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Author: langbot
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English[en]
The Aussie looked as if he’s just stepped off a cattle-station: tall (6’4” or so), rangy and raw-boned. Incongruously, he sported a closely cropped moustache (almost Hitlerian, but not quite). The stare in his eyes also suggested he was the sort of bloke who’d rather have a fight than a feed. “Well, that’s where you’d be wrong, brother,” replied Gately. Gately, on the other hand, looked as if he’d not be out of place as an extra on a Hollywood set. He was big, muscular – and very determined. (And, perhaps, he didn’t much like the talk of ‘lynching’.) The Aussie soldier put down his glass of beer – a serious move in any situation – and challenged Gately: “Oh, yeah? And how’s that?” “There’s a guy, a guy they captured with the zombies while you were away. He’s at the camp now – recovering in the infirmary.” “So?” replied the rangy Aussie, lifting his glass to his lips once more. “Don’t you get it?” replied Gately. “He was living with the zombies. He says he was with them for the entire first two weeks after the outbreak in Melbourne.” The Aussie took in the significance of this – and placed his glass down once again. “And they didn’t eat him?” “No, sir!” asserted Private First Class Gately. “And he’s not a zombie himself?” “Nope. We all saw him,” said Gately. “The guy was as alive as you or me. They had him in a cage, on-stage, at one of the Captain’s lectures – you know, that Doctor Captain.” “Bullshit!” replied the Aussie dismissively. “How can a guy live with the zombies for two weeks – and not get eaten or turn into a zombie himself? That’s just plain bullshit. How can that be?” (Bullshit was something, apparently, that the tall Aussie was fully conversant with.)
Cornish[kw]
Yth heveli an Ostralian dhe dos a-dhiwedhes dhiworth ammethva-jatel: hir (ogas dhe 6’4”), eseliek ha nerthek y eskern. Yn koynt, yth esa dhodho minvlew berr (nebes haval dhe huni Hytler). Tremmynn settyes yn y dhewlagas a leveris y vos eghenn a was mayth o gwell ganso dhe vatalyas ages dhe dhybri. “Wel, henn yw le mayth ythys kamm, ‘Broder,” a worthybis Porther. Yn fordh arall, ny via Porther yn mes y le a-berth yn settyans Hollywood. Bras o, meur y geher, hag unnverrhes yn y borpos. (Ha, martesen, ny vynna meur keskows a-dro dhe ‘lynchyans’.) An souder Ostralek a worras y wedrenn korev war an voes – gwayans sevur yn studhyow oll – ha gul challenj dhe Borther: “Yn hwir? Fatla yw henna?” “Yma polat, polat re via kachyes gans an zombis pan esewgh a-ves. Yma ev y’n selva lemmyn, owth omyaghhe y’n vedhegva.” “Hag ytho?” a worthybis an Ostralian eseliek hag ev drehevys y wedrenn dh’y dhiwweus unnweyth arta. “A ny gonvedhydh?” a worthybis Porther. “Yth esa ow triga gans an zombis. Ev a lever y vos gansa dres oll an kynsa diw seythun wosa an tardhans yn Melbourne.” “Ha ny wrussons y dhybri?” “Na wrussons, a Syrr!” a dheklaryas Souder keth, Kynsa Gradh, Porther. “Ha ny eth ha bos zombi y honan?” “Na. Ni re’n gwelas, ahanan ni oll,” yn-medh Porther. “Byw yw an polat – kepar ha ty po my. Y feu gorrys war soler y’n wariva, yn kowell, dres unn arethow an Kapten – henn yw leverel an Kapten-vedhek.” “Ass yw honna kraghell kawgh!” a worthybis an Ostralian, meur y dhiskryjyans. “Fatell yll polat triga gans an zombis dres diw seythun heb y vos dybrys po heb y dhos ha bos zombi y honan? Honn yw yn sempel kraghell kawgh. Fatell yll henna bos gwir?” (Yn apert, kawgh o neppyth aswonnys yn ta dhe’n Ostralian hir.)