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Author: langbot
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English[en]
By nightfall, I was no further advanced in convincing David of the wisdom of my plans. In short, he couldn’t understand them beyond the most basic outline. Well, I suppose that was as much as I could ask of any dead person. David’s lack of understanding would not prevent me from putting the plan into effect. I should have been a little more cautious, I guess, but, without a plan of some sort, David’s ‘death expectancy’ was likely to be very short indeed. (All of his fellow zombies – at least the ones on campus – seemed, as I’ve said, to have been ‘neutralised’.) In the ‘wee small hours’ of the night, I crept out once more – trying hard this time not to upset the nearby fruit bats. My initial mission was simple: to check the ignition locks of the army vehicles for keys and collect two pairs of boots and two slouch hats from the veranda of the gate-keeper’s house. I will not trouble you with the details of this initial foray. Suffice it to say that all of the army vehicles were open and had keys in their ignition locks (after all, who was going to steal them?) And the boots and hats were duly collected without mishap. Oh, and the guard at the cemetery gate – a different member of the squad this time – was slumped in the chair and again snoring! “Hmm. That went well,” I thought. I returned in triumph to the crypt with the clothing. David seemed unimpressed by my feat – but was, once again, a little edgy. I stripped off my recently washed – but still filthy – rags to dress myself in the Sergeant’s uniform that I had stolen from the gate-keeper’s house. As was the custom in those days, my name-tag was sewn into the shirt, above the left chest pocket. Henceforth, I was ‘Sergeant S. Smith’ – which was, as I’m sure you will agree, conveniently easy to remember. I slipped the boots onto my bare feet – still no socks to be had but, unless I sat down, this was not noticeable. The boots were, naturally, of standard army issue: thick black cowhide covering the ankles, tough, ropey bootlaces and multiple layers of hobnailed leather on the sole. (Perfect for dancing at the Trocadero!)
Cornish[kw]
Gorthugher, nyns en moy avonsyes y’m assayans dhe berswadya Davydh bos fur ow thowlow. War verr lavarow, ny ylli aga honvedhes dres an moyha sempel linennans. Wel, y tesedhav bos henna kekemmys a yllyn gwaytya dhiworth py den marow pynag. Fowt konvedhes Dhavydh, ny wrussa henna ow lettya rag effeythi an towl. Y talvien bos nebes warra, dell amyttyav, mes heb towl a neb eghenn, ‘gwaytyans a vernans’ Dhavydh o yn hwir pur verr. (Yth heveli oll an zombis erell – dhe’n lyha, an re esa y’n bennskol – dhe vos ‘dinerthys’, dell leveris vy.) Yn ‘ouryow byghan’ an nos, my a greupyas yn-mes unnweyth arta – owth assaya kales, an prys ma, ma na dhistemppren vy eskelli-kroghen an froeth esa y’m ogas. Yth o sempel ow hynsa oberenn: hwithra florennow-enowans an kerri-lu rag determya mar pe dialhwedhyow ynna – ha, dres henna, kuntelles dew goplow botas ha dew hatt dhiworth veranda chi an porther. Ny vynnav agas trobla gans manylyon an kynsa kaskyrgh ma. Lowr yw leverel bos dialhwedhys oll an kerri-lu - hag yth esa dialhwedhyow y’ga florennow- enowans. (Wosa oll, piw a allsa aga ladra? A-der my, heb mar.) Ha’n dillas a veu kuntellys dhiworth an veranda heb droglamm. Dres henna, yth esa hwath gwithyas ogas dhe yet an ynkleudhva – souder dihaval an prys ma – hag ev renkys yn y gador arta! “Hmm. Yth eth henna yn ta,” a brederis vy. Meur ow gormola, my a dhehwelis dhe’n gleudhgell gans an dillas. Ny heveli Davydh dhe vos kemmerys gans ow sewenyans. Byttegyns, nebes anes o ev arta. My a omdhiwiskas (ow dillas o hwath plos kyn fia golghys a-gynsow) rag omwiska yn uniform an serjont re ladersen dhiworth chi an porther. Herwydh usadow y’n dydhyow ma, y fia gwriys tokyn-hanow war an krys, a-ugh poket a- gledh. Y fien alemma rag ‘Serjont S. Angove’ – hanow nag yw kales dhe berthi kov anodho, dell grysav. My a slynkyas an botasennow war ow dewdroes noeth – nyns esa na hwath lodrigow dhymm mes, marnas my a esedhas ny ylli hemma bos merkyes. An botasennow o, yn naturel, kepar dell vydhons gwrys gans an lu, herwydh y usadow: bughkenn du ha tew rag gorheri an dhewufern, lasys kales ha lovanek hag yth esa lies gwiskas a vughkenn ynwedh, gans kentrow eskys, dhe’n godhnow anedha. (Perfeyth rag donsya dhe’n Trocadero!)