He's interrupted by a general rustling as all heads turn away from him towards the Crypt Park's gates. His wife is making a late entry between these, with a train of women. She's holding something in front of her, cradling it in upturned hands. The train is moving in formation, like a set of rugby forwards: advancing in rows, arms locked together. Their faces are neutral and impassive, like statues's faces. With long dresses covering their feet, they seem to glide above the lawn, as though mounted on their own rails made of air, invisible in the long grass. The other mourners watch their slow approach in silence; Carrefax, the vicar, Miss Hubbard and the Day School pupils watch them too. They glide towards the main group slowly but ineluctably, as though bearing down on them. Then, just as it seems they're all going to collide with the posts beside the trench, they stop, as one body, a few yards from the coffin - all of them apart from Mrs. Carrefax, who proceeds onwards to the coffin and, placing on its lid the shroud that she's carrying in her arms, unfolds it until it covers the whole thing. It shows, in red and green silk on a white silk background, an insect feeding on a flower.
[C, McCarthy, T.]
No comments:
Post a Comment