Speaker 1: Section ten of nineteen eighty four by George Orwell. This
leigamous recording may be freely distributed and adapted for any purpose.
Part two, Chapter two. Winston picked his way up the
lane through dappled light and shade, stepping out into pools
of gold wherever the bowers parted under the trees. To
the left of him, the ground was misty with bluebells.
The air seemed to kiss one's skin. It was the
second of May. From somewhere deeper in the heart of
the wood came the droning of ring doves. He was
a bit early. There had been no difficulties about the journey,
and the girl was so evidently experienced that he was
less frightened than he would normally have been. Presumably she
could be trusted to find a safe place. In general,
you could not assume that you were much safer in
the country than in London. There were no telescreens, of course,
but there was always the danger of concealed microphones by
which your voice might be picked up and recognized. Besides,
it was not easy to make a journey by yourself
with attracting attention for distances of less than one hundred kilometers.
It was not necessary to get your passport endorsed, but
sometimes there were patrols hanging about the railway stations who
examined the papers of any party member they found there
and asked awkward questions. However, no patrols had appeared, and
on the walk from the station he had made sure
by cautious backward glances that he was not being followed.
The train was full of prols in holiday mood because
of the summery weather. The wooden seated carriage in which
he traveled was filled to overflowing by a single enormous family,
ranging from a toothless great grandmother to a month old
baby going out to spend an afternoon with inlaws in
the country, and as they freely explained to Winston to
get hold of a little black market butter the lane widened,
and in a minute he came to the footpath she
had told him of a mere cattle track which plunged
between the bushes. He had no watch, but it could
not be fifteen yet the blue belts was so thick
underfoot that it was imposs not to tread on them.
He knelt down and began picking some, partly to pass
the time. Away, but also from a vague idea that
he would like to have a bunch of flowers to
offer the girl when they met. He had got together
a big bunch and was smelling their faint, sickly scent
when a sound at his back froze him, the unmistakable
crackle of a foot on twigs. He went on picking bluebells.
It was the best thing to do. It might be
the girl, or he might have been followed. After all,
to look round was to show gilt. He picked another,
and another. A hand fell lightly on his shoulder. He
looked up. It was the girl. She shook her head,
evidently as a warning that he must keep silent, then
parted the bushes and quickly led the way along the
narrow track into the wood. Obviously she had been that
way before, for she dodged to the boggy bits as
though by habit. Winston followed, still clasping his bunch of flowers.
His first feeling was relief, But as he watched the strong,
slender body moving in front of him, with the scarlet
sash that was just tight enough to bring out the
curve of her hips, the sense of his own inferiority
was heavy. Upon him. Even now, it seemed quite likely
that when she turned round and looked at him, she
would draw back. After all, the sweetness of the air
and the greenness of the leaves daunted him. Already on
the walk from the station, the May sunshine had made
him feel dirty and etilated, a creature of indoors, with
the sooty dust of London in the pores of his skin.
It occurred to him that till now she had probably
never seen him in broad daylight. In the open, they
came to the fallen tree that she had spoken of.
The girl hopped over and forced apart the bushes, in
which there did not seem to be an opening. When
Winston followed her, he found that they were in a
natural clearing, a tiny grassy knoll, surrounded by tall saplings
that shut it in completely. The girl stopped and turned
Here we are, she said. He was facing her at
several paces distance. As yet he did not dare move
nearer to her. I did and want to say anything
in the lane, she went on, in case there's a
mike hid in there. I don't suppose there is, but
there could be. There's always the chance of one of
those swine recognizing your voice. We're all right here, He
still had not the courage to approach her. We're all
right here, he repeated stupidly. Yes, Look at the trees.
There were small ashes which at some time had been
cut down and had sprouted up again into a forest
of poles, none of them thicker than one's wrist. There's
nothing big enough to hide a mic in. Besides, I've
been here before. They were only making conversation. He had
managed to move closer to her. Now she stood before him,
very upright, with a smile on her face that looked
faintly ironical, as though she were wondering why he was
so slow to act. The blue belts had cascaded on
to the ground. They seemed to have fallen of their
own accord. He took her hand. Would you believe, he
said that till this moment, I didn't know what color
your eyes were. There were brown, he noted, a rather
light shade of brown, with dark lashes. Now that you've
seen what I'm really like, can you still bear to
look at me? Yes, easily. I'm thirty nine years old.
I've got a wife that I can't get rid of.
I've got varicus veins. I've got five false teeth. I
couldn't care less, said the girl the next moment. It
was hard to say by husact. She was in his arms.
At the beginning, he had no feeling except sheer incredulity.
The youthful body was strained against his own. The mass
of dark hair was against his face. And yes, actually
she had turned her face up and he was kissing
the wide red mouth. She had clasped her arms about
his neck. She was calling him darling, precious one, loved one.
He had pulled her down on to the ground. She
was utterly unresisting. He could do what he liked with her,
But the truth was that he had no physical sensation
except that of mere contact. All he felt was incredulity
and pride. He was glad that this was happening, but
he had no physical desire. It was too soon. Her
youth and prettiness had frightened him. He was too much
used to living without women. He did not know the reason.
The girl picked herself up and pulled a blue bell
out of her hair. She sat against him, putting her
arm round his waist. Never mind, dear, there's no hurry.
We've got the whole afternoon. Isn't this a splendid hideout?
I found it when I got lost once on a
community hike. If any one was coming, you could hear
them a hundred meters away. What is your name, said
Winston Julia. I know yours. It's Winston, Winston Smith. How
did you find that out? I expect I'm better at
finding things out than you are. Dear, tell me, what
did you think of me before that day I gave
you the note? He did not feel any temptation to
tell lies to her. It was even a sort of
love offering to start off by telling the worst. I
hated the sight of you, he said. I wanted to
rape you and then murder you afterwards. Two weeks ago,
I thought seriously of smashing your head in with a cobblestone.
If you really want to know, I imagined that you
had something to do with the thought police. The girl
laughed delightedly, evidently taking this as a tribute to the
excellence of her disguise. Not the thought police. You didn't
honestly think that. Well, perhaps not exactly that, but from
your general appearance, merely because you're young and fresh and healthy,
you understand, I thought that probably you thought I was
a good party member, pure in word and deed, banners, processions, slogans, games,
community hikes, all that stuff, And you thought that, if
I had a quarter of a chance, I'd denounce you
as a thought criminal and get you killed off. Yes,
something of that kind. A great many young girls are
like that. You know. It's this bloody thing that does it,
she said, ripping off the scarlet sash of the Junior
Antisex League and flinging it on to a bough. Then,
as though touching her waist had reminded her of something,
she felt in the pocket of her overalls and produced
a small slab of chocolate. She broke it in half
and gave one of the pieces to Winston. Even before
he had taken it, he knew by the smell that
it was very unusual chocolate. It was dark and shiny,
and was wrapped in silver paper. Chocolate normally was dull, brown,
crumbly stuff that tasted as nearly as one could describe it,
like the smoke of a rubbish fire. But at some
time or another he had tasted chocolate like the piece
she had given him. The first whiff of its scent
had stirred up some memory which he could not pin down,
but which was powerful and troubling. Where did you get
this stuff, he said, black market? She said indifferently. Actually
I am that sort of girl to look at. I'm
good at games. I was a troop leader in the Spies.
I do voluntary work three evenings a week for the
Junior Antisex League. Hours and hours I've spent pasting their
bloody rot all over London. I always carry one end
of a banner in the processions. I always look cheerful
and I never shirk anything. Always yell with the crowd.
That's what I say. It's the only way to be safe.
The first fragment of chocolate had melted on Winston's tongue.
The taste was delightful, but there was still that memory
moving round the edges of his consciousness, something strongly felt
but not reducible to definite shape, like an object seen
out of the corner of one's eye. He pushed it
away from him, aware only that it was the memory
of some action which he would have liked to undo
but could not. You are very young, he said, You
were ten or fifteen years younger than I am. What
could you see to attract you in a man like me.
It was something in your face. I thought I'd take
a chance. I'm good at spotting people who don't belong.
As soon as I saw you, I knew you were
against them. Them. It appeared meant the Party, and above
all the Inner Party, about whom she talked with an open,
jeering hatred, which made Winston feel uneasy, although he knew
that they were safe here, if they could be safe
any anywhere. A thing that astonished him about her was
the coarseness of her language. Party members were supposed not
to swear, and Winston himself very seldom did swear aloud
at any rate. Julia, however, seemed unable to mention the Party,
and especially the Inner Party, without using the kind of
words that you saw chalked up in dripping alleyways. He
did not dislike it. It was merely one symptom of
her revolt against the Party and all its ways, and
somehow it seemed natural and healthy, like the sneeze of
a horse that smells bad. Hay. They had left the
clearing and were wandering again through the checkered shade, with
their arms round each other's waists. Whenever it was wide
enough to walk to abreast. He noticed how much softer
her waist seemed to feel now that the sash was gone.
They did not speak above a whisper outside the clearing.
Julia said it was better to go quietly. Presently they
had reached the edge of the little wood, she stopped him.
Don't go out into the open. There might be some
one watching. We're all right if we keep behind the boughs.
They were standing in the shade of hazel bushes. The
sunlight filtering through innumerable leaves, was still hot on their faces.
Winston looked out into the field beyond and underwent a curious,
slow shock of recognition. He knew it by sight, an old,
close bitten pasture, with a footpath wandering across it, and
a mole hill here and there in the ragged hedge
on the opposite side. The boughs of the elm trees
swayed just perceptibly in the breeze, and their leaves stirred
faintly in dense masses like women's hair. Surely, somewhere near by,
but out of sight, there must be a stream with
green pools where dace were swimming. Isn't there a stream
somewhere near here? He whispered. That's right, there is a stream.
It's at the edge of the next field. Actually, they
are fish in it, great big ones. You can watch
them lying in the pools under the willow trees, waving
their tails. It's the golden country almost, he murmured, the
golden country. It's nothing, really, a landscape I've seen sometimes
in a dream. Look, whispered Julia. A thrush had alighted
on a bough not five meters away, almost at the
level of their faces. Perhaps it had not seen them.
It was in the sun, they in the shade. It
spread out its wings, fitted them carefully into place again,
ducked its head for a moment, as though making a
sort of obeisance to the sun, and then began to
pour forth a torrent of song in the afternoon hush.
The volume of sound was startling. Winston and Julia clung together, fascinated.
The music went on and on, minute after minute, with
astonishing variations, never once repeating itself, almost as if the
bird were deliberately showing off its virtuosity. Sometimes it stopped
for a few seconds, spread out and resettled its wings,
then swelled its speckled breast, and again burst into song.
Winston watched it with a sort of vague reverence for whom.
For what was that bird singing? No mate, no rival
was watching it? What made it sit at the edge
of the lonely wood and poured or its music into nothingness?
He wondered whether, after all, there was a microphone hidden
somewhere near He and Julia had spoken only in low whispers,
and it would not pick up what they had said,
but it would pick up the thrush. Perhaps at the
other end of the instrument, some small beetle like man
was listening, intently listening to that. But by degrees the
flood of music drove all speculations out of his mind.
It was as though it were a kind of liquid
stuff that poured all over him and got mixed up
with the sunlight that filtered through the leaves. He stopped
thinking and merely felt the girl's waist in the bend
of his arm was soft and warm. He pulled her
round so that they were breast to breast. Her body
seemed to melt into his. Wherever his hands moved, it
was all as yielding as water. Their mouths clung together.
It was quite different from the hard kisses they had
exchanged earlier. When they moved their faces apart again, both
of them sighed deeply. The birds took fright and fled
with a clatter of wings. Instant put his lips against
her ear. Now, he whispered, not here, She whispered back,
come back to the hide out, it's safer. Quickly, with
an occasional crackle of twigs, they threaded their way back
to the clearing. When there were once inside the ring
of saplings, she turned and faced him. They were both
breathing fast, but the smile had reappeared round the corners
of her mouth. She stood looking at him for an instant,
then felt at the zipper of her overalls. And yes,
it was almost as in his dream, almost as swiftly
as he had imagined it. She had torn her clothes off,
and when she flung them aside, it was with that
same magnificent gesture by which her whole civilization seemed to
be annihilated. Her body gleamed white in the sun, but
for a moment he did not look at her body.
His eyes were anchored by the freckled face with its faint,
bold smile. He knelt down before her and took her
hands in his Have you done this before, of course,
hundreds of times, while scores of times anyway, with party members, yes,
always with party members, with members of the inner Party.
Not with those swine. No, but there's plenty that would
if they got half a chance. They're not so wholly
as they make out. His heart leapt scores of time
she had done it. He wished it had been hundreds, thousands.
Anything that hinted at corruption always filled him with a
wild hope. Who knew perhaps the party was rotten under
the surface, its cult of strenuousness and self denial, simply
a sham concealing iniquity. If he could have infected the
whole lot of them with leprosy or syphilis, how gladly
he would have done so. Anything to rot, to weaken,
to undermine. He pulled her down so that they were
kneeling face to face. Listen, the more men you've had,
the more I love you. Do you understand that, Yes, perfectly.
I hate purity, I hate goodness. I don't want any
virtue to exist anywhere. I want every one to be
corrupt to the bones. Well, then I ought to suit you, dear,
I am corrupt to the bones. You like doing this?
I don't mean simply me, I mean the thing in itself.
I adore it. That was above all what he wanted
to hear, Not merely the love of one person, but
the animal instinct, the simple, undifferentiated desire. That was the
force that would tear the party to pieces. He pressed
her down upon the grass among the fallen bluebells. This
time there was no difficulty. Presently the rising and falling
of their breasts slowed to normal speed, and in a
sort of pleasant helplessness, they fell apart. The sun seemed
to have grown hotter. They were both sleepy. He reached
out for the discarded overalls and pulled them partly over her.
Almost immediately they fell asleep and slept for about half
an hour. Winston woke first. He sat up and watched
the freckled face, still peacefully asleep, pillowed on the palm
of her hand. Except for her mouth, you could not
call her beautiful. There was a line or two round
the eyes. She looked closely. The short, dark hair was
extraordinarily thick and soft. It occurred to him that he
still did not know her surname. Or where she lived.
The young, strong body, now helpless in sleep, awoke in
him a pitying, protecting feeling, But the mindless tenderness that
he had felt under the hazel tree while the thrush
was singing had not quite come back. He pulled the
overalls aside and studied her smooth, white flank. In the
old days, he thought, a man looked at a girl's
body and saw that it was desirable, and that was
the end of the story. But you could not have
pure love or pure lust. Nowadays, No emotion was pure,
because everything was mixed up with fear and hatred. There
Embrace had been a battle, the climax of victory. It
was a blow struck against the party. It was a
political act. End of Section ten.