Chapter 1（3）
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. 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.
原来在瞬息间他同奥勃良忽然眼光相遇。奥勃良这时已经站了起来。他摘下了眼镜，正要用他一贯的姿态把眼镜放到鼻梁上去。就在这一刹那之间，他们两人的眼光相遇了，在这相遇财刻，温斯顿知道——是啊，他知道(knew)！——奥勃良心里想的同他自己一样。他们两人之间交换了一个无可置疑的信息。好像他们两人的心打了开来，各人的思想通过眼光而流到了对方的心里。“我同你一致，”奥勃良似乎这样对他说。“我完全知道你的想法．你的蔑视、仇恨、厌恶，我全都知道。不过别害怕，我站在你的一边！”但是领悟的神情一闪即逝，奥勃良的脸又像别人的脸一样令人莫测高深了。
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. 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. 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. 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.
情况就是这样，他已经在开始怀疑，是不是真的发生过这样的情况，这次事情是从来不会有后继的，唯一结果不过是在他的心中保持这样的信念，或者说希望：除了他自己以外也有别人是党的敌人。也许，说什么普遍存在着地下阴谋的谣言是确实的也说不定，也许真的有兄弟团的存在！尽管有不断的逮捕、招供和处决，仍不可能有把握地说，兄弟团不只是个谣言面已。他有时相信，有时不相信。没有任何证据，只是一些过眼即逝的现象，可能有意义也可能没有意义：一鳞半爪偶然听来的谈话，厕所墙上的隐隐约约的涂抹——甚至有一次两个素不相识的人相遇时手中一个小动作使人觉得好像他们是在打暗号。这都是瞎猜：很可能这一切都是他瞎想出来的。他对奥勃良不再看一眼就回到他的小办公室去了。他一点也没有想到要追踪他们刚才这短暂的接触。即使他知道应该怎么办，这样做的危险也是无法想象的。他们不过是在一秒钟、两秒钟里交换了明白的眼光，事情就到此为止了。但是即使这样，在这样自我隔绝的孤独的生活环境中，这也是一件意义重大的事。
Winston roused himself and sat up straighter. He let out a belch. The gin was rising from his stomach.
温斯顿挺直腰板，坐了起来。他打了一个嗝。杜松子酒的劲头从他肚子里升了起来。
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—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.
他的眼光又回到本子上。他发现他在无可奈何地坐着胡思乱想的时候，他也一直在写东西，好像是自发的动作一样。而且笔迹也不是原来的那样歪歪斜斜的笨拙笔迹了。他的笔在光滑的纸面上龙飞凤舞，用整齐的大写字母写着——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地写满了半页纸。
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.
他禁不住感到一阵恐谎。其实并无必要，因为写这些具体的字并不比开始写日记这一行为更加危险；但是有一阵子他真想把这些涂抹了的纸页撕了下来，就此作罢。
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. 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.
但是他没有这样做，因为他知道这没有用。不论他是写打倒老大哥，还是他没有写，并没有什么不同。不论他是继续写日记，还是他没有继续写，也没有什么不同。思想警察还是会逮到他的。他已经犯了——即使他没有用笔写在纸上，也还是犯了的——包含一切其他罪行的根本大罪。这明做思想罪。思想罪可不是能长期隐匿的。你可能暂时能躲避一阵，甚至躲避几年，但他们迟早一定会逮到你。
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. 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: VAPORIZED was the usual word.
总是在夜里——逮捕总是在夜里进行的。突然在睡梦中惊醒，一只粗手捏着你的肩膀，灯光直射你的眼睛，床边围着一圈凶狠的脸孔。在绝大多数情况下不举行审讯，不报道逮捕消息，人就是这么销声匿迹了，而且总是在夜里。你的名字从登记册上除掉了，你做过的一切事情的记录都除掉了， 你的一度存在也给否定了，接着被遗忘了。你被取消，消灭了：通常用的字眼是化为乌有(vaporized)。
For a moment he was seized by a kind of hysteria. He began writing in a hurried untidy scrawl:
他忽然象神经病发作一样，开始匆忙地乱涂乱划起来：
they'll shoot me i don't care they'll shoot me in the back of the neck i dont care down with big brother they always shoot you in the back of the neck i dont care down with big brother——
他们会枪毙我我不在乎他们会在我后脑勺打一枪我不在乎打倒老大哥他们总是在后脑勺给你一枪我不在乎打倒老大哥——
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.
他在椅子上往后一靠，有点为自已感到难为情，放下了笔。接着他又胡乱地写起来。这时外面传来一下敲门声。
Already! He sat as still as a mouse, in the futile hope that whoever it was might go away after a single attempt. 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.
已经来了！他象只耗子似的坐着不动，满心希望不论是谁敲门，敲了一下就会走开。但是没有，门又敲了一下。迟迟不去开门是最糟糕的事情。他的心怦怦的几乎要跳出来，但是他的脸大概是出于长期的习惯却毫无表情。他站了起来，脚步沉重地向门走去。
