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1984 by George Orwell, Part two, Chapter 5

Part two, Chapter 5

Syme had vanished. A morning came, and he was missing from work: a few thoughtless people commented on his absence. On the next day nobody mentioned him. On the

third day Winston went into the vestibule of the Records Department to look at the notice-board. One of the notices carried a printed list of the members of the Chess Committee, of whom Syme had been one. It looked almost exactly as it had looked before — nothing had been crossed out — but it was one name shorter. It was enough. Syme had ceased to exist: he had never existed.

The weather was baking hot. In the labyrinthine Ministry the windowless, air-conditioned rooms kept their normal temperature, but outside the pavements scorched one's feet and the stench of the Tubes at the rush hours was a horror. The preparations for Hate Week were in full swing, and the staffs of all the Ministries were working overtime. Processions, meetings, military parades, lectures, waxworks, displays, film shows, telescreen programmes all had to be organized; stands had to be erected, effigies built, slogans coined, songs written, rumours circulated, photographs faked. Julia's unit in the Fiction Department had been taken off the production of novels and was rushing out a series of atrocity pamphlets. Winston, in addition to his regular work, spent long periods every day in going through back files of ‘The Times' and altering and embellishing news items which were to be quoted in speeches. Late at night, when crowds of rowdy proles roamed the streets, the town had a curiously febrile air. The rocket bombs crashed oftener than ever, and sometimes in the far distance there were enormous explosions which no one could explain and about which there were wild rumours.

The new tune which was to be the theme-song of Hate Week (the Hate Song, it was called) had already been composed and was being endlessly plugged on the telescreens. It had a savage, barking rhythm which could not exactly be called music, but resembled the beating of a drum. Roared out by hundreds of voices to the tramp of marching feet, it was terrifying. The proles had taken a fancy to it, and in the midnight streets it competed with the still-popular ‘It was only a hopeless fancy'. The Parsons children played it at all hours of the night and day, unbearably, on a comb and a piece of toilet paper. Winston's evenings were fuller than ever. Squads of volunteers, organized by Parsons, were preparing the street for Hate Week, stitching banners, painting posters, erecting flagstaffs on the roofs, and perilously slinging wires across the street for the reception of streamers. Parsons boasted that Victory Mansions alone would display four hundred metres of bunting. He was in his native element and as happy as a lark. The heat and the manual work had even given him a pretext for reverting to shorts and an open shirt in the evenings. He was everywhere at once, pushing, pulling, sawing, hammering, improvising, jollying everyone along with comradely exhortations and giving out from every fold of his body what seemed an inexhaustible supply of acrid-smelling sweat.

A new poster had suddenly appeared all over London. It had no caption, and represented simply the monstrous figure of a Eurasian soldier, three or four metres high, striding forward with expressionless Mongolian face and enormous boots, a submachine gun pointed from his hip. From whatever angle you looked at the poster, the muzzle of the gun, magnified by the foreshortening, seemed to be pointed straight at you. The thing had been plastered on every blank space on every wall, even outnumbering the portraits of Big Brother. The proles, normally apathetic about the war, were being lashed into one of their periodical frenzies of patriotism. As though to harmonize with the general mood, the rocket bombs had been killing larger numbers of people than usual. One fell on a crowded film theatre in Stepney, burying several hundred victims among the ruins. The whole population of the neighbourhood turned out for a long, trailing funeral which went on for hours and was in effect an indignation meeting. Another bomb fell on a piece of waste ground which was used as a playground and several dozen children were blown to pieces. There were further angry demonstrations, Goldstein was burned in effigy, hundreds of copies of the poster of the Eurasian soldier were torn down and added to the flames, and a number of shops were looted in the turmoil; then a rumour flew round that spies were directing the rocket bombs by means of wireless waves, and an old couple who were suspected of being of foreign extraction had their house set on fire and perished of suffocation.

In the room over Mr Charrington's shop, when they could get there, Julia and Winston lay side by side on a stripped bed under the open window, naked for the sake of coolness. The rat had never come back, but the bugs had multiplied hideously in the heat. It did not seem to matter. Dirty or clean, the room was paradise. As soon as they arrived they would sprinkle everything with pepper bought on the black market, tear off their clothes, and make love with sweating bodies, then fall asleep and wake to find that the bugs had rallied and were massing for the counter-attack.

Four, five, six — seven times they met during the month of June. Winston had dropped his habit of drinking gin at all hours. He seemed to have lost the need for it. He had grown fatter, his varicose ulcer had subsided, leaving only a brown stain on the skin above his ankle, his fits of coughing in the early morning had stopped. The process of life had ceased to be intolerable, he had no longer any impulse to make faces at the telescreen or shout curses at the top of his voice. Now that they had a secure hiding-place, almost a home, it did not even seem a hardship that they could only meet infrequently and for a couple of hours at a time. What mattered was that the room over the junk-shop should exist. To know that it was there, inviolate, was almost the same as being in it. The room was a world, a pocket of the past where extinct animals could walk. Mr Charrington, thought Winston, was another extinct animal. He usually stopped to talk with Mr Charrington for a few minutes on his way upstairs. The old man seemed seldom or never to go out of doors, and on the other hand to have almost no customers. He led a ghostlike existence between the tiny, dark shop, and an even tinier back kitchen where he prepared his meals and which contained, among other things, an unbelievably ancient gramophone with an enormous horn. He seemed glad of the opportunity to talk. Wandering about among his worthless stock, with his long nose and thick spectacles and his bowed shoulders in the velvet jacket, he had always vaguely the air of being a collector rather than a tradesman. With a sort of faded enthusiasm he would finger this scrap of rubbish or that — a china bottle-stopper, the painted lid of a broken snuffbox, a pinchbeck locket containing a strand of some long-dead baby's hair — never asking that Winston should buy it, merely that he should admire it. To talk to him was like listening to the tinkling of a worn-out musical-box. He had dragged out from the corners of his memory some more fragments of forgotten rhymes. There was one about four and twenty blackbirds, and another about a cow with a crumpled horn, and another about the death of poor Cock Robin. ‘It just occurred to me you might be interested,' he would say with a deprecating little laugh whenever he produced a new fragment. But he could never recall more than a few lines of any one rhyme.

Both of them knew — in a way, it was never out of their minds that what was now happening could not last long. There were times when the fact of impending death seemed as palpable as the bed they lay on, and they would cling together with a sort of despairing sensuality, like a damned soul grasping at his last morsel of pleasure when the clock is within five minutes of striking. But there were also times when they had the illusion not only of safety but of permanence. So long as they were actually in this room, they both felt, no harm could come to them. Getting there was difficult and dangerous, but the room itself was sanctuary. It was as when Winston had gazed into the heart of the paperweight, with the feeling that it would be possible to get inside that glassy world, and that once inside it time could be arrested. Often they gave themselves up to daydreams of escape. Their luck would hold indefinitely, and they would carry on their intrigue, just like this, for the remainder of their natural lives. Or Katharine would die, and by subtle manoeuvrings Winston and Julia would succeed in getting married. Or they would commit suicide together. Or they would disappear, alter themselves out of recognition, learn to speak with proletarian accents, get jobs in a factory and live out their lives undetected in a back-street. It was all nonsense, as they both knew. In reality there was no escape. Even the one plan that was practicable, suicide, they had no intention of carrying out. To hang on from day to day and from week to week, spinning out a present that had no future, seemed an unconquerable instinct, just as one's lungs will always draw the next breath so long as there is air available.

Sometimes, too, they talked of engaging in active rebellion against the Party, but with no notion of how to take the first step. Even if the fabulous Brotherhood was a reality, there still remained the difficulty of finding one's way into it. He told her of the strange intimacy that existed, or seemed to exist, between himself and O'Brien, and of the impulse he sometimes felt, simply to walk into O'Brien's presence, announce that he was the enemy of the Party, and demand his help. Curiously enough, this did not strike her as an impossibly rash thing to do. She was used to judging people by their faces, and it seemed natural to her that Winston should believe O'Brien to be trustworthy on the strength of a single flash of the eyes. Moreover she took it for granted that everyone, or nearly everyone, secretly hated the Party and would break the rules if he thought it safe to do so. But she refused to believe that widespread, organized opposition existed or could exist. The tales about Goldstein and his underground army, she said, were simply a lot of rubbish which the Party had invented for its own purposes and which you had to pretend to believe in. Times beyond number, at Party rallies and spontaneous demonstrations, she had shouted at the top of her voice for the execution of people whose names she had never heard and in whose supposed crimes she had not the faintest belief. When public trials were happening she had taken her place in the detachments from the Youth League who surrounded the courts from morning to night, chanting at intervals ‘Death to the traitors!' During the Two Minutes Hate she always excelled all others in shouting insults at Goldstein. Yet she had only the dimmest idea of who Goldstein was and what doctrines he was supposed to represent. She had grown up since the Revolution and was too young to remember the ideological battles of the fifties and sixties. Such a thing as an independent political movement was outside her imagination: and in any case the Party was invincible. It would always exist, and it would always be the same. You could only rebel against it by secret disobedience or, at most, by isolated acts of violence such as killing somebody or blowing something up.

In some ways she was far more acute than Winston, and far less susceptible to Party propaganda. Once when he happened in some connexion to mention the war against Eurasia, she startled him by saying casually that in her opinion the war was not happening. The rocket bombs which fell daily on London were probably fired by the Government of Oceania itself, ‘just to keep people frightened'. This was an idea that had literally never occurred to him. She also stirred a sort of envy in him by telling him that during the Two Minutes Hate her great difficulty was to avoid bursting out laughing. But she only questioned the teachings of the Party when they in some way touched upon her own life. Often she was ready to accept the official mythology, simply because the difference between truth and falsehood did not seem important to her. She believed, for instance, having learnt it at school, that the Party had invented aeroplanes. (In his own schooldays, Winston remembered, in the late fifties, it was only the helicopter that the Party claimed to have invented; a dozen years later, when Julia was at school, it was already claiming the aeroplane; one generation more, and it would be claiming the steam engine.) And when he told her that aeroplanes had been in existence before he was born and long before the Revolution, the fact struck her as totally uninteresting. After all, what did it matter who had invented aeroplanes? It was rather more of a shock to him when he discovered from some chance remark that she did not remember that Oceania, four years ago, had been at war with Eastasia and at peace with Eurasia. It was true that she regarded the whole war as a sham: but apparently she had not even noticed that the name of the enemy had changed. ‘I thought we'd always been at war with Eurasia,' she said vaguely. It frightened him a little. The invention of aeroplanes dated from long before her birth, but the switchover in the war had happened only four years ago, well after she was grown up. He argued with her about it for perhaps a quarter of an hour. In the end he succeeded in forcing her memory back until she did dimly recall that at one time Eastasia and not Eurasia had been the enemy. But the issue still struck her as unimportant. ‘Who cares?' she said impatiently. ‘It's always one bloody war after another, and one knows the news is all lies anyway.'

Sometimes he talked to her of the Records Department and the impudent forgeries that he committed there. Such things did not appear to horrify her. She did not feel the abyss opening beneath her feet at the thought of lies becoming truths. He told her the story of Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford and the momentous slip of paper which he had once held between his fingers. It did not make much impression on her. At first, indeed, she failed to grasp the point of the story.

‘Were they friends of yours?' she said.

‘No, I never knew them. They were Inner Party members. Besides, they were far older men than I was. They belonged to the old days, before the Revolution. I barely knew them by sight.'

‘Then what was there to worry about? People are being killed off all the time, aren't they?'

He tried to make her understand. ‘This was an exceptional case. It wasn't just a question of somebody being killed. Do you realize that the past, starting from yesterday, has been actually abolished? If it survives anywhere, it's in a few solid objects with no words attached to them, like that lump of glass there. Already we know almost literally nothing about the Revolution and the years before the Revolution. Every record has been destroyed or falsified, every book has been rewritten, every picture has been repainted, every statue and street and building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And that process is continuing day by day and minute by minute. History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which the Party is always right. I know, of course, that the past is falsified, but it would never be possible for me to prove it, even when I did the falsification myself. After the thing is done, no evidence ever remains. The only evidence is inside my own mind, and I don't know with any certainty that any other human being shares my memories. Just in that one instance, in my whole life, I did possess actual concrete evidence after the event — years after it.'

‘And what good was that?'

‘It was no good, because I threw it away a few minutes later.

But if the same thing happened today, I should keep it.'

‘Well, I wouldn't!' said Julia. ‘I'm quite ready to take risks, but only for something worth while, not for bits of old newspaper. What could you have done with it even if you had kept it?'

‘Not much, perhaps. But it was evidence. It might have planted a few doubts here and there, supposing that I'd dared to show it to anybody. I don't imagine that we can alter anything in our own lifetime. But one can imagine little knots of resistance springing up here and there — small groups of people banding themselves together, and gradually growing, and even leaving a few records behind, so that the next generations can carry on where we leave off.'

‘I'm not interested in the next generation, dear. I'm interested in US.'

‘You're only a rebel from the waist downwards,' he told her.

She thought this brilliantly witty and flung her arms round him in delight.

In the ramifications of party doctrine she had not the faintest interest. Whenever he began to talk of the principles of Ingsoc, doublethink, the mutability of the past, and the denial of objective reality, and to use Newspeak words, she became bored and confused and said that she never paid any attention to that kind of thing. One knew that it was all rubbish, so why let oneself be worried by it? She knew when to cheer and when to boo, and that was all one needed. If he persisted in talking of such subjects, she had a disconcerting habit of falling asleep. She was one of those people who can go to sleep at any hour and in any position. Talking to her, he realized how easy it was to present an appearance of orthodoxy while having no grasp whatever of what orthodoxy meant. In a way, the world-view of the Party imposed itself most successfully on people incapable of understanding it. They could be made to accept the most flagrant violations of reality, because they never fully grasped the enormity of what was demanded of them, and were not sufficiently interested in public events to notice what was happening. By lack of understanding they remained sane. They simply swallowed everything, and what they swallowed did them no harm, because it left no residue behind, just as a grain of corn will pass undigested through the body of a bird.


Part two, Chapter 5 Segunda parte, capítulo 5

Syme had vanished. Syme había desaparecido. A morning came, and he was missing from work: a few thoughtless people commented on his absence. Llegó una mañana y se ausentó del trabajo: algunas personas desconsideradas comentaron su ausencia. On the next day nobody mentioned him. On the

third day Winston went into the vestibule of the Records Department to look at the notice-board. One of the notices carried a printed list of the members of the Chess Committee, of whom Syme had been one. Uno de los avisos mostraba una lista impresa de los miembros del Comité de Ajedrez, de los cuales Syme había sido uno. It looked almost exactly as it had looked before — nothing had been crossed out — but it was one name shorter. Se veía casi exactamente como se veía antes, no se había tachado nada, pero era un nombre más corto. It was enough. Syme had ceased to exist: he had never existed.

The weather was baking hot. In the labyrinthine Ministry the windowless, air-conditioned rooms kept their normal temperature, but outside the pavements scorched one's feet and the stench of the Tubes at the rush hours was a horror. The preparations for Hate Week were in full swing, and the staffs of all the Ministries were working overtime. Processions, meetings, military parades, lectures, waxworks, displays, film shows, telescreen programmes all had to be organized; stands had to be erected, effigies built, slogans coined, songs written, rumours circulated, photographs faked. Julia's unit in the Fiction Department had been taken off the production of novels and was rushing out a series of atrocity pamphlets. Підрозділ Джулії у відділі художньої літератури було знято з виробництва романів і поспішно випустив серію жорстоких памфлетів. Winston, in addition to his regular work, spent long periods every day in going through back files of ‘The Times' and altering and embellishing news items which were to be quoted in speeches. Late at night, when crowds of rowdy proles roamed the streets, the town had a curiously febrile air. The rocket bombs crashed oftener than ever, and sometimes in the far distance there were enormous explosions which no one could explain and about which there were wild rumours. Las bombas cohete chocaban con más frecuencia que nunca y, a veces, a lo lejos se producían enormes explosiones que nadie podía explicar y sobre las que se rumoreaba alocadamente.

The new tune which was to be the theme-song of Hate Week (the Hate Song, it was called) had already been composed and was being endlessly plugged on the telescreens. It had a savage, barking rhythm which could not exactly be called music, but resembled the beating of a drum. Roared out by hundreds of voices to the tramp of marching feet, it was terrifying. Rugido por cientos de voces al paso de pasos, fue aterrador. The proles had taken a fancy to it, and in the midnight streets it competed with the still-popular ‘It was only a hopeless fancy'. Los proles se habían enamorado de él, y en las calles de medianoche competía con el todavía popular "Era sólo un capricho sin esperanza". Пролі захопилися ним, і на вулицях опівночі він змагався з досі популярним «Це була лише безнадійна фантазія». The Parsons children played it at all hours of the night and day, unbearably, on a comb and a piece of toilet paper. Los niños de los Parsons lo jugaban a todas horas del día y de la noche, insoportablemente, en un peine y un trozo de papel higiénico. Winston's evenings were fuller than ever. Las tardes de Winston estaban más llenas que nunca. Squads of volunteers, organized by Parsons, were preparing the street for Hate Week, stitching banners, painting posters, erecting flagstaffs on the roofs, and perilously slinging wires across the street for the reception of streamers. Parsons boasted that Victory Mansions alone would display four hundred metres of bunting. Parsons se jactó de que Victory Mansions solo mostraría cuatrocientos metros de banderines. Парсонс хвалився, що тільки в Victory Mansions буде виставлено чотириста метрів вівсянки. He was in his native element and as happy as a lark. Estaba en su elemento nativo y feliz como una alondra. The heat and the manual work had even given him a pretext for reverting to shorts and an open shirt in the evenings. El calor y el trabajo manual incluso le habían dado un pretexto para volver a ponerse pantalones cortos y camisa abierta por las noches. He was everywhere at once, pushing, pulling, sawing, hammering, improvising, jollying everyone along with comradely exhortations and giving out from every fold of his body what seemed an inexhaustible supply of acrid-smelling sweat. Estaba en todas partes a la vez, empujando, tirando, serrando, martillando, improvisando, sacudiendo a todos junto con exhortaciones de camaradería y dando por cada pliegue de su cuerpo lo que parecía un suministro inagotable de sudor acre. Він був усюди одночасно, штовхав, тягнув, пиляв, бив молотком, імпровізував, веселив усіх товариськими вмовляннями та виділяв з кожної складки свого тіла невичерпний запас їдко-смердючого поту.

A new poster had suddenly appeared all over London. Un nuevo cartel había aparecido de repente por todo Londres. It had no caption, and represented simply the monstrous figure of a Eurasian soldier, three or four metres high, striding forward with expressionless Mongolian face and enormous boots, a submachine gun pointed from his hip. From whatever angle you looked at the poster, the muzzle of the gun, magnified by the foreshortening, seemed to be pointed straight at you. З якого б кута ви не дивилися на плакат, дуло рушниці, збільшене на ракурсі, здавалося, спрямоване прямо на вас. The thing had been plastered on every blank space on every wall, even outnumbering the portraits of Big Brother. La cosa había sido pegada en cada espacio en blanco en cada pared, incluso superando en número a los retratos del Gran Hermano. The proles, normally apathetic about the war, were being lashed into one of their periodical frenzies of patriotism. Los proles, normalmente apáticos acerca de la guerra, estaban siendo azotados en uno de sus periódicos frenesí de patriotismo. Пролі, зазвичай апатичні щодо війни, були піддані одному з їхніх періодичних божевілля патріотизму. As though to harmonize with the general mood, the rocket bombs had been killing larger numbers of people than usual. One fell on a crowded film theatre in Stepney, burying several hundred victims among the ruins. The whole population of the neighbourhood turned out for a long, trailing funeral which went on for hours and was in effect an indignation meeting. Toda la población del vecindario asistió a un largo funeral que se prolongó durante horas y fue, en efecto, una reunión de indignación. Усе населення околиць зібралося на довгі, тягнучі похорони, які тривали годинами і були фактично мітингом обурення. Another bomb fell on a piece of waste ground which was used as a playground and several dozen children were blown to pieces. Otra bomba cayó sobre un terreno baldío que se utilizaba como patio de recreo y varias decenas de niños volaron en pedazos. There were further angry demonstrations, Goldstein was burned in effigy, hundreds of copies of the poster of the Eurasian soldier were torn down and added to the flames, and a number of shops were looted in the turmoil; then a rumour flew round that spies were directing the rocket bombs by means of wireless waves, and an old couple who were suspected of being of foreign extraction had their house set on fire and perished of suffocation. Hubo más manifestaciones airadas, Goldstein fue quemado en efigie, cientos de copias del cartel del soldado euroasiático fueron derribadas y agregadas a las llamas, y varias tiendas fueron saqueadas en medio del tumulto; luego corrió el rumor de que espías dirigían las bombas cohete por ondas inalámbricas, y una pareja de ancianos sospechosos de ser de origen extranjero incendió su casa y murió asfixiada. Відбулися подальші гнівні демонстрації, Гольдштейна було спалено в опудалі, сотні копій плаката євразійського солдата було зірвано та додано до полум’я, а кілька магазинів було пограбовано під час безладдя; потім поширилися чутки, що шпигуни керують ракетними бомбами за допомогою бездротових хвиль, а літня пара, яку підозрювали в іноземці, підпалила свій будинок і загинула від задухи.

In the room over Mr Charrington's shop, when they could get there, Julia and Winston lay side by side on a stripped bed under the open window, naked for the sake of coolness. En la habitación sobre la tienda del señor Charrington, cuando pudieron llegar allí, Julia y Winston yacían uno al lado del otro en una cama despojada debajo de la ventana abierta, desnudos para refrescarse. У кімнаті над крамницею містера Чаррінгтона, коли вони змогли туди потрапити, Джулія та Вінстон лежали пліч-о-пліч на роздягненому ліжку під відчиненим вікном, голі, щоб було прохолодніше. The rat had never come back, but the bugs had multiplied hideously in the heat. It did not seem to matter. Dirty or clean, the room was paradise. As soon as they arrived they would sprinkle everything with pepper bought on the black market, tear off their clothes, and make love with sweating bodies, then fall asleep and wake to find that the bugs had rallied and were massing for the counter-attack. Tan pronto como llegaban, rociaban todo con pimienta comprada en el mercado negro, se arrancaban la ropa y hacían el amor con cuerpos sudorosos, luego se quedaban dormidos y se despertaban para encontrar que los bichos se habían reunido y se agrupaban para el contraataque. Щойно вони приходили, вони посипали все купленим на чорному ринку перцем, зривали одяг і займалися коханням із спітнілими тілами, а потім засинали й прокидалися, щоб побачити, що жуки згуртувалися й збираються для контратаки.

Four, five, six — seven times they met during the month of June. Winston had dropped his habit of drinking gin at all hours. Winston había abandonado su hábito de beber ginebra a todas horas. He seemed to have lost the need for it. He had grown fatter, his varicose ulcer had subsided, leaving only a brown stain on the skin above his ankle, his fits of coughing in the early morning had stopped. Había engordado más, su úlcera varicosa había remitido, dejando sólo una mancha marrón en la piel por encima del tobillo, sus ataques de tos en la madrugada habían cesado. Він погладшав, варикозна виразка спала, залишилася лише коричнева пляма на шкірі над щиколоткою, напади ранкового кашлю припинилися. The process of life had ceased to be intolerable, he had no longer any impulse to make faces at the telescreen or shout curses at the top of his voice. Процес життя перестав бути нестерпним, у нього більше не було бажання корчити обличчя перед телеекраном чи кричати прокльони на весь голос. Now that they had a secure hiding-place, almost a home, it did not even seem a hardship that they could only meet infrequently and for a couple of hours at a time. Ahora que tenían un escondite seguro, casi un hogar, ni siquiera parecía una dificultad que pudieran encontrarse con poca frecuencia y durante un par de horas seguidas. Тепер, коли у них була надійна схованка, майже дім, навіть не здавалося труднощами те, що вони могли зустрічатися лише нечасто й на пару годин поспіль. What mattered was that the room over the junk-shop should exist. Lo que importaba era que existiera la habitación sobre la tienda de chatarra. To know that it was there, inviolate, was almost the same as being in it. Saber que estaba allí, inviolable, era casi lo mismo que estar en él. Знати, що воно там, непорушне, було майже те саме, що бути в ньому. The room was a world, a pocket of the past where extinct animals could walk. La habitación era un mundo, un bolsillo del pasado donde los animales extintos podían caminar. Кімната була світом, кишенькою минулого, де могли ходити вимерлі тварини. Mr Charrington, thought Winston, was another extinct animal. El señor Charrington, pensó Winston, era otro animal extinto. He usually stopped to talk with Mr Charrington for a few minutes on his way upstairs. The old man seemed seldom or never to go out of doors, and on the other hand to have almost no customers. He led a ghostlike existence between the tiny, dark shop, and an even tinier back kitchen where he prepared his meals and which contained, among other things, an unbelievably ancient gramophone with an enormous horn. Llevaba una existencia fantasmal entre la pequeña y oscura tienda y una cocina trasera aún más pequeña donde preparaba sus comidas y que contenía, entre otras cosas, un gramófono increíblemente antiguo con un cuerno enorme. He seemed glad of the opportunity to talk. Wandering about among his worthless stock, with his long nose and thick spectacles and his bowed shoulders in the velvet jacket, he had always vaguely the air of being a collector rather than a tradesman. With a sort of faded enthusiasm he would finger this scrap of rubbish or that — a china bottle-stopper, the painted lid of a broken snuffbox, a pinchbeck locket containing a strand of some long-dead baby's hair — never asking that Winston should buy it, merely that he should admire it. Con una especie de entusiasmo desvaído, toqueteaba este trozo de basura o aquello: un tapón de botella de porcelana, la tapa pintada de una caja de rapé rota, un medallón de pellizco que contenía un mechón de cabello de un bebé muerto hacía mucho tiempo, sin pedir nunca que Winston comprara simplemente para que lo admirara. З якимось згаслим ентузіазмом він торкався пальцем того чи іншого сміття — фарфорової пробки від пляшки, розфарбованої кришки від зламаної табакерки, медальйона з щипцем із пасмом волосся якоїсь давно померлої дитини — ніколи не запитуючи, щоб Вінстон купив це, просто щоб він ним захоплювався. To talk to him was like listening to the tinkling of a worn-out musical-box. He had dragged out from the corners of his memory some more fragments of forgotten rhymes. There was one about four and twenty blackbirds, and another about a cow with a crumpled horn, and another about the death of poor Cock Robin. ‘It just occurred to me you might be interested,' he would say with a deprecating little laugh whenever he produced a new fragment. «Мені щойно спало на думку, що ви можете бути зацікавлені», — казав він із принизливим сміхом щоразу, коли видавав новий фрагмент. But he could never recall more than a few lines of any one rhyme.

Both of them knew — in a way, it was never out of their minds that what was now happening could not last long. Обоє знали — у певному сенсі їм ніколи не спадало на думку, що те, що зараз відбувається, не може тривати довго. There were times when the fact of impending death seemed as palpable as the bed they lay on, and they would cling together with a sort of despairing sensuality, like a damned soul grasping at his last morsel of pleasure when the clock is within five minutes of striking. Були моменти, коли факт неминучої смерті здавався таким же відчутним, як ліжко, на якому вони лежали, і вони злипалися разом із якоюсь розпачливою чуттєвістю, як проклята душа, що хапається за останній шматок задоволення, коли до годинника залишилося п’ять хвилин. разючий. But there were also times when they had the illusion not only of safety but of permanence. So long as they were actually in this room, they both felt, no harm could come to them. Getting there was difficult and dangerous, but the room itself was sanctuary. It was as when Winston had gazed into the heart of the paperweight, with the feeling that it would be possible to get inside that glassy world, and that once inside it time could be arrested. Often they gave themselves up to daydreams of escape. Their luck would hold indefinitely, and they would carry on their intrigue, just like this, for the remainder of their natural lives. Su suerte se mantendría indefinidamente y continuarían su intriga, así, por el resto de sus vidas naturales. Or Katharine would die, and by subtle manoeuvrings Winston and Julia would succeed in getting married. O Katharine moriría y, mediante sutiles maniobras, Winston y Julia conseguirían casarse. Or they would commit suicide together. Or they would disappear, alter themselves out of recognition, learn to speak with proletarian accents, get jobs in a factory and live out their lives undetected in a back-street. It was all nonsense, as they both knew. In reality there was no escape. Even the one plan that was practicable, suicide, they had no intention of carrying out. To hang on from day to day and from week to week, spinning out a present that had no future, seemed an unconquerable instinct, just as one's lungs will always draw the next breath so long as there is air available. Aguantar día a día y semana a semana, hilando un presente que no tenía futuro, parecía un instinto invencible, así como los pulmones siempre tomarán el próximo aliento mientras haya aire disponible. Тривати з дня на день і з тижня в тиждень, вигадуючи сьогодення, яке не мало майбутнього, здавалося непереборним інстинктом, подібно до того, як легені завжди роблять наступний вдих, поки є повітря.

Sometimes, too, they talked of engaging in active rebellion against the Party, but with no notion of how to take the first step. A veces, también, hablaban de participar en una rebelión activa contra el Partido, pero sin noción de cómo dar el primer paso. Even if the fabulous Brotherhood was a reality, there still remained the difficulty of finding one's way into it. Incluso si la fabulosa Hermandad fuera una realidad, aún quedaba la dificultad de encontrar el camino hacia ella. He told her of the strange intimacy that existed, or seemed to exist, between himself and O'Brien, and of the impulse he sometimes felt, simply to walk into O'Brien's presence, announce that he was the enemy of the Party, and demand his help. Le habló de la extraña intimidad que existía, o parecía existir, entre él y O'Brien, y del impulso que a veces sentía, simplemente de caminar hacia la presencia de O'Brien, anunciar que era el enemigo del Partido, y exigir su ayuda. Curiously enough, this did not strike her as an impossibly rash thing to do. Curiosamente, esto no le pareció una cosa imposiblemente imprudente. Цікаво, що це не здалося їй неймовірно необдуманим вчинком. She was used to judging people by their faces, and it seemed natural to her that Winston should believe O'Brien to be trustworthy on the strength of a single flash of the eyes. Moreover she took it for granted that everyone, or nearly everyone, secretly hated the Party and would break the rules if he thought it safe to do so. Además, daba por sentado que todo el mundo, o casi todo el mundo, odiaba secretamente al Partido y rompería las reglas si creyera que era seguro hacerlo. Крім того, вона вважала само собою зрозумілим, що всі чи майже всі таємно ненавидять партію і порушуватимуть правила, якщо вважатимуть це безпечним. But she refused to believe that widespread, organized opposition existed or could exist. Pero se negó a creer que existiera o pudiera existir una oposición organizada y generalizada. The tales about Goldstein and his underground army, she said, were simply a lot of rubbish which the Party had invented for its own purposes and which you had to pretend to believe in. Казки про Гольдштейна та його підпільну армію, за її словами, були просто дурницею, яку партія вигадала для власних цілей і в яку треба було робити вигляд, що ти віриш у неї. Times beyond number, at Party rallies and spontaneous demonstrations, she had shouted at the top of her voice for the execution of people whose names she had never heard and in whose supposed crimes she had not the faintest belief. Veces incontables, en mítines del Partido y manifestaciones espontáneas, había gritado a todo pulmón por la ejecución de personas cuyos nombres nunca había oído y en cuyos supuestos crímenes no tenía la menor fe. Незліченну кількість разів на партійних мітингах і спонтанних демонстраціях вона кричала на весь голос про страту людей, чиїх імен вона ніколи не чула і в чиї передбачувані злочини вона анітрохи не вірила. When public trials were happening she had taken her place in the detachments from the Youth League who surrounded the courts from morning to night, chanting at intervals ‘Death to the traitors!' Cuando se celebraban los juicios públicos, había ocupado su lugar en los destacamentos de la Liga de la Juventud que rodeaban los tribunales de la mañana a la noche, cantando a intervalos "¡Muerte a los traidores!" During the Two Minutes Hate she always excelled all others in shouting insults at Goldstein. Yet she had only the dimmest idea of who Goldstein was and what doctrines he was supposed to represent. Sin embargo, tenía una vaga idea de quién era Goldstein y qué doctrinas se suponía que debía representar. Проте вона мала лише найменше уявлення про те, ким був Ґольдштейн і які доктрини він мав представляти. She had grown up since the Revolution and was too young to remember the ideological battles of the fifties and sixties. Such a thing as an independent political movement was outside her imagination: and in any case the Party was invincible. Tal cosa como un movimiento político independiente estaba fuera de su imaginación y, en cualquier caso, el Partido era invencible. It would always exist, and it would always be the same. Siempre existiría y siempre sería lo mismo. You could only rebel against it by secret disobedience or, at most, by isolated acts of violence such as killing somebody or blowing something up. Solo podías rebelarte contra ella mediante la desobediencia secreta o, a lo sumo, mediante actos aislados de violencia como matar a alguien o hacer estallar algo.

In some ways she was far more acute than Winston, and far less susceptible to Party propaganda. En cierto modo, era mucho más aguda que Winston y mucho menos susceptible a la propaganda del Partido. У певному сенсі вона була набагато гострішою, ніж Вінстон, і набагато менш сприйнятливою до партійної пропаганди. Once when he happened in some connexion to mention the war against Eurasia, she startled him by saying casually that in her opinion the war was not happening. Una vez, cuando por casualidad mencionó la guerra contra Eurasia, ella lo sorprendió diciendo casualmente que, en su opinión, la guerra no estaba ocurriendo. Одного разу, коли він випадково згадав у зв'язку з війною проти Євразії, вона налякала його, мимохідь сказавши, що, на її думку, війни не було. The rocket bombs which fell daily on London were probably fired by the Government of Oceania itself, ‘just to keep people frightened'. This was an idea that had literally never occurred to him. She also stirred a sort of envy in him by telling him that during the Two Minutes Hate her great difficulty was to avoid bursting out laughing. Ella también despertó en él una especie de envidia al decirle que durante los Dos Minutos de Odio su gran dificultad era evitar estallar en carcajadas. Вона також викликала в ньому певну заздрість, сказавши, що під час Двохвилинної ненависті їй важко було уникнути розреготу. But she only questioned the teachings of the Party when they in some way touched upon her own life. Pero solo cuestionó las enseñanzas del Partido cuando de alguna manera tocaban su propia vida. Often she was ready to accept the official mythology, simply because the difference between truth and falsehood did not seem important to her. Часто вона була готова прийняти офіційну міфологію просто тому, що різниця між правдою і брехнею не здавалася їй важливою. She believed, for instance, having learnt it at school, that the Party had invented aeroplanes. Вона вважала, наприклад, навчившись у школі, що партія винайшла літаки. (In his own schooldays, Winston remembered, in the late fifties, it was only the helicopter that the Party claimed to have invented; a dozen years later, when Julia was at school, it was already claiming the aeroplane; one generation more, and it would be claiming the steam engine.) (En su propia época escolar, recordó Winston, a finales de los años cincuenta, era solo el helicóptero que el Partido decía haber inventado; una docena de años después, cuando Julia estaba en la escuela, ya reclamaba el avión; una generación más, y estaría reclamando la máquina de vapor.) And when he told her that aeroplanes had been in existence before he was born and long before the Revolution, the fact struck her as totally uninteresting. Y cuando le dijo que los aviones habían existido antes de que él naciera y mucho antes de la Revolución, el hecho le pareció totalmente poco interesante. After all, what did it matter who had invented aeroplanes? It was rather more of a shock to him when he discovered from some chance remark that she did not remember that Oceania, four years ago, had been at war with Eastasia and at peace with Eurasia. Fue más bien un shock para él cuando descubrió por algún comentario fortuito que ella no recordaba que Oceanía, hace cuatro años, había estado en guerra con Eastasia y en paz con Eurasia. Він був ще більшим шоком для нього, коли з якогось випадкового зауваження він виявив, що вона не пам’ятає, що Океанія чотири роки тому перебувала у стані війни зі Східазією та в мирі з Євразією. It was true that she regarded the whole war as a sham: but apparently she had not even noticed that the name of the enemy had changed. Era cierto que ella consideraba toda la guerra como una farsa, pero aparentemente ni siquiera se había dado cuenta de que el nombre del enemigo había cambiado. ‘I thought we'd always been at war with Eurasia,' she said vaguely. "Pensé que siempre habíamos estado en guerra con Eurasia", dijo vagamente. It frightened him a little. The invention of aeroplanes dated from long before her birth, but the switchover in the war had happened only four years ago, well after she was grown up. La invención de los aviones databa de mucho antes de su nacimiento, pero el cambio en la guerra había ocurrido hace solo cuatro años, mucho después de que ella creciera. Винахід літаків відбувся задовго до її народження, але перехід у війну відбувся лише чотири роки тому, значно після того, як вона подорослішала. He argued with her about it for perhaps a quarter of an hour. Discutió con ella al respecto durante quizás un cuarto de hora. Він сперечався з нею про це чи не чверть години. In the end he succeeded in forcing her memory back until she did dimly recall that at one time Eastasia and not Eurasia had been the enemy. Al final, logró hacer retroceder su memoria hasta que ella recordó vagamente que en un momento Eurasia y no Eurasia había sido el enemigo. But the issue still struck her as unimportant. Pero el tema aún le parecía poco importante. Але це питання все одно здавалося їй неважливим. ‘Who cares?' '¿A quién le importa?' she said impatiently. ‘It's always one bloody war after another, and one knows the news is all lies anyway.' Siempre es una guerra sangrienta tras otra, y uno sabe que las noticias son mentiras de todos modos.

Sometimes he talked to her of the Records Department and the impudent forgeries that he committed there. Such things did not appear to horrify her. She did not feel the abyss opening beneath her feet at the thought of lies becoming truths. No sintió el abismo abrirse bajo sus pies ante la idea de que las mentiras se convirtieran en verdades. Вона не відчувала, як безодня відкривається під її ногами від думки про те, що брехня стає правдою. He told her the story of Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford and the momentous slip of paper which he had once held between his fingers. Le contó la historia de Jones, Aaronson y Rutherford y el trascendental papelito que una vez sostuvo entre los dedos. Він розповів їй історію Джонса, Ааронсона та Резерфорда та важливий клаптик паперу, який колись тримав між пальцями. It did not make much impression on her. At first, indeed, she failed to grasp the point of the story. Спочатку вона справді не зрозуміла суті історії.

‘Were they friends of yours?' —¿Eran amigos tuyos? — Вони були вашими друзями? she said.

‘No, I never knew them. They were Inner Party members. Besides, they were far older men than I was. Además, eran hombres mucho mayores que yo. They belonged to the old days, before the Revolution. I barely knew them by sight.' Apenas los conocía de vista.

‘Then what was there to worry about? Entonces, ¿de qué tenía que preocuparse? People are being killed off all the time, aren't they?' La gente está siendo asesinada todo el tiempo, ¿no es así?

He tried to make her understand. Він намагався змусити її зрозуміти. ‘This was an exceptional case. «Це був винятковий випадок. It wasn't just a question of somebody being killed. Do you realize that the past, starting from yesterday, has been actually abolished? ¿Te das cuenta de que el pasado, a partir de ayer, ha sido realmente abolido? Ви усвідомлюєте, що минуле, починаючи зі вчорашнього дня, фактично скасовано? If it survives anywhere, it's in a few solid objects with no words attached to them, like that lump of glass there. Si sobrevive en algún lugar, es en unos pocos objetos sólidos sin palabras, como ese trozo de vidrio que hay allí. Якщо він десь і зберігся, то в кількох твердих об’єктах, до яких немає жодних слів, як отой шматок скла там. Already we know almost literally nothing about the Revolution and the years before the Revolution. Ya no sabemos casi literalmente nada sobre la Revolución y los años previos a la Revolución. Every record has been destroyed or falsified, every book has been rewritten, every picture has been repainted, every statue and street and building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And that process is continuing day by day and minute by minute. History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which the Party is always right. No existe nada excepto un presente sin fin en el que el Partido siempre tiene razón. I know, of course, that the past is falsified, but it would never be possible for me to prove it, even when I did the falsification myself. After the thing is done, no evidence ever remains. The only evidence is inside my own mind, and I don't know with any certainty that any other human being shares my memories. La única evidencia está dentro de mi propia mente, y no sé con certeza que ningún otro ser humano comparta mis recuerdos. Just in that one instance, in my whole life, I did possess actual concrete evidence after the event — years after it.' Solo en ese caso, en toda mi vida, poseí evidencia real y concreta después del evento, años después ''. Лише в цьому єдиному випадку за все своє життя я мав реальні конкретні докази після події — через роки після неї».

‘And what good was that?' —¿Y de qué te sirvió?

‘It was no good, because I threw it away a few minutes later. No sirvió de nada, porque lo tiré unos minutos después.

But if the same thing happened today, I should keep it.' Pero si hoy sucediera lo mismo, debería quedármelo.

‘Well, I wouldn't!' ¡Bueno, yo no lo haría! said Julia. ‘I'm quite ready to take risks, but only for something worth while, not for bits of old newspaper. Estoy dispuesto a correr riesgos, pero solo por algo que valga la pena, no por trozos de periódicos viejos. «Я цілком готовий ризикувати, але лише заради чогось вартого, а не заради шматочків старої газети. What could you have done with it even if you had kept it?'

‘Not much, perhaps. But it was evidence. It might have planted a few doubts here and there, supposing that I'd dared to show it to anybody. Podría haber plantado algunas dudas aquí y allá, suponiendo que me hubiera atrevido a mostrárselo a cualquiera. I don't imagine that we can alter anything in our own lifetime. No imagino que podamos alterar nada en nuestra propia vida. But one can imagine little knots of resistance springing up here and there — small groups of people banding themselves together, and gradually growing, and even leaving a few records behind, so that the next generations can carry on where we leave off.' Pero uno puede imaginarse pequeños nudos de resistencia surgiendo aquí y allá: pequeños grupos de personas que se unen y crecen gradualmente, e incluso dejan algunos registros atrás, para que las próximas generaciones puedan continuar donde lo dejamos ''. Але можна уявити маленькі вузлики опору, які виникають то тут, то там — невеликі групи людей об’єднуються, поступово розростаються і навіть залишають кілька записів, щоб наступні покоління могли продовжувати там, де ми зупинилися».

‘I'm not interested in the next generation, dear. I'm interested in US.'

‘You're only a rebel from the waist downwards,' he told her. "Eres sólo una rebelde de cintura para abajo", le dijo. «Ти лише бунтарка від пояса донизу», — сказав він їй.

She thought this brilliantly witty and flung her arms round him in delight. Ella pensó que esto era brillantemente ingenioso y lo abrazó con deleite. Вона подумала, що це надзвичайно дотепно, і в захваті обняла його.

In the ramifications of party doctrine she had not the faintest interest. No tenía el menor interés por las ramificaciones de la doctrina del partido. Розгалуження партійної доктрини її не цікавили ні найменшого. Whenever he began to talk of the principles of Ingsoc, doublethink, the mutability of the past, and the denial of objective reality, and to use Newspeak words, she became bored and confused and said that she never paid any attention to that kind of thing. Щоразу, коли він починав говорити про принципи Ingsoc, подвійне мислення, мінливість минулого та заперечення об’єктивної реальності, вживаючи новомовні слова, вона нудилася й розгублювалась і казала, що ніколи не звертала на таке уваги. . One knew that it was all rubbish, so why let oneself be worried by it? Uno sabía que todo era basura, entonces, ¿por qué dejarse preocupar por eso? She knew when to cheer and when to boo, and that was all one needed. Sabía cuándo animar y cuándo abuchear, y eso era todo lo que se necesitaba. Вона знала, коли вболівати, а коли освистувати, і це було все, що потрібно. If he persisted in talking of such subjects, she had a disconcerting habit of falling asleep. Si él insistía en hablar de esos temas, ella tenía la desconcertante costumbre de quedarse dormida. Якщо він продовжував говорити на такі теми, вона мала збентежену звичку засинати. She was one of those people who can go to sleep at any hour and in any position. Ella era una de esas personas que pueden irse a dormir a cualquier hora y en cualquier posición. Talking to her, he realized how easy it was to present an appearance of orthodoxy while having no grasp whatever of what orthodoxy meant. Hablando con ella, se dio cuenta de lo fácil que era presentar una apariencia de ortodoxia sin comprender lo que significaba la ortodoxia. Розмовляючи з нею, він зрозумів, як легко було представити видимість правовір’я, не маючи жодного розуміння того, що означає правовір’я. In a way, the world-view of the Party imposed itself most successfully on people incapable of understanding it. En cierto modo, la visión del mundo del Partido se impuso con más éxito a personas incapaces de comprenderlo. They could be made to accept the most flagrant violations of reality, because they never fully grasped the enormity of what was demanded of them, and were not sufficiently interested in public events to notice what was happening. By lack of understanding they remained sane. Por falta de comprensión, permanecieron cuerdos. They simply swallowed everything, and what they swallowed did them no harm, because it left no residue behind, just as a grain of corn will pass undigested through the body of a bird. Simplemente se lo tragaron todo, y lo que tragaron no les hizo daño, porque no dejó residuos, así como un grano de maíz pasa sin digerir por el cuerpo de un pájaro. Вони просто ковтали все, і те, що вони ковтали, не завдавало їм шкоди, тому що не залишало слідів, так само, як зерно кукурудзи неперетравленим пройде через тіло птаха.