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1984 by George Orwell, Part three, Chapter 1 (3)

Part three, Chapter 1 (3)

Give me a chance and I'll tell you every word of it. HE'S the one that's against the Party, not me.' The guards stepped forward. The man's voice rose to a shriek. ‘You didn't hear him!' he repeated. ‘Something went wrong with the telescreen. HE'S the one you want. Take him, not me!'

The two sturdy guards had stooped to take him by the arms. But just at this moment he flung himself across the floor of the cell and grabbed one of the iron legs that supported the bench. He had set up a wordless howling, like an animal. The guards took hold of him to wrench him loose, but he clung on with astonishing strength. For perhaps twenty seconds they were hauling at him. The prisoners sat quiet, their hands crossed on their knees, looking straight in front of them. The howling stopped; the man had no breath left for anything except hanging on. Then there was a different kind of cry. A kick from a guard's boot had broken the fingers of one of his hands. They dragged him to his feet.

‘Room 1o1,' said the officer.

The man was led out, walking unsteadily, with head sunken, nursing his crushed hand, all the fight had gone out of him.

A long time passed. If it had been midnight when the skull- faced man was taken away, it was morning: if morning, it was afternoon. Winston was alone, and had been alone for hours. The pain of sitting on the narrow bench was such that often he got up and walked about, unreproved by the telescreen. The piece of bread still lay where the chinless man had dropped it. At the beginning it needed a hard effort not to look at it, but presently hunger gave way to thirst. His mouth was sticky and evil-tasting. The humming sound and the unvarying white light induced a sort of faintness, an empty feeling inside his head. He would get up because the ache in his bones was no longer bearable, and then would sit down again almost at once because he was too dizzy to make sure of staying on his feet. Whenever his physical sensations were a little under control the terror returned. Sometimes with a fading hope he thought of O'Brien and the razor blade. It was thinkable that the razor blade might arrive concealed in his food, if he were ever fed. More dimly he thought of Julia. Somewhere or other she was suffering perhaps far worse than he. She might be screaming with pain at this moment. He thought: ‘If I could save Julia by doubling my own pain, would I do it? Yes, I would.' But that was merely an intellectual decision, taken because he knew that he ought to take it. He did not feel it. In this place you could not feel anything, except pain and foreknowledge of pain. Besides, was it possible, when you were actually suffering it, to wish for any reason that your own pain should increase? But that question was not answerable yet.

The boots were approaching again. The door opened. O'Brien came in.

Winston started to his feet. The shock of the sight had driven all caution out of him. For the first time in many years he forgot the presence of the telescreen.

‘They've got you too!' he cried.

‘They got me a long time ago,' said O'Brien with a mild, almost regretful irony. He stepped aside. From behind him there emerged a broad-chested guard with a long black truncheon in his hand.

‘You know this, Winston,' said O'Brien. ‘Don't deceive yourself. You did know it — you have always known it.'

Yes, he saw now, he had always known it. But there was no time to think of that. All he had eyes for was the truncheon in the guard's hand. It might fall anywhere; on the crown, on the tip of the ear, on the upper arm, on the elbow ——

The elbow! He had slumped to his knees, almost paralysed, clasping the stricken elbow with his other hand. Everything had exploded into yellow light. Inconceivable, inconceivable that one blow could cause such pain! The light cleared and he could see the other two looking down at him. The guard was laughing at his contortions. One question at any rate was answered. Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could wish only one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes, he thought over and over as he writhed on the floor, clutching uselessly at his disabled left arm.

Part three, Chapter 1 (3)

Give me a chance and I'll tell you every word of it. Dame una oportunidad y te contaré cada palabra. HE'S the one that's against the Party, not me.' The guards stepped forward. Los guardias dieron un paso adelante. The man's voice rose to a shriek. ‘You didn't hear him!' ¡No lo escuchaste! he repeated. ‘Something went wrong with the telescreen. HE'S the one you want. Take him, not me!'

The two sturdy guards had stooped to take him by the arms. But just at this moment he flung himself across the floor of the cell and grabbed one of the iron legs that supported the bench. He had set up a wordless howling, like an animal. Había provocado un aullido sin palabras, como un animal. Він здійняв безмовне виття, як тварина. The guards took hold of him to wrench him loose, but he clung on with astonishing strength. Охоронці схопили його, щоб вирвати, але він учепився з неймовірною силою. For perhaps twenty seconds they were hauling at him. The prisoners sat quiet, their hands crossed on their knees, looking straight in front of them. The howling stopped; the man had no breath left for anything except hanging on. El aullido cesó; al hombre no le quedaba aliento para nada excepto para aguantar. Then there was a different kind of cry. A kick from a guard's boot had broken the fingers of one of his hands. They dragged him to his feet.

‘Room 1o1,' said the officer.

The man was led out, walking unsteadily, with head sunken, nursing his crushed hand, all the fight had gone out of him. El hombre fue sacado, caminando inestable, con la cabeza hundida, acariciando su mano aplastada, toda la lucha se le había acabado. Чоловіка вивели, він ішов невпевнено, із затопленою головою, доглядаючи за розчавленою рукою, він вийшов із себе.

A long time passed. If it had been midnight when the skull- faced man was taken away, it was morning: if morning, it was afternoon. Si era medianoche cuando se llevaron al hombre de la cara de calavera, era de mañana; si era de mañana, era de tarde. Winston was alone, and had been alone for hours. The pain of sitting on the narrow bench was such that often he got up and walked about, unreproved by the telescreen. El dolor de sentarse en el banco estrecho era tal que a menudo se levantaba y caminaba sin que la telepantalla lo reprochara. The piece of bread still lay where the chinless man had dropped it. El trozo de pan todavía estaba donde el hombre sin mentón lo había dejado caer. At the beginning it needed a hard effort not to look at it, but presently hunger gave way to thirst. Al principio necesitó un gran esfuerzo para no mirarlo, pero luego el hambre dio paso a la sed. His mouth was sticky and evil-tasting. The humming sound and the unvarying white light induced a sort of faintness, an empty feeling inside his head. He would get up because the ache in his bones was no longer bearable, and then would sit down again almost at once because he was too dizzy to make sure of staying on his feet. Se levantaba porque el dolor de los huesos ya no era soportable, y luego volvía a sentarse casi de inmediato porque estaba demasiado mareado para asegurarse de mantenerse de pie. Whenever his physical sensations were a little under control the terror returned. Sometimes with a fading hope he thought of O'Brien and the razor blade. A veces, con una esperanza que se desvanecía, pensaba en O'Brien y la hoja de afeitar. It was thinkable that the razor blade might arrive concealed in his food, if he were ever fed. Era pensable que la hoja de afeitar pudiera llegar oculta en su comida, si alguna vez lo alimentaban. More dimly he thought of Julia. Somewhere or other she was suffering perhaps far worse than he. Десь вона страждала, можливо, набагато гірше, ніж він. She might be screaming with pain at this moment. He thought: ‘If I could save Julia by doubling my own pain, would I do it? Pensó: 'Si pudiera salvar a Julia duplicando mi propio dolor, ¿lo haría? Yes, I would.' But that was merely an intellectual decision, taken because he knew that he ought to take it. Pero esa fue simplemente una decisión intelectual, tomada porque sabía que debía tomarla. He did not feel it. In this place you could not feel anything, except pain and foreknowledge of pain. Besides, was it possible, when you were actually suffering it, to wish for any reason that your own pain should increase? Además, ¿era posible, cuando realmente lo estabas sufriendo, desear por alguna razón que tu propio dolor aumentara? But that question was not answerable yet. Pero esa pregunta aún no tenía respuesta.

The boots were approaching again. The door opened. O'Brien came in.

Winston started to his feet. The shock of the sight had driven all caution out of him. La conmoción de la vista le había quitado toda cautela. Шок від цього видовища вигнав із нього всю обережність. For the first time in many years he forgot the presence of the telescreen.

‘They've got you too!' ¡También te tienen a ti! he cried.

‘They got me a long time ago,' said O'Brien with a mild, almost regretful irony. «Вони мене давно впіймали», — сказав О’Браєн з м’якою, майже жалюгідною іронією. He stepped aside. Se hizo a un lado. From behind him there emerged a broad-chested guard with a long black truncheon in his hand. З-за його спини вийшов широкогрудий охоронець з довгою чорною кийком у руці.

‘You know this, Winston,' said O'Brien. ‘Don't deceive yourself. You did know it — you have always known it.' Ви це знали — ви завжди це знали».

Yes, he saw now, he had always known it. But there was no time to think of that. All he had eyes for was the truncheon in the guard's hand. Todo lo que tenía ojos para él era la porra en la mano del guardia. It might fall anywhere; on the crown, on the tip of the ear, on the upper arm, on the elbow —— Podría caer en cualquier parte; en la coronilla, en la punta de la oreja, en la parte superior del brazo, en el codo —— Він може впасти будь-куди; на маківці, на кінчику вуха, на плечі, на лікті ——

The elbow! He had slumped to his knees, almost paralysed, clasping the stricken elbow with his other hand. Everything had exploded into yellow light. Inconceivable, inconceivable that one blow could cause such pain! The light cleared and he could see the other two looking down at him. La luz se aclaró y pudo ver a los otros dos mirándolo. Світло розвіялося, і він побачив, як двоє інших дивляться на нього вниз. The guard was laughing at his contortions. One question at any rate was answered. Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Nunca, por ninguna razón en la tierra, podría desear un aumento del dolor. Ніколи, за жодних причин на землі, ви не можете бажати посилення болю. Of pain you could wish only one thing: that it should stop. Del dolor solo puedes desear una cosa: que se detenga. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes, he thought over and over as he writhed on the floor, clutching uselessly at his disabled left arm.