Anthony W
December 25th 07, 09:53 PM
made
monstrous by work and childbearing, toiling from birth to death and still
singing. Out of those mighty loins a race of conscious beings must one day
come. You were the dead, theirs was the future. But you could share in that
future if you kept alive the mind as they kept alive the body, and passed
on the secret doctrine that two plus two make four.
'We are the dead,' he said.
'We are the dead,' echoed Julia dutifully.
'You are the dead,' said an iron voice behind them.
They sprang apart. Winston's entrails seemed to have turned into ice.
He could see the white all round the irises of Julia's eyes. Her face had
turned a milky yellow. The smear of rouge that was still on each cheekbone
stood out sharply, almost as though unconnected with the skin beneath.
'You are the dead,' repeated the iron voice.
'It was behind the picture,' breathed Julia.
'It was behind the picture,' said the voice. 'Remain exactly where you
are. Make no movement until you are ordered.'
It was starting, it was starting at last! They could do nothing except
stand gazing into one another's eyes. To run for life, to get out of the
house before it was too late -- no such thought occurred to them.
Unthinkable to disobey the iron voice from the wall. There was a snap as
though a catch had been turned back, and a crash of breaking glass. The
picture had fallen to the floor uncovering the telescreen behind it.
'Now they can see us,' said Julia.
'Now we can see you,' said the voice. 'Stand out in the middle of the
room. Stand back to back. Clasp your hands behind your head
monstrous by work and childbearing, toiling from birth to death and still
singing. Out of those mighty loins a race of conscious beings must one day
come. You were the dead, theirs was the future. But you could share in that
future if you kept alive the mind as they kept alive the body, and passed
on the secret doctrine that two plus two make four.
'We are the dead,' he said.
'We are the dead,' echoed Julia dutifully.
'You are the dead,' said an iron voice behind them.
They sprang apart. Winston's entrails seemed to have turned into ice.
He could see the white all round the irises of Julia's eyes. Her face had
turned a milky yellow. The smear of rouge that was still on each cheekbone
stood out sharply, almost as though unconnected with the skin beneath.
'You are the dead,' repeated the iron voice.
'It was behind the picture,' breathed Julia.
'It was behind the picture,' said the voice. 'Remain exactly where you
are. Make no movement until you are ordered.'
It was starting, it was starting at last! They could do nothing except
stand gazing into one another's eyes. To run for life, to get out of the
house before it was too late -- no such thought occurred to them.
Unthinkable to disobey the iron voice from the wall. There was a snap as
though a catch had been turned back, and a crash of breaking glass. The
picture had fallen to the floor uncovering the telescreen behind it.
'Now they can see us,' said Julia.
'Now we can see you,' said the voice. 'Stand out in the middle of the
room. Stand back to back. Clasp your hands behind your head