Nineteen Sixty-Four // Starrison

Chapter 4

In the following days George hasn’t talked to John. He only saw him between the rest of workers at the time of the lunch break.

Friend’s words were still ringing in his head with a cruel echo — what he said about overthrowing the Party… and about him. A doubt was lurking in the darkest corner of Harrison’s mind — what if he was right? If the revolt could be possible if the Outer Party’s members and proles worked together?

Stop. No. He was committing the thoughtcrime again.

But it has happened. Lennon has sowed a seed of doubt in his mind and there was no way out.

An entire week passed since their last talk. George continued his work and everyday routine of life. He tried not to think too much, but when sat on a hard chair with nothing else to do — he couldn’t run away from this. There was no place in his mind to hide, even in dreams. He often stood between the burning ruins, the land of emptiness and dust, oblivion embroided with rubbles, hearing acerbic words: I thought you’re different. I thought you’ll want changes, that you’ll stand by me.

He woke up panicked every morning, that he murmured something in sleep. But nothing like this happened… yet.

This day George was standing in a crowd, waiting for his rations of food while the lunch break. He received a plate full of disgusting stew, a few slices of bread and Victory Coffee. Harrison looked at the meal with a reluctance.

He decided to sit by an empty table, far from the telescreen. While eating with an apathy, he observed the crowd and saw Lennon and a stranger man by his side. George watched them for a while and focused on his plate again.

“George?”

The man raised his head. John and the stranger walked to his table; the first one looked like nothing happened one week ago between them.

“Can we have a sit?”

Harrison only nodded.

“This is the new employee of this Department,” Lennon introduced his friend. “He moved here from the Department of Archives. His name is…”

“Richard. Richard Starkey,” said stranger with a surprisingly deep voice and shook George’s hand.

“George Harrison.” Dark-haired man looked at the man curiously as he sat down.

Richard seemed to rebel against the dullness of this world in every possible way. He emanated a shocking energy and didn’t look like a typical Outer Party’s member or, for example, prole, with ugly, always tired, common faces, marked by the wrinkles. He wasn’t like this, with a small head, and friendly facial features. His nose was ridiculously big, but not too big. And his eyes — eyes with a deep-blue color, going against the faded reality. The way Richard’s hair was cut reminded George of his own, but Starkey’s were a bit lighter.

He was beautiful — there was no doubt. Beautiful, unusual, hypnotizing. Harrison knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the man. A thousand of questions blew in his head — who he was, what was he doing, what did he think about the Party, did he have wife? Of course, Harrison was not meant to know the answers, but the mysterious character of Richard filled his mind, leaving no common sense. How could his entire appearance scream that not every beauty has become lost?

After a while of fighting himself Harrison finally looked back. There was a silence that the new friend decided to politely break:

“What do you do here, comrade? And for how long?”

The word comrade sounded strange in his mouth, but that’s how civilians had to call each other. Not by nicknames, not by names. Only cold, dry comrade.

“I collect and sort materials, I write books. Working in here for just a few weeks. It’s my first job.”

Starkey’s eyes became wider. “You’re twenty-one? You look older.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” George muttered.

“Well, I’m three years older. I had a job in Department of Archives before, as John said. Now I’m here, in Department of Music. His job was to show me everything,” explained Richard.

“My pleasure,” said Lennon, joining the conversation.

After that meeting they talked about meaningless trivial, like the newest reports in the war’s case. The war between Oceania — their country, country of both Americas, Great Britain, Australia and part of Africa — and Eurasia. Officially Eurasia was their enemy forever, but George could recall the memory when Eurasia was an ally and Eastasia — enemy. But that was gone in the past, smoothly covered up — the government didn’t like to be wrong. If they fought Eurasia now, they fought them forever. It was more than terrifying how easily the Party could break into past and change everything, transform every note on the cards of history. Knowledge of people, therefore, mattered nothing; they’ll die, the rulers will stay.

Suddenly their conversation was interrupted by the transmission from the front. Everyone turned to telescreens with bated breaths and Harrison knew he should either, but he drowned in the thoughts about Richard. George had no idea why the man affected him like this, but he couldn’t fight this and couldn’t resist his beauty.

At some point, as if Starkey heard his thoughts, he turned to George. They looked each other in the eyes for a moment and even this short eye contact made the younger one excited. It seemed like hey reached a bit of an understanding.

And then the transmission was over and they went back to their meals.

“Time to go back to work,” said Richard. “It was nice to meet you, comrade.”

“Same for you,” George replied, trying not to smile.

I hope we’ll meet again, he added in his mind, letting himself look one last time in these beautiful eyes.

“See ya,” Lennon nodded his head and they both left.

For the first time it was so hard for Harrison to control himself and his mimicry. But he had to come back to work. So he pushed out every mixed feelings and walked into Department’s direction.

Richard Starkey.

He couldn’t forget this name.