He did not know where he was. He thought he was in theMinistry of Love, Miniluv, but he could not be certain.
He was in a high-ceilinged, windowless cell with white stonewalls. It was bright with cold light. In this place, he felt, the lightswould never be turned out. One moment he felt certain that itwas bright day outside and the next moment he was equallycertain that it was black night. 'We shall meet in the place wherethere is no dark,' O'Brien had said to him. In the Ministry ofLove there were no windows.
He thought of O'Brien more often than Julia. He loved Juliaand would not betray her, but he did not think about what washappening to her. Sometimes he thought about what they woulddo to him. He saw himself on the floor, screaming throughbroken teeth for them to stop hitting him. O'Brien must knowhe was here. O'Brien said the Brotherhood never tried to save itsmembers. But they would send him a razor blade if they could.One cut and it would all be finished.
In his cell, there was a continuous noise from the machine thatbrought air in from outside. A narrow shelf went round the wall,stopping only at the door, and at the end opposite the door therewas a toilet with no wooden seat. There were four telescreens, onein each wall.
He was hungry. It might be twenty-four hours since he hadeaten, it might be thirty-six. He still did not know, probably never would know, if it had been morning or evening when thesoldiers took him. Since then he had been given no food.
He sat on the narrow shelf without moving, with his handscrossed on his knees. He had already learned not to move toomuch. If you moved around they shouted at you from thetelescreen. But he wanted food so badly, especially a piece of bread.He thought perhaps there was a small piece in the pocket of hisoveralls. His need for the bread grew stronger than the fear; heput a hand in his pocket.
'Smith!' shouted a voice from the telescreen. '6079 Smith W!Hands out of pockets in the cells!'
He crossed his hands on his knee again. There was a sound ofmarching boots outside. A young officer, black-uniformed, withan emotionless face, stepped into the cell. He waved to the guardsbehind him and they brought in a man who they were holdingby the arms. It was Ampleforth, the man who re-wrote poems forthe Party. The cell door closed behind him.
Ampleforth walked up and down the cell. He had not yetnoticed Winston. He was dirty, wore no shoes and had not shavedfor several days. The hairy half-beard gave him a criminal lookthat was strange, with his large weak body and nervousmovements.
Winston thought quickly. He must speak to Ampleforth evenif they shouted at him through the telescreen. It was possible thatAmpleforth had the razor blade for him.'
Ampleforth,' he said.
There was no shout from the telescreen. Ampleforth stoppedwalking up and down. He seemed surprised. It took him amoment to recognize Winston.
'Ah, Smith!' he said. 'You too!'
'What are you in for?'
Ampleforth put a hand to his head, trying to remember.'There is something . . .' he said. 'We were working on a poem and I didn't change the word "God". It was necessary, in thepoem. There was no other word. So I left it.' For a moment helooked happy, pleased with his work on the poem.
'Do you know what time of day it is?' asked Winston.
Ampleforth looked surprised. 'I hadn't thought about it. Theytook me - it could be two days ago - perhaps three.' He lookedround the cell. 'There is no difference between night and day inthis place. You can never know the time.'
They talked for a few minutes, then, for no clear reason, a voicefrom the telescreen told them to be silent. Winston sat quietly, hishands crossed. Ampleforth was too large for the narrow shelf andmoved from side to side. Time passed - twenty minutes, an hour.Again there was a sound of boots. Winston's stomach turned towater. Soon, very soon, perhaps now, the boots would come for him.The door opened. The cold-faced young officer stepped intothe cell. He waved his arm at Ampleforth.
'Room 101,' he said.
Ampleforth marched out between the guards. He looked alittle worried but did not seem to understand what was happeningto him.
More time passed. It seemed like a long time to Winston. Hehad only six thoughts: the pain in his stomach; a piece of bread;the blood and the screaming; O'Brien; Julia; the razor blade.
Then his stomach turned to water again as he heard the bootsoutside. The door was opened and a smell of sweat came in withthe cold air. Parsons walked into the cell.
'You here!' Winston cried out in surprise.
Parsons did not seem interested in Winston or surprised to seehim. He looked completely without hope.
'What are you in for?' said Winston.
'Thoughtcrime' said Parsons, almost crying. 'They won't shootme, will they? I mean, they don't shoot you when you haven'tdone anything — just thought? And they'll know everything I've done for the Party, won't they? I'll just get five years, don't youthink? Or even ten years? Someone like me could really help theParty in prison. They wouldn't shoot me for just one mistake?'
'Are you guilty?' said Winston.
'Of course I'm guilty!' said Parsons, looking at the telescreen ashe spoke. 'I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. Thoughtcrime is a terriblething. Do you know how it happened? In my sleep! Yes, there Iwas working away for the Party — I never knew I had any badstuff in my mind at all. And then I started talking in my sleep. Doyou know what I said? I said "Down with Big Brother!" Do youknow what I'm going to say to them? I'm going to say, "Thankyou for saving me." '
'Who told them about you?' said Winston.
'My little daughter,' said Parsons, sad but proud. He walked upand down a few more times, looking hard at the toilet. 'Excuseme, old man,' he said. 'I can't help it. It's the waiting.'
Parsons took his trousers down. Winston covered his face wit hhis hands.
'Smith!' shouted the voice from the telescreen. '6079 Smith W!Uncover your face. No faces covered in the cells.'
Winston uncovered his face. Parsons used the toilet, loudlyand horribly. The cell smelled terrible for hours afterwards.
Parsons was taken out. More men and women were broughtin and taken out again by the guards. One woman was sent to'Room 101' and seemed to become smaller and change colour asshe heard the words.
'Comrade! Officer!' she cried. 'You don't have to take me tothat place! Haven't I told you everything already? I'll sayanything. Just write it down and I'l l say it! No t Room 101.'
'Room 101,' said the guard.
A long time passed. Winston was alone and had been alone forhours. Sometimes he thought of O'Brien and the razor blade, butwith less and less hope. He also thought, less clearly, of Julia. He thought that if she were in pain and he could double his ownpain to help her, he would do it.
He heard the boots again. O'Brien came in. Winston got tohis feet. The shock made him forget the telescreen for the first timein years.
'They've got you too!' he shouted out.
'They got me a long time ago,' said O'Brien with a smallsmile. He stepped to one side. Behind him there was a largeguard with a heavy stick in his hand.
'Yo u knew this, Winston,' said O'Brien. 'You have alwaysknown it.'
Yes, he had always known it. But there was no time to think ofthat. The heavy stick in the guard's hand might hit himanywhere, on his head, ear, arm, elbow ...
The elbow! He had gone down on his knees, holding the painin his elbow with the other hand. There was an explosion ofyellow light. The pain was unbelievable, but the guard had onlyhit him once. They were both looking down at him and theguard was laughing.
Well, one question was answered. You could never, for anyreason on earth, wish for more pain. You only wished for onething - that it would stop. Nothing in the world was as bad asphysical pain. Wit h pain there are no heroes, no heroes, hethought again and again as he lay screaming on the floor, holdinghis useless left arm.
