Stupidly, I smiled. This wasn’t information that I wanted lightly to volunteer. Ingrid cast a meaningful glance through the glass panel of the door – at the goons still loitering, with interest, outside the interview room. It was not in my best interests to be coy, it seemed. “I’ll give you a hint,” I said. “These guys, those close friends of mine, seemed (to me, at least) to be very like the other young people who never even succumbed to the infection.” Ingrid was puzzled by this ‘hint’. “Other young people?” said her face. Perhaps, the ‘hint’ was a bit obscure for her. “But the only others who didn’t succumb were girls,” said Ingrid, stating the obvious. “I don’t understand your hint at all.” “Think about it, doctor: guys who seem a lot like girls?” (Remember this was the 70’s – a lot of people, including me and Ingrid, didn’t yet realise that many gay guys were not effeminate at all. After all, only ten years before, homosexuality was still officially regarded as a mental illness!) Ingrid half-shook her head before the look of revelation suddenly burst across her face. I nodded and smiled: “Well done, Doctor. It seems you’re making progress.” Actually, she was still a bit slow. She took some moments before blurting out: “Gay? Is that what you’re saying? That gay guys recover?” “My friends, the ones who recovered from the zombie bites were definitely gay – one of them was ‘out’ and the other may as well have been. So, that is indeed what I’m saying: gay guys do indeed get better,” I replied. “But that’s awful. Our best estimate, based on current research, is that one in six guys is gay,” she said – to no-one in particular. (This, indeed, was the statistic widely quoted at the time – though I always doubted it.) “You’ve got the stats, sister,” I replied. “Not me.”
Meur ow gokkineth, my a vinhwarthas. Nyns o hemma derivadow a vynnen ri yn es. Ingrid a dhannvonas golok der kwarel an daras – ha troha’n bilens hwath ow kwandra oll a-dro, yn-mes an stevell-geskows, meur aga hwans a wodhvos pyth esa ow hwarvos ynno. Nyns o dhe’m gwayn bos gohelus, dell heveli. “My a yll ri dhis gidyansik,” yn-medhav. “An bolatys ma, an kothmans ma dhymm, a heveli (dhymmo vy dhe’n lyha) bos kepar ha’n dus yowynk erell na goedhsa nevra dhe’n klevesans.” Ankombrys o Ingrid gans an ‘gidyansik’. “ ‘Dus yowynk erell’?” yn-medh hy thremmynn. Martesen, re ankler o rygdhi. “Mes nyns esa re erell vyth na goedhas dhe’n klevesans a-der myrghes,” yn- medh Ingrid, ow leverel pyth o apert. “Ny gonvedhav mann dha idyansik.” “Gwra prederi yn y gever, ‘Dhoktour: polatys a hevel meur bos kepar ha myrghes?” (Porth kov: yth esen hwath yn blydhynnyow ’70 – ny wodhya hwath meur a dus, my hag Ingrid y’ga mysk, bos meur a bolatys kethreydhel nag o benynek vyth. Ha, wosa oll, nyns o saw deg blydhen kyns kethreythegyeth dhe vos konsydrys yn soedhek dell o kleves a’n brys!) Ingrid hanter-shakyas hy fenn kyn dheuth a-dhesempis golowyans dh’y thremmynn. My a benndroppyas ha minhwerthin: “Gwrys da, ‘Dhoktour. Avonsyans dhis yw henna, dell hevel.” Yn hwir, hwath lent o hi. Byttegyns, wosa berrdermyn, hi a leveris heb preder: “Kethreydhel? Yw henna pyth esosta ow leverel? An bolatys gethreydhel a yll omwellhe?” “Ow sos, an re a omwellhas wosa an brathow-zombi, o yn sertan kethreydhel – onan anedha o ‘apert’ yn y gever ha’n huni arall o aswonnys bos yndella. Ytho, henn yw yn hwir pyth esov ow leverel: an yonkers gethreythel, (dhe’n lyha) a wra yn hwir omwellhe,” a worthybis. “Mes henn yw euthyk. Herwydh agan gwella dismygriv, selys war hwithrans a- dhiwedhes, yma onan yntra hwegh polat yw kethreydhel,” yn-medh hi – dhe dhenvyth arbennik, dell heveli. (An rannriv ma o yn hwir an statystyk dyllys ledan y’n termyn na – kynth esa pup-prys dout dhymm yn y gever.) “An statystygon yw genes jy, ow hwoer,” a worthybis. “Nyns yns genev.”langbot langbot