MarrakechGeorgeOrwell1Asthecorpsewentpasttheflieslefttherestauranttableinacloudandrushedafterit,buttheycamebackafewminuteslater.2Thelittlecrowdofmourners--allmenandboys,nowomen--threadedtheirwayacrossthemarketplacebetweenthepilesofpomegranatesandthetaxisandthecamels,wallingashortchantoverandoveragain.Whatreallyappealstothefliesisthatthecorpseshereareneverputintocoffins,theyaremerelywrappedinapieceofragandcarriedonaroughwoodenbierontheshouldersoffourfriends.Whenthefriendsgettotheburying-groundtheyhackanoblongholeafootortwodeep,dumpthebodyinitandflingoveritalittleofthedried-up,lumpyearth,whichislikebrokenbrick.Nogravestone,noname,noidentifyingmarkofanykind.Theburying-groundismerelyahugewasteofhummockyearth,likeaderelictbuilding-lot.Afteramonthortwonoonecanevenbecertainwherehisownrelativesareburied.3Whenyouwalkthroughatownlikethis--twohundredthousandinhabitantsofwhomatleasttwentythousandownliterallynothingexcepttheragstheystandupin--whenyouseehowthepeoplelive,andstillmorehoweasilytheydie,itisalwaysdifficulttobelievethatyouarewalkingamonghumanbeings.Allcolonialempiresareinrealityfoundeduponthisfact.Thepeoplehavebrownfaces--besides,therearesomanyofthem!Aretheyreallythesamefleshasyourself?Dotheyevenhavenames?Oraretheymerelyakindofundifferentiatedbrownstuff,aboutasindividualasbeesorcoralinsects?Theyriseoutoftheearth，theysweatandstarveforafewyears,andthentheysinkbackintothenamelessmoundsofthegraveyardandnobodynoticesthattheyaregone.Andeventhegravesthemselvessoonfadebackintothesoil.Sometimes,outforawalkasyoubreakyourwaythroughthepricklypear,younoticethatitisratherbumpyunderfoot,andonlyacertainregularityinthebumpstellsyouthatyouarewalkingoverskeletons.4Iwasfeedingoneofthegazellesinthepublicgardens.5Gazellesarealmosttheonlyanimalsthatlookgoodtoeatwhentheyarestillalive,infact,onecanhardlylookattheirhindquarterswithoutthinkingofamintsauce.ThegazelleIwasfeedingseemedtoknowthatthisthoughtwasinmymind,forthoughittookthepieceofbreadIwasholdingoutitobviouslydidnotlikeme.Itnibblednibb