1984-bilingue

George Orwell 1 9 8 4
'I hated the sight of you,' he said. 'I wanted to rape
you and then murder you afterwards. Two weeks
ago I thought seriously of smashing your head in
with a cobblestone. If you really want to know, I
imagined that you had something to do with the
Thought Police.'
The girl laughed delightedly, evidently taking this
as a tribute to the excellence of her disguise.
'Not the Thought Police! You didn't honestly think
that?'
'Well, perhaps not exactly that. But from your
general appearance—merely because you're young
and fresh and healthy, you understand—I thought
that probably—'
'You thought I was a good Party member. Pure in
word and deed. Banners, processions, slogans,
games, community hikes all that stuff. And you
thought that if I had a quarter of a chance I'd
denounce you as a thought-criminal and get you
killed off?'
'Yes, something of that kind. A great many young
girls are like that, you know.'
'It's this bloody thing that does it,' she said, ripping
off the scarlet sash of the Junior Anti-Sex League
and flinging it on to a bough. Then, as though
touching her waist had reminded her of something,
she felt in the pocket of her overalls and produced
a small slab of chocolate. She broke it in half and
gave one of the pieces to Winston. Even before he
had taken it he knew by the smell that it was very
unusual chocolate. It was dark and shiny, and was
wrapped in silver paper. Chocolate normally was
dull-brown crumbly stuff that tasted, as nearly as
one could describe it, like the smoke of a rubbish
fire. But at some time or another he had tasted
chocolate like the piece she had given him. The
first whiff of its scent had stirred up some memory
which he could not pin down, but which was
145
— Te odiaba. Quería abusar de ti y luego
asesinarle. Hace dos semanas pensé seriamente
romperte la cabeza con una piedra. Si quieres
saberlo, te diré que te creía en relación con la
Policía del Pensamiento.
La muchacha se reía encantada, tomando aquello
como un piropo por lo bien que se había
disfrazado.
— ¡La Policía del Pensamiento!, qué ocurrencias.
No es posible que lo creyeras.
— Bueno, quizá no fuera exactamente eso. Pero,
por tu aspecto... quizá por tu juventud y por lo
saludable que eres; en fin, ya comprendes, creí que
probablemente...
— Pensaste que era una excelente afiliada. Pura en
palabras y en hechos. Estandartes, desfiles,
consignas, excursiones colectivas y todo eso. Y
creíste que a las primeras de cambio te denunciaría
como criminal mental y haría que te mataran.
— Sí, algo así... Ya sabes que muchas chicas son
de ese modo.
— La culpa la tiene esa porquería —dijo Julia
quitándose el cinturón rojo de la liga Anti—Sex y
tirándolo a una rama, donde quedó colgado. Luego,
como si el tocarse la cintura le hubiera recordado
algo, sacó del bolsillo de su «mono» una tableta de
chocolate. La partió por la mitad y le dio a Winston
uno de los pedazos. Antes de probarlo, ya sabía él
por el olor que era un chocolate muy poco
frecuente. Era oscuro y brillante, envuelto en papel
de plata. El chocolate, corrientemente, era de un
color castaño claro y desmigajaba con gran
facilidad; y en cuanto a su sabor, era algo así como
el del humo de la goma quemada. Pero alguna vez
había probado chocolate como el que ella le daba
ahora. Su aroma le había despertado recuerdos que
no podía localizar, pero que lo turbaban