blood-stained oor Kornies

blood-stained

adjektief

Alternative spelling of bloodstained.

Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies

gojek

voorbeelde

blood-stained
/ gojek / / /

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.
GODRIGORYON ANWAYTYES “Hay, ‘Was,” yn-medh lev ankoth. “Kawgh yw dha fisment.” Yn hwir, yth omglywis kepar ha kawgh. Y fien ow kogoska. Byttegyns, pan igeris ow dewlagas, yth esen ow mires orth dew souder Amerikanek, ledan aga minhwarthow, ow sevel ryb ow gweli. Yth esens ow kwiska aga uniformys furvus – meur o an argraf anedha warnav vy. “Yth eson war fordh dhe’n eglos,” yn-medh huni. “Ni a brederis dhe’th vysytya. Y leverys dhyn dha vos kronkyes drog.” Y teuth dhe’m brys my dhe aswonn an bolatys na. Yth esens Soudoryon keth, Kynsa Gradh, Stevyer ha Porther – an re re wovynnsa an kwestyons, meur aga haletter, dres an kynsa areth Kapten Mengele. “Ni re dhros ragos neb hwegynnow,” yn-medh Stevyer. (Po, martesen, Porther o. Yn hwir, Porther o – ev o an souder du, dell borthav kov anodho.) Porther a brofyas kistenn dhymm, ankempenn hy maylyans – kales o dhe gavoes maylyans gwiw dhe rohow yn Pukkapunyal, dell dybav. Gwrians pur hweg o. My a’n kemmeras, meur ow grassyans, ha penndroppya. Porther ha Stevyer, an dhew, a welas an verkyow goleskans, hwath rudhgogh, war ow bregh ystynnys – ha koedha tawesek dres pols. Ena, yth eth aga dewlagas dhe’m pluvek, hwath goesek drefenn bos shora-basans a-gynsow. “Piw a wrug hemma dhis, ‘Was?” a hwystras Stevyer. “Kapten ...,” a rathis vy. “Mengele.” (Yn koynt, ny yllyn perthi kov a hanow teylu gwir an Kapten. Poran droggys en – byttegyns, Stevyer ha Porther a aswonnis neb re styrsen henwel.) “Y fynnyn ni gul derivas yn y gever dh’agan soedhogyon agan honan, ‘Was,” yn-medh Porther, ervirys yn kosel. “Ni a surha dha vos livrys. Ty a yll bos sur anodho.” “Res yw dhyn mos lemmyn,” yn-medh Stevyer. “Ny dalvien bos omma – medhegva yw difennys dhe wodrigoryon lemmyn. Drefenn ty, dell dybav.” Ha, gans henna, i a stroethas ow skoedh ha gasa. Fatell hwarsa an godrik ma? Yth esa Porther ow kowethya gans onan yntra’n klavjioresow – leverys lowr.

I had not had a cold shower for years. I had not had a shower of any description since Day One. David wasn’t the only one who stank. Having filled the watering can, I stood in the corner near the tap – over the small drain – and, lifting the can above my head, played the sprinkling water over my grimy, sweaty and bloody body. I shivered from the shock of the cold water but, almost immediately, felt refreshed and reinvigorated. The muck that was caked on my skin and in my hair fell away – thanks to some fragrant soap that I was using liberally – and that, I presumed, had also been ‘liberated’ from the gatekeeper’s residence. David’s dead eyes observed the cleansing of my body with no obvious emotion. In the back of my mind, I knew that I had to get David cleaned up if ever I were to be able to pass him off as a living soul – and effect an escape from the ‘war- zone’. How much resistance to this would he put up when I insisted on this? Having dried myself – using an equally ‘liberated’ towel – I stood looking at David. He returned the stare. (He was, at least, exceptionally good at that.) “David?” I said. “Your turn now – you’re a very dirty little boy!” He seemed to like being babied by me. Maybe it evoked some distant memory of his childhood, when Mum used to scold us for being such ‘grubs’ (which we were). I can’t be sure, of course, but, in any event, he rose to his feet and approached. He stood in front of me like a small child who could not undo his buttons. (In fact, I think he may have lost so much dexterity that this task was now beyond him.) I started to undo his blood-stained rags and he did not offer a protest. Soon, he stood naked and, like a small child, waited obediently for his bath. I gently bathed his greying skin, patched with tape the odd tear in his flesh that he had suffered as a result of recent carnal activities – and then shed a tear over what had become of my handsome brother.
Ny gemmersen kowas yeyn a-dhia nebes blydhynnyow. Ny gemmersen kowas vyth a-dhia Dydh Onan. Nyns o Davydh an huni unnik gans fler euthyk. Lenwys an kafas dowr, yth esen a’m sav y’n gornell ogas dhe’n tapp – hag a- ugh an sygerva byghan. Ha my drehevys an kafas a-ugh ow fenn, my a skoellyas an dowr ow stifa war ow horf goesek, meur y lastedhes ha’y hwys. Skruth an dowr yeyn a’m gwrug degrena mes, ogas a-dhistowgh, my a omglywo bos refreshyes ha dasnerthys. Y koedhas dhe-ves an most re via kalesys war ow kroghen hag y’m blew – gras dhe nebes sebon, hweg y ethenn, may hwren devnydh meur anodho. An sebon ma re via ‘delivrys’ ynwedh dhiworth chi an porther, dell grysen. Yth esa dewlagas marow Davydh owth attendya glanheans a’m korf, heb movyans vyth apert. Y’n delergh ow brys, my a wodhya bos res dhe Dhavydh bos glanhes mar pe possybyl dhe omwul y vos enev byw – ha diank ‘greugys an vresel’. Pygemmys defens a via dhiworto dh’y gowas pan deris vy? Ow kul devnydh a dowell (‘delivrys’ yn kepar maner), my a omsyghas ha sevel ena ow mires orth Davydh. Ev a settyas y dremmynn warnav. (Ev a ylli, dhe’n lyha, gul henna pur dha.) “’Dhavydh?” yn-medhav. “Dha dro jy yth yw lemmyn – meppik pur blos osta!” Yth heveli bos da ganso pan y’n dyghtyis kepar ha baban. Martesen, y trosa dh’y vrys kov hanter-ankevys a’y flogoleth. Y hwre Mamm agan deraylya drefenn agan bos ‘kontron’ (ha henn o gwir). Ny allav bos sur, heb mar, mes, yn neb kas, ev a sevis yn-bann hag omneshe dhymm. Yth esa a’y sav a-dheragov vy kepar ha flogh byghan na ylli diswul y votonyow. (Yn hwir, possybyl o y kollsa kemmys sleyghneth yn y diwdhorn ma na ylli na fella gul an oberenn ma.) My a dhallathas diswul y bilennow re via nammys yn town gans goes ha nyns esa krodhvol vyth dhiworto ev. Yn skon, ev a sevi noeth a-dheragov ha, kepar ha fleghik, gortos yn unn wostydh rag y dronkys. Yn tov, my a badhyas y groghen loes ha kloutya gans tapa nebes skwardyow yn y geher godhevys a-gynsow drefenn y vywderyow karnal. Ena, my a dhellos dager drefenn tenkys ow broder teg.

I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye—not even his—could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out—no stain of any kind—no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all—ha! ha!
Ena my a dhrehevis teyr astel dhyworth leur an chambour, ha gorra puptra ynter an prennyer a-woles. Nessa, my a worras an estyl y’ga le arta, yn maner mar sley, mar gonnyk, ma na alsa lagas denel vyth–nag an huni dhodho hogen–merkya bos neppyth kamm. Ny veu tra vyth dhe gartha–na mosten a neb sort na namm goos. My re bia re war rag henna. Keryn re gachsa oll–ha! ha!