译者序
年少时，余读西学为用，总读不甚明了，曾一度怪译者水平。及长，亲自读原著，方知非译者之罪，实东西学本无一一对应关系。待余大胆尝试翻译，绞尽脑汁，搜肠刮肚，总觉难以表达西学万分之一时，方叹读书之少，正所谓：“书到用时方恨少，事非经过不知难”。
本书写于1949年，和新中国同岁成长，于今有76载。作者当然是George Orwell，George,本名 Eric Blair, （1903-1950），英国小说家及散文家，imaginative British writer concerned with social justice，富于想象力的英国作家，关注社会正义。
George Orwell颇像中国的金庸先生（原名查良镛，金庸是他名字中最后一个字“镛”拆开而得），人们只知有Orwell，并不知他之真名叫Eric Blair，Orwell仅仅是笔名。说来颇为奇特，倘若查Eric Blair，我们甚至都查不到任何信息。Orwell生于印度，长与英伦，念的当然是英国有着号称“黄冈中学”的伊顿公学名校（应该是黄冈中学更像伊顿公学，毕竟伊顿公学历史更悠久，只不过作为中国人的70-80-90后，可能更加对黄冈中学有深刻印象，此处才用黄冈中学来比拟之）。可惜小Eric学业平平，没考上大学。于是，他转而投身英国公务，加入英缅police，参军5年，后流浪天涯。
Orwell在英国属于中下层阶级，虽然自称中层阶级，却也知道家穷无产，故而吃尽生活之苦，做过洗碗工、教师、书店店员和码头工人，可是，良好的名校熏陶，让他很难真正融入下层老百姓生活，他就像一个“夹心饼干”，处在中间，两头受气。好在他同情老百姓，并非一直处在云端之上。故而他关注公平、正义。要接近老百姓，抽烟喝酒自然也沾染了一些。奥威尔几乎是烟不离口，这也为他的肺结核，埋下了巨大隐患。以至于多年后，年仅47岁，死于肺病，如果用一句话概括奥威尔，那就是：
匆匆过客一生忙，两部作品留人间。
除了《一九八四》，Orwell还有《动物庄园》，如果有时间，余亦想一睹为快，当然是读一点原著。我这人一向是原著粉，对于翻译一向挑剔。中学时代，凡是读西学小说，总嫌枯燥乏味，及至多年后，我读原著时，却从未觉得腻味。可见最初读西学，总要读翻译大师的作品，譬如王佐良的《青春》，譬如许渊冲翻译的英诗法诗，譬如张振玉译的《苏东坡传》和《吾国与吾民》等等。
当然，如今再读西学，不多挑剔，毕竟有少许西学基础。近来读张学治译自英国传记文学家Fiona Stafford的《简奥斯汀：短暂的一生》(Jane Austin: A Brief Life)，我也读得津津有味，读李玉龙等译自两位美国数学教授的《基础数学与生活》(Mathematics All Around Seventh Edition)也读得酣畅淋漓，读钟毛、李园莉译自德国卡尔·芬克的《数学简史》(The Brief History of Mathematics)，也读得入迷三分。
《一九八四》关注的话题是正义、平权和公平，不得不让我想起另一部欧美经典——柏拉图的《理想国》(Utopia)。两者主题类似，但表现方式稍异。不同于《理想国》的辩论方式，《一九八四》更像是一部科幻小说，毕竟作者写于1949年，那么这个书名就颇悬疑万分了，这是想预言25年后的故事。
结合作者Orwell写作年代的20世纪40年代末大背景，美苏争霸的战争阴云密布全球，始终挥之不去。一直到25年后的1984年始，世界才有了一丝和平曙光。比如说，中英接触发表联合声明，比如说苏联进行最后倔强——宣布抵制当年的洛杉矶奥运会，然后，中国在奥运会上取得了不俗成绩，再比如设计师在这一年南下视察三个经济特区等等，人们才不至于紧张万分，朝不保夕。如果说之前是时刻准备着“战斗”，那么这之后，就是愈加放下戒备，开始携手共进。再之后，苏联解体，两德一统，中国改开，解放思想，战争危机暂时解除，人们上紧的“发条”，终于松懈下来。
如果非要让我来解释这本《一九八四》，毋宁把它看作是二战后，作者对三战担忧的一个集中体现。其实，对照现实世界，我们可以把小说套用在每一处极端的社会之下，他是对人性的最无情揭露，这是一部典型的反战小说，反威权小说，批判性思维窥探小说。我们不拿意识形态做文章的话，倒是可以把它简单作为一本宣传和平的反战书籍。世界需要和平，不需要战争，它将是永远值得我们反思，和阅读的一本世界名著。
所以，《一九八四》很难不让我们思考，作者可能是在讽刺当时的两个国际对立阵营。很讽刺的事，小说写出来后，不论美苏都把它当做禁书，苏联把奥威尔作为反苏代名词还情有可原，而英国特工一直严密监视Orwell的动向，就很可笑。可是，结合奥威尔出生，也很难不让英国统治阶级，把他作为反资产阶级的代表，毕竟他本身，更多的是和中下层老百姓接触得多。
最后，译者水平粗浅，不当之处，在所难免，倘有错谬之处，还烦请广大读者予以纠正，本人不胜感激之至。闲话少叙，敬请期待，如下文。
Nineteen Eighty-four(Excerpt chapter 1)
Writer：George Orwell
《一九八四》
(节选 第一章)
作者：(英)乔治·奥威尔
译者：黄思明两分钟仇恨会高潮叠起，异样眼光四目相对[1]
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.
四月的一天，阳光明媚，风和日丽，乍暖还寒，钟声正敲响于下午一点。温斯顿·史密斯，把头缩在脖子里，贴近胸前，正努力躲避着让人厌恶的春寒。他迅速溜进胜利公馆的玻璃门，身后带入一股沙尘般的漩涡。
The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster,too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs.
走廊间，到处都是破旧垫子，混杂着一股煮熟的菜叶气味。在其中一张垫子上，一副彩色张贴画报，已被固定在墙上，霎时间，室内都显得局促。画上是一副巨脸，超过一米宽。这张脸看上去大约45岁，浓密胡须，是一个粗线条英俊男人形象。温斯顿步入楼梯间。
It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way.
时代总试着鼓舞人心，但毫无作用。哪怕在最好的时间，也很少有工作机会。而且，目前，白天断电，这曾是经济疲软下，为“报复周”准备的一部分。地平线已第七次起飞，而且，39岁的温斯顿，右脚踝上有静脉曲张溃烂。他慢慢走着，一路上休息许多次。
On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran.
在每次登台阶，温斯顿对着提升轴线，凝视着墙上一副巨脸海报，随着你的移动，似乎眼珠自动地追着你。“老大哥正望着你！”巨脸下写着一排字。
Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures which had something to do with the production of pig-iron. The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch and the voice sank somewhat, though the words were still distinguishable.
在公寓以内，一个圆润的声音正读着一串计算数据清单，是计划中的生铁产量。声音从椭圆金属牌匾传出来，就像一面昏暗的镜子，贴在右侧墙面，已经成为墙体一部分。温斯顿拧了一下开关，声音稍显低沉，然而每句话清晰可辨。
The instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed, but there was no way of shutting it off completely. He moved over to the window: a smallish, frail figure, the meagreness of his body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the party. His hair was very fair, his face naturally sanguine, his skin roughened by coarse soap and blunt razor blades and the cold of the winter that had just ended.
这种被叫做荧光屏的器械——“铁幕”，可以变暗淡；但是，没办法完全关掉。温斯顿移向窗户——这是一个小小的、虚弱的形象，他身体的瘦弱，只是被党卫服蓝色工装裤，更突显了出来。他的头发颜色很浅，他的面颊天生红润，他用磨钝的刮胡刀，还有才结束的冬季寒风和便宜肥皂，都让他皮肤粗糙不堪。
Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world looked cold. Down in the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no colour in anything, except the posters that were plastered everywhere.
室外，尽管窗户紧闭，整个世界看上去还是很冷。沿着街道，旋风席卷着尘土和碎纸，螺旋上升到空中，而且，虽然太阳普照大地，但天色蔚蓝，碧空如洗，除了到处张贴着海报，天地间再无一种色彩。
The blackmoustachio’d face gazed down from every commanding corner. There was one on the house-front immediately opposite. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption said, while the dark eyes looked deep into Winston’s own. Down at street level another poster, torn at one corner, flapped fitfully in the wind, alternately covering and uncovering the single word INGSOC❶.
黑色巨脸，从每一个角落，威严地凝视下来。其中有一副，从房前紧接着对面。“老大哥正望着你。”一排文字写道。巨脸上黑色眼珠，好像用冷酷光芒，射进温斯顿的眼里。沿着街道，靠近另外一张海报，撕破的一角，在风中飞舞，交替遮盖或展露着单独一个词——“英社”！
In the far distance a helicopter skimmed down between the roofs, hovered for an instant like a bluebottle, and darted away again with a curving flight. It was the police patrol, snooping into people’s windows. The patrols did not matter, however. Only the Thought Police mattered.
远处，一架直升机掠过屋顶，就像一个绿头苍蝇短暂悬停，然后，沿着弯曲航线飞奔而去。它是警方巡逻队，负责在大家窗边探查。然而，巡逻队员们也不干啥事，仅仅以监听思想为要务。
Behind Winston’s back the voice from the telescreen was still babbling away about pig-iron and the overfulfilment of the Ninth Three-Year Plan. The telescreen received and transmitted simultaneously. Any sound that Winston made, above the level of a very low whisper, would be picked up by it, moreover, so long as he remained within the field of vision which the metal plaque commanded, he could be seen as well as heard.
在温斯顿背后，从“铁幕”上传来的声音，喋喋不休地说着第9个三年计划——生铁目标产量必须完成。“铁幕”接收消息和广播同时发生。温斯顿发出的任何声音，哪怕就是非常低的窃窃私语声，都会被“铁幕”检测出来。此外，只要他在画面范围以内，金属板就能发出命令，让他看到和听到。
There was of course no way of knowing whether you were being watched at any given moment. How often, or on what system, the Thought Police plugged in on any individual wire was guesswork. It was even conceivable that they watched everybody all the time.
当然，也不可能每时每刻，监听着你的一举一动。多久监听一次，或者说什么样的监视系统，思想警长排布私人的电线，理由都是猜测。甚至说，他们可能会一直监视每个人。
But at any rate they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted to. You had to live --did live, from habit that became instinct --in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinized.
但是，每当他们想监听你，可能会以任何概率排布电线。你就不得不直播——现场直播。而且，从本能的习惯里，你发出的每一个声音，他们都能够随机获得，除非每次审查，你都在黑暗中。
Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen. It was safer, though, as he well knew, even a back can be revealing. A kilometre away the Ministry of Truth, his place of work, towered vast and white above the grimy landscape. This, he thought with a sort of vague distaste --this was London, chief city of Airstrip One, itself the third most populous of the provinces of Oceania.
温斯顿保持背对着“铁幕”。这可能安全点，尽管，他也深知，哪怕背对着也有泄露的风险。千米之外，真理部长待在巨大白色电视塔里工作，塔上布满污垢灰尘。这些，温斯顿带着一种模糊的厌恶思考着。这就是伦敦——第一空降场主要城市，本身是大洋省中第三多人口稠密地区。
He tried to squeeze out some childhood memory that should tell him whether London had always been quite like this. Were there always these vistas of rotting nineteenth-century houses, their sides shored up with baulks of timber, their windows patched with cardboard and their roofs with corrugated iron, their crazy garden walls sagging in all directions?
温斯顿试着回忆一些童年记忆，告诉自己，是否伦敦一直就是这个样子。是不是，一直是这种世纪破烂房子的愿景呢？比如木材造的货柜支撑起的一个侧面，窗户用硬纸板修修补补，以及褶皱的铁皮屋顶，他们疯狂的花园墙壁上，在各个方向都有墙皮脱落吗？
And the bombed sites where the plaster dust swirled in the air and the willow-herb straggled over the heaps of rubble. and the places where the bombs had cleared a larger patch and there had sprung up sordid colonies of wooden dwellings like chicken-houses? But it was no use, he could not remember: nothing remained of his childhood except a series of bright-lit tableaux occurring against no background and mostly unintelligible.
然而，被炸弹炸过的遗址上，灰泥尘土在空中飞舞着，柳兰散落在堆满的瓦砾上。而且，这地方炸弹被清理后，留下大块空地，以及出现的肮脏木头住宅群，是不是像一排排鸡舍？但是，并没什么卵用，温斯顿丝毫记不起来：童年没有留下任何记忆，依稀有一系列明亮画面——相对来说既没有背景，也几乎模糊的场面。
The Ministry of Truth --Minitrue, in Newspeak❷--was startlingly different from any other object in sight. It was an enormous pyramidal structure of glittering white concrete, soaring up, terrace after terrace, 300 metres into the air.
真理部——真部，在新话——惊人不同于其它看得见的部门。它是一个巨大金字塔结构建筑，用耀眼的白色混泥土浇注而成，斜坡之后，连着斜坡，耸立在300米的高空中。
From where Winston stood it was just possible to read, picked out on its white face in elegant lettering, the three slogans of the Party:
WAR IS PEACE FREEDOM IS SLAVERY IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
从那里，温斯顿站的地方，刚好能辨认出白色巨脸上的优雅刻字，并读出党的三句口号：战争就是和平。
自由才是奴隶。
无知也是力量。
The Ministry of Truth contained, it was said, three thousand rooms above ground level, and corresponding ramifications below. Scattered about London there were just three other buildings of similar appearance and size. So completely did they dwarf the surrounding architecture that from the roof of Victory Mansions you could see all four of them simultaneously.
人们说，真理部在地面上囊括三千个房间，而且，在地下有相应的设施与之对应。伦敦刚好到处都有相似的三个额外建筑，有相同的外形和尺寸。因此，你从胜利公馆楼顶，可以同时看到这四所高楼，而所有其他建筑，都显得相形见绌。
They were the homes of the four Ministries between which the entire apparatus of government was divided. The Ministry of Truth, which concerned itself with news, entertainment, education, and the fine arts. The Ministry of Peace, which concerned itself with war.The Ministry of Love, which maintained law and order. And the Ministry of Plenty, which was responsible for economic affairs. Their names, in Newspeak: Minitrue, Minipax, Miniluv, and Miniplenty.
它们就是政府辖下的四个组成部本。真理部，涉及新闻、娱乐、教育和一切美德艺术。和平部，牵涉战争本身。仁爱部，有关法律和秩序。共富部，主要负责经济事务。它们的名字在新话简称为：真部、和部、爱部与富部。
The Ministry of Love was the really frightening one. There were no windows in it at all. Winston had never been inside the Ministry of Love, nor within half a kilometre of it. It was a placeimpossible to enter except on official business, and then only by penetrating through a maze of barbed-wire entanglements, steel doors, and hidden machine-gun nests. Even the streets leading up to its outer barriers were roamed by gorilla-faced guards in black uniforms, armed with jointed truncheons.
爱部是真正恐怖的一个，整栋楼没有窗户。温斯顿从未去过爱部，甚至它500米范围内都进不去。因为，除非办公，没有人能进去。而且，进去要穿越迷宫一样的铁丝网、走层层钢门、面对密集的机关枪口。甚至于，早有满脸横肉的戍卫，身穿统一制服，手拿铰接式警棍，在街道上游荡巡查！
Winston turned round abruptly. He had set his features into the expression of quiet optimism which it was advisable to wear when facing the telescreen. He crossed the room into the tiny kitchen. By leaving the Ministry at this time of day he had sacrificed his lunch in the canteen, and he was aware that there was no food in the kitchen except a hunk of dark-coloured bread which had got to be saved for tomorrow’s breakfast.
温斯顿意外地完全转变了。他把自己定位为十足的乐观主义，每次面对“铁幕”，他都会整理表情。他穿过室内，来到微厨房。离开部门这些天，他都是去食堂吃午餐，而且，他也意识到，厨房没有食物，只有一块“厚砖头”——黑面包，还是昨天早上剩下的。
He took down from the shelf a bottle of colourless liquid with a plain white label marked VICTORY GIN. It gave off a sickly, oily smell, as of Chinese rice-spirit❸.Winston poured out nearly a teacupful, nerved himself for a shock, and gulped it down like a dose of medicine.
温斯顿从架子上取下一瓶无色液体，上面清晰印着标签：胜利牌杜松子酒。它散发出一股刺鼻油烟味，有点像中国粮食酒。温斯顿倒出一满杯，他捏着鼻子，鼓起勇气，一口吞下，就像喝一杯毒酒。
Instantly his face turned scarlet and the water ran out of his eyes. The stuff was like nitric acid, and moreover, in swallowing it one had the sensation of being hit on the back of the head with a rubber club. The next moment, however, the burning in his belly died down and the world began to look more cheerful.
温斯顿的脸逐渐变得红温，泪眼汪汪。这酒就像硝酸，吞一口就晕乎乎，好像被人从后脑勺打了一记闷棍。但是，下一刻，肚子的灼烧感渐去，像打了鸡血似的。
He took a cigarette from a crumpled packet marked VICTORY CIGARETTES and incautiously held it upright, whereupon the tobacco fell out on to the floor. With the next he was more successful. He went back to the living-room and sat down at a small table that stood to the left of the telescreen. From the table drawer he took out a penholder, a bottle of ink, and a thick, quarto-sized blank book with a red back and a marbled cover.
从一盒皱巴巴的烟盒里，温斯顿抽出一根，随意地夹起，烟盒上标识着“胜利牌香烟”。于是，香烟意外掉在地上。第二次，他终于成功。他回到起居室，坐在小桌上。小桌就支在“铁幕”的左边。从抽屉里，他取出钢笔架、墨水瓶还有一个空白的厚笔记本。笔记本四开见方，红色封底，大理石图样装饰封面。
For some reason the telescreen in the living-room was in an unusual position. Instead of being placed, as was normal, in the end wall, where it could command the whole room, it was in the longer wall, opposite the window. To one side of it there was a shallow alcove in which Winston was now sitting, and which, when the flats were built, had probably been intended to hold bookshelves.
由于未知原因，起居室的“铁幕”，被安在一个独特的位置上。它并没有安在墙角，以便于可以给整个房间下达命令。它被按在长边的墙上，正对着窗户。一边有个浅洼僻静处，那里正好是温斯顿坐的位置。而且，公寓建造时，可能打算安置一个书架。
By sitting in the alcove, and keeping well back, Winston was able to remain outside the range of the telescreen, so far as sight went. He could be heard, of course, but so long as he stayed in his present position he could not be seen. It was partly the unusual geography of the room that had suggested to him the thing that he was now about to do.
温斯顿坐在幽静处，维持后仰的状态，位于铁幕之外，只要视线可见就好。当然，只要他坐回原位置，就能被听到，但不能被看到。某种程度上来说，房间里的这种独特布局，暗示着一件事——他现在即将有事做。
But it had also been suggested by the book that he had just taken out of the drawer. It was a peculiarly beautiful book. Its smooth creamy paper, a little yellowed by age, was of a kind that had not been manufactured for at least forty years past.
而且，温斯顿刚刚从抽屉取出的那本书，其实也暗示着同一件事。那是一本特别漂亮的书籍，细腻光滑的纸张，因为常年保藏，有点泛黄，是那种过去四十年来，已经不再生产的高级货。
He could guess, however, that the book was much older than that. He had seen it lying in the window of a frowsy little junk-shop in a slummy quarter of the town (just what quarter he did not now remember) and had been stricken immediately by an overwhelming desire to possess it.
然而，温斯顿原本猜测，这个笔记本是个更老的古董。他想象着笔记本，躺在一个发霉的小旧货店窗口。旧货店位于城镇的贫民区（现在，恰好他不记得这个区域），而且，温斯顿因为强烈愿望拥有这个笔记本，买到后却立刻备受打击。
Party members were supposed not to go into ordinary shops (“dealing on the free market”, it was called), but the rule was not strictly kept, because there were various things, such as shoelaces and razor blades, which it was impossible to get hold of in any other way.
党员们不去普通商店（被称为“自由交易市场”），但是规则不被严格执行，因为有各种状况。比如鞋带和刮胡刀片，你就不可能有其他方式得到。
He had given a quick glance up and down the street and then had slipped inside and bought the book for two dollars fifty. At the time he was not conscious of wanting it for any particular purpose. He had carried it guiltily home in his briefcase. Even with nothing written in it, it was a compromising possession.
温斯顿四下打量无人，迅速溜进商店，花了2.5美元买下这个笔记本。当时，他想有一个笔记本，并没有特别目的。温斯顿做贼心虚，把它放进公文包带回家了。哪怕并不记什么，它也是一笔秘而不宣的财富。
The thing that he was about to do was to open a diary. This was not illegal (nothing was illegal, since there were no longer any laws), but if detected it was reasonably certain that it would be punished by death, or at least by twenty-five years in a forced-labour camp.
温斯顿即将要做的事，就是写一篇日记。这不合法（自从没有任何法律开始没有事合法），如果用某些合理手段查到了，要么被处死，要么被送到劳改集中营至少关押25年。
Winston fitted a nib into the penholder and sucked it to get the grease off. The pen was an archaic instrument, seldom used even for signatures, and he had procured one, furtively and with some difficulty, simply because of a feeling that the beautiful creamy paper deserved to be written on with a real nib instead of being scratched with an ink-pencil.
温斯顿把笔尖放到笔插，然而吸着，把油渍擦掉。钢笔是一个老古董，哪怕仅仅签名，也很少人用。而且，他用或简单或复杂的方式，偷偷地写完一页。由于有种感觉——漂亮光滑的纸张，应该用真实的实芯笔尖写字，而不是用钢笔✒️刮擦着写。
Actually he was not used to writing by hand. Apart from very short notes, it was usual to dictate everything into the speak-write which was of course impossible for his present purpose. He dipped the pen into the ink and then faltered for just a second. A tremor had gone through his bowels. To mark the paper was the decisive act. In small clumsy letters he wrote:
实际上，温斯顿并不习惯手写。除了非常短的笔记，通常让听写机记录下来。但这很显然，并不是他现在的目的。他沾了墨水，然后倒转摇晃一下，这种摇晃好像也深入他的内心。写在本上是既定的行动。它几乎用难认的字迹，写道：
April 4th, 1984.
He sat back. A sense of complete helplessness had descended upon him. To begin with, he did not know with any certainty that this was 1984. It must be round about that date, since he was fairly sure that his age was thirty-nine, and he believed that he had been born in 1944 or 1945. but it was never possible nowadays to pin down any date within a year or two.
1984年4月4日。
他坐回位置，一种彻底的无能，降临到他身上。一开始，他并不确认那就是1984年，大约就是这个时间，因为他很肯定自己今年39岁，而且，他坚信自己1944年或者1945年出生。然而，现如今，这个时代，绝不可能在一两年内查清确切日期。
For whom, it suddenly occurred to him to wonder, was he writing this diary? For the future, for the unborn. His mind hovered for a moment round the doubtful date on the page, and then fetched up with a bump against the Newspeak word doublethink. For the first time the magnitude of what he had undertaken came home to him.
对于未来，对于后世，谁又会那么突然决定想知道，他写日记的时间呢？他盯着纸笔，思绪徘徊了一会。然后，他开始同新话思维逻辑，思想矛盾起来。第一次，对于回家，他承受着巨大的压力。
How could you communicate with the future? It was of its nature impossible. Either the future would resemble the present, in which case it would not listen to him: or it would be different from it, and his predicament would be meaningless.
你怎么和未来沟通呢？这不可能是自然而然的一件事。或者说，未来类似于现在，这种情况下，时间并不听温斯顿指挥。又或者说，时间将会与众不同，而且，他的困境也毫无意义。
For some time he sat gazing stupidly at the paper. The telescreen had changed over to strident military music. It was curious that he seemed not merely to have lost the power of expressing himself, but even to have forgotten what it was that he had originally intended to say. For weeks past he had been making ready for this moment, and it had never crossed his mind that anything would be needed except courage. The actual writing would be easy.
温斯顿持续呆坐了一会，麻木地凝视着笔记本。“铁幕”已经换成刺耳的军歌。他好像失去这种表达的力量，而充满着求知欲，然而，他甚至忘记了当初自己想说什么。几个星期后，他为这一刻做好了准备，而且，他从没有放在心上，以至于不必过多准备，勇气却是必不可少的，真正的写信很容易。
All he had to do was to transfer to paper the interminable restless monologue that had been running inside his head, literally for years. At this moment, however, even the monologue had dried up. Moreover his varicose ulcer had begun itching unbearably. He dared not scratch it, because if he did so it always became inflamed.
所有温斯顿不得不做的就是，把跑进脑袋的冗长而焦躁的长篇大论，转换到笔记本上。逐字逐句写出来，坚持数年。然而，在这一刻，哪怕是长篇大论，也已枯竭。而且，他的静脉曲张溃烂，开始忍不住地发痒。他不敢抓它，因为如果挠它，就会变得又红又肿。
The seconds were ticking by. He was conscious of nothing except the blankness of the page in front of him, the itching of the skin above his ankle, the blaring of the music, and a slight booziness caused by the gin.
秒针滴答走着。除了他笔记本面前的空白页，温斯顿毫无察觉。他脚踝上的皮肤开始瘙痒，音乐高亢，杜松子酒喝得有点微醺。
Suddenly he began writing in sheer panic, only imperfectly aware of what he was setting down. His small but childish handwriting straggled up and down the page, shedding first its capital letters and finally even its full stops:
突然，温斯顿开始完全惊恐地写起来，只能模糊地意识到记下的内容。他小而幼稚的字迹，在纸面“龙飞凤舞”，首先落笔它的大写字母，最后甚至落笔在整个结尾处。
April 4th, 1984. Last night to the flicks. All war films. One very good one of a ship full of refugees being bombed somewhere in the Mediterranean. Audience much amused by shots of a great huge fat man trying to swim away with a helicopter after him, first you saw him wallowing along in the water like a porpoise, then you saw him through the helicopters gunsights, then he was full of holes and the sea round him turned pink and he sank as suddenly as though the holes had let in the water, audience shouting with laughter when he sank.
1984年4月4日，浮光掠影，昨夜之夜不可留。一艘满载难民的船，在地中海某海域被炸，这还是其中一个好消息。更有甚者，观众被一个大腹便便男人扫射着难民，而极大地逗乐了。这个男人游走在海面，身后跟着一架直升飞机。一开始，你会看到他像一只鼠海豚在海面颠扑，然后，你会透过直升机瞄准器看到他，他身上满是弹孔，四周的海水变成血红，尽管弹孔让他在水面飘着，但还是迅速沉了下去，围观者跟着大声起哄。
then you saw a lifeboat full of children with a helicopter hovering over it. there was a middle-aged woman might have been a jewess sitting up in the bow with a little boy about three years old in her arms. little boy screaming with fright and hiding his head between her breasts as if he was trying to burrow right into her and the woman putting her arms round him and comforting him although she was blue with fright herself, all the time covering him up as much as possible as if she thought her arms could keep the bullets off him.
随着直升机盘旋，你会看到一只装满孩子的救生艇。有个很可能是犹太人的中年妇女，抱着三岁的孩子，坐在船头。小男孩带着恐惧，尖叫着躲在妈妈怀里。妇人用手臂紧紧抱着他，尽管她自己也惊恐到抑郁，她还是尽量安抚小男孩。妇人尽可能盖着孩子，好像这样做，她的手臂，就能够让孩子，在子弹下逃生。
then the helicopter planted a 20 kilo bomb in among them terrific flash and the boat went all to matchwood. then there was a wonderful shot of a child’s arm going up up up right up into the air a helicopter with a camera in its nose must have followed it up.
然后，在他们中间，直升机丢下20公斤炸弹，轰鸣声后，可怕的火焰把船只烧成碎片。再者，有一个精彩的镜头就是，一个孩子手臂一直抬升，升到空中，直升机鼻子伸出的摄像机追踪着。
And there was a lot of applause from the party seats but a woman down in the prole part of the house suddenly started kicking up a fuss and shouting they didn't ought of showed it not in front of kids they didn't it ain't right not in front of kids it ain't until the police turned her out. I don't suppose anything happened to her, nobody cares what the proles say, typical prole reaction they never-
而且，有许多掌声从党派席位上传来，然而，有一个女人从房中“穷人阶级”席位站起来，突然打破宁静般咆哮起来。她说，不应该在孩子们面前展示，一直持续到警察带走她。我没有假定任何事发生在她身上。没有人关心穷人们的事，典型的穷人反应——他们漠不关己。
Winston stopped writing, partly because he was suffering from cramp. He did not know what had made him pour out this stream of rubbish. But the curious thing was that while he was doing so a totally different memory had clarified itself in his mind, to the point where he almost felt equal to writing it down. It was, he now realized, because of this other incident that he had suddenly decided to come home and begin the diary today.
温斯顿停下笔，部分原因是他脚抽筋。他也不知道究竟是什么力量，让他如此倾倒思想的“垃圾”。但是，令人惊奇的是，当他做这些事的时候，完全不同的记忆，清晰地在头脑中展示，最重要的一点就是，当他写下这些思想的时候，他感受到完全平等。
It had happened that morning at the Ministry, if anything so nebulous could be said to happen.
就发生在部门的那天早上，如果事情模糊，事后就能清晰地发生，然后记下来。
It was nearly eleven hundred, and in the Records Department, where Winston worked, they were dragging the chairs out of the cubicles and grouping them in the centre of the hall opposite the big telescreen, in preparation for the Two Minutes Hate.
在温斯顿工作的录音部，接近11：00点钟。他们正拽着椅子，在小斗室外，把自己归为中央大厅一类，正对着大电视屏，准备着烦人的“两分钟仇恨会”。
Winston was just taking his place in one of the middle rows when two people whom he knew by sight, but had never spoken to, came unexpectedly into the room. One of them was a girl whom he often passed in the corridors. He did not know her name, but he knew that she worked in the Fiction Department.
温斯顿恰好参与到中间一排队伍，视线中，正好有两个他认识的人。但是，并没有说话，未料到他们走进了房间。他们其中有一个女孩，他们经常在走廊擦肩而过。温斯顿并不知道她的名字，但知道她在小说部工作。
Presumably -- since he had sometimes seen her with oily hands and carrying a spanner -- she had some mechanical job on one of the novel-writing machines. She was a bold-looking girl, of about twenty-seven, with thick hair, a freckled face, and swift, athletic movements.
大概——因为温斯顿有时看到她带着油滑的助手，或者带着一个搅局者——作为虚构小说写作机器之一，她有一些机械性工作。她看上去像一个勇敢的女孩子，大约27岁，发质浓黑，雀斑脸，行动健康而敏捷。
A narrow scarlet sash, emblem of the Junior Anti-Sex League, was wound several times round the waist of her overalls, just tightly enough to bring out the shapeliness of her hips. Winston had disliked her from the very first moment of seeing her. He knew the reason. It was because of the atmosphere of hockey-fields and cold baths and community hikes and general clean-mindedness which she managed to carry about with her.
一条窄的深红色肩带，象征着她是反性别联盟初级成员，应该曾被伤害过几次。而肩带就围在她工装的腰围上，松紧合适，恰好显露出她臀部的美感。温斯顿第一眼看到她，就不喜欢。温斯顿知道原因，是因为冰球场、冷水浴室、组团徒步和一般思想净化大会等等场合的气氛，都会有她游刃有余地掺和应付着。
He disliked nearly all women, and especially the young and pretty ones. It was always the women, and above all the young ones, who were the most bigoted adherents of the Party, the swallowers of slogans, the amateur spies and nosers-out of unorthodoxy. But this particular girl gave him the impression of being more dangerous than most.
温斯顿几乎讨厌所有女人，而且，特别是年轻和性感女性。总有一些女人，或者说——以上这些年轻女性，就是党卫最偏执狂的支持者，为标语口号摇旗呐喊者，为业余间谍者，为非正统嗅味灵敏者。然而，这个独特的女孩，给他印象就是比任何危险的人，还要危险。
Once when they passed in the corridor she gave him a quick sidelong glance which seemed to pierce right into him and for a moment had filled him with black terror. The idea had even crossed his mind that she might be an agent of the ThoughtPolice. That, it was true, was very unlikely. Still, he continued to feel a peculiar uneasiness, which had fear mixed up in it as well as hostility, whenever she was anywhere near him.
有一次，当他们擦肩而过时，女孩给了他侧面匆匆一瞥，就好像洞察了温斯顿内心。然后，温斯顿被一种黑暗的恐惧填满，持续了一会。一个想法甚至划过他的头脑——她可能是思想警察的代理人。如果那是事实，这真叫人难以置信。而且，他继续感到一种独特的担忧，混合着恐惧害怕，也包括敌意，她几乎无所不在地在他周围。
The other person was a man named O’Brien, a member of the Inner Party and holder of some post so important and remote that Winston had only a dim idea of its nature. A momentary hush passed over the group of people round the chairs as they saw the black overalls of an Inner Party member approaching.
另外一个男的名叫奥布莱恩。他是一位内务党成员，某些偏远重要据点掌权者。温斯顿仅仅有一个模糊的概念。短暂过后，超过一组人围着座椅，他们看着一位黑色制服内务党成员，迫近走来。
O’Brien was a large, burly man with a thick neck and a coarse, humorous, brutal face. In spite of his formidable appearance he had a certain charm of manner. He had a trick of resettling his spectacles on his nose which was curiously disarming --in some indefinable way, curiously civilized. It was a gesture which, if anyone had still thought in such terms, might have recalled an eighteenth-century nobleman offering his snuffbox.
奥布莱恩，是一个大块头壮实男人。他有着粗脖子、言辞粗俗、滑稽和残忍的一张脸。尽管他的形象令人敬畏，他却有着一种迷人的行事风格。奥布莱恩有着一种夸张的形象欺骗，说来奇怪，但他的气息永远消除敌意——用这种不可思议的方式，他很惊奇地被认为很有教养。这是一种姿态，如果还有人刻板印象看待他，这就好比让人回想起，18世纪的一个贵族，举着他的鼻烟盒。
Winston had seen O’Brien perhaps a dozen times in almost as many years. He felt deeply drawn to him, and not solely because he was intrigued by the contrast between O’Brien’s urbane manner and his prizefighter’s physique. Much more it was because of a secretly held belief --or perhaps not even a belief, merely a hope --that O’Brien’s political orthodoxy was not perfect. Something in his face suggested it irresistibly.
这么多年，温斯顿可能看到奥布莱恩许多次。温斯顿对他感到深深疲惫，而且，不仅仅因为被强烈反差激起好奇心，毕竟奥布莱恩温文尔雅的说话方式，和他职业拳击手的体格悬殊过大，更是因为他持有的独特信仰——或者可能甚至是一种信念，哪怕只是一种希望——奥布莱恩的政治正统性并不完美。他脸上的独特气质，表明大家无法抵抗。
And again, perhaps it was not even unorthodoxy that was written in his face, but simply intelligence. But at any rate he had the appearance of being a person that you could talk to if somehow you could cheat the telescreen and get him alone. Winston had never made the smallest effort to verify this guess: indeed, there was no way of doing so.
而且，甚至可能正统性，不是很明确地显露在他脸上；但是简朴地充满智慧。然而，以任何角度，他都给对他说话的人一种欺骗假象，荧屏形象，和现实交流完全不一样。温斯顿也从没有做过微小努力，去证明他的猜测：实际上，也没有必要这样做。
At this moment O’Brien glanced at his wrist-watch, saw that it was nearly eleven hundred, and evidently decided to stay in the Records Department until the Two Minutes Hate was over. He took a chair in the same row as Winston, a couple of places away. A small, sandy-haired woman who worked in the next cubicle to Winston was between them. The girl with dark hair was sitting immediately behind.
在这一刻，奥布莱恩瞥了一眼腕表，看到时间大约11：00点。显而易见，他决定待在录音部，直到烦人的“两分钟仇恨会”结束。他拉了一把椅子，同温斯顿坐在同一排，两人相距两个位置。一个娇小沙质头发女人，就在他们之间斗室工作。一个黑发女孩紧接着坐在他们身后。
The next moment a hideous, grinding speech, as of some monstrous machine running without oil, burst from the big telescreen at the end of the room. It was a noise that set one’s teeth on edge and bristled the hair at the back of one’s neck. The Hate had started.
下一刻，一个可怕到令人窒息的演讲，好像某个丑陋的大机器，无力地运转着，突然从房间最后的大铁幕上出现。噪音就像某个人咬紧牙关，已经撑到边缘。而且，后背毛发直竖，鸡皮疙瘩掉一地。“两分钟仇恨会”项目已经开始。
As usual, the face of Emmanuel Goldstein, the Enemy of the People, had flashed on to the screen. There were hisses here and there among the audience. The little sandy-haired woman gave a squeak of mingled fear and disgust.
像往常一样，人民公敌埃马纽埃尔·戈尔茨坦的脸，出现在大屏幕上。人群中到处都是嘘声。娇小沙质头发女人，混合着恐惧和厌恶，发出一串尖叫声。
Goldstein was the renegade and backslider who once, long ago (how long ago, nobody quite remembered), had been one of the leading figures of the Party, almost on a level with Big Brother himself, and then had engaged in counter-revolutionary activities, had been condemned to death, and had mysteriously escaped and disappeared. The programmes of the Two Minutes Hate varied from day to day, but there was none in which Goldstein was not the principal figure. He was the primal traitor, the earliest defiler of the Party’s purity.
戈尔茨坦是个叛徒，曾短暂地弃恶从善。很久以前（确切多久以前，也没人记得清楚），他是党的重要人物，几乎和老大哥同一个级别，然而，因为参与一场抵制革命运动，被宣布死罪，并且，神秘逃脱和消失了。“两分钟仇恨会”批判的项目，变换着每天进行，但是，批判的主要人物，一定有戈尔茨坦。他是主要的卖国贼，他最早玷污了党的纯洁性。
All subsequent crimes against the Party, all treacheries, acts of sabotage, heresies, deviations, sprang directly out of his teaching. Somewhere or other he was still alive and hatching his conspiracies: perhaps somewhere beyond the sea, under the protection of his foreign paymasters, perhaps even --so it was occasionally rumoured -- in some hiding-place in Oceania itself.
随后，所有罪犯都是反党。所有欺诈、蓄意破坏、异端学说、离经叛道等，都直接起源于戈尔茨坦的教唆。他仍然活在某个隐秘地方，筹划他的阴谋——可能在海外某个地方，受到外国敌对势力的保护。甚至可能——偶尔发布谣言——在大洋洲本部某个秘密据点。
Winston’s diaphragm was constricted. He could never see the face of Goldstein without apainful mixture of emotions. It was a lean Jewish face, with a great fuzzy aureole of white hair and a small goatee beard --a clever face, and yet somehow inherently despicable, with a kind of senile silliness in the long thin nose, near the end of which a pair of spectacles was perched.
温斯顿的“快门”被按下。他从没见到戈尔茨坦的脸上，平静地混杂着情感。那是一张瘦削犹太人的脸，有着一头卷曲泛光泽的白头发，和一小撮山羊胡——这是一张精明的脸庞。而且，还不知何故，有着某种天性卑鄙，在长长的瘦鼻子下，有着某种年老的愚蠢，鼻梁上架着一副眼镜。
It resembled the face of a sheep, and the voice, too, had a sheep-like quality. Goldstein was delivering his usual venomous attack upon the doctrines of the Party --an attack so exaggerated and perverse that a child should have been able to see through it, and yet just plausible enough to fill one with an alarmed feeling that other people, less level-headed than oneself, might be taken in by it.
就像是绵羊的脸，而声音也一样类似绵羊特质。戈尔茨坦正在宣布他老套的恶毒攻击，还是针对党的声明。攻击是如此夸张和有悖情理，哪怕就是一个孩子也能看穿它。再者，仅仅足够花言巧语，用人们惊恐的感觉去填满它，比自己缺少一份明智，可能就会被洗脑。
He was abusing Big Brother, he was denouncing the dictatorship of the Party, he was demanding the immediate conclusion of peace with Eurasia, he was advocating freedom of speech, freedom of the Press, freedom of assembly, freedom of thought, he was crying hysterically that the revolution had been betrayed --and all this in rapid polysyllabic speech which was a sort of parody of the habitual style of the orators of the Party, and even contained Newspeak words: more Newspeak words, indeed, than any Party member would normally use in real life.
戈尔茨坦正辱骂老大哥，宣布废除党的独裁统治。他需要一个直接的结论——同欧亚大陆的和平。他呼吁演讲自由、出版自由、集会自由、思想自由，他歇斯底里地哭喊，革命已经变质——所有这些连珠炮弹的长篇演讲，是对党的演说家们，惯用方式的某种拙劣模仿，而且甚至含有新话术语：实际上，在现实生活中，越来越多的新话术语，任意一个党员都在正常使用。
And all the while, lest one should be in any doubt as to the reality which Goldstein’s specious claptrap covered, behind his head on the telescreen there marched the endless columns of the Eurasian army --row after row of solid-lookingmen with expressionless Asiatic faces, who swam up to the surface of the screen and vanished, to be replaced by others exactly similar. The dull rhythmic tramp of the soldiers’ boots formed the background to Goldstein’s bleating voice.
而且，自始至终，唯恐别人怀疑他的真实性，戈尔茨坦在话中，用了一些似是而非的讨好，来掩盖目的，他身后铁幕上，行进着无穷无尽的欧亚军阵——一排排面无表情的亚洲面孔铁军。他们从屏幕上涌动而来，又消失而去，不久，又被类似的其他军阵取代。这无聊的军靴节奏行军场面，构成戈尔茨坦呐喊声的背景板。
Before the Hate had proceeded for thirty seconds, uncontrollable exclamations of rage were breaking out from half the people in the room. The self-satisfied sheep-like face on the screen, and the terrifying power of the Eurasian army behind it, were too much to be borne: besides, the sight or even the thought of Goldstein produced fear and anger automatically.
“两分钟仇恨会”进行30秒前，从房间里的一半人口中，爆发出不可控的怒吼。屏幕上自我满足的绵羊脸，以及身后欧亚军阵的恐怖力量，大家忍无可忍——此外，这种景象，或者甚至可以说，戈尔茨坦的思想，自发地产生恐惧和愤怒。
He was an object of hatred more constant than either Eurasia or Eastasia, since when Oceania was at war with one of these Powers it was generally at peace with the other. But what was strange was that although Goldstein was hated and despised by everybody, although every day and a thousand times a day, on platforms, on the telescreen, in newspapers, in books, his theories were refuted, smashed, ridiculed, held up to the general gaze for the pitiful rubbish that they were --in spite of all this, his influence never seemed to grow less.
比起欧亚和东亚，戈尔茨坦是一个更让大家仇恨的对象。因为大洋洲和这些势力战争前，大家相安无事。但是，奇怪的是，尽管戈尔茨坦被每个人仇恨和鄙视，尽管每天重复，甚至一天重复数千次。在讲台上，在铁幕上，在新话，在书上，他的理论被无情驳倒，被完全击碎，被奚落嘲笑，让大众停下来凝视这可怜的“垃圾”——尽管所有这些，他的影响力好像从来没有这么低过。
Always there were fresh dupes waiting to be seduced by him. A day never passed when spies and saboteurs acting under his directions were not unmasked by the Thought Police. He was the commander of a vast shadowy army, an underground network of conspirators dedicated to the overthrow of the State. The Brotherhood, its name was supposed to be. There were also whispered stories of a terrible book, a compendium of all the heresies, of which Goldstein was the author and which circulated clandestinely here and there. It was a book without a title.
一直以来，总有一些新鲜的上当者，被他蛊惑。只要间谍和破坏者一天被思想警察纠出来，这样的日子没完没了，因为阴谋家在他的密谋下，让大家惶惶不可终日。他就像一个庞大影子部队首领，而整个地下反叛网络，投身于颠覆国家事务。兄弟会，他们原本只是这样的名字。也有一本私下的恐怖故事集，是各种异端学说的摘要，作者就是戈尔茨坦。这本书秘密地散布在各个地方，它甚至连标题都没有。
People referred to it, if at all, simply as the book. But one knew of such things only through vague rumours. Neither the Brotherhood nor the book was a subject that any ordinary Party member would mention if there was a way of avoiding it.
人们提到它，也仅仅是当做一本书。但是，人们知道这种事，也是通过暗地里谣传得知。如果有一种方式规避话题，普通党员既不会聊兄弟会，也不会谈这本书。
In its second minute the Hate rose to a frenzy. People were leaping up and down in their places and shouting at the tops of their voices in an effort to drown the maddening bleating voice that came from the screen.
在第二分钟，“仇恨会”上升到狂热状态。人们在位置上直接跳上跳下。而且，尽最大的声音激烈地咆哮，好像要盖过，从屏幕里传出来的哭喊声。
The little sandy-haired woman had turned bright pink, and her mouth was opening and shutting like that of a landed fish. Even O’Brien’s heavy face was flushed. He was sitting very straight in his chair, his powerful chest swelling and quivering as though he were standing up to the assault of a wave.
娇小沙质头发女人，已经变成明显的“红脖子”，她的嘴巴张开着，咆哮中像一只登岸的鱼。甚至奥布莱恩结实的脸也变得兴奋。他在座位上坐得笔直，他强有力的胸膛膨胀和颤抖起来，好像他即将站起身，去迎接海浪的袭击。
The dark-haired girl behind Winston had begun crying out “Swine! Swine! Swine!” and suddenly she picked up a heavy Newspeak dictionary and flung it at the screen. It struck Goldstein’s nose and bounced off. the voice continued inexorably. In a lucid moment Winston found that he was shouting with the others and kicking his heel violently against the rung of his chair. The horrible thing about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but, on the contrary, that it was impossible to avoid joining in.
温斯顿身后的黑发女孩，已经开始呐喊道：“下作！下作！下作！”然后，突然，她拿起一本厚厚的新话字典，扔向铁幕。字典打到戈尔茨坦的鼻子，然后弹开来。骂声无情地继续着。在清醒一刻，温斯顿发现他正对着其他人咆哮着，并且暴力地对着椅子围挡，踢🤣别人的后脚跟。关于“两分钟仇恨会”恐怖的事情，不是那些本就效劳于其中的人参与其事，然而是，恰恰相反，所有人不可避免地，都要参与其中。
Within thirty seconds any pretence was always unnecessary. A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, a desire to kill, to torture, to smash faces in with a sledge-hammer, seemed to flow through the whole group of people like an electric current, turning one even against one’s will into a grimacing, screaming lunatic. And yet the rage that one felt was an abstract, undirected emotion which could be switched from one object to another like the flame of a blow lamp.
在30秒内，任何虚饰都没有必要。一种可怕的恐惧和恶毒情绪，一股杀戮般的期望，像是用大锤子折磨着，击打着脸庞，也像电流一样流进整组人群。转变一个人，甚至违背一个人的意志，只需要让他陷入脸部扭曲和尖叫的狂热状态。而且，这种暴怒感会让人以为，这是一种抽象和不定向情感，就好像一盏被风吹的发热灯火焰，能够从一个对象，转移到另外一个对象上。
Thus, at one moment Winston’s hatred was not turned against Goldstein at all, but, on the contrary, against Big Brother, the Party, and the Thought Police. and at such moments his heart went out to the lonely, derided heretic on the screen, sole guardian of truth and sanity in a world of lies. And yet the very next instant he was at one with the people about him, and all that was said of Goldstein seemed to him to be true.
所以，在这一刻，温斯顿的仇恨一点都没有转向戈尔茨坦，恰恰相反，他针对着老大哥、整个党卫还有思想警察。在这些时刻，温斯顿心灵感觉特别孤独，嘲笑屏幕上的异端分子，唯一的真理维护者，和满是谎言世界的清醒者。而且，也正是下一刻，他是唯一个关于戈尔茨坦，以及认为他说的话才是真理的人。
At those moments his secret loathing of Big Brother changed into adoration, and Big Brother seemed to tower up, an invincible, fearless protector, standing like a rock against the hordes of Asia, and Goldstein, in spite of his isolation, his helplessness, and the doubt that hung about his very existence, seemed like some sinister enchanter, capable by the mere power of his voice of wrecking the structure of civilization.
曾经那些时刻，他私下把憎恶老大哥，转变成崇拜，而且，老大哥好像是一个高大威猛、战无不胜和无所畏惧的保护者，像是针对亚洲部落永远屹立不倒的磐石。然而，戈尔茨坦尽管孤立无援、无能为力和有关他真正存在的怀疑，就像是某个危险的“妖人”，只不过是他有能力胜任，并试图毁坏文明的根基。
It was even possible, at moments, to switch one’s hatred this way or that by a voluntary act. Suddenly, by the sort of violent effort with which one wrenches one’s head away from the pillow in a nightmare, Winston succeeded in transferring his hatred from the face on the screen to the dark-haired girl behind him.
甚至可能，就是在这些时刻，去转变了仇恨方式，或者说那样一种自愿的行动。突然，被这种暴力行动，在枕头的梦魇之中，好像是一个人猛拉另一个人的头颅。温斯顿成功地转变他的仇恨，也即是把“铁幕”上的脸孔，换成了他身后的黑发女孩。
Vivid, beautiful hallucinations flashed through his mind. He would flog her to death with a rubber truncheon. He would tie her naked to a stake and shoot her full of arrows like Saint Sebastian. He would ravish her and cut her throat at the moment of climax.
栩栩如生，美好的幻觉闪现在他的脑海里。温斯顿用一根橡胶警棍鞭打她。像圣·塞巴斯蒂安（希腊语中备受尊敬的一个人）一样，温斯顿会把她裸露地系在树桩上，然后用装满箭的弓射杀她。温斯顿会疯狂迷恋她，然后在最精彩处，割掉她的喉咙。
Better than before, moreover, he realized why it was that he hated her. He hated her because she was young and pretty and sexless, because he wanted to go to bed with her and would never do so, because round her sweet supple waist, which seemed to ask you to encircle it with your arm, there was only the odious scarlet sash, aggressive symbol of chastity.
比之前更好，此外，温斯顿意识到为什么是仇恨她。他仇恨她，是因为她年轻、漂亮和冷酷无情；因为温斯顿想同她滚床单，但是又绝无可能；因为她性感动人的腰肢越来越圆润，好像勾引着你的手臂去抱住它，仅仅是有那令人恶心的深红丝带，简直是挑衅贞操的象征。
The Hate rose to its climax. The voice of Goldstein had become an actual sheep’s bleat, and for an instant the face changed into that of a sheep. Then the sheep-face melted into the figure of a Eurasian soldier who seemed to be advancing, huge and terrible, his sub-machine gun roaring, and seeming to spring out of the surface of the screen, so that some of the people in the front row actually flinched backwards in their seats.
“两分钟仇恨会”上升到了高潮。戈尔茨坦的声音，已经变得像是真实“绵羊”的哭诉，然后，持续一会，那张脸像是直接变成一只羊。之后，羊脸融入到欧亚战士的年老形象中，战士们巨大可怕的冲锋枪咆哮着，就好像从屏幕的表面跳出来一样，因此，前排的一些人，在座位上，吓得连连后退。
But in the same moment, drawing a deep sigh of relief from everybody, the hostile figure melted into the face of Big Brother, black-haired, black moustachio’d, full of power and mysterious calm, and so vast that it almost filled up the screen.
但是与此同时，从每个人嘴里，深深吸了一口气，敌对形象融进老大哥的脸，黑头发、黑色八字须的、充满力量和诡异的平静，而且，是如此巨幅画像，几近充满整个屏幕。
Nobody heard what Big Brother was saying. It was merely a few words of encouragement, the sort of words that are uttered in the din of battle, not distinguishable individually but restoring confidence by the fact of being spoken. Then the face of Big Brother faded away again, and instead the three slogans of the Party stood out in bold capitals:
WAR IS PEACE FREEDOM IS SLAVERY IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
没有人听老大哥说啥。就是说一些激励的话，这种话被表达在战斗的喧闹声中，并不能独特地辨别出来，而不是说一些事实来恢复自信。然后，老大哥的脸再次褪去，取而代之，是党的三条标语口号，以黑体大写字母突出展示：战争就是和平。
自由才是奴隶。
无知也是力量。
But the face of Big Brother seemed to persist for several seconds on the screen, as though the impact that it had made on everyone’s eyeballs was too vivid to wear off immediately. The little sandy-haired woman had flung herself forward over the back of the chair in front of her. With a tremulous murmur that sounded like “My Saviour!” she extended her arms towards the screen. Then she buried her face in her hands. It was apparent that she was uttering a prayer.
但是，老大哥的脸，似乎在屏幕上坚持几秒钟，好像这种影响，使得每个人的眼珠子，都变得太过明艳生动，以至于立刻逐渐消失。娇小沙质头发女人，把自己扔向她面前的椅子后背，用着颤抖地喃喃声，听起来像是在说:“我的救世主！”她向屏幕伸长手臂，显而易见，她正说着一连串祷告词。
At this moment the entire group of people broke into a deep, slow, rhythmical chant of “BB!....B-B!....” --over and over again, very slowly, with a long pause between the first “B” and the second-a heavy, murmurous sound, somehow curiously savage, in the background of which one seemed to hear the stamp of naked feet and the throbbing of tom-toms.
在这一刻，整组人都进入一种深深地、缓慢的和有节奏的吟诵着“老大……老大……”一遍又一遍，非常缓慢，在第一个“老大”和第二声重音之间，他们停顿了很长一段期间，低沉的声音，以某种奇异的猛烈攻击，在这样的背景里，一个是好像听到裸露脚底板的跺脚声，以及手鼓的这种跳动。
For perhaps as much as thirty seconds they kept it up. It was a refrain that was often heard in moments of overwhelming emotion. Partly it was a sort of hymn to the wisdom and majesty of Big Brother, but still more it was an act of self-hypnosis, a deliberate drowning of consciousness by means of rhythmic noise.
可能这样要保持超过30秒钟。通常在这样压倒性情感时刻，这样的一种忍耐才能被听到。某种程度上，它是老大哥雄伟与智慧的圣歌，然而，更有甚者，通过有韵律响声的方式，它成为一种自我催眠的行动，一种蓄意的意识渗透。
Winston’s entrails seemed to grow cold. In the Two Minutes Hate he could not help sharing in the general delirium, but this sub-human chanting of “B-B!....B-B!” always filled him with horror. Of course he chanted with the rest: it was impossible to do otherwise.
温斯顿的肠道好像变得冷酷。在“两分钟仇恨会”上，他忍不住共享于普遍的极致兴奋中。但是，这种次人类咏唱所谓“老大……老大！”，用震惊填满了他的身心。当然，他总是用如下话代替咏唱：“除此以外，这样做是绝无可能的”。
To dissemble your feelings, to control your face, to do what everyone else was doing, was an instinctive reaction. But there was a space of a couple of seconds during which the expression of his eyes might conceivably have betrayed him. And it was exactly at this moment that the significant thing happened --if, indeed, it did happen.
为了掩饰你的情感，为了控制你的面貌，为了做任何其他人正做的事，是一种本能反应。但是，有一组时空，就在他眼睛的表达里，可能想象得到已背叛他。而且，确切在这一刻，一件意味深长的事发生了，实际上，它确实发生了。
Momentarily he caught O’Brien’s eye. O’Brien had stood up. He had taken off his spectacles and was in the act of resettling them on his nose with his characteristic gesture. But there was a fraction of a second when their eyes met, and for as long as it took to happen Winston knew -- yes, he knew! --that O’Brien was thinking the same thing as himself.
顷刻之间，他捕捉到奥布莱恩的眼睛。奥布莱恩站了起来。他已摘掉眼镜，并且，他用独特的姿势，重新戴上它们。但是，当他们目光交接的刹那间——已交换了思想。只要事情发生了，温斯顿知道了——是的，他知道了——奥布莱恩正在如他一样，想着同样的事情。
An unmistakable message had passed. It was as though their two minds had opened and the thoughts were flowing from one into the other through their eyes. “I am with you,” O’Brien seemed to be saying to him. “I know precisely what you are feeling. I know all about your contempt, your hatred, your disgust. But don’t worry, I am on your side!” And then the flash of intelligence was gone, and O’Brien’s face was as inscrutable as everybody else’s.
一个绝不会错的信息一闪而过。那就好像，他们两个思想放开时，想法通过眼睛，从一个人头脑流进另一个脑袋中。“我同你一起！”奥布莱恩好像正对着他说，“我精确知道你所想的，我了解你所有的鄙视，所有的仇恨，所有的憎恶。但是别担心，我是你这边的。”然后，智慧的闪现消失了，而且，奥布莱恩的脸，像每个其他人一样神秘莫测。
That was all, and he was already uncertain whether it had happened. Such incidents never had any sequel. All that they did was to keep alive in him the belief, or hope, that others besides himself were the enemies of the Party.
就这样，然后，温斯顿已经不确定是否它发生了。这样的插曲，再没有任何续集。所有他们能做的，就是继续保持觉察——他的信仰，他的希望，除他自己以外的其他人，都是党的敌人。
Perhaps the rumours of vast underground conspiracies were true after all --perhaps the Brotherhood really existed! It was impossible, in spite of the endless arrests and confessions and executions, to be sure that the Brotherhood was not simply a myth. Some days he believed in it, some days not.
可能巨大的地下密谋传闻是真的。毕竟——可能兄弟会真的存在！这绝无可能，尽管无止境的逮捕、坦白从宽和秘密处决，可以肯定的是，兄弟会不是简单的神话。某些时候，温斯顿坚信它，有些时间又不信。
There was no evidence, only fleeting glimpses that might mean anything or nothing: snatches of overheard conversation, faint scribbles on lavatory walls --once, even, when two strangers met, a small movement of the hand which had looked as though it might be a signal of recognition.
没有证据表明，只有惊鸿一瞥，那意味着一些人，又或者啥也不是。很快接受偶然听到的谈话，微弱的匆匆记在厕所墙上——有一次，更有甚者，当两个陌生人碰面，一个微小的手部动作，看上去好像是一种似曾相识的信号。
It was all guesswork: very likely he had imagined everything. He had gone back to his cubicle without looking at O’Brien again. The idea of following up their momentary contact hardly crossed his mind. It would have been inconceivably dangerous even if he had known how to set about doing it. For a second, two seconds, they had exchanged an equivocal glance, and that was the end of the story. But even that was a memorable event, in the locked loneliness in which one had to live.
这就是所有猜想：非常可能奥布莱恩已想到了一切。温斯顿回到斗室，没有再看奥布莱恩。把他们短暂接触的主意贯彻到底，并没有越过他的思想。这事难以想象的危险，即使他已知道怎么开始着手做这件事。持续一秒、两秒钟，他们已经交换了模糊的一瞥，然后这就是整个故事的结尾。
Winston roused himself and sat up straighter. He let out a belch. The gin was rising from his stomach.
温斯顿唤醒他自己，而且坐得笔直。他打了一个嗝，杜松子酒在胃里翻腾。
His eyes re-focused on the page. He discovered that while he sat helplessly musing he had also been writing, as though by automatic action. And it was no longer the same cramped, awkward handwriting as before. His pen had slid voluptuously over the smooth paper, printing in large neat capitals-
温斯顿的眼睛重新关注到笔记本上。他发现，当他无助地坐着沉思自话，“我还有写作”，尽管这是无意识行为。而且，文字不再是同样的难懂，之前的手稿实在愚蠢。他笔走龙蛇在平整的纸上，写出硕大灵巧的大写字母：
DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
over and over again, filling half a page.
打倒老大哥！打倒老大哥！打倒老大哥！打倒老大哥！打倒老大哥！打倒老大哥！……
一遍又一遍，占满半页纸。
He could not help feeling a twinge of panic. It was absurd, since the writing of those particular words was not more dangerous than the initial act of opening the diary, but for a moment he was tempted to tear out the spoiled pages and abandon the enterprise altogether.
温斯顿忍不住感到一阵惊恐的痛苦，这很荒谬，因为这些独特手稿，不比最初的日记更危险。但是，这一刻，他冒着撕掉的风险，并且抛弃全部事业心。
He did not do so, however, because he knew that it was useless. Whether he wrote DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER, or whether he refrained from writing it, made no difference. Whether he went on with the diary, or whether he did not go on with it, made no difference.
温斯顿没有这样做，然而，因为他知道这样做徒劳无功。他写下“打倒老大哥”，或者忍住不写，没有区别，他继续写日记，或者不写，没有区别。
The Thought Police would get him just the same. He had committed --would still have committed, even if he had never set pen to paper --the essential crime that contained all others in itself. Thoughtcrime, they called it.Thoughtcrime was not a thing that could be concealed for ever. You might dodge successfully for a while, even for years, but sooner or later they were bound to get you.
思想警察如果抓到，那就是一样的罪名。温斯顿坚信——会一直坚信，甚至他从没有在本上写过——拥有纸笔本身就包含了所有必要的罪名。他们称之为思想罪。思想罪能够被隐瞒起来，并不是一件易事。你可以成功逃避一时，甚至逃过数年，但是迟早他们一定抓到你。
It was always at night --the arrests invariably happened at night. The sudden jerk out of sleep, the rough hand shaking your shoulder, the lights glaring in your eyes, the ring of hard faces round the bed. In the vast majority of cases there was no trial, no report of the arrest.
总是晚上——逮捕行动一贯晚上进行。突然把你从睡梦中惊醒，粗暴的手抓住你的肩膀，强光直射你的眼睛，几张严肃的面孔围着你的床。大多数案件都没有审讯，也没逮捕令。
People simply disappeared, always during the night. Your name was removed from the registers, every record of everything you had ever done was wiped out, your one-time existence was denied and then forgotten. You were abolished, annihilated: vapourized was the usual word.
人们真的很失望，一直都是晚上抓捕。你的名字从登记本上被抹除，你曾经做的一切记录都被扫除干净，你仅有一次的存在被否认，然后忘记。你被废除，被彻底击溃，“蒸发”是一个常用的词汇。
For a moment he was seized by a kind of hysteria. He began writing in a hurried untidy scrawl:
一会，他被一种歇斯底里症状，攫取了一般。温斯顿开始迅速潦草地乱画：
they'll shoot me, i don’t care, they'll shoot me in the back of the neck, i don't care. down with big brother, they always shoot you in the back of the neck, i don't care, down with big brother-
他们会枪毙我，我毫不在乎！他们从背后向我射击，我毫无在乎。打倒老大哥，他们从我背后一枪，我毫不在乎，打倒老大哥—
He sat back in his chair, slightly ashamed of himself, and laid down the pen. The next moment he started violently. There was a knocking at the door.
温斯顿坐回椅子，轻微有些自惭形秽，然后放下钢笔。下一刻，他又开始狂暴起来。有一个敲门声响起。
Already! He sat as still as a mouse, in the futile hope that whoever it was might go away after a single attempt❹. But no, the knocking was repeated. The worst thing of all would be to delay. His heart was thumping like a drum, but his face, from long habit, was probably expressionless. He got up and moved heavily towards the door.
早已准备！温斯顿像只老鼠，坐着一动不动；无论谁经过一场简单尝试后，在徒劳中都会离开。但并没有，敲门声持续。所有事中最糟糕的，可能是延误。他的心脏像锥鼓一样怦怦直跳，但他的脸，从长期习惯中，大概已毫无表情。他站起来，举起沉重步伐，向大门走去。
注释：
❶INGSOC，“英社”。大概我们能猜到Orwell想表达什么，这个词应该是English Society的组合，而且后来小说里还有一句“Newspeak is Ingsoc and Ingsoc is Newspeak,'he added with a sort of mystical satisfaction.翻译为“他神秘兮兮地傲然补充道：新话就是英社，英社就是新话。”所以INGSOC实际上，在小说里可以和Newspeak互相解释。
❷Newspeak，“新话”，这个词英文词典解释为“deliberately ambiguous and contradictory language use to mislead and manipulate the public;”“故意模棱两可和矛盾对立的语言，用来误导和操控大众”，所以可以翻译为“一种指东说西、模棱两可的官腔；新语言；”实际上，可以翻译为“新话”就有一点讽刺意味了，作家Orwell就用INGSOC“英国社会”来讽刺为是Newspeak，也就可想而知了。然而，我们再对照作者Orwell的中下阶层的身份，当年他废了九牛二虎之力考上伊顿公学，后来也没人愿意给他写任何一封推荐信，他自然而然就只能辍学，谁让他的老爹，只是在印度替印度总督，做牛做马的小小仆从呢？小说里有太多地讽刺和冷幽默，把传统英国官僚阶级的那种形式主义、官本位和“腐朽”糟粕，可谓揭露得入木三分。然而，小说里的“新话”更是一个部门，那就更具有讽刺意味了。
❸It gave off a sickly, oily smell, as of Chinese rice-spirit.暂时把这句译为：“它散发出一股刺鼻油烟味，有点像中国粮食酒”。看来，在作者奥维尔眼中，中国的粮食酒很难喝，不然他不会用sickly、oily smell这样夸张的形容词，sickly本意为“有病的、苍白的、令人作呕的”，这里不妨把它灵活译为“刺鼻的”，大概奥维尔喝过的中国酒应该不是贵州的酱香酒，大多都有一股很浓烈的刺鼻气味，像什么老村长、北京二锅头、稻花香、牛栏山二锅头、江小白和衡水老白干等等。oily smell意思是“像油一样的气味”，不妨译为“油烟味”。Chinese rice-spirit可能翻译为“粮食酒”更好一点，如果译为“大米酒”，容易和“米酒”搞混淆。
❹Already! He sat as still as a mouse, in the futile hope that whoever it was might go away after a single attempt.暂时译为“早已准备！温斯顿像只老鼠，坐着一动不动；无论谁经过一场简单尝试后，在徒劳中都会离开。”很显然。这里是承接前面一句The next moment he started violently的，既然“下一刻他又开始狂暴起来”，表示温斯顿做好了被逮捕的准备，于是，下一句就说Already!只等着他们(思想警察们)破门而入。既然是等着被逮捕，所以才会有下面一句“像只老鼠，坐着一动不动！”futile表示“徒劳的，没出息的，无关紧要的”，如果中文用“徒劳的希望”，总感觉有点不对劲，徒劳两字已经把整个意义表达完整了，多加一个希望，有重复啰嗦的嫌疑，所以干脆直接译为“在徒劳中都会离开”。最后一段，作者奥威尔意犹未尽，给我们留下巨大的悬念。很显然，这里的敲门声就不可能是Thought Police，应该是其他不速之客，究竟是谁呢？会不会就是奥布莱恩过来拜访了呢？又或者是其他人？预知后事如何，也只能等待第二章揭晓。
[注]
[1]两分钟仇恨会高潮叠起，异样眼光四目相对，Nineteen Eighty-Four《一九八四》全篇摘录自第一章，原小说并没有小标题，暂时给第一章内容添加的小标题。作者是被称作高中毕业生的奥维尔，这是他最精彩的讽刺小说，在美苏争霸年代，这部书一直是禁书。正如两句英文谚语所说：ᴰᵒⁿ'ᵗ ˡᵉᵗ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ʳᵃᵛᵃᵍᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵉⁿᵈᵉʳⁿᵉˢˢ ᵇᵉᵗʷᵉᵉⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵉʸᵉˢ(别让生活蹂躏了你的眉目间的温柔)，Failure is not a step backward, it's an excellent stepping stone to success 失败是成功的垫脚石。
奥威尔尽管被生活一次次狠狠蹂躏，但他始终把失败当做垫脚石，最后终于取得了举世瞩目的成就，据称今日的英国学生，人手一本《一九八四》。
本章节描写恐怖的国家思想监察，监控每一个人思想，人人自危，目之所及，全是敌人。父子相残，母女反目，夫妻成仇，朋友互相揭发，都是稀松平常。老大哥为了打击政敌戈尔茨坦，用“两分钟仇恨会”的方式，日复一日，年复一年，对戈尔茨坦进行无情残酷地嘲讽奚落和极尽辱骂，但是其中有两个人把仇恨戈尔茨坦，转移到了压迫和控制他们的老大哥身上，两人四目相对，心有灵犀。
十分讽刺的是，当谎言、欺诈、做作和虚伪成为常态，而善良、诚实、忠诚、仁义、道德和素质等等，都会变成一种邪恶。这两个四目相对之人，一个叫温斯顿，一个叫奥布莱恩。第一章还写有两个特别的女人，一个是围着深红丝带的女人，精明地参与各种组织活动，受过多次伤害，是反性别联盟初级会员之一。一个是沙质头发的蠢女生，陷入歇斯底里的狂热之中，当她对着屏幕痛骂出来“Swine!Swine! swine!”时，也就足见她的那种深深被洗脑，以及陷入至何种疯狂地步。大概两个女孩代表两类人，一种是借势满足私欲，一种被大势裹挟着丧失自我。前者有点像老舍的妻子，老舍的妻子不可能不知道，老舍罪不至死但还是义无反顾把老舍往绝路上送，一旦形势与政策改变，又能吃着老舍的“人血馒头”过得有滋有味，老舍平反后，她一直都挂着老舍纪念馆馆长一职，你既然当初都把人家往绝路上送，最后又去吃“人血馒头”，是不是有点过分了呢？
小说中那几句标语口号很经典啊，不妨再次体会一下作者的语言艺术，分享一下：“战争就是和平。自由才是奴隶。无知也是力量。”WAR IS PEACE FREEDOM IS SLAVERY IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH，这三句话不断重复，这一章竟然出现过两次。颇有小家庭中的控制性父母常说的几句类似“口号标语”：“只有我才是为你好，只有父母才是无私的，我为你做的一切都是合情合理的！”小家庭可以见大国家，而奥维尔的“大国家”事件，也可以见到小家庭中的“独裁暴君”，他们都是一样的手段，一样的方式！
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2025年5月31日端午节至6月27日夜
