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Author: langbot
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English[en]
Now that was a tricky question. I guessed from the broadcasts I’d heard that the official line was “no casualties” but here I was with a recently deceased soldier’s corpse. I leaned, very obviously, on the coffin and said: “Well, Private. Tell me what you’ve been told.” “We were told by our commanding officer that there were no casualties at all – but hat’s not what some of the blokes who were actually at the battle have told us.” I smiled ironically and patted the coffin tenderly: “We can’t go about believing rumours, can we? Our brave comrade must have died of a bad head cold, mustn’t he?” “Come on, Sarge,” the soldier persisted. “You can tell us what happened.” Still smiling, I said: “Sorry, Private. Security.” Then another piped up: “Okay. Let’s assume this guy was not killed by zombies – because that didn’t happen to any soldier – but, if it had, wouldn’t that mean he becomes a zombie as well? From just the bites, I mean?” I grimaced. “Private, I’ve seen what’s inside this coffin. You’d need an awful lot of ‘Tarzan’s Grip’ to stick all the bits back together. Only then might you get yourself a zombie.” A uniform look of revulsion covered the faces of all those present – and the questioning ceased. Reverently, the soldiers helped me get the coffin off the tray of the ute and onto a railway trolley. They stood by silently, waiting to assist in loading the box onto the train when it arrived. Good blokes, those men. The train arrived in a few minutes and, without fuss, both David and I were loaded into the baggage compartment. Citing various regulations, the train guard tried to persuade me to leave the coffin and travel up front, with the other passengers.
Cornish[kw]
Kwestyon tykkli o henna. My a dhesevis – drefenn an darlesansow re glywsen – derivas soedhek dhe vos “tus vryw vyth” mes ottavy! (Gans korf souder ledhys a-gynsow.) My a boesas war-rag yn apert – war an eler – ha leverel: “Wel, a souder, lavar dhymm pyth re veu leverys dhis.” “Derivys en ni gans agan pennsoedhek nag esa mann tus vryw. Byttegyns, nyns yw henna pyth re leveris dhyn nebes a’gan matys, an re neb esa yn hwir orth an bresel.” My a vinhwarthas yn ironek ha handla yn tov an eler: “Ny yllyn krysi an kyhwedhlow a’n par na, a yllyn ni? Agan kothman kolonnek re verwis, martesen, drefenn anwoes pur dhrog warnodho?” “Deun yn-rag, a Serj’” a besyas an souder. “Ty a yll leverel dhyn ni pyth a hwarva.” Hwath ow minhwerthin, my a leveris: “Drog yw genev, a souder. Sawder yw.” Ena, souder arall a dhallathas: “Da lowr. Gwren desevos na veu ledhys ow sos gans zombis – drefenn na hwarva henna dhe souder vyth – mes, mar hwarva henna, a styrsa henna y dhos ha bos zombi keffrys? Henn yw leverel, drefenn an brathow?” My a omgammas orto. “A souder, my re welis pyth eus a-berth y’n eler ma. Y fia edhomm a veur euthyk a “Tarzan’s Grip” rag glusa oll an temmyn warbarth arta. Martesen, wosa ty dhe wul henna, y fia zombi ragos jy.” Golok skruth a lenwis fasow an soudoryon oll – ha nyns esa govynnadow vyth na fella. Meur aga revrons, an soudoryon a’m gweresas drehevel an eler ha’y hemmeres dhiworth an karr-les hag ena hy gorra war garrigell an orsav. Yth esens a’ga sav yn tidros, ow kortos rag ow gweres karga an boks war an tren pan dhothya ev. Kowetha pur vrav, an wesyon na. Y teuth an tren wosa nebes mynysenn ha, heb trynn, Davydh ha my, an dhew, a veu kargys yn koch-fardellow. Ow kul devnydh a nebes rewlyansow, gwithyas an tren a assayas perswadya dhymm a lavurya y’n karyach arall, gans an dremenysi erell.