1984

           Thepenwasanarchaicinstrument, seldomusedevenforsignatures, andhehadprocuredone,furtivelyandwithsomedifficulty, simplybecauseofafeelingthatthebeautifulcreamypaperdeservedtobewrittenonwitharealnib insteadofbeingscratchedwithanink-pencil. Actuallyhewasnotusedtowritingbyhand. Apartfromveryshortnotes, itwasusualtodictateeverythingintothespeak-write whichwasofcourseimpossibleforhispresentpurpose. Hedippedthepenintotheink andthenfalteredforjustasecond. Atremorhadgonethroughhisbowels. Tomarkthepaperwasthedecisiveact. Insmallclumsylettershewrote: 

           April4th,1984. 

           Hesatback. Asenseofcompletehelplessnesshaddescendeduponhim. Tobeginwith,hedidnotknowwithanycertaintythatthiswas1984. Itmustberoundaboutthatdate, sincehewasfairlysurethathisagewasthirty-nine, andhebelievedthathehadbeenbornin1944or1945; butitwasneverpossiblenowadaystopindownanydatewithinayearortwo. 

           Forwhom,itsuddenlyoccurredtohimtowonder, washewritingthisdiary? Forthefuture,fortheunborn. Hismindhoveredforamomentroundthedoubtfuldateonthepage, andthenfetchedupwithabumpagainsttheNewspeakwordDOUBLETHINK. Forthefirsttimethemagnitudeofwhathehadundertakencamehometohim. Howcouldyoucommunicatewiththefuture? Itwasofitsnatureimpossible. Eitherthefuturewouldresemblethepresent, inwhichcaseitwouldnotlistentohim: oritwouldbedifferentfromit,andhispredicamentwouldbemeaningless. 

           Forsometimehesatgazingstupidlyatthepaper. Thetelescreenhadchangedovertostridentmilitarymusic.