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Marrakech
George
Orwell
As
the
corpse
went
past
the
flies
left
the
resta
urant
table
in
a
cloud
and
rushed
after
it,
but
t
hey
came
back
a
few
minutes
later.
The
little
crowd
of
mourners
--
all
men
and
boy
s,
no
women--threaded
their
way
across
the
market
p
lace
between
the
piles
of
pomegranates
and
the
taxi
s
and
the
camels,
walling
a
short
chant
over
an
d
over
again.
What
really
appeals
to
the
flies
i
s
that
the
corpses
here
are
never
put
into
coffin
s,
they
are
merely
wrapped
in
a
piece
of
rag
an
d
carried
on
a
rough
wooden
bier
on
the
shoulder
s
of
four
friends.
When
the
friends
get
to
the
bu
rying-ground
they
hack
an
oblong
hole
a
foot
or
tw
o
deep,
dump
the
body
in
it
and
fling
over
i
t
a
little
of
the
dried-up,
lumpy
earth,
which
i
s
like
broken
brick.
No
gravestone,
no
name,
no
id
entifying
mark
of
any
kind.
The
burying-ground
is
m
erely
a
huge
waste
of
hummocky
earth,
like
a
derel
ict
building-lot.
After
a
month
or
two
no
one
ca
n
even
be
certain
where
his
own
relatives
are
buri
ed.
When
you
walk
through
a
town
like
this
--
tw
o
hundred
thousand
inhabitants
of
whom
at
least
twe
nty
thousand
own
literally
nothing
except
the
rag
s
they
stand
up
in--
when
you
see
how
the
peopl
e
live,
and
still
more
how
easily
they
die,
it
i
s
always
difficult
to
believe
that
you
are
walkin
g
among
human
beings.
All
colonial
empires
are
i
n
reality
founded
upon
this
fact.
The
people
hav
e
brown
faces--besides,
there
are
so
many
of
the
m!
Are
they
really
the
same
flesh
as
your
self
D
o
they
even
have
names
Or
are
they
merely
a
kin
d
of
undifferentiated
brown
stuff,
about
as
individu
al
as
bees
or
coral
insects
They
rise
out
of
th
e
earth
，
they
sweat
and
starve
for
a
few
years,
an
d
then
they
sink
back
into
the
nameless
mounds
o
f
the
graveyard
and
nobody
notices
that
they
are
g
one.
And
even
the
graves
themselves
soon
fade
bac
k
into
the
soil.
Sometimes,
out
for
a
walk
as
yo
u
break
your
way
through
the
prickly
pear,
you
not
ice
that
it
is
rather
bumpy
underfoot,
and
onl
y
a
certain
regularity
in
the
bumps
tells
you
tha
t
you
are
walking
over
skeletons.
I
was
feeding
one
of
the
gazelles
in
the
publi
c
gardens.
Gazelles
are
almost
the
only
animals
that
look
go
od
to
eat
when
they
are
still
alive,
in
fact,
on
e
can
hardly
look
at
their
hindquarters
without
thi
nking
of
a
mint
sauce.
The
gazelle
I
was
feedin
g
seemed
to
know
that
this
thought
was
in
my
min
d,
for
though
it
took
the
piece
of
bread
I
was
h
olding
out
it
obviously
did
not
like
me.
It
nibble
d
nibbled
rapidly
at
the
bread,
then
lowered
its
h
ead
and
tried
to
butt
me,
then
took
another
nibbl
e
and
then
butted
again.
Probably
its
idea
was
tha
t
if
it
could
drive
me
away
the
bread
would
someh
ow
remain
hanging
in
mid-
air.
An
Arab
navvy
working
on
the
path
nearby
lowered
h
is
heavy
hoe
and
sidled
slowly
towards
us.
He
look
ed
from
the
gazelle
to
the
bread
and
from
the
bre
ad
to
the
gazelle,
with
a
sort
of
quiet
amazemen
t,
as
though
he
had
never
seen
anything
quite
lik
e
this
before.
Finally
he
said
shyly
in
French:
1
could
eat
some
of
that
bread.
I
tore
off
a
piece
and
he
stowed
it
gratefull
y
in
some
secret
place
under
his
rags.
This
man
i
s
an
employee
of
the
municipality.
When
you
go
through
the
Jewish
Quarters
you
gathe
r
some
idea
of
what
the
medieval
ghettoes
were
pro
bably
like.
Under
their
Moorish
Moorishrulers
the
Je
ws
were
only
allowed
to
own
land
in
certain
restri
cted
areas,
and
after
centuries
of
this
kind
of
tr
eatment
they
have
ceased
to
bother
about
overcrowdin
g.
Many
of
the
streets
are
a
good
deal
less
tha
n
six
feet
wide,
the
houses
are
completely
windowle
ss,
and
sore-eyed
children
cluster
everywhere
in
unb
elievable
numbers,
like
clouds
of
flies.
Down
the
c
entre
of
the
street
there
is
generally
running
a
l
ittle
river
of
urine.
In
the
bazaar
huge
families
of
Jews,
all
dressed
i
n
the
long
black
robe
and
little
black
skull-ca
p,
are
working
in
dark
fly-infested
booths
that
loo
k
like
caves.
A
carpenter
sits
crosslegged
at
a
pr
ehistoric
lathe,
turning
chairlegs
at
lightning
spee
d.
He
works
the
lathe
with
a
bow
in
his
right
ha
nd
and
guides
the
chisel
with
his
left
foot,
an
d
thanks
to
a
lifetime
of
sitting
in
this
positio
n
his
left
leg
is
warped
out
of
shape.
At
his
si
de
his
grandson,
aged
six,
is
already
starting
o
n
the
simpler
parts
of
the
job.
I
was
just
passing
the
coppersmiths'
booths
whe
n
somebody
noticed
that
I
was
lighting
a
cigarett
e.
Instantly,
from
the
dark
holes
all
round,
ther
e
was
a
frenzied
rush
of
Jews,
many
of
them
ol
d
grandfathers
with
flowing
grey
beards,
all
clamour
ing
for
a
cigarette.
Even
a
blind
man
somewhere
a
t
the
back
of
one
of
the
booths
heard
a
rumour
of
cigarettes
and
came
crawling
out,
groping
in
th
e
air
with
his
hand.
In
about
a
minute
I
had
use
d
up
the
whole
packet.
None
of
these
people,
I
su
ppose,
works
less
than
twelve
hours
a
day,
and
eve
ry
one
of
them
looks
on
a
cigarette
as
a
more
o
r
less
impossible
luxury.
As
the
Jews
live
in
self-contained
communities
the
y
follow
the
same
trades
as
the
Arabs,
except
fo
r
agriculture.
Fruitsellers,
potters,
silversmiths,
bl
acksmiths,
butchers,
leather-workers,
tailors,
water-
ca
rriers,
beggars,
porters
--
whichever
way
you
loo
k
you
see
nothing
but
Jews.
As
a
matter
of
fac
t
there
are
thirteen
thousand
of
them,
all
livin
g
in
the
space
of
a
few
acres.
A
good
job
Hitle
t
wasn't
here.
Perhaps
he
was
on
his
way,
howeve
r.
You
hear
the
usual
dark
rumours
about
Jews,
no
t
only
from
the
Arabs
but
from
the
poorer
European
s.
vieux
mon
vieux,
they
took
my
job
away
fro
m
me
and
gave
it
to
a
Jew.
The
Jews!
They'
re
t
he
real
rulers
of
this
country,
you
know.
They
‘
v
e
got
all
the
money.
They
control
the
banks,
finan
ce
--
everything.
I
said,
it
a
fact
that
the
averag
e
Jew
is
a
labourer
working
for
about
a
penny
a
n
hour
that's
only
for
show!
They'
re
all
money
le
nders
really.
They'
re
cunning,
the
Jews.
In
just
the
same
way,
a
couple
of
hundred
year
s
ago,
poor
old
women
used
to
be
burned
for
witch
craft
when
they
could
not
even
work
enough
magic
t
o
get
themselves
a
square
meal.
square
meal
All
people
who
work
with
their
hands
are
partl
y
invisible,
and
the
more
important
the
work
the
y
do,
the
less
visible
they
are.
Still,
a
white
s
kin
is
always
fairly
conspicuous.
In
northern
Europ
e,
when
you
see
a
labourer
ploughing
a
field,
yo
u
probably
give
him
a
second
glance.
In
a
hot
cou
ntry,
anywhere
south
of
Gibraltar
or
east
of
Sue
z,
the
chances
are
that
you
don't
even
see
hi
m.
I
have
noticed
this
again
and
again.
In
a
trop
ical
landscape
one's
eye
takes
in
everything
excep
t
the
human
beings.
It
takes
in
the
dried-up
soi
l,
the
prickly
pear,
the
palm
tree
and
the
distan
t
mountain,
but
it
always
misses
the
peasant
hoein
g
at
his
patch.
He
is
the
same
colour
as
the
ear
th,
and
a
great
deal
less
interesting
to
look
a
t.
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