'[...] He knelt down before her and took her hands in his.
'Have you done this before?'
'Of course. Hundreds of times - well, scores of times, anyway.'
'With party members?'
'Yes, always with party members.'
'With members of the inner party?'
'Not with those swines, no. But there's plenty that would if they got half a chance. They're not so holy as they make out.'
His heart leapt. Scores of times she had done it: he wished it had been hundreds - thousands. Anything that hinted at corruption always filled him with a wild hope. Who knew, perhaps the Party was rotten under the surface, its cult of strenuousness and self-denial simply a sham concealing inquity. If he could have infected the whole lot of them with leprosy or syphilis, how gladly he would have done so! Anything to rot, to weaken, to undermine! He pulled her down so that they were kneeling face to face.
'Listen. The more men you've had, the more I love you. Do you understand that?'
'Yes, perfectly.'
'I hate purity, I hate goodness! I don't want virtue to exist anywhere. I want everyone to be corrupt to the bones.'
'Well then, I ought to suit you, dear. I'm corrupt to the bones.'
'You like doing this? I don't mean simply me: I mean the thing in itself?'
'I adore it.'
That was above all he wanted to hear. Not merely the love of one person, but the animal instinct, the simple undifferentiated desire: that was the force that would tear the party to pieces.
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário