Radium[_4_]
December 25th 07, 06:29 PM
'Did you go and see the prisoners hanged yesterday?' said Syme.
'I was working,' said Winston indifferently. 'I shall see it on the
flicks, I suppose.'
'A very inadequate substitute,' said Syme.
His mocking eyes roved over Winston's face. 'I know you,' the eyes
seemed to say, 'I see through you. I know very well why you didn't go to
see those prisoners hanged.' In an intellectual way, Syme was venomously
orthodox. He would talk with a disagreeable gloating satisfaction of
helicopter raids on enemy villages, and trials and confessions of thought-
criminals, the executions in the cellars of the Ministry of Love. Talking
to him was largely a matter of getting him away from such subjects and
entangling him, if possible, in the technicalities of Newspeak, on which he
was authoritative and interesting. Winston turned his head a little aside
to avoid the scrutiny of the large dark eyes.
'It was a good hanging,' said Syme reminiscently. 'I think it spoils
it when they tie their feet together. I like to see them kicking. And above
all, at the end, the tongue sticking right out, and blue -- a quite bright
blue. That's the detail that appeals to me.'
'Nex', please!' yelled the white-aproned prole with the ladle.
Winston and Syme pushed their trays beneath the grille. On to each was
dumped swiftly the regulation lunch -- a metal pannikin of pinkish-grey
stew, a hunk of bread, a cube of cheese, a mug of milkless Victory Coffee,
and one saccharine tablet.
'There's a table over there, under that telescreen,' said Syme. 'Let's
pick up a gin on the way.'
'I was working,' said Winston indifferently. 'I shall see it on the
flicks, I suppose.'
'A very inadequate substitute,' said Syme.
His mocking eyes roved over Winston's face. 'I know you,' the eyes
seemed to say, 'I see through you. I know very well why you didn't go to
see those prisoners hanged.' In an intellectual way, Syme was venomously
orthodox. He would talk with a disagreeable gloating satisfaction of
helicopter raids on enemy villages, and trials and confessions of thought-
criminals, the executions in the cellars of the Ministry of Love. Talking
to him was largely a matter of getting him away from such subjects and
entangling him, if possible, in the technicalities of Newspeak, on which he
was authoritative and interesting. Winston turned his head a little aside
to avoid the scrutiny of the large dark eyes.
'It was a good hanging,' said Syme reminiscently. 'I think it spoils
it when they tie their feet together. I like to see them kicking. And above
all, at the end, the tongue sticking right out, and blue -- a quite bright
blue. That's the detail that appeals to me.'
'Nex', please!' yelled the white-aproned prole with the ladle.
Winston and Syme pushed their trays beneath the grille. On to each was
dumped swiftly the regulation lunch -- a metal pannikin of pinkish-grey
stew, a hunk of bread, a cube of cheese, a mug of milkless Victory Coffee,
and one saccharine tablet.
'There's a table over there, under that telescreen,' said Syme. 'Let's
pick up a gin on the way.'