Nineteen Sixty-Four // Starrison

Chapter 6

  The proles' district was practically a concentration of slums and gray houses in a state of ruin, with boarded-up windows and leaky walls. Members of the lowest social class were gathered around the stalls, busy with their own lives, wanting to bargain as much as they could for the lowest possible price, arguing fiercely while this.

George hardly ever visited this part of a town, and usually ended up getting lost in the darkest Liverpudlian streets for the poorest. His shoes splashed the puddles of water. He was passing higgling woman, girls with vulgar make-ups winking at him, gloom old men hunched over the weight of their age. His view raised suspicious looks, especially his Outer Party's clothes.

It wasn't officially forbidden to go to proles' streets by the Party's members. This happened rather often, when people, wanting, to save some money, bought articles at a free market. But if Thought Police detained him, they would be asking him all kind of questions, and that was something he didn't want to happen.

Harrison tried to act natural and innocent, looking for the place Richard wanted to meet him in. The Grey Owl Bar. The Grey Owl Bar. He kept repeating this name.

Right here! He didn't miss it: the bar was squashed in between the other buildings just like it wanted to hide and disappear, with cracked wood signboard and dirty, dusty windows.

He came in, slowly and uncertainly.

Inside the bar was even more dingy — battered benches, smell of sour beer. There was no telescreen, the most important. Both barman and the other guests looked and George out of the corners of their eyes.

What now? Harrison thought to himself. They didn't have much time or privacy to talk about the details of this meeting. But then he saw brown hair and small silhouette reminding him of a delicate doll — Richard sitting in the corner of the bar. And again the smile haunted George's lips as he walked slowly to him and sat right in front of him.

"Hi," he said shyly (why was he shy now?). Starkey smiled; his blue eyes shone.

"Hi, George."

He said George. Not comrade. Just George.

"A pint of beer for both," Richard spoke to the barman. The man of tired eyes and a clear hoar only murmured something and disappeared behind a counter, to came back after a while with two pitchers. Starkey nodded thankfully and handed him a crumpled banknote.

"So," said Harrison, taking the first sip. "You wanted to meet, yeah?"

"Yes." Starkey's voice became uncertain now, as if he forgot everything he was about to tell. Silence hung over them until Richard finally spoke:

"You're an interesting man, George Harrison."

"Well, I can say the same 'bout you, Richard Starkey," the younger one answered. His friend nodded and slowly leaned in, whispering: "You're not the Party's supporter, are you?"

George froze, astonished by a boldness of this question. "No. I'm not."

"Me neither. And I'd be surprised if you would be."

Harrison raised his eyebrow. "And why?"

"There's something about you... I felt it the first day I met you." Was something more hiding behind Starkey's words or was George over-interpreting? Why did he hope for the first thing? Why did his heart beat so fast? So many questions — too many questions.

He took a deep breath, looking in Richard's eyes. He allowed himself to, whereas Starkey allowed himself to look in his eyes. After a moment that seemed like an eternity they looked back and kept drinking.

"Are you married?" George suddenly asked and regretted it immediately, cursing his damn tongue.

"No." He looked at the rings covering his fingers. "I got them from my mother back when everything was alright. When..." The man sighed and sadness flashed in his irises — unhappiness of this man was like a stab in the guts for Harrison.

"Do you want to talk 'bout it?" The younger one whispered softly.

Deep inhale. And then:

"Yes. Yes. Everything was alright... once. My parents were a truly happy marriage. As happy and the one can be those bloody days. Too happy. Maybe that's why my father was vaporized when I was young. Me and my mother suddenly found ourselves on the verge of poverty... That's when she gave me her rings. I just couldn't sell them, even in the worst days. They were important to me, y'know.

And then my mother got married again. I had no idea what did she see in him. He, unlike my father, was a flesh and blood goodthinker, lawful and blind, loyal to the Party so much it hurts. And he hated me from the first sight. Because I wasn't as orthodox as him, because I was numb. Every time I haven't screamed as loud as the others against the public enemies, every time I haven't wanted to go on a manifestation, every time praise the Big Brother enough — he has beat me. Beat me willingly and lavishly, wanting to beat the thoughtcrime out of me. Because violence was his only way to treat me. And mother... she's never reacted, she was too afraid. Funny, everyone thought about him as a good man. Loving. Caring.

I can't even say how happy am I that I've finally left this place. I'm tired of all that blindness, tired of mindless people. Tired of the Party. Tired of this fucking Big Brother."

Pain in Starkey's voice changed to a hatred and at the end cut off. The brown-eyed man listened to him in a state of shock. His heart sank with a pity for the hard man's childhood. He wanted to get closer to him, comfort him, hug him, whisper that everything will be alright. But he knew well enough it won't be.

Suddenly they heard screams and some noise. The men turned around, panicked that someone was eavesdropping them, but luckily it was only a drunken fight. Nobody cared about two gray Party's members hidden in a corner anymore.

"I'm sorry. Really sorry," George said — because what more could he say? — with a real, deep compassion in his voice.

"Yeah."

An uncomfortable silence— again.

"Let's meet again," said blue-eyed man all of a sudden. "But in a place when no one else would see us. I know such a place."

Harrison's heart beat with an excitement and smile crept on his face. "How can I get there?"

"You have to go on a station and get a train to London. Then get out on the third station. You'll reach the northern gate. Thereafter, you'll go the path east out. After about twenty minutes of walking there will be a fork in the road. You have to go the left path. That's where we can safely meet." Richard was instructing him quickly — maybe he knew the entire route by heart. George nodded, trying to remember everything.

"When?"

"Not to raise any suspicions? In fours days?"

"Three." Harrison nearly pleaded.

"Alright. In three days. At six."

They smiled to each other. While standing up, their hands, as if accidentally, met. Touching the delicate Richard's hand, George felt that maybe not every feeling is sentenced to be lost and not every heart is stone-cold.