There was no knowing how much of this legend was true and how much invented.
Winston could not even remember at what date the Party itself had come into existence.
He did not believe he had ever heard the word Ingsoc before 1960, but it was possible that in its Oldspeak form--'English Socialism', that is to say--it had been current earlier.
Everything melted into mist.
Sometimes, indeed, you could put your finger on a definite lie.
It was not true, for example, as was claimed in the Party history books, that the Party had invented aeroplanes.
He remembered aeroplanes since his earliest childhood.
But you could prove nothing.
There was never any evidence.
Just once in his whole life he had held in his hands unmistakable documentary proof of the falsification of an historical fact.
And on that occasion----
'Smith!' screamed the shrewish voice from the telescreen. '6079 Smith W.!
Yes, YOU!
Bend lower, please!
You can do better than that.
You're not trying.
Lower, please! THAT'S better, comrade.
Now stand at ease, the whole squad, and watch me.'
A sudden hot sweat had broken out all over Winston's body.
His face remained completely inscrutable.
Never show dismay!
Never show resentment!
A single flicker of the eyes could give you away.
He stood watching while the instructress raised her arms above her head and--one could not say gracefully, but with remarkable neatness and efficiency--bent over and tucked the first joint of her fingers under her toes.
'THERE, comrades! THAT'S how I want to see you doing it.
Watch me again.
I'm thirty-nine and I've had four children.
Now look.' She bent over again. 'You see MY knees aren't bent.
You can all do it if you want to,' she added as she straightened herself up. 'Anyone under forty-five is perfectly capable of touching his toes.
We don't all have the privilege of fighting in the front line, but at least we can all keep fit.
Remember our boys on the Malabar front!
And the sailors in the Floating Fortresses!
Just think what THEY have to put up with.
Now try again.
That's better, comrade, that's MUCH better,' she added encouragingly as Winston, with a violent lunge, succeeded in touching his toes with knees unbent, for the first time in several years.
Chapter 4
With the deep, unconscious sigh which not even the nearness of the telescreen could prevent him from uttering when his day's work started, Winston pulled the speakwrite towards him, blew the dust from its mouthpiece, and put on his spectacles.
Then he unrolled and clipped together four small cylinders of paper which had already flopped out of the pneumatic tube on the right-hand side of his desk.
In the walls of the cubicle there were three orifices.
To the right of the speakwrite, a small pneumatic tube for written messages, to the left, a larger one for newspapers; and in the side wall, within easy reach of Winston's arm, a large oblong slit protected by a wire grating.
This last was for the disposal of waste paper.
Similar slits existed in thousands or tens of thousands throughout the building, not only in every room but at short intervals in every corridor.
For some reason they were nicknamed memory holes.
When one knew that any document was due for destruction, or even when one saw a scrap of waste paper lying about, it was an automatic action to lift the flap of the nearest memory hole and drop it in, whereupon it would be whirled away on a current of warm air to the enormous furnaces which were hidden somewhere in the recesses of the building.
Winston examined the four slips of paper which he had unrolled.
Each contained a message of only one or two lines, in the abbreviated jargon--not actually Newspeak, but consisting largely of Newspeak words--which was used in the Ministry for internal purposes.
They ran: times 17.3.84 bb speech malreported africa rectify times 19.12.83 forecasts 3 yp 4th quarter 83 misprints verify current issue times 14.2.84 miniplenty malquoted chocolate rectify times 3.12.83 reporting bb dayorder doubleplusungood refs unpersons rewrite fullwise upsub antefiling
With a faint feeling of satisfaction Winston laid the fourth message aside.
It was an intricate and responsible job and had better be dealt with last.
The other three were routine matters, though the second one would probably mean some tedious wading through lists of figures.