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I had got
Ev a allsa y wul.langbot langbot
‘All the same,’ said Frodo, ‘even if Bilbo could not kill Gollum, I wish he had not kept the Ring. I wish he had never found it, and that I had not got it! Why did you let me keep it? Why didn’t you make me throw it away, or, or destroy it?’
Yma dhedhy bleujyow rudh.langbot langbot
‘Well!’ said Frodo at last, sitting up and straightening his back, as if he had made a decision. ‘I can’t keep it dark any longer. I have got something to tell you all. But I don’t know quite how to begin.’
Nyns yw res dhis gul hemma!langbot langbot
‘When did I first begin to guess?’ he mused, searching back in memory. ‘Let me see - it was in the year that the White Council drove the dark power from Mirkwood, just before the Battle of Five Armies, that Bilbo found his ring. A shadow fell on my heart then, though I did not know yet what I feared. I wondered often how Gollum came by a Great Ring, as plainly it was - that at least was clear from the first. Then I heard Bilbo’s strange story of how he had “won” it, and I could not believe it. When I at last got the truth out of him, I saw at once that he had been trying to put his claim to the ring beyond doubt. Much like Gollum with his “birthday present”. The lies were too much alike for my comfort. Clearly the ring had an unwholesome power that set to work on its keeper at once. That was the first real warning I had that all was not well. I told Bilbo often that such rings were better left unused; but he resented it, and soon got angry. There was little else that I could do. I could not take it from him without doing greater harm; and I had no right to do so anyway. I could only watch and wait. I might perhaps have consulted Saruman the White, but something always held me back.’
Res o dhis dos de.langbot langbot
It was the Sackville-Bagginses that were his downfall, as you might expect. One day, a year before the Party, I happened to be walking along the road, when I saw Bilbo ahead. Suddenly in the distance the S.-B.s appeared, coming towards us. Bilbo slowed down, and then hey presto! he vanished. I was so startled that I hardly had the wits to hide myself in a more ordinary fashion; but I got through the hedge and walked along the field inside. I was peeping through into the road, after the S.-B.s had passed, and was looking straight at Bilbo when he suddenly reappeared. I caught a glint of gold as he put something back in his trouser-pocket.
An re ma yw ydhyn.langbot langbot
‘Not too safe, I should say,’ said Merry. ‘But I have only had one rapid glance, and that was difficult to get. He never left the book about. I wonder what became of it. I should like another look. Have you got it, Frodo?’
Res yw dhyn oberi war-barth.langbot langbot
I got my first real six-string Bought it at the five-and-dime Played it 'til my fingers bled Was the summer of '69 Me and some guys from school Had a band and we tried real hard. Jimmy quit, Jody got married I should've known we'd never get far Oh, when I look back now That summer seemed to last forever And if I had the choice Yeah, I'd always wanna be there Those were the best days of my life Ain't no use in complainin' When you've got a job to do Spent my evenings down at the drive-in And that's when I met you, yeah Standin' on your mama's porch You told me that you'd wait forever Oh, and when you held my hand I knew that it was now or never Those were the best days of my life Oh, yeah. Back in the summer of '69, oh Man we were killin' time We were young and restless We needed to unwind I guess nothin' can last forever, forever, no! Yeah! And now the times are changin' Look at everything that's come and gone Sometimes when I play that old six-string I think about you, wonder what went wrong Standin' on your mama's porch You told me that it'd last forever Oh, and when you held my hand I knew that it was now or never Those were the best days of my life Oh, yeah Back in the summer of '69, oh It was the summer of '69, oh, yeah Me and my baby in '69, oh It was the summer, the summer, the summer of '69, yeah!
Myttin da!langbot langbot
When I was a little boy, so my mother told me Away, haul away, haul away, Joe That if I did not kiss the girls, my lips would grow all mouldy Away, haul away, we'll haul away, Joe Away, haul away, the good ship now is rolling Away, haul away, we’ll haul away, Joe Away, haul away, let’s haul for better weather Away, haul away, we’ll haul away, Joe Once I had an English girl, but she got fat and smelly Away, haul away, haul away, Joe Now I’ve got a Cornish girl with a baby in her belly Away, haul away, we’ll haul away, Joe Away, haul away, the good ship now is rolling Away, haul away, we’ll haul away, Joe Away, haul away, let’s haul for better weather Away, haul away, we’ll haul away, Joe St Piran was our patron saint, he preached of Christianity Away, haul away, haul away, Joe He floated granite on the sea and thought nothing of gravity Away, haul away, we’ll haul away, Joe Away, haul away, the good ship now is rolling Away, haul away, we’ll haul away, Joe Away, haul away, let’s haul for better weather Away, haul away, we’ll haul away, Joe
Res yw dhymm eva.langbot langbot
Have you a computer? No! Has she got armchairs? Yes! She has two armchairs. I have not got a new wallet. . The children have a few balls. Has this dog got a name? Had that farm a dairy? The field did not have wide hedges. Has that house a large lounge? Yes! It has a large one. Has she a cat with her? Not now! Did they have their brother with them? Are these spectacles yours? Yes. Tthey are mine, thanks. Is this her glass? Yes! Isn't the next car Mr Martin's? Yes! It's Mr Martin's, I think. Were the shoes theirs? Yes! Wasn't that Wella's drink? No! It was Karenza's. I cut short my speech but they did not cut short their speech.
Kas yw genev henna.langbot langbot
Within a minute or two, the rapid breathing was not enough and my lungs began to burn. There was a sudden and enormous weight on my limbs – and a sensation of heat within my brain. Trickles of sweat began to run from my brow. I could no longer cry out – my voice failed. Or maybe I just did not have the breath to drive it anymore. Don’t know. Don’t want to think about it. “Shit,” I thought. “This is not good.” (Or words to that effect.) Then my ears began to ring loudly. I had never experienced any sort of tinnitus before then but it has remained with me ever since. Something got damaged, I suppose. Nerves? Ear-drums? Finally, my vision. Just as when I had been trying to escape capture at Castlemaine, my field of vision narrowed to a tight circle and time seemed to slow. But, this time, it was quite different. That constrained circular field of vision did not stay put. It just kept tightening and the darkness deepened and closed in around it. With my final breath, I tried to scream – but failed. There was then a massive weight sitting directly on my chest. I could no longer breathe. In the end, my field of vision sharpened to a point and my lungs screamed louder than my voice could ever have. “It’s like running that final mile of a marathon – over and over again,” said an unknown male voice. Then, nothing.
Nyns yw Sowsnek es ragov.langbot langbot
I've been driving in my car It don't look much but I've been far I drive up to Muswell Hill I've even been to Selsey Bill I drove along the A45 I had her up to 58 This copper stopped me the other day You're mistaken, what could I say? The tyres were a little worn They were OK, I could have sworn I like driving in my car I'm satisfied I've got this far
Nos da, Mammik.langbot langbot
Maybe, somehow, it was I who was feeling David’s pain. Then again, perhaps I was just registering my upset at what I was seeing – and being completely helpless to stop. “That’s given me an idea,” said the smiling Mengele. “An idea for a follow-up experiment, consequential on the results of the first.” And, with that, his gaze fell upon my own body. He ordered my clothes to be torn from me and stepped evenly towards me, cattle-prod still in his hand. I well remember the jolt of the first application of the rod to my skin – on the forehead, as it happens. And I also remember hearing my own screams echoing in that bare-walled room. But I only got to know (later) how often, and where, the prod was applied to me by the scorch marks it left on my skin. (I had blacked out pretty early in the process.) It looked like I got about the same treatment as I saw David get. It was some minutes, or some tens of minutes perhaps, after the last application of the prod – and therefore after Ingrid’s last data point – that my mind rose once again into consciousness. The first thing I heard was Mengele’s voice: “Remarkable. Truly remarkable.” (Apparently, the word ‘remarkable’ was his favourite descriptor.) A conversation followed between him and Doctor Ingrid. I was still too groggy to take in all of it but the salient point of it was that, once David had seen me being tortured, his EEG readout had suddenly ceased flat-lining and had shown unmistakable signs of neuronal activity. There was apparently nothing at all normal in the patterns recorded – some of the lines had remained completely flat – but there was no doubt that a discernible pattern was to be observed (but only while I was being subjected to serious torture.) “I hope this is not an experiment that those two need to replicate too often,” I thought. My skin felt like it was on fire and David’s continued roaring was adding to my headache. I passed out once again and did not wake until we were both back in our concrete cell.
Yw res dhymm skrifa lyther?langbot langbot
Thinking back, the main topic of conversation with the young ladies had been the aphorisms of Oscar Wilde – a topic with which these middle-class suburban girls seemed entirely unacquainted. Since running into Paul again at University (he was continuing with French), I noted he still had many close friends who were attractive girls. And now I find that he had been attacked in a crypt with Charles while naked. Both he and Charles had been bitten but, unlike every other male I knew that had been bitten, they had both recovered. I decided to explore further. “Paul, you said you became ill after you got bitten?” “Certainly. That’s true. I remember the day after the attack, when we scavenged in the gate-keeper’s house, but nothing after that until yesterday. It was like I was asleep for those days. His Royal Majesty tended to me – or so he says.” “Indeed,” said Charles. “Our court has been much reduced of late and there was need to preserve our standards. The Roundheads press upon us even now, as you have seen for yourself.” Fine. “Did you get sick, too, Charles?” Charles considered his answer. “No, Oliver. We cleaned and bound our wound – just as we had done for Paul – and there was some discomfort but ... no, we did not get ill. On the other hand, we thought Paul had died. He lay there without moving, pale and feverish, for several days. We were in the process of planning a simply wonderful funeral service at St. Patrick’s cathedral when he started to recover. We had the music planned and everything. Mozart’s ‘Requiem’ would have been suitable, don’t you think? Though we know the Pope is not a big fan. In any event, Paul proved to be an ungrateful wretch and, unexpectedly, as we said, started to recover. However, today is the very first day he has really been up and about.” (Paul was, in better times, a reasonable athlete.) So, was there a pattern here?
Yth esons i ow tonsya.langbot langbot
The doors swung open and the ‘red carpet’ took the form of being dragged roughly from the rear of the paddy-wagon and being dropped onto the tarmac of the roadway. (Oh, goody, just what I needed: some more deep bruising to my upper body!) David was treated likewise but I don’t think he got bruised – as I’ve said already, his skin sort of ‘tears’ if you apply enough force but you can patch the tears, as I had done in the crypt. Apparently, the Captain who had captured (and spared) us wanted to present his still-bound, still-blindfolded prizes to his commander. As best I can recall, the exchange went like this: Commander: “What have we got here, Captain?” Captain: “A zombie and his non-zombie brother, sir.” Commander: “They both seem still to be moving, Captain. Have you put a bullet in the zombie’s brain yet?” Captain: “No, sir.” Commander: “Bugger it, man, why on Earth not? Best thing for a zombie is a bullet in the brain. Can’t risk having one bite any of the officers, can we?” Captain: “Of course not, sir. But we could do with one or two for training purposes, Commander. After all, we have a thousand yank soldiers due to come through here in the next few days. And, none of them has ever even seen a zombie, sir. We don’t want them mistaking any of the living locals for the enemy, do we, sir?” (There was a pause, apparently while the commander absorbed this logic.) Commander: “Very well. But what about the other chap, the one who isn’t a zombie. Has he been bitten?”
A wre’ta kewsel nihonek?langbot langbot
THE NEXT EXPERIMENT There was a decompression chamber on the base. Why? Were there any sailors there? Any army divers? Pass. Had it ever been used before? Pass. If not, Doctor Mengele had now found a use for it. Different laboratory, same cast of characters: me and Dave, three goons, the Angel of Death and his nasty assistant, Ingrid. (I wondered idly if she had ever performed a little dance for the audience when things got a bit dull.) Ever seen a decompression chamber? I hadn’t. It’s like a metal room – all sealed about and shaped like a giant suppository. (And I definitely knew whose arse I wanted to stick it up.) There was a thick metal door at one end, big enough for one person to crawl into. It was sealed tightly with a sort of screw arrangement – a bit hard to describe – don’t remember it all that well. After the usual argy-bargy of ‘encouraging’ David into a pseudo-electric-chair – and strapping him in – I was likewise encouraged into the decompression chamber itself. I didn’t like this particular ‘game’ of the Nazi doctor but I didn’t protest too much because I didn’t want to let on that I suffered from mild claustrophobia. I’d been accidentally trapped for a time as a primary school kid and I didn’t want to give Josef Mengele any further ideas about how to make me suffer. “Hey doctor,” I said. “Can we talk about this one first? I think that we might need to review procedure so that I don’t mess it up on you.” Time for another slimy smile. (Yuck encore.) He motioned to one of his goons – who promptly added to my collection of scorch-marks. Ow! I entered the decompression chamber without further ado.
Kas yw genev an geryow na.langbot langbot
‘Then I’ll tell you what to think,’ said Maggot. ‘You should never have gone mixing yourself up with Hobbiton folk, Mr. Frodo. Folk are queer up there.’ Sam stirred in his chair, and looked at the farmer with an unfriendly eye. ‘But you were always a reckless lad. When I heard you had left the Brandybucks and gone off to that old Mr. Bilbo, I said that you were going to find trouble. Mark my words, this all comes of those strange doings of Mr. Bilbo’s. His money was got in some strange fashion in foreign parts, they say. Maybe there is some that want to know what has become of the gold and jewels that he buried in the hill of Hobbiton, as I hear?’
Jori a wor kewsel peder yeth.langbot langbot
After I composed myself, I realised that we had the rest of the day to fill in. I’m sure David would happily have gone back to the Hell-hole at Union House – so that he could lounge around with his zombie mates. But I was not going to cross swords again with that bitch-face “Gween” if I could possibly help it. “Hey, Dave! I’ve got a treat for you,” I exclaimed suddenly. “I’m going to take you to the movies.” I gave him no choice and firmly herded him out of Genevieve’s and into the Bug House. I had no idea if he still remembered what a movie was but I didn’t care. David was going to the movies whether he liked it or not. The shabby foyer of the Bug House was relatively untouched. There must have been no-one in it when the Apocalypse passed through. Did it happen at mid-day or thereabouts? No ‘session time’ then, I suppose – not during the week at a small single-screen suburban theatre. (Can you remember what one of those was?) I walked up the narrow staircase to the projection room. Now, you may think I would have no chance of getting the projector operating so that we would view a movie. But that’s where you’d be wrong. Dead wrong. This was in the days before video recorders, well before DVD’s, Blue-Ray and so on. So, schoolteachers needed to know how to operate simple movie projectors to show educational films to their classes. I was no teacher – but my dad was! Dad had done a proper Bell and Howell course and come out with a proper projectionist certificate – very pretty, very impressive. I asked him to bring the school projector home and show me how it worked. He obliged my demands and thus I knew the rudiments of the projectionist’s craft. That said, the projectors (there were 2) that confronted me in the projectionist room of the Carlton Movie House were very different to the one that Dad had brought home from school. A lot bigger. A lot more buttons and levers. I got one of them working in under half an hour (but I think I might have, sort of, broken the other one – sorry, Mr Projectionist).
Medhogyon on.langbot langbot
‘I saw him there,’ answered Gandalf, ‘but before that he had wandered far, following Bilbo’s trail. It was difficult to learn anything from him for certain, for his talk was constantly interrupted by curses and threats. “What had it got in its pocketses?” he said. “It wouldn’t say, no precious. Little cheat. Not a fair question. It cheated first, it did. It broke the rules. We ought to have squeezed it, yes precious. And we will, precious!”
Res o dhyn diberth yn uskis.langbot langbot
David was making a bee-line for them. When he reached the group, he roared once again and threw himself among them. At first, I thought he was trying to fight them – but, no, he was merely pushing them aside, pushing them aside to share in what they had. What they had was a small, frail corpse. By the crimson of the blood pooling around it, I’d say the kill (if that’s what it was) was very recent, only a matter of minutes since. The zombies were noisily feasting on their prize. By its proximity to the southern exit of the building, I guessed that’s where the victim had come from – no doubt making a desperate dash for freedom. Yes, I could see it was a girl. She hadn’t got far. Her last horrific moments seem to have been spent trying to cower under the round wooden seat set around the large eucalypt tree. Very poor cover indeed. She must have been desperate. Wherever she had been within the building, it had kept her safe for at least 7 days. So, why run now? Why not keep waiting for help to arrive? I’ll never know. Perhaps the water ran out. Perhaps, the food. I watched David and the zombies devouring the unfortunate woman. Totally engrossed in their feast, they utterly ignored me. Hearing the ‘festivities’, other zombies soon came and joined in. A week ago, they had been young men and this young woman had probably been among their classmates. Fascinated but feeling relatively safe, I couldn’t help but edge closer to observe the unbelievable event that was occurring before my eyes. Then, it happened: One of the zombies paused and rose from its vile feasting just long enough for me to catch a glimpse of the young woman’s face. “David!” I screamed. “We know her! That’s Meryl.” David lifted his head very briefly and flicked his dead eyes in my direction. “So?” they seemed to say. He returned immediately to the business at hand. I kicked savagely at his rear – to no good purpose. He rose to his feet and turned full-face to me.
Pyth yw agas hanow?langbot langbot
I took David’s hand and, once again, led him from the cell to ensure he did not try to make a meal of Ingrid – though she may well have been tasty. We travelled along several narrow, linoleum-paved passageways. The cattle prods remained poised and ready to strike to our front and to our rear. We passed some sort of common room that was being used by the GI’s. They had some electric Blues playing loudly. As we got closer, I saw through a window that some of them were actually dancing to the music. More than that, I recognised that the music was something from Muddy Waters’ “Electric Mud” album – which I had recently bought second-hand from the late, lamented John Clements record shop in the city. Blues, even electric blues, is not supposed to cheer one up – but this was the first music I had heard in a while (since our time in the Rowden White Gallery) – and so it did cheer me a little. I also saw, as we passed the common room, that almost all of the GI’s in it were black guys – and I wondered who, if anyone, was re-introducing segregation amongst the US troops. But, maybe, it was not deliberate – maybe it was just the music that attracted the black guys there. Later, I realised that the white guys were more partial to the songs of The Eagles – which had not then made it to our shores – and The Guess Who – who, as far as I can remember, never really did ‘make it’ here at all. (Apart from “American Woman”.) Anyway, we eventually arrived at a couple of swinging doors which led to a very spartan laboratory. Not much equipment to be seen here – and, what was there looked pretty old and battered. I supposed that the Australian Army didn’t put very much of its funds into medical research. (And that’s a very good thing, in my humble opinion.) David and I were ‘encouraged’ by the goons to be seated in chairs that looked suspiciously like the electric chair – made with massively heavy timber and fitted with thick, heavy leather straps to restrain arms, legs, torso and head. I didn’t resist. David did – and was struck simultaneously with jolts from three cattle prods for his trouble. He eventually came round to the idea of sitting down and allowing himself to be strapped in. Once this had occurred – and both David and I were securely strapped into our chairs – the Captain strode into the room. (Very brave, it seemed, was our Captain – no appearance until ‘the threat’ had been thoroughly eliminated.)
Tom a kerdh y gi pub myttin.langbot langbot
I did screw down the lid very firmly, using the big, ornate keys provided. I then drove the short distance to the station carpark and, upon arrival, could see that there were still only a few folk, mainly military, loitering about in the early morning darkness. Good. That’s what I had hoped for. Now to try and be a sergeant. I left the vehicle parked (and running) at the gate of the northbound platform. This was, of course, a no-standing zone but, after all, I was a sergeant in the Australian Army. Who would challenge me? I approached a small knot of soldiers who were waiting on the platform and tried to assume a firm, but affable, tone with them. “Ah! Gentlemen,” I said. “You’re just the ‘volunteers’ I need.” They turned and looked at me with suspicion. “Volunteers?” they seemed to say, as one. “What for, exactly?” “I have one of our fallen colleagues waiting at the gate. He’s a heavy chap and I need some blokes to help me get him onto the platform.” This, apparently, was explanation enough and “No worries, Sergeant” was the general reply. They followed me back to the ute but, as they did so, I picked up a half-muttered comment: “He looks a bit young to be a sergeant, doesn’t he?” Hmm. Yes, that might yet prove to be a difficulty. Not unexpectedly, some folk (including the station master) had gathered about to watch. No problem. As I said, this had been expected. “Hey, Sergeant,” said one of the soldiers. “This is the fanciest coffin I’ve ever seen.” “Nothing but the best for our fallen comrades,” I replied. The soldiers nodded in agreement. Another said: “We heard that the zombies got some of our guys in battle. Do you know if that’s true?”
Yth esa ev ow mires orti.langbot langbot
I’m not sure if it were the jazz, as such, or the fact that the zombies had sated their blood-lust, but those few that remained on the upper floors of the building seemed to sink into an afternoon torpor. (Do tired zombies need a ‘nanna nap’? Dunno.) In any event, this provided me with an opportunity to re-acquaint myself with the undead brother who had shamelessly abandoned me to pursue his obscene carnal pleasures. “David!” I yelled as I emerged from the Gallery. “Get up, you vile monster. We’ve got stuff to do.” He remained torpid – staring at me with his dead eyes which seemed to say: “Fuck off, dickhead! I’m sleeping.” So, I kicked him into activity. He was unhappy, roared loudly and, for the first time, shaped to attack me. There were limits even to brotherly love, it seemed. I would have to remember that. I quickly softened my attitude to him: “Come on, Mate. Help me find a decent radio. There’s got to be one here.”
Ro dhymm nebes dehen rew.langbot langbot
EPILOGUE Though I shed no tears for Puckapunyal’s very own Angel of Death, David’s conduct simply could not go on. He needed a change of diet – and soon. Within a matter of days, we had moved from the Scrub Hill area (having safely stowed Dr Mengele’s remains deep within the tunnel complex) and relocated ourselves to a lusher part of the Victorian forest, more suited to our needs. (I’ve always like ‘The High Country’ – very remote, very undisturbed.) I’ll not trouble you with the trials and tribulations of that relocation. Suffice it to say, we made it there – and no-one else got eaten along the way. I took time out to re-learn the spear-making skills I had learned while hunting small prey along the Darebin Creek as a child. (And, yes, I do have many hidden talents). Within weeks, and before I starved, I became adept at catching the plentiful game that existed in our new home.) I could not interest David in food from the local waterways – fish, mussels and yabbies (yum!) – but, with time and practice, another, more palatable option eventually came onto the menu: chubby, young wallaby. Did David take easily to the lean, red meat of the wallaby? No, it took time and patience on my part, a lot of time and patience. He refused this option for a great deal of time – and I had to put up with many zombie tantrums. (I really have decided that zombies have much in common with two-year-olds). Eventually, however, he would trail along behind me as I hunted and, once I had speared a wallaby, he would sprint off through the bush and hungrily fall upon it – just as he had done with Captain Doctor Mengele. Oh, happy days! One day, as we sat contentedly munching upon our latest (bloody) wallaby feast, I turned to David and said: “How do you feel about Papua New Guinea? I hear they’ve got some lovely, but very slow, tree-kangaroos there.” David grunted loudly – I thought he might yet warm to the idea.
Tomm yw.langbot langbot
Just down the road, the University Café (not as popular as Tamani’s) was in better shape and so I cheerfully got into their cupboards and fridge to stock up on essential items. I took mainly stuff that was in tins and cans so that it would last. They had a stock of tinned hams and plum puddings, apparently left over from Christmas. Fine by me – so I took as many as I could carry in the back- pack I retrieved along the way. (Don’t ask me who was wearing it at the time – they weren’t going to need it again, I promise you.) I tried to encourage David to share the load with me – I even found another back-pack for him. But he was having none of it. Apparently, zombies don’t do the beast-of-burden thing. (A fact well worth remembering, I’m sure.) In any event, David was getting twitchy again. At first, I thought it must have been hunger (oh no!) but he was just bored. I offered him an apple that I had just swiped from the University Café. He snatched at it and threw it away in disgust. (What had I been thinking? Fruit? For a zombie?) So, I selected another from a nearby basket and bit into it. It wasn’t that fresh – it had been sitting around for over a week – but it was okay (and, unlike the pancakes, it didn’t make me throw up.) How to avoid going back to Union House – that was the pressing problem. Where would any self-respecting zombie prefer to go – other than a charnel house full of zombies (and one psychopathic cat)? Then it struck me: “Hey, Dave! Wanna go to the cemetery? You know, the big one that’s just near here?” He stopped twitching. That was a good sign. But did he know what I was talking about? Possibly, he did. Zombie intelligence is not an easy thing to understand – and, in David’s case, it was complicated by the fact (as I knew) that he could tap into my own mind to boost whatever wit he had been left with following his death. I was like a poorly connected hard-drive, I suppose (though hard-drives, external or otherwise, were unheard of at that time).
My a’n gwelas.langbot langbot
UNEXPECTED VISITORS “Hey, Man,” said an unfamiliar voice. “You look like shit.” (I felt like shit.) I had been dozing. But, when I opened my eyes, I saw two smiling young GI’s standing beside my bed. They were wearing their dress uniforms – very impressive. “We’re on our way to church,” said one. “Thought we’d drop by. Heard you got pretty banged up.” I realised that I knew these guys. They were Privates First Class Swooper and Gately, the ones who’d asked the awkward questions at the first lecture given by Captain Mengele. “We brought you some candy,” said Swooper. (Or was it Gately? No, must’ve been Gately – I think he was the black guy.) Gately held out a roughly wrapped box – I suspect proper gift wrapping was hard to find at Puckapunyal. It was a nice gesture. I took it gratefully and nodded. Both Gately and Swooper saw the raw scorch marks on my extended arm and fell silent for a moment. Then their eyes went to my pillow, still blood-stained from a recent coughing fit. “Who did this to you, Man?” whispered Swooper. “Captain...,” I rasped. “Mengele.” (Bizarrely, I couldn’t recall the Captain’s real surname. I was pretty doped up – but Swooper and Gately knew who I meant.) “We’ll report this to our own officers, Man,” said Gately, with quiet determination. “We’ll get you out of here. Don’t you worry about nothin’.” “Gotta go now,” said Swooper. “We shouldn’t be here – Infirmary’s off limits to visitors now. ‘Cause o’ you, I suppose.” And, with that, they both squeezed me firmly on the shoulder and left. How had this visit come about? Gately was dating one of the nurses – enough said.
Pubonan a wor henna.langbot langbot
32 sinne gevind in 9 ms. Hulle kom uit baie bronne en word nie nagegaan nie.