him. He knew, or he
could imagine, the arguments which proved his own nonexistence; but they
were nonsense, they were only a play on words. Did not the statement, 'You
do not exist', contain a logical absurdity? But what use was it to say so?
His mind shrivelled as he thought of the unanswerable, mad arguments with
which O'Brien would demolish him.
'I think I exist,' he said wearily. 'I am conscious of my own
identity. I was born and I shall die. I have arms and legs. I occupy a
particular point in space. No other solid object can occupy the same point
simultaneously. In that sense, does Big Brother exist?'
'It is of no importance. He exists.'
'Will Big Brother ever die?'
'Of course not. How could he die? Next question.'
'Does the Brotherhood exist?'
'That, Winston, you will never know. If we choose to set you free when
we have finished with you, and if you live to be ninety years old, still
you will never learn whether the answer to that question is Yes or No. As
long as you live it will be an unsolved riddle in your mind.'
Winston lay silent. His breast rose and fell a little faster. He still
had not asked the question that had come into his mind the first. He had
got to ask it, and yet it was as though his tongue would not utter it.
There was a trace of amusement in O'Brien's face. Even his spectacles
seemed to wear an ironical gleam. He knows, thought Winston suddenly, he
knows what I am going to ask! At the thought the words burst out of him:
'What is in Room 101?'
The expression on O'Brien's face did not change. He answered drily:
'You know what is in Room 101, Winston. Everyone knows what is in Room
101.'
He raised a finger to the man in the whi