AN VEDHEGVA An nessa tra a allav perthi kov anedhi o pasans goes. Nyns esen na fella y’n chambour diwaskans. Ny yllyn dri ow dewlagas dhe ewn fog – hag yth en mar glav ma na synsyn poynt a’n le mayth esen. Y settya dalghenn warnav, prys ha prys arta, pasow down ha tynn dres eghenn – ha, prys ha prys arta, y teuth dhiworth ow bryansenn klottys meur goesek. A wodhesta dell omglywir kawghek pan eus dhis kleves hwyja ha ty a dhalleth ‘trywa dha golonn yn-mes’? Gwra an omglywyans na bos lieshes gans hanterkans. “Mars esov yn hwir ow pasa ow skevens yn-mes,” a omwovynnis, “ fatell allav hwath anella, re’n jyowl?” Yth esa klavjiores yowynk owth attendya dhymm. Yth esa hi ow kuntell ow dyllans goesek yn bolla lentrus ha metelyek. Ny wovynnas hi orthymm kewsel. Hi a wodhya ow bos dres kows. Ev a vinhwarthas orthymm (rag ow hennertha, dell heveli) ha palva yn jentyl an merkyow goleskans, hwath rughgogh, a allsa gweles war ow ragvregh noeth. Hweg o henna. “Py par droktra re wrussons dhis?” a hwystras hi, dh’y honan yn apert. Yth esa kroglennow tennys oll a-dro dhe’m gweli. Rag gwitha ow frivetter po rag lettya dewlagas an dus erell rag ow gweles? My a welas kylghlinenn penn omdhiskwedhes dhe du unn groglenn. Ny yllyn gweles fismens an fas o golowys a-dhelergh. Byttegyns, sur ov bos ena Doktour Ingrid. Ny daryas an kylghlinenn saw nebes eylennow, hir lowr rag kesjanya golok – mes geryow vyth – gans an klavjiores owth attendya dhymm. Ena, gyllys o. “Ty a woer hi dhe’th sawya, ow sos yowynk,” yn-medh an glavjiores yn sempel. “Lavar!” yn-medhav ynn-unn-ratha. (Yn hwir, my re vynnsa leverel “Lavar dhymm!” mes ny dhothya an nessa ger. Nyns o sur an glavjiores yn y gever. A via dhedhi kudynn mar lavarra dhymm pyth re welsa po pyth re glywsa hi?
THE INFIRMARY The next thing I remember was coughing up blood. I was no longer in the decompression chamber. I couldn’t focus my eyes – and I was so ill that I didn’t give a rat’s arse where I was. Deep, excoriating coughs seized me time and time again – and, time and time again, great gouts of coagulating blood emerged from my throat. Do you know how shitty you feel when you’ve got a stomach upset and you start ‘heaving your heart out’? Multiply that by 50 times. “If these are my actual lungs that I am coughing up,” I wondered, “ how on Earth am I still breathing?” A young nurse was attending me and catching my bloody ejecta in a shiny metal bowl. She showed no sign of disgust. She didn’t ask me to speak. She could see that I was beyond speech. She smiled encouragingly at me and stroked the still- raw scorch marks that she could see on my bare forearm. That was nice. “What evil have they done to you?” she whispered, apparently to herself. There were curtains drawn about my bed. Was that to protect my privacy or to keep prying eyes away? I saw a silhouetted head briefly appear at the side of one curtain. I could not make out the features of the backlit face but I felt sure it was Doctor Ingrid. The silhouette lingered for a few seconds only, long enough to exchange a glance but no words with the nurse attending me. Then it was gone. “You know she saved your life, young fella,” said the nurse, simply. “Tell!” I rasped. (Actually, I meant to say “Tell me!” but the second word did not come.) The nurse looked uncertain about this. Would she get into trouble for telling me what she had seen or heard?langbot langbot