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Author: langbot
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English[en]
“No, Sir. Of course not, Sir.” Why was this bastard so interested in me and the coffin? How long before the next scheduled stop when, presumably, he’d get out of the baggage car? He contemplated my words further. “You say he’s one of ours. Was he killed in the recent action?” I remembered that the official line was that there had been no casualties. “I’m not at liberty to say, Sir,” I replied, a slight quaver creeping into my voice. “...because,” he continued, “there were no casualties on our side, Sergeant. Isn’t that so?” “I understand that to be the official position, Sir,” I said, with a degree of uncertainty. Uncertainty – the enemy of convincing falsehood! “So, this soldier must have died of a head cold, Sergeant?” “That would have to be correct, Sir – since no-one was killed in the recent action.” The Major smiled benignly. My plainly duplicitous answer seemed to please him. Perhaps he would leave me alone now? How long to the next stop? “That’s an extremely fancy coffin for a soldier. How is that, Sergeant?” “I am led to believe it was the only coffin readily available at short notice, Sir,” I replied. A truthful answer! But not one that the Major liked. He held out his hand towards me: “Show me your orders, Sergeant!” I reached into my inside pocket and pulled out the envelope that I had stolen along with the uniforms. I handed it to the Major and kept my eyes to the front, still standing to attention.
Cornish[kw]
“Na, Syrr. Heb mar, Syrr.” Prag y kevi an bastard bern a’n par ma ynnov vy ha’n eler? Pes termyn a dremensa kyns es dell hedhsa an tren arta? (Pan dhiyskynnsa ev dhiworth an koch-fardellow, dell waytyen.) Ev a ombrederis a-dro dhe’m geryow. “Ty re leveris ev dhe vos dhyn ni. A veu ledhys y’n vatel a-gynsow?” My a borthas kov an ‘linenn soedhek’: nyns esa denvyth shyndyes yn batel an ynkleudhva (po yn ‘batel an bennskol’, mars yw henna gwell dhiso jy). “Nyns ov rydh dhe leverel, Syrr,” a worthybis vy, kren byghan ow tos dhe’m lev. “... drefenn...,” a besyas ev, “nag esa tus vryw vyth dh’agan para, a Serjont. A nyns yw henna gwir?” “My a gonvedh henna dhe vos an studh soedhek, Syrr,” a leveris vy, gans nebes ansurneth. Ansurneth – eskar dhe woegneth perswadus! “Ytho, res o dhe’n souder ma bos marow drefenn anwoes pur dhrog, a Serjont?” “Henn a via ewn, Syrr – drefenn nag esa denvyth ledhys y’n vatel a-gynsow.” Y finhwarthas an Ughkapten heb atti. Ow gorthyp, meur y dhewblegeth, a heveli plegya dhodho. Martesen, ny vellsa ev na fella genev lemmyn? Py pellder dhe’n nessa gorsav? “Henn yw geler afinus dres eghenn rag souder. Fatell yw henna, a Serjont?” “Ledyes ov dhe grysi na vos geler arall kavadow y’n termyn na, Syrr,” a worthybis. Gorthyp gwir! Byttegyns, nyns yw gorthyp o da vytholl gans an Ughkapten. Y leuv ystynnys troha my, ev a harthas: “Diskwedh dhymm dha arghadow, a Serjont!” My a worras ow leuv a-berth y’m jerkynn ha tenna dhiworto an maylyer re ledhsen gans an uniformys. My a’n ro dhe’n Ughkapten, ow kwitha ow dewlagas a-dheragov hag my sevys hwath yn attendyans.