1984

           Allyouneededwasluckandcunningandboldness. Shedidnotunderstandthattherewasnosuchthingashappiness,thattheonlyvictorylayinthefarfuture,longafteryouweredead,thatfromthemomentofdeclaringwaronthePartyitwasbettertothinkofyourselfasacorpse. 

           ‘Wearethedead,’hesaid. 

           ‘We’renotdeadyet,’saidJuliaprosaically. 

           ‘Notphysically. Sixmonths,ayear—fiveyears,conceivably. Iamafraidofdeath. Youareyoung,sopresumablyyou’remoreafraidofitthanIam. Obviouslyweshallputitoffaslongaswecan. Butitmakesverylittledifference.Solongashumanbeingsstayhuman,deathandlifearethesamething.’ 

           ‘Oh,rubbish! Whichwouldyousoonersleepwith,meoraskeleton? Don’tyouenjoybeingalive? Don’tyoulikefeeling: Thisisme,thisismyhand,thisismyleg,I’mreal,I’msolid,I’malive! Don’tyoulikeTHIS?’ 

           Shetwistedherselfroundandpressedherbosomagainsthim. Hecouldfeelherbreasts,ripeyetfirm,throughheroveralls. Herbodyseemedtobepouringsomeofitsyouthandvigourintohis. 

           ‘Yes,Ilikethat,’hesaid. 

           ‘Thenstoptalkingaboutdying. Andnowlisten,dear,we’vegottofixupaboutthenexttimewemeet. Wemayaswellgobacktotheplaceinthewood.