1984
Chapter 4
Sheknewthewholedrivellingsongbyheart,itseemed. Hervoicefloatedupwardwiththesweetsummerair,verytuneful,chargedwithasortofhappymelancholy. Onehadthefeelingthatshewouldhavebeenperfectlycontent,iftheJuneeveninghadbeenendlessandthesupplyofclothesinexhaustible,toremainthereforathousandyears,peggingoutdiapersandsingingrubbish. ItstruckhimasacuriousfactthathehadneverheardamemberofthePartysingingaloneandspontaneously. Itwouldevenhaveseemedslightlyunorthodox,adangerouseccentricity,liketalkingtooneself. Perhapsitwasonlywhenpeopleweresomewherenearthestarvationlevelthattheyhadanythingtosingabout.
‘Youcanturnroundnow,’saidJulia.
Heturnedround,andforasecondalmostfailedtorecognizeher. Whathehadactuallyexpectedwastoseehernaked.Butshewasnotnaked. Thetransformationthathadhappenedwasmuchmoresurprisingthanthat. Shehadpaintedherface.
Shemusthaveslippedintosomeshopintheproletarianquartersandboughtherselfacompletesetofmake-upmaterials. Herlipsweredeeplyreddened,hercheeksrouged,hernosepowdered;therewasevenatouchofsomethingundertheeyestomakethembrighter. Itwasnotveryskilfullydone,butWinston’sstandardsinsuchmatterswerenothigh. HehadneverbeforeseenorimaginedawomanofthePartywithcosmeticsonherface. Theimprovementinherappearancewasstartling. Withjustafewdabsofcolourintherightplacesshehadbecomenotonlyverymuchprettier,but,aboveall,farmorefeminine.
