1984

           ‘Wemaybetogetherforanothersixmonths—ayear—there’snoknowing.Attheendwe’recertaintobeapart. Doyourealizehowutterlyaloneweshallbe? Whenoncetheygetholdofustherewillbenothing,literallynothing,thateitherofuscandofortheother. IfIconfess,they’llshootyou,andifIrefusetoconfess,they’llshootyoujustthesame. NothingthatIcandoorsay,orstopmyselffromsaying,willputoffyourdeathforasmuchasfiveminutes. Neitherofuswillevenknowwhethertheotherisaliveordead. Weshallbeutterlywithoutpowerofanykind. Theonethingthatmattersisthatweshouldn’tbetrayoneanother,althougheventhatcan’tmaketheslightestdifference.’ 

           ‘Ifyoumeanconfessing,’shesaid,‘weshalldothat,rightenough. Everybodyalwaysconfesses. Youcan’thelpit.Theytortureyou.’ 

           ‘Idon’tmeanconfessing. Confessionisnotbetrayal. Whatyousayordodoesn’tmatter: onlyfeelingsmatter. Iftheycouldmakemestoplovingyou—thatwouldbetherealbetrayal.’ 

           Shethoughtitover. ‘Theycan’tdothat,’shesaidfinally. ‘It’stheonethingtheycan’tdo. Theycanmakeyousayanything—ANYTHING—buttheycan’tmakeyoubelieveit. Theycan’tgetinsideyou.’ 

           ‘No,’hesaidalittlemorehopefully,‘no;that’squitetrue. Theycan’tgetinsideyou. IfyoucanFEELthatstayinghumanisworthwhile,evenwhenitcan’thaveanyresultwhatever,you’vebeatenthem.’ 

           Hethoughtofthetelescreenwithitsnever-sleepingear. Theycouldspyuponyounightandday,butifyoukeptyourheadyoucouldstilloutwitthem.