1984

           HewasnotsurewhetheritwasO’Brien’svoice;butitwasthesamevoicethathadsaidtohim, ‘Weshallmeetintheplacewherethereisnodarkness,’ inthatotherdream,sevenyearsago. 

           Hedidnotrememberanyendingtohisinterrogation. Therewasaperiodofblacknessandthenthecell,orroom,inwhichhenowwashadgraduallymaterializedroundhim. Hewasalmostflatonhisback,andunabletomove. Hisbodywashelddownateveryessentialpoint. Eventhebackofhisheadwasgrippedinsomemanner. O’Brienwaslookingdownathimgravelyandrathersadly. Hisface,seenfrombelow,lookedcoarseandworn,withpouchesundertheeyesandtiredlinesfromnosetochin. HewasolderthanWinstonhadthoughthim;hewasperhapsforty-eightorfifty. Underhishandtherewasadialwithaleverontopandfiguresrunningroundtheface. 

           ‘Itoldyou,’saidO’Brien,‘thatifwemetagainitwouldbehere.’ 

           ‘Yes,’saidWinston. 

           WithoutanywarningexceptaslightmovementofO’Brien’shand,awaveofpainfloodedhisbody. Itwasafrighteningpain,becausehecouldnotseewhatwashappening,andhehadthefeelingthatsomemortalinjurywasbeingdonetohim. Hedidnotknowwhetherthethingwasreallyhappening,orwhethertheeffectwaselectricallyproduced; buthisbodywasbeingwrenchedoutofshape,thejointswerebeingslowlytornapart. Althoughthepainhadbroughtthesweatoutonhisforehead,theworstofallwasthefearthathisbackbonewasabouttosnap. Hesethisteethandbreathedhardthroughhisnose,tryingtokeepsilentaslongaspossible. 

           ‘Youareafraid,’saidO’Brien,watchinghisface,‘thatinanothermomentsomethingisgoingtobreak.