'The rat,' said O'Brien, still addressing his invisible
audience, 'although a rodent, is carnivorous. You are aware of
that. You will have heard of the things that happen in the poor
quarters of this town. In some streets a woman dare not leave
her baby alone in the house, even for five minutes. The rats
are certain to attack it. Within quite a small time they will
strip it to the bones. They also attack sick or dying people.
They show astonishing intelligence in knowing when a human
being is helpless.'
There was an outburst of squeals from the cage. It seemed
to reach Winston from far away. The rats were fighting; they
were trying to get at each other through the partition. He
heard also a deep groan of despair. That, too, seemed to come
from outside himself.
O'Brien picked up the cage, and, as he did so, pressed
something in it. There was a sharp click. Winston made a
frantic effort to tear himself loose from the chair. It was
hopeless; every part of him, even his head, was held immovably.
O'Brien moved the cage nearer. It was less than a metre from
Winston's face.
'I have pressed the first lever,' said O'Brien. 'You
understand the construction of this cage. The mask will fit
over your head, leaving no exit. When I press this other lever,
the door of the cage will slide up. These starving brutes will
shoot out of it like bullets. Have you ever seen a rat leap
through the air? They will leap on to your face and bore
straight into it. Sometimes they attack the eyes first.
Sometimes they burrow through the cheeks and devour the
tongue.'
The cage was nearer; it was closing in. Winston heard a
succession of shrill cries which appeared to be occurring in
the air above his head. But he fought furiously against his
panic. To think, to think, even with a split second left -- to
think was the only hope. Suddenly the foul musty odour of the
brutes struck his nostrils. There was a violent convulsion of
nausea inside him, and he almost lost consciousness. Everything
had gone black. For an instant he was insane, a screaming
animal. Yet he came out of the blackness clutching an idea.
There was one and only one way to save himself. He must
interpose another human being, the body of another human
being, between himself and the rats.
The circle of the mask was large enough now to shut out
the vision of anything else. The wire door was a couple of
hand-spans from his face. The rats knew what was coming now.
One of them was leaping up and down, the other, an old scaly
grandfather of the sewers, stood up, with his pink hands
against the bars, and fiercely sniffed the air. Winston could
see the whiskers and the yellow teeth. Again the black panic
took hold of him. He was blind, helpless, mindless.
'It was a common punishment in Imperial China,' said
O'Brien as didactically as ever.
The mask was closing on his face. The wire brushed his
cheek. And then -- no, it was not relief, only hope, a tiny
fragment of hope. Too late, perhaps too late. But he had
suddenly understood that in the whole world there was just
one person to whom he could transfer his punishment --
one body that he could thrust between himself and the
rats. And he was shouting frantically, over and over.
'Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia! Not me! Julia! I don't
care what you do to her. Tear her face off, strip her to the
bones. Not me! Julia! Not me!'
--Eric Blair
