1984

           Soonerorlateritwouldhappen,strengthwouldchangeintoconsciousness. Theproleswereimmortal,youcouldnotdoubtitwhenyoulookedatthatvaliantfigureintheyard. Intheendtheirawakeningwouldcome. Anduntilthathappened,thoughitmightbeathousandyears,theywouldstayaliveagainstalltheodds,likebirds,passingonfrombodytobodythevitalitywhichthePartydidnotshareandcouldnotkill. 

           ‘Doyouremember,’hesaid,‘thethrushthatsangtous,thatfirstday,attheedgeofthewood?’ 

           ‘Hewasn’tsingingtous,’saidJulia. ‘Hewassingingtopleasehimself. Noteventhat. Hewasjustsinging.’ 

           Thebirdssang,theprolessang.thePartydidnotsing. Allroundtheworld,inLondonandNewYork,inAfricaandBrazil,andinthemysterious,forbiddenlandsbeyondthefrontiers,inthestreetsofParisandBerlin,inthevillagesoftheendlessRussianplain,inthebazaarsofChinaandJapan —everywherestoodthesamesolidunconquerablefigure,mademonstrousbyworkandchildbearing,toilingfrombirthtodeathandstillsinging. Outofthosemightyloinsaraceofconsciousbeingsmustonedaycome. Youwerethedead,theirswasthefuture. Butyoucouldshareinthatfutureifyoukeptalivethemindastheykeptalivethebody,andpassedonthesecretdoctrinethattwoplustwomakefour. 

           ‘Wearethedead,’hesaid. 

           ‘Wearethedead,’echoedJuliadutifully. 

           ‘Youarethedead,’saidanironvoicebehindthem.