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(单词翻译:双击或拖选)
Winston looked round the shabby little room above Mr Charrington’s shop. Beside the window the enormous bed was made up, with ragged1 blankets and a coverless bolster2. The old-fashioned clock with the twelve-hour face was ticking away on the mantelpiece. In the corner, on the gateleg table, the glass paperweight which he had bought on his last visit gleamed softly out of the half-darkness.
In the fender was a battered3 tin oilstove, a saucepan, and two cups, provided by Mr Charrington. Winston lit the burner and set a pan of water to boil. He had brought an envelope full of Victory Coffee and some saccharine4 tablets. The clock’s hands said seventeen-twenty: it was nineteen-twenty really. She was coming at nineteen-thirty.
Folly5, folly, his heart kept saying: conscious, gratuitous6, suicidal folly. Of all the crimes that a Party member could commit, this one was the least possible to conceal7. Actually the idea had first floated into his head in the form of a vision, of the glass paperweight mirrored by the surface of the gateleg table. As he had foreseen, Mr Charrington had made no difficulty about letting the room. He was obviously glad of the few dollars that it would bring him. Nor did he seem shocked or become offensively knowing when it was made clear that Winston wanted the room for the purpose of a love-affair. Instead he looked into the middle distance and spoke8 in generalities, with so delicate an air as to give the impression that he had become partly invisible. Privacy, he said, was a very valuable thing. Everyone wanted a place where they could be alone occasionally. And when they had such a place, it was only common courtesy in anyone else who knew of it to keep his knowledge to himself. He even, seeming almost to fade out of existence as he did so, added that there were two entries to the house, one of them through the back yard, which gave on an alley9.
Under the window somebody was singing. Winston peeped out, secure in the protection of the muslin curtain. The June sun was still high in the sky, and in the sun-filled court below, a monstrous10 woman, solid as a Norman pillar, with brawny11 red forearms and a sacking apron12 strapped13 about her middle, was stumping14 to and fro between a washtub and a clothes line, pegging15 out a series of square white things which Winston recognized as babies’ diapers. Whenever her mouth was not corked16 with clothes pegs17 she was singing in a powerful contralto:
It was only an ’opeless fancy.
It passed like an Ipril dye,
But a look an’ a word an’ the dreams they stirred!
They ’ave stolen my ’eart awye!
The tune18 had been haunting London for weeks past. It was one of countless19 similar songs published for the benefit of the proles by a sub-section of the Music Department. The words of these songs were composed without any human intervention20 whatever on an instrument known as a versificator. But the woman sang so tunefully as to turn the dreadful rubbish into an almost pleasant sound. He could hear the woman singing and the scrape of her shoes on the flagstones, and the cries of the children in the street, and somewhere in the far distance a faint roar of traffic, and yet the room seemed curiously21 silent, thanks to the absence of a telescreen.
Folly, folly, folly! he thought again. It was inconceivable that they could frequent this place for more than a few weeks without being caught. But the temptation of having a hiding-place that was truly their own, indoors and near at hand, had been too much for both of them. For some time after their visit to the church belfry it had been impossible to arrange meetings. Working hours had been drastically increased in anticipation22 of Hate Week. It was more than a month distant, but the enormous, complex preparations that it entailed23 were throwing extra work on to everybody. Finally both of them managed to secure a free afternoon on the same day. They had agreed to go back to the clearing in the wood. On the evening beforehand they met briefly24 in the street. As usual, Winston hardly looked at Julia as they drifted towards one another in the crowd, but from the short glance he gave her it seemed to him that she was paler than usual.
‘It’s all off,’ she murmured as soon as she judged it safe to speak. ‘Tomorrow, I mean.’
‘What?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon. I can’t come.’
‘Why not?’
‘Oh, the usual reason. It’s started early this time.’
For a moment he was violently angry. During the month that he had known her the nature of his desire for her had changed. At the beginning there had been little true sensuality in it. Their first love-making had been simply an act of the will. But after the second time it was different. The smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her skin seemed to have got inside him, or into the air all round him. She had become a physical necessity, something that he not only wanted but felt that he had a right to. When she said that she could not come, he had the feeling that she was cheating him. But just at this moment the crowd pressed them together and their hands accidentally met. She gave the tips of his fingers a quick squeeze that seemed to invite not desire but affection. It struck him that when one lived with a woman this particular disappointment must be a normal, recurring25 event; and a deep tenderness, such as he had not felt for her before, suddenly took hold of him. He wished that they were a married couple of ten years’ standing26. He wished that he were walking through the streets with her just as they were doing now but openly and without fear, talking of trivialities and buying odds27 and ends for the household. He wished above all that they had some place where they could be alone together without feeling the obligation to make love every time they met. It was not actually at that moment, but at some time on the following day, that the idea of renting Mr Charrington’s room had occurred to him. When he suggested it to Julia she had agreed with unexpected readiness. Both of them knew that it was lunacy. It was as though they were intentionally28 stepping nearer to their graves. As he sat waiting on the edge of the bed he thought again of the cellars of the Ministry29 of Love. It was curious how that predestined horror moved in and out of one’s consciousness. There it lay, fixed30 in future times, preceding death as surely as 99 precedes 100. One could not avoid it, but one could perhaps postpone31 it: and yet instead, every now and again, by a conscious, wilful32 act, one chose to shorten the interval33 before it happened.
At this moment there was a quick step on the stairs. Julia burst into the room. She was carrying a tool-bag of coarse brown canvas, such as he had sometimes seen her carrying to and fro at the Ministry. He started forward to take her in his arms, but she disengaged herself rather hurriedly, partly because she was still holding the tool-bag.
‘Half a second,’ she said. ‘Just let me show you what I’ve brought. Did you bring some of that filthy34 Victory Coffee? I thought you would. You can chuck it away again, because we shan’t be needing it. Look here.’
She fell on her knees, threw open the bag, and tumbled out some spanners and a screwdriver35 that filled the top part of it. Underneath36 were a number of neat paper packets. The first packet that she passed to Winston had a strange and yet vaguely37 familiar feeling. It was filled with some kind of heavy, sand-like stuff which yielded wherever you touched it.
‘It isn’t sugar?’ he said.
‘Real sugar. Not saccharine, sugar. And here’s a loaf of bread — proper white bread, not our bloody38 stuff — and a little pot of jam. And here’s a tin of milk — but look! This is the one I’m really proud of. I had to wrap a bit of sacking round it, because ——’
But she did not need to tell him why she had wrapped it up. The smell was already filling the room, a rich hot smell which seemed like an emanation from his early childhood, but which one did occasionally meet with even now, blowing down a passage-way before a door slammed, or diffusing39 itself mysteriously in a crowded street, sniffed40 for an instant and then lost again.
‘It’s coffee,’ he murmured, ‘real coffee.’
‘It’s Inner Party coffee. There’s a whole kilo here,’ she said.
‘How did you manage to get hold of all these things?’
‘It’s all Inner Party stuff. There’s nothing those swine don’t have, nothing. But of course waiters and servants and people pinch things, and — look, I got a little packet of tea as well.’
‘It’s real tea. Not blackberry leaves.’
‘There’s been a lot of tea about lately. They’ve captured India, or something,’ she said vaguely. ‘But listen, dear. I want you to turn your back on me for three minutes. Go and sit on the other side of the bed. Don’t go too near the window. And don’t turn round till I tell you.’
Winston gazed abstractedly through the muslin curtain. Down in the yard the red-armed woman was still marching to and fro between the washtub and the line. She took two more pegs out of her mouth and sang with deep feeling:
They sye that time ’eals all things,
They sye you can always forget;
But the smiles an’ the tears acrorss the years
They twist my ’eart-strings yet!
She knew the whole drivelling song by heart, it seemed. Her voice floated upward with the sweet summer air, very tuneful, charged with a sort of happy melancholy42. One had the feeling that she would have been perfectly43 content, if the June evening had been endless and the supply of clothes inexhaustible, to remain there for a thousand years, pegging out diapers and singing rubbish. It struck him as a curious fact that he had never heard a member of the Party singing alone and spontaneously. It would even have seemed slightly unorthodox, a dangerous eccentricity44, like talking to oneself. Perhaps it was only when people were somewhere near the starvation level that they had anything to sing about.
‘You can turn round now,’ said Julia.
He turned round, and for a second almost failed to recognize her. What he had actually expected was to see her naked. But she was not naked. The transformation45 that had happened was much more surprising than that. She had painted her face.
She must have slipped into some shop in the proletarian quarters and bought herself a complete set of make-up materials. Her lips were deeply reddened, her cheeks rouged47, her nose powdered; there was even a touch of something under the eyes to make them brighter. It was not very skilfully48 done, but Winston’s standards in such matters were not high. He had never before seen or imagined a woman of the Party with cosmetics49 on her face. The improvement in her appearance was startling. With just a few dabs50 of colour in the right places she had become not only very much prettier, but, above all, far more feminine. Her short hair and boyish overalls51 merely added to the effect. As he took her in his arms a wave of synthetic52 violets flooded his nostrils53. He remembered the half-darkness of a basement kitchen, and a woman’s cavernous mouth. It was the very same scent54 that she had used; but at the moment it did not seem to matter.
‘Scent too!’ he said.
‘Yes, dear, scent too. And do you know what I’m going to do next? I’m going to get hold of a real woman’s frock from somewhere and wear it instead of these bloody trousers. I’ll wear silk stockings and high-heeled shoes! In this room I’m going to be a woman, not a Party comrade.’
They flung their clothes off and climbed into the huge mahogany bed. It was the first time that he had stripped himself naked in her presence. Until now he had been too much ashamed of his pale and meagre body, with the varicose veins55 standing out on his calves56 and the discoloured patch over his ankle. There were no sheets, but the blanket they lay on was threadbare and smooth, and the size and springiness of the bed astonished both of them. ‘It’s sure to be full of bugs57, but who cares?’ said Julia. One never saw a double bed nowadays, except in the homes of the proles. Winston had occasionally slept in one in his boyhood: Julia had never been in one before, so far as she could remember.
Presently they fell asleep for a little while. When Winston woke up the hands of the clock had crept round to nearly nine. He did not stir, because Julia was sleeping with her head in the crook58 of his arm. Most of her make-up had transferred itself to his own face or the bolster, but a light stain of rouge46 still brought out the beauty of her cheekbone. A yellow ray from the sinking sun fell across the foot of the bed and lighted up the fireplace, where the water in the pan was boiling fast. Down in the yard the woman had stopped singing, but the faint shouts of children floated in from the street. He wondered vaguely whether in the abolished past it had been a normal experience to lie in bed like this, in the cool of a summer evening, a man and a woman with no clothes on, making love when they chose, talking of what they chose, not feeling any compulsion to get up, simply lying there and listening to peaceful sounds outside. Surely there could never have been a time when that seemed ordinary? Julia woke up, rubbed her eyes, and raised herself on her elbow to look at the oilstove.
‘Half that water’s boiled away,’ she said. ‘I’ll get up and make some coffee in another moment. We’ve got an hour. What time do they cut the lights off at your flats?’
‘Twenty-three thirty.’
‘It’s twenty-three at the hostel59. But you have to get in earlier than that, because — Hi! Get out, you filthy brute60!’
She suddenly twisted herself over in the bed, seized a shoe from the floor, and sent it hurtling into the corner with a boyish jerk of her arm, exactly as he had seen her fling the dictionary at Goldstein, that morning during the Two Minutes Hate.
‘What was it?’ he said in surprise.
‘A rat. I saw him stick his beastly nose out of the wainscoting. There’s a hole down there. I gave him a good fright, anyway.’
‘Rats!’ murmured Winston. ‘In this room!’
‘They’re all over the place,’ said Julia indifferently as she lay down again. ‘We’ve even got them in the kitchen at the hostel. Some parts of London are swarming61 with them. Did you know they attack children? Yes, they do. In some of these streets a woman daren’t leave a baby alone for two minutes. It’s the great huge brown ones that do it. And the nasty thing is that the brutes62 always ——’
‘DON’T GO ON!’ said Winston, with his eyes tightly shut.
‘Dearest! You’ve gone quite pale. What’s the matter? Do they make you feel sick?’
‘Of all horrors in the world — a rat!’
She pressed herself against him and wound her limbs round him, as though to reassure63 him with the warmth of her body. He did not reopen his eyes immediately. For several moments he had had the feeling of being back in a nightmare which had recurred64 from time to time throughout his life. It was always very much the same. He was standing in front of a wall of darkness, and on the other side of it there was something unendurable, something too dreadful to be faced. In the dream his deepest feeling was always one of self-deception, because he did in fact know what was behind the wall of darkness. With a deadly effort, like wrenching65 a piece out of his own brain, he could even have dragged the thing into the open. He always woke up without discovering what it was: but somehow it was connected with what Julia had been saying when he cut her short.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘it’s nothing. I don’t like rats, that’s all.’
‘Don’t worry, dear, we’re not going to have the filthy brutes in here. I’ll stuff the hole with a bit of sacking before we go. And next time we come here I’ll bring some plaster and bung it up properly.’
Already the black instant of panic was half-forgotten. Feeling slightly ashamed of himself, he sat up against the bedhead. Julia got out of bed, pulled on her overalls, and made the coffee. The smell that rose from the saucepan was so powerful and exciting that they shut the window lest anybody outside should notice it and become inquisitive66. What was even better than the taste of the coffee was the silky texture67 given to it by the sugar, a thing Winston had almost forgotten after years of saccharine. With one hand in her pocket and a piece of bread and jam in the other, Julia wandered about the room, glancing indifferently at the bookcase, pointing out the best way of repairing the gateleg table, plumping herself down in the ragged arm-chair to see if it was comfortable, and examining the absurd twelve-hour clock with a sort of tolerant amusement. She brought the glass paperweight over to the bed to have a look at it in a better light. He took it out of her hand, fascinated, as always, by the soft, rainwatery appearance of the glass.
‘What is it, do you think?’ said Julia.
‘I don’t think it’s anything — I mean, I don’t think it was ever put to any use. That’s what I like about it. It’s a little chunk68 of history that they’ve forgotten to alter. It’s a message from a hundred years ago, if one knew how to read it.’
‘And that picture over there’— she nodded at the engraving69 on the opposite wall —‘would that be a hundred years old?’
‘More. Two hundred, I dare say. One can’t tell. It’s impossible to discover the age of anything nowadays.’
She went over to look at it. ‘Here’s where that brute stuck his nose out,’ she said, kicking the wainscoting immediately below the picture. ‘What is this place? I’ve seen it before somewhere.’
‘It’s a church, or at least it used to be. St Clement70 Danes its name was.’ The fragment of rhyme that Mr Charrington had taught him came back into his head, and he added half-nostalgically: “Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement’s!”
To his astonishment71 she capped the line:
‘You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St Martin’s,
When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey ——’
‘I can’t remember how it goes on after that. But anyway I remember it ends up, “Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off your head!”’
It was like the two halves of a countersign72. But there must be another line after ‘the bells of Old Bailey’. Perhaps it could be dug out of Mr Charrington’s memory, if he were suitably prompted.
‘Who taught you that?’ he said.
‘My grandfather. He used to say it to me when I was a little girl. He was vaporized when I was eight — at any rate, he disappeared. I wonder what a lemon was,’ she added inconsequently. ‘I’ve seen oranges. They’re a kind of round yellow fruit with a thick skin.’
‘I can remember lemons,’ said Winston. ‘They were quite common in the fifties. They were so sour that it set your teeth on edge even to smell them.’
‘I bet that picture’s got bugs behind it,’ said Julia. ‘I’ll take it down and give it a good clean some day. I suppose it’s almost time we were leaving. I must start washing this paint off. What a bore! I’ll get the lipstick73 off your face afterwards.’
Winston did not get up for a few minutes more. The room was darkening. He turned over towards the light and lay gazing into the glass paperweight. The inexhaustibly interesting thing was not the fragment of coral but the interior of the glass itself. There was such a depth of it, and yet it was almost as transparent74 as air. It was as though the surface of the glass had been the arch of the sky, enclosing a tiny world with its atmosphere complete. He had the feeling that he could get inside it, and that in fact he was inside it, along with the mahogany bed and the gateleg table, and the clock and the steel engraving and the paperweight itself. The paperweight was the room he was in, and the coral was Julia’s life and his own, fixed in a sort of eternity75 at the heart of the crystal.
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1
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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bolster
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| n.枕垫；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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saccharine
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| adj.奉承的，讨好的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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gratuitous
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| adj.无偿的，免费的；无缘无故的，不必要的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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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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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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14
stumping
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| 僵直地行走，跺步行走( stump的现在分词 )； 把（某人）难住； 使为难； （选举前）在某一地区作政治性巡回演说 | |
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15
pegging
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| n.外汇钉住，固定证券价格v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的现在分词 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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16
corked
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| adj.带木塞气味的，塞着瓶塞的v.用瓶塞塞住( cork的过去式 ) | |
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17
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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24
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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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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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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intentionally
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| ad.故意地，有意地 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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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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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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screwdriver
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| n.螺丝起子；伏特加橙汁鸡尾酒 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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39
diffusing
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| （使光）模糊，漫射，漫散( diffuse的现在分词 )； （使）扩散； （使）弥漫； （使）传播 | |
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40
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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41
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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42
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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43
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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44
eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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45
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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46
rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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47
rouged
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| 胭脂，口红( rouge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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49
cosmetics
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| n.化妆品 | |
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50
dabs
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| 少许( dab的名词复数 )； 是…能手； 做某事很在行； 在某方面技术熟练 | |
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51
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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52
synthetic
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| adj.合成的，人工的；综合的；n.人工制品 | |
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53
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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54
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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55
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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56
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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57
bugs
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| adj.疯狂的，发疯的n.窃听器( bug的名词复数 )；病菌；虫子；[计算机]（制作软件程序所产生的意料不到的）错误 | |
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58
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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59
hostel
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| n.（学生）宿舍，招待所 | |
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60
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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61
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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62
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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63
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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65
wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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66
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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68
chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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69
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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70
clement
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| adj.仁慈的；温和的 | |
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71
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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72
countersign
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| v.副署，会签 | |
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73
lipstick
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| n.口红，唇膏 | |
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74
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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75
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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