In the low-ceilinged canteen, deep underground, the lunch line moved slowly. The room was already full and noisy. Steam from the stew rose from the iron bars on the counter, with a sour, iron smell that was no match for the Victory gin. At the far end of the room there was a little bar, really just a hole in the wall, where you could buy a large glass of gin for a dime.

"That's exactly what I was looking for," said someone behind Winston.

He turned round. It was his friend Syme, who worked in the Research Department. Perhaps it was not quite a friend, exactly. There were no friends these days, only comrades. But some comrades were more pleasant to be with than others. Syme was a linguist, a Newspeak expert. In fact, he was one of a large group of experts who were currently editing the eleventh edition of the Newspeak Dictionary. He was a very small man, smaller than Winston, with dark hair and prominent eyes, which had a look that was at once sad and mocking, and which seemed to be searching your face as he spoke.

"I want to ask you, do you have a razor blade?" he said.

'Not a single one!' said Winston hastily, somewhat guiltily. 'I've asked everywhere. They don't exist any more.'

Everyone asks you for razor blades. In fact, he has saved two unused razor blades. For months, razor blades have been out of stock. At any time, there are always some necessities.

The shops didn't have any. Sometimes it was buttons, sometimes it was thread, sometimes it was shoelaces; now it was razor blades. You could only get some by sneaking around in the "free" market.

"I've had this one for six weeks," he added unrealistically. The line moved forward another step. When they stopped he turned back to Syme. They both took a greasy plate from the pile of metal plates on the side of the counter.

"I have a job," said Winston coldly. "I think you can see it in the films.

"Didn't you go to see the prisoners being hanged yesterday?" Sai Mai asked.

"That's terrible," said Syme.

His mocking eyes moved from one face to the other.

His eyes seemed to say, "I see through you, I know why you don't go to the hanging

For an intellectual, Sai Mai was orthodox to the point of being vicious

[–] belated_frog_pants@beehaw.org 1 points 1 week ago

Seems like this is a page from the chinese translation of "1984"