Had to, as you might say.'
'And was it usual--I'm only quoting what I've read in history books--was it usual for these people and their servants to push you off the pavement into the gutter?'
'One of 'em pushed me once,' said the old man. 'I recollect it as if it was yesterday.
It was Boat Race night--terribly rowdy they used to get on Boat Race night--and I bumps into a young bloke on Shaftesbury Avenue.
Quite a gent, 'e was--dress shirt, top 'at, black overcoat.
'E was kind of zig-zagging across the pavement, and I bumps into 'im accidental-like.
'E says,
"Why can't you look where you're going?" 'e says.
I say,
"Ju think you've bought the bleeding pavement?"
'E says,
"I'll twist your bloody 'ead off if you get fresh with me."
I says,
"You're drunk.
I'll give you in charge in 'alf a minute," I says.
An' if you'll believe me, 'e puts 'is 'and on my chest and gives me a shove as pretty near sent me under the wheels of a bus.
Well, I was young in them days, and I was going to 'ave fetched 'im one, only----'
A sense of helplessness took hold of Winston.
The old man's memory was nothing but a rubbish-heap of details.
One could question him all day without getting any real information.
The party histories might still be true, after a fashion: they might even be completely true.
He made a last attempt.
'Perhaps I have not made myself clear,' he said. 'What I'm trying to say is this.
You have been alive a very long time; you lived half your life before the Revolution.
In 1925, for instance, you were already grown up.
Would you say from what you can remember, that life in 1925 was better than it is now, or worse?
If you could choose, would you prefer to live then or now?'
The old man looked meditatively at the darts board.
He finished up his beer, more slowly than before.
When he spoke it was with a tolerant philosophical air, as though the beer had mellowed him.
'I know what you expect me to say,' he said.
'You expect me to say as I'd sooner be young again.
Most people'd say they'd sooner be young, if you arst 'em.
You got your 'ealth and strength when you're young.
When you get to my time of life you ain't never well.
I suffer something wicked from my feet, and my bladder's jest terrible.
Six and seven times a night it 'as me out of bed.
On the other 'and, there's great advantages in being a old man.
You ain't got the same worries.
No truck with women, and that's a great thing.
I ain't 'ad a woman for near on thirty year, if you'd credit it.
Nor wanted to, what's more.'
Winston sat back against the window-sill.
It was no use going on.
He was about to buy some more beer when the old man suddenly got up and shuffled rapidly into the stinking urinal at the side of the room.
The extra half-litre was already working on him.
Winston sat for a minute or two gazing at his empty glass, and hardly noticed when his feet carried him out into the street again.
Within twenty years at the most, he reflected, the huge and simple question,
'Was life better before the Revolution than it is now?' would have ceased once and for all to be answerable.
But in effect it was unanswerable even now, since the few scattered survivors from the ancient world were incapable of comparing one age with another.