1984

           HecouldnotnowrememberwhetheritwasbeforeorafterhavingthedreamthathehadseenO’Brienforthefirsttime, norcouldherememberwhenhehadfirstidentifiedthevoiceasO’Brien’s. Butatanyratetheidentificationexisted. ItwasO’Brienwhohadspokentohimoutofthedark. 

           Winstonhadneverbeenabletofeelsure—evenafterthismorning’sflashoftheeyesitwasstillimpossibletobesurewhetherO’Brienwasafriendoranenemy. Nordiditevenseemtomattergreatly. Therewasalinkofunderstandingbetweenthem,moreimportantthanaffectionorpartisanship. ‘Weshallmeetintheplacewherethereisnodarkness,’hehadsaid. Winstondidnotknowwhatitmeant,onlythatinsomewayoranotheritwouldcometrue. 

           Thevoicefromthetelescreenpaused. Atrumpetcall,clearandbeautiful,floatedintothestagnantair. Thevoicecontinuedraspingly: 

           ‘Attention! Yourattention,please! AnewsflashhasthismomentarrivedfromtheMalabarfront. OurforcesinSouthIndiahavewonagloriousvictory. Iamauthorizedtosaythattheactionwearenowreportingmaywellbringthewarwithinmeasurabledistanceofitsend. Hereisthenewsflash——’ 

           Badnewscoming,thoughtWinston. Andsureenough,followingonagorydescriptionoftheannihilationofaEurasianarmy,withstupendousfiguresofkilledandprisoners, cametheannouncementthat,asfromnextweek,thechocolaterationwouldbereducedfromthirtygrammestotwenty. 

           Winstonbelchedagain. Theginwaswearingoff,leavingadeflatedfeeling. Thetelescreen—perhapstocelebratethevictory,perhapstodrownthememoryofthelostchocolate—crashedinto‘Oceania,‘tisforthee’.