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1984 by George Orwell, Part three, Chapter 2 (2)

Part three, Chapter 2 (2)

That is what you are thinking, is it not, Winston?'

Winston did not answer. O'Brien drew back the lever on the dial. The wave of pain receded almost as quickly as it had come.

‘That was forty,' said O'Brien. ‘You can see that the numbers on this dial run up to a hundred. Will you please remember, throughout our conversation, that I have it in my power to inflict pain on you at any moment and to whatever degree I choose? If you tell me any lies, or attempt to prevaricate in any way, or even fall below your usual level of intelligence, you will cry out with pain, instantly. Do you understand that?'

‘Yes,' said Winston.

O'Brien's manner became less severe. He resettled his spectacles thoughtfully, and took a pace or two up and down. When he spoke his voice was gentle and patient. He had the air of a doctor, a teacher, even a priest, anxious to explain and persuade rather than to punish.

‘I am taking trouble with you, Winston,' he said, ‘because you are worth trouble. You know perfectly well what is the matter with you. You have known it for years, though you have fought against the knowledge. You are mentally deranged. You suffer from a defective memory. You are unable to remember real events and you persuade yourself that you remember other events which never happened. Fortunately it is curable. You have never cured yourself of it, because you did not choose to. There was a small effort of the will that you were not ready to make. Even now, I am well aware, you are clinging to your disease under the impression that it is a virtue. Now we will take an example. At this moment, which power is Oceania at war with?'

‘When I was arrested, Oceania was at war with Eastasia.'

‘With Eastasia. Good. And Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia, has it not?'

Winston drew in his breath. He opened his mouth to speak and then did not speak. He could not take his eyes away from the dial.

‘The truth, please, Winston. YOUR truth. Tell me what you think you remember.'

‘I remember that until only a week before I was arrested, we were not at war with Eastasia at all. We were in alliance with them. The war was against Eurasia. That had lasted for four years. Before that ——'

O'Brien stopped him with a movement of the hand.

‘Another example,' he said. ‘Some years ago you had a very serious delusion indeed. You believed that three men, three one- time Party members named Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford — men who were executed for treachery and sabotage after making the fullest possible confession — were not guilty of the crimes they were charged with. You believed that you had seen unmistakable documentary evidence proving that their confessions were false. There was a certain photograph about which you had a hallucination. You believed that you had actually held it in your hands. It was a photograph something like this.'

An oblong slip of newspaper had appeared between O'Brien's fingers. For perhaps five seconds it was within the angle of Winston's vision. It was a photograph, and there was no question of its identity. It was THE photograph. It was another copy of the photograph of Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford at the party function in New York, which he had chanced upon eleven years ago and promptly destroyed. For only an instant it was before his eyes, then it was out of sight again. But he had seen it, unquestionably he had seen it! He made a desperate, agonizing effort to wrench the top half of his body free. It was impossible to move so much as a centimetre in any direction. For the moment he had even forgotten the dial. All he wanted was to hold the photograph in his fingers again, or at least to see it.

‘It exists!' he cried. ‘No,' said O'Brien.

He stepped across the room. There was a memory hole in the opposite wall. O'Brien lifted the grating. Unseen, the frail slip of paper was whirling away on the current of warm air; it was vanishing in a flash of flame. O'Brien turned away from the wall.

‘Ashes,' he said. ‘Not even identifiable ashes. Dust. It does not exist. It never existed.'

‘But it did exist! It does exist! It exists in memory. I remember it. You remember it.'

‘I do not remember it,' said O'Brien.

Winston's heart sank. That was doublethink. He had a feeling of deadly helplessness. If he could have been certain that O'Brien was lying, it would not have seemed to matter. But it was perfectly possible that O'Brien had really forgotten the photograph. And if so, then already he would have forgotten his denial of remembering it, and forgotten the act of forgetting. How could one be sure that it was simple trickery? Perhaps that lunatic dislocation in the mind could really happen: that was the thought that defeated him.

O'Brien was looking down at him speculatively. More than ever he had the air of a teacher taking pains with a wayward but promising child.

‘There is a Party slogan dealing with the control of the past,' he said. ‘Repeat it, if you please.'

‘“Who controls the past controls the future: who controls the present controls the past,”' repeated Winston obediently.

‘“Who controls the present controls the past,”' said O'Brien, nodding his head with slow approval. ‘Is it your opinion, Winston, that the past has real existence?'

Again the feeling of helplessness descended upon Winston. His eyes flitted towards the dial. He not only did not know whether ‘yes' or ‘no' was the answer that would save him from pain; he did not even know which answer he believed to be the true one.

O'Brien smiled faintly. ‘You are no metaphysician, Winston,' he said. ‘Until this moment you had never considered what is meant by existence. I will put it more precisely. Does the past exist concretely, in space? Is there somewhere or other a place, a world of solid objects, where the past is still happening?'

‘No.'

‘Then where does the past exist, if at all?' ‘In records. It is written down.'

‘In records. And ——?'

‘In the mind. In human memories.'

‘In memory. Very well, then. We, the Party, control all records, and we control all memories. Then we control the past, do we not?' ‘But how can you stop people remembering things?' cried Winston again momentarily forgetting the dial. ‘It is involuntary. It is outside oneself. How can you control memory? You have not controlled mine!'

O'Brien's manner grew stern again. He laid his hand on the dial.

‘On the contrary,' he said, ‘YOU have not controlled it. That is what has brought you here. You are here because you have failed in humility, in self-discipline. You would not make the act of submission which is the price of sanity. You preferred to be a lunatic, a minority of one. Only the disciplined mind can see reality, Winston. You believe that reality is something objective, external, existing in its own right. You also believe that the nature of reality is self-evident. When you delude yourself into thinking that you see something, you assume that everyone else sees the same thing as you. But I tell you, Winston, that reality is not external. Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else. Not in the individual mind, which can make mistakes, and in any case soon perishes: only in the mind of the Party, which is collective and immortal. Whatever the Party holds to be the truth, is truth. It is impossible to see reality except by looking through the eyes of the Party. That is the fact that you have got to relearn, Winston. It needs an act of self-destruction, an effort of the will. You must humble yourself before you can become sane.'

He paused for a few moments, as though to allow what he had been saying to sink in.

‘Do you remember,' he went on, ‘writing in your diary, “Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four”?'

‘Yes,' said Winston.

O'Brien held up his left hand, its back towards Winston, with the thumb hidden and the four fingers extended.

‘How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?' ‘Four.'

‘And if the party says that it is not four but five — then how many?'

‘Four.'

The word ended in a gasp of pain. The needle of the dial had shot up to fifty-five. The sweat had sprung out all over Winston's body. The air tore into his lungs and issued again in deep groans which even by clenching his teeth he could not stop. O'Brien watched him, the four fingers still extended. He drew back the lever. This time the pain was only slightly eased.

‘How many fingers, Winston?'

‘Four.'

The needle went up to sixty. ‘How many fingers, Winston?'

‘Four! Four! What else can I say? Four!'

The needle must have risen again, but he did not look at it. The heavy, stern face and the four fingers filled his vision. The fingers stood up before his eyes like pillars, enormous, blurry, and seeming to vibrate, but unmistakably four.

‘How many fingers, Winston?'

‘Four! Stop it, stop it! How can you go on? Four! Four!'

‘How many fingers, Winston?'

‘Five! Five! Five!'

‘No, Winston, that is no use. You are lying. You still think there are four. How many fingers, please?'

‘Four! five! Four! Anything you like. Only stop it, stop the pain!'

Abruptly he was sitting up with O'Brien's arm round his shoulders. He had perhaps lost consciousness for a few seconds. The bonds that had held his body down were loosened. He felt very cold, he was shaking uncontrollably, his teeth were chattering, the tears were rolling down his cheeks. For a moment he clung to O'Brien like a baby, curiously comforted by the heavy arm round his shoulders. He had the feeling that O'Brien was his protector, that the pain was something that came from outside, from some other source, and that it was O'Brien who would save him from it.

‘You are a slow learner, Winston,' said O'Brien gently.

‘How can I help it?' he blubbered. ‘How can I help seeing what is in front of my eyes? Two and two are four.'

‘Sometimes, Winston. Sometimes they are five. Sometimes they are three. Sometimes they are all of them at once. You must try harder. It is not easy to become sane.'

He laid Winston down on the bed. The grip of his limbs tightened again, but the pain had ebbed away and the trembling had stopped, leaving him merely weak and cold. O'Brien motioned with his head to the man in the white coat, who had stood immobile throughout the proceedings. The man in the white coat bent down and looked closely into Winston's eyes, felt his pulse, laid an ear against his chest, tapped here and there, then he nodded to O'Brien.

‘Again,' said O'Brien.

The pain flowed into Winston's body. The needle must be at seventy, seventy-five. He had shut his eyes this time. He knew that the fingers were still there, and still four. All that mattered was somehow to stay alive until the spasm was over. He had ceased to notice whether he was crying out or not. The pain lessened again. He opened his eyes. O'Brien had drawn back the lever.

‘How many fingers, Winston?'

‘Four. I suppose there are four. I would see five if I could. I am trying to see five.'

‘Which do you wish: to persuade me that you see five, or really to see them?'

‘Really to see them.' ‘Again,' said O'Brien.

Perhaps the needle was eighty — ninety. Winston could not intermittently remember why the pain was happening.


Part three, Chapter 2 (2)

That is what you are thinking, is it not, Winston?'

Winston did not answer. O'Brien drew back the lever on the dial. The wave of pain receded almost as quickly as it had come.

‘That was forty,' said O'Brien. —Eran cuarenta —dijo O'Brien. ‘You can see that the numbers on this dial run up to a hundred. 'Puede ver que los números en este dial suman cien. Will you please remember, throughout our conversation, that I have it in my power to inflict pain on you at any moment and to whatever degree I choose? Будь ласка, пам’ятайте під час нашої розмови, що в моїх силах заподіяти вам біль у будь-який момент і будь-якої міри, яку я виберу? If you tell me any lies, or attempt to prevaricate in any way, or even fall below your usual level of intelligence, you will cry out with pain, instantly. Якщо ви скажете мені будь-яку неправду, або спробуєте будь-яким чином ухитритися, або навіть впадете нижче свого звичайного рівня інтелекту, ви миттєво заплачете від болю. Do you understand that?'

‘Yes,' said Winston.

O'Brien's manner became less severe. He resettled his spectacles thoughtfully, and took a pace or two up and down. Volvió a colocarse las gafas, pensativo, y subió y bajó uno o dos pasos. When he spoke his voice was gentle and patient. Коли він говорив, його голос був ніжним і терплячим. He had the air of a doctor, a teacher, even a priest, anxious to explain and persuade rather than to punish. Він мав вигляд лікаря, учителя, навіть священика, який прагнув пояснити й переконати, а не покарати.

‘I am taking trouble with you, Winston,' he said, ‘because you are worth trouble. —Me estoy tomando problemas contigo, Winston —dijo—, porque mereces la pena. «Мені неприємно з тобою, Вінстоне, — сказав він, — бо ти вартий неприємностей. You know perfectly well what is the matter with you. You have known it for years, though you have fought against the knowledge. Lo ha sabido durante años, aunque ha luchado contra el conocimiento. You are mentally deranged. Ви психічно хворі. You suffer from a defective memory. Sufre de una memoria defectuosa. You are unable to remember real events and you persuade yourself that you remember other events which never happened. Fortunately it is curable. На щастя, це виліковно. You have never cured yourself of it, because you did not choose to. Nunca te has curado porque no lo elegiste. Ви ніколи не вилікувалися від цього, тому що не вибирали. There was a small effort of the will that you were not ready to make. Hubo un pequeño esfuerzo de voluntad que no estabas preparado para hacer. Even now, I am well aware, you are clinging to your disease under the impression that it is a virtue. Навіть зараз, я добре знаю, ви чіпляєтесь за свою хворобу, вважаючи, що це чеснота. Now we will take an example. At this moment, which power is Oceania at war with?' En este momento, ¿con qué potencia está en guerra Oceanía?

‘When I was arrested, Oceania was at war with Eastasia.'

‘With Eastasia. Good. And Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia, has it not?' Y Oceanía siempre ha estado en guerra con Eastasia, ¿no es así?

Winston drew in his breath. Winston respiró hondo. He opened his mouth to speak and then did not speak. He could not take his eyes away from the dial.

‘The truth, please, Winston. YOUR truth. Tell me what you think you remember.'

‘I remember that until only a week before I was arrested, we were not at war with Eastasia at all. We were in alliance with them. The war was against Eurasia. La guerra fue contra Eurasia. That had lasted for four years. Eso había durado cuatro años. Before that ——'

O'Brien stopped him with a movement of the hand.

‘Another example,' he said. ‘Some years ago you had a very serious delusion indeed. —Hace algunos años tuvo un engaño muy serio. «Кілька років тому у вас справді була дуже серйозна омана. You believed that three men, three one- time Party members named Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford — men who were executed for treachery and sabotage after making the fullest possible confession — were not guilty of the crimes they were charged with. Usted creía que tres hombres, tres ex miembros del Partido llamados Jones, Aaronson y Rutherford, hombres que fueron ejecutados por traición y sabotaje después de hacer la confesión más completa posible, no eran culpables de los delitos que se les imputaban. You believed that you had seen unmistakable documentary evidence proving that their confessions were false. There was a certain photograph about which you had a hallucination. Había cierta fotografía sobre la que tuvo una alucinación. You believed that you had actually held it in your hands. Creías que realmente lo tenías en tus manos. It was a photograph something like this.'

An oblong slip of newspaper had appeared between O'Brien's fingers. For perhaps five seconds it was within the angle of Winston's vision. It was a photograph, and there was no question of its identity. Era una fotografía y no había dudas sobre su identidad. It was THE photograph. Era LA fotografía. It was another copy of the photograph of Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford at the party function in New York, which he had chanced upon eleven years ago and promptly destroyed. Це була ще одна копія фотографії Джонса, Ааронсона й Резерфорда на вечірці в Нью-Йорку, на яку він випадково потрапив одинадцять років тому й негайно знищив. For only an instant it was before his eyes, then it was out of sight again. Sólo por un instante estuvo ante sus ojos, luego se perdió de vista de nuevo. But he had seen it, unquestionably he had seen it! He made a desperate, agonizing effort to wrench the top half of his body free. It was impossible to move so much as a centimetre in any direction. For the moment he had even forgotten the dial. All he wanted was to hold the photograph in his fingers again, or at least to see it. Lo único que quería era volver a sujetar la fotografía entre los dedos, o al menos verla.

‘It exists!' he cried. ‘No,' said O'Brien.

He stepped across the room. Cruzó la habitación. Він перетнув кімнату. There was a memory hole in the opposite wall. Había un agujero de memoria en la pared opuesta. O'Brien lifted the grating. O'Brien levantó la rejilla. Unseen, the frail slip of paper was whirling away on the current of warm air; it was vanishing in a flash of flame. Sin ser visto, el frágil trozo de papel se alejaba girando en la corriente de aire caliente; se estaba desvaneciendo en un destello de llamas. Непомітний, тендітний клаптик паперу кружляв у потоці теплого повітря; воно зникало у спалаху полум'я. O'Brien turned away from the wall.

‘Ashes,' he said. Cenizas dijo. ‘Not even identifiable ashes. Ni siquiera cenizas identificables. Dust. It does not exist. It never existed.'

‘But it did exist! It does exist! ¡Existe! It exists in memory. I remember it. You remember it.'

‘I do not remember it,' said O'Brien.

Winston's heart sank. El corazón de Winston se hundió. У Вінстона стиснулося серце. That was doublethink. He had a feeling of deadly helplessness. Tenía una sensación de impotencia mortal. If he could have been certain that O'Brien was lying, it would not have seemed to matter. Якби він міг бути певним, що О'Браєн бреше, це не мало б значення. But it was perfectly possible that O'Brien had really forgotten the photograph. And if so, then already he would have forgotten his denial of remembering it, and forgotten the act of forgetting. How could one be sure that it was simple trickery? Perhaps that lunatic dislocation in the mind could really happen: that was the thought that defeated him. Можливо, той божевільний вивих у свідомості справді міг статися: це була думка, яка перемогла його.

O'Brien was looking down at him speculatively. More than ever he had the air of a teacher taking pains with a wayward but promising child. Más que nunca tenía el aire de un maestro que se preocupa por un niño descarriado pero prometedor.

‘There is a Party slogan dealing with the control of the past,' he said. "Hay un lema del Partido que se ocupa del control del pasado", dijo. «Є гасло партії, яке стосується контролю над минулим», — сказав він. ‘Repeat it, if you please.' Repítelo, por favor.

‘“Who controls the past controls the future: who controls the present controls the past,”' repeated Winston obediently.

‘“Who controls the present controls the past,”' said O'Brien, nodding his head with slow approval. ‘Is it your opinion, Winston, that the past has real existence?'

Again the feeling of helplessness descended upon Winston. His eyes flitted towards the dial. He not only did not know whether ‘yes' or ‘no' was the answer that would save him from pain; he did not even know which answer he believed to be the true one.

O'Brien smiled faintly. ‘You are no metaphysician, Winston,' he said. ‘Until this moment you had never considered what is meant by existence. 'Hasta este momento nunca habías considerado lo que se entiende por existencia. «До цього моменту ви ніколи не замислювалися про те, що означає існування. I will put it more precisely. Does the past exist concretely, in space? ¿Existe el pasado concretamente, en el espacio? Чи існує минуле конкретно, у просторі? Is there somewhere or other a place, a world of solid objects, where the past is still happening?'

‘No.'

‘Then where does the past exist, if at all?' Entonces, ¿dónde existe el pasado, si es que existe? ‘In records. It is written down.' Está escrito.

‘In records. And ——?'

‘In the mind. In human memories.'

‘In memory. Very well, then. We, the Party, control all records, and we control all memories. Then we control the past, do we not?' Entonces controlamos el pasado, ¿no es así? ‘But how can you stop people remembering things?' cried Winston again momentarily forgetting the dial. ‘It is involuntary. It is outside oneself. Está fuera de uno mismo. Це поза собою. How can you control memory? You have not controlled mine!' ¡No has controlado el mío!

O'Brien's manner grew stern again. Los modales de O'Brien se volvieron severos de nuevo. Поводження О’Браєна знову стало суворішим. He laid his hand on the dial.

‘On the contrary,' he said, ‘YOU have not controlled it. 'Al contrario', dijo, 'USTED no lo ha controlado. That is what has brought you here. Eso es lo que te ha traído aquí. You are here because you have failed in humility, in self-discipline. Estás aquí porque has fallado en humildad, en autodisciplina. You would not make the act of submission which is the price of sanity. No harías el acto de sumisión que es el precio de la cordura. You preferred to be a lunatic, a minority of one. Preferías ser un lunático, una minoría de uno. Only the disciplined mind can see reality, Winston. You believe that reality is something objective, external, existing in its own right. Crees que la realidad es algo objetivo, externo, que existe por derecho propio. You also believe that the nature of reality is self-evident. También cree que la naturaleza de la realidad es evidente por sí misma. When you delude yourself into thinking that you see something, you assume that everyone else sees the same thing as you. But I tell you, Winston, that reality is not external. Pero te digo, Winston, que la realidad no es externa. Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else. Not in the individual mind, which can make mistakes, and in any case soon perishes: only in the mind of the Party, which is collective and immortal. Whatever the Party holds to be the truth, is truth. Todo lo que el Partido considere verdad, es verdad. It is impossible to see reality except by looking through the eyes of the Party. That is the fact that you have got to relearn, Winston. It needs an act of self-destruction, an effort of the will. Necesita un acto de autodestrucción, un esfuerzo de voluntad. You must humble yourself before you can become sane.'

He paused for a few moments, as though to allow what he had been saying to sink in. Hizo una pausa por unos momentos, como para permitir que asimilara lo que había estado diciendo. Він замовк на кілька хвилин, немовби дозволив зрозуміти те, що він говорив.

‘Do you remember,' he went on, ‘writing in your diary, “Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four”?'

‘Yes,' said Winston.

O'Brien held up his left hand, its back towards Winston, with the thumb hidden and the four fingers extended. O'Brien levantó la mano izquierda, de espaldas a Winston, con el pulgar oculto y los cuatro dedos extendidos. О'Браєн підняв ліву руку тильною стороною до Вінстона, приховавши великий палець і витягнувши чотири пальці.

‘How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?' "¿Cuántos dedos estoy sosteniendo, Winston?" ‘Four.'

‘And if the party says that it is not four but five — then how many?'

‘Four.'

The word ended in a gasp of pain. The needle of the dial had shot up to fifty-five. The sweat had sprung out all over Winston's body. The air tore into his lungs and issued again in deep groans which even by clenching his teeth he could not stop. O'Brien watched him, the four fingers still extended. He drew back the lever. This time the pain was only slightly eased.

‘How many fingers, Winston?'

‘Four.'

The needle went up to sixty. La aguja subió a sesenta. ‘How many fingers, Winston?'

‘Four! Four! What else can I say? Four!'

The needle must have risen again, but he did not look at it. The heavy, stern face and the four fingers filled his vision. The fingers stood up before his eyes like pillars, enormous, blurry, and seeming to vibrate, but unmistakably four.

‘How many fingers, Winston?'

‘Four! Stop it, stop it! How can you go on? ¿Cómo puedes continuar? Як ти можеш продовжувати? Four! Four!'

‘How many fingers, Winston?'

‘Five! Five! Five!'

‘No, Winston, that is no use. —No, Winston, eso es inútil. You are lying. You still think there are four. How many fingers, please?'

‘Four! five! Four! Anything you like. Only stop it, stop the pain!'

Abruptly he was sitting up with O'Brien's arm round his shoulders. Раптом він сів, обнявши його за плечі рукою О’Брайена. He had perhaps lost consciousness for a few seconds. The bonds that had held his body down were loosened. He felt very cold, he was shaking uncontrollably, his teeth were chattering, the tears were rolling down his cheeks. For a moment he clung to   O'Brien like a baby, curiously comforted by the heavy arm round his shoulders. He had the feeling that O'Brien was his protector, that the pain was something that came from outside, from some other source, and that it was O'Brien who would save him from it.

‘You are a slow learner, Winston,' said O'Brien gently. —Eres un aprendiz lento, Winston —dijo O'Brien con suavidad—.

‘How can I help it?' '¿Cómo puedo evitarlo?' he blubbered. ‘How can I help seeing what is in front of my eyes? '¿Cómo puedo ayudar a ver lo que está frente a mis ojos? Two and two are four.'

‘Sometimes, Winston. Sometimes they are five. Sometimes they are three. Sometimes they are all of them at once. A veces son todos a la vez. Іноді вони всі разом. You must try harder. It is not easy to become sane.'

He laid Winston down on the bed. The grip of his limbs tightened again, but the pain had ebbed away and the trembling had stopped, leaving him merely weak and cold. Його кінцівки знову зміцнилися, але біль ущух, а тремтіння припинилося, залишивши його лише слабким і холодним. O'Brien motioned with his head to the man in the white coat, who had stood immobile throughout the proceedings. The man in the white coat bent down and looked closely into Winston's eyes, felt his pulse, laid an ear against his chest, tapped here and there, then he nodded to O'Brien.

‘Again,' said O'Brien.

The pain flowed into Winston's body. The needle must be at seventy, seventy-five. He had shut his eyes this time. He knew that the fingers were still there, and still four. All that mattered was somehow to stay alive until the spasm was over. He had ceased to notice whether he was crying out or not. The pain lessened again. He opened his eyes. O'Brien had drawn back the lever. O'Brien había retirado la palanca.

‘How many fingers, Winston?'

‘Four. I suppose there are four. I would see five if I could. Vería cinco si pudiera. I am trying to see five.'

‘Which do you wish: to persuade me that you see five, or really to see them?' '¿Qué deseas: persuadirme de que ves cinco, o realmente verlos?'

‘Really to see them.' ‘Again,' said O'Brien.

Perhaps the needle was eighty — ninety. Winston could not intermittently remember why the pain was happening.