod boots on their feet
and truncheons in their hands.

37. We Are the Dead

Winston received a violent kick on the ankle which nearly flung him off his balance.
One of the men smashed his fist into Julia's solar plexus,
doubling her up like a pocket ruler.
She was thrashing about on the floor,
fighting for breath.

When he woke it was with the sensation of having slept for a long time, but a glance at the old-fashioned clock told him that it was only twenty-thirty. He lay dozing for a little while; then the usual deep-lunged singing struck up from the yard below:

 "It was only an 'opeless fancy,
 It passed lika an Ipril dye,
 But a look an' a word an' the dreams they stirred
 They 'ave stolen my 'eart awye!'

The drivelling song seemed to have kept its popularity. You still heard it all over the place. It had oultived the Hate Song. Julia woke at the sound, stretched herself luxuriously, and got out of bed.

"I'm hungry," she said. "Let's make some more coffee. Damn! The stove's gone out and the water's cold." She picked the stove up and shook it. "There's no oil in it."

"We can get some from Old Charrington, I expect."

"The funny thing is I made sure it was full. I'm going to put my clothes on," she added. "It seems to have got colder."

Winston also got up and dressed himself. The indefatigable voice sang on:

 "They sye that time 'eals all things,
 They sye you can always forget;
 But the smiles an' the tears across the years
 They twist my 'eart-strings yet!"

He held Julia's supple waist easily encircled by his arm. From the hip to the knee her flank was against his. Out of their bodies no child would ever come. That was the one thing they could never do. Only by word of mouth, from mind to mind, could they pass on the secret.

"Do you remember," he said, "the thrush that sang to us, that first day, at the edge of the wood?"

"He wasn't singing to us," said Julia. "He was singing to please himself. Not even that . He was just singing."

The birds sang, the proles sang, the Party did not sing. All round the world, In London and New York, in Africa and Brazil, and in the mysterious, forbidden lands beyond the frontiers, in the streets of Paris and Berlin, in the villages of the endless Russian plain, the bazaars of China and Japan - everywhere stood the same solid unconquerable figure, made monstrous by work and childbearing, toiling from birth to death and still singing. Out of those mighty loins a race of conscious beings must one day come. You were the dead; theirs was the future. But you could share in the future if you kept alive the mind as they kept alive the body, and passed on the secret doctrine that two plus two make four.

"We are the dead," he said.

"We are the dead," echoed Julia dutifully.

"You are the dead," said an iron voice behind them.

They sprang apart. Winston's entrails seemed to have turned into ice. He could see the white all round the irises of Julia's eyes. Her face had turned a milky yellow. The smear of rouge that was still on each cheekbone stood out sharply, almost as though unconnected with the skin beneath.

"You are the dead," repeated the iron voice.

"It was behind the picture." breathed Julia.

"It was behind the picture," said the voice. "Remain exactly where you are. Make no movement until you are ordered."

It was starting, it was starting at last! They could do nothing except stand gazing into one another's eyes. To run for life, to get out of the house before it was too late - no such thought occurred to them. Unthinkable to disobey the iron voice from the wall. There was a snap as though a catch had been turned back, and a crash of breaking glass. The picture had fallen to the floor, uncovering the telescreen behind it.

"Now they can see us," said Julia.

"Now we can see you," said the voice. "Stand out in the middle of the room. Stand back to back. Clasp your hands behind your heads. Do not touch one another."

They were not touching, but it seemed to him that he could feel Julia's body shaking. Or perhaps it was merely the shaking of his own. He could just stop his teeth from chattering, but his knees were beyond his control. There was a sound of trampling boots below, inside the house and outside. The yard seemed to be full of men. Something was being dragged across the stones. The woman's singing had stopped abruptly. There was a long, rolling clang, as though the washtub had been flung across the yard, and then a confusion of angry shouts which ended in a yell of pain.

"The house is surrounded," said Winston.

"The house is sourrounded," said the voice.

He heard Julia snap her teeth together.

"I suppose we may as well say good-bye." she said.

"You may as well say good-bye," said the voice.

And then another quite different voice, a thin, cultivated voice which Winston had the impression of having heard before, struck in:

"And by the way, while we are on the subject, 'Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off your head'!"

Something crashed on to the bed behind Winston's back. The head of a ladder had been thrust through the window and had burst in the frame. Someone was climbing through the window. There was a stampede of boots up the stairs. The room was full of solid men in black uniforms, with iron shod boots on their feet and truncheons in their hands.

Winston was not trembling any longer. Even his eyes he barely moved. One thing alone mattered: to keep still, to keep still and not give them an excuse to hit you! A man with a smooth prize-fighters jowl in which the mouth was only a slit paused opposite him balancing his truncheon meditatively between thumb and forefinger. Winston met his eyes. The feeling of nakedness, with one's hands behind one's head and one's face and body all exposed, was almost unbearable. The man protruded the tip of a white tongue, licked the place where his lips should have been, and then passed on. There was another crash. Someone had picked up the glass paperwieght from the table and smashed it to pieces on the hearth-stone. The fragment of coral, a tiny crinkle of pink like a sugar rosebud from a cake, rolled across the mat. How small, thought Winston, how small it always was!

There was a gasp and a thump behind him and he received a violent kick on the ankle which nearly flung him off his balance. One of the men smashed his fist into Julia's solar plexus, doubling her up like a pocket ruler. She was thrashing about on the floor, fighting for breath. Winston dared not turn his head even by a millimetre, but sometimes her livid, gasping face came within the angle of his vision. Even in his terror it was as though he could feel the pain in his own body, the deadly pain which nevertheless was less urgent than the struggle to get back her breath. He knew what it was like: the terrible, agonizing pain which was there all the while but could not be suffered yet, because before all else it was necessary to be able to breathe. Then two of the men hoisted her up by knees and shoulders, and carried her out of the room like a sack. Winston had a glimpse of her face, upside down, yellow and contorted, with the eyes shut, and still with a smear of rouge on either cheek; and that was the last he saw of her.

He stood dead still. No one had hit him yet. Thoughts which came of their own accord but seemed totally uninteresting began to flit through his mind. He wondered whether they had got Mr Charrington. He wondered what they had done to the woman in the yard. He noticed that he badly wantd to urinate, and felt a faint surprise, because he had done so only two or three hours ago. He noticed that the clock on the mantlepiece said nine, meaning twenty-one. But the light seemed too strong. Would not the light be fading at twenty-one hours on an August evening? He wondered whether after all he and Julia had mistaken the time - had slept the clock round and thought it was twenty-thirty when really it was nought eight-thirty of the following morning. But he did not pursue the thought further. It was not interesting.

There was another, lighter step in the passage. Mr Charrington came into the room. The demeanour of the black-uniformed men suddenly became more subdued. Something had also changed in Mr Charrington's appearance. His eye fell on the fragments of the glass paperweight.

"Pick up those pieces." he said sharply.

A man stooped to obey. The cockney accent had disappeared: Winston suddenly realized whose voice it was that he had heard a few moments ago on the telescreen. Mr Charrington was still wearing his old velvet jacket, but his hair, which had been almost white, had turned black. Also he was not wearing his spectacles. He gave Winston a single sharp glance, as though verifying his identity, and then paid no more attention to him. He was still recognizable, but he was not the same person any longer. His body had straightened, and seemed to have grown bigger. His face had undergone only tiny changes that had nevertheless worked a complete transformation. The black eyebrows were less bushy, the wrinkles were gone, the whole lines of the face seemed to have altered; even the nose seemed shorter. It was the alert, cold face of a man of about five-and-thirty. It occurred to Winston that for the first time in his life he was looking, with knowledge, at a member of the Thought Police.


Chess legend Fischer may become Icelander (most of 9-member Parliament Committee in favour of granting citizenship). Scotsman, Jan 28, 2005 & Bobby Fischer seeks Icelandic citizenship (Jap gov't illegally imprisoning him on "false & ludicrous grounds" & health worsening since arrest). NewYorkTimes, Jan 28, 2005. Go to BOBBY FISCHER IN R00M 202

WHY O'BRIEN WATCHED WINSTON (reader wants to know). Nov 18, 2004

JULIA'S FATE (reader asks about Party doctrine on Julia's kind of thinking). Mar 17, 2004. Go to 27.Goodthink & 26.Rebellion

RCMP WATCHDOG WARNS CANADIANS (police misusing anti-terrorism powers). National Post, Jul 4, 2003. Go to TERROR BILL IS TERROR & 20.Police & 21.Crimestop & POLICE STATE OF UNION

Cops' message to people of Canada ('Do as you're told & you won't get hurt'). Province, Jul 1, 2003. Go to 20.Thought Police & ANIMAL FARM DOGS & CANADA COPS UNLEASHED





26.Julia & Rebellion and 29.Risking Renting Room and 31.Love Nest and 32.Enemies Of The Party

Jackie Jura
~ an independent researcher monitoring local, national and international events ~