June 1 - Walking Back

(continued from this thread)


“Do not worry about him.” Reaching into his coat, Le Bras pulled out a chunk of bread and bit off a sizeable mouthful, “Mhngrh?”

Pye watched as a few of the breadcrumbs stole their way past the man's mouth, onto his shirt and his coat and then fell to the floor, unhindered. A very quiet chirp from under his coat reminded him that there was a small being who would have wanted that crumb and who would soon demand much of it or else starve. "..I don'.. think that Bright 's ter be..trusted." He murmured his eyes on the floor. "...not couse he'd help us. But he'd certainly help hisself." He shrugged with a faint frown, seeing another little crumb land on the ground.

“I said,” Le Bras repeated, ignoring the comment about Bright, “Are you hungry?”

"..Me?..yes. Yes please." Pye perked up almost as if Le Bras had told him that they were all free to go. Even his eyes seem to appear livelier and his gaze brighter. Would he have been a dog, his tail would have caused a proper wind whirl. Bread did not only mean food for himself, but for the small ball of fluff too.

He looked embarrassed and dropped his gaze then, in shame. He shuffled uneasily and continued to try and keep pace with the other man. He did appear more timid and perhaps more like his old self, when he still feared the short balding man who talked to his hat as if his mother was in it.

"..'d like to." He murmured more subdued.

Le Bras grinned. Tearing off a chunk of the bread, he held it up. "Le. Pain." he said, slowly and clearly, "Say it."

There was no better motivation to teach the boy anything, than food. The lad watched the bit of bread, hesitated then repeated it the first time. Only the first time it sounded more like the sort of laplan. Zachary however did not wait to be told he had butchered the word. He repeated it again. Awkwardly at first and then the third time he hoped that l'pan was a good way to say it. "Bread?" He asked. That's what Le Bras meant, right? To repeat the French word for bread!

"Oui!" Le Bras' grin broadened and he dropped the bread into the boy's hands, "Yes. Bread."

"Oui. L'pan." The boy replied eagerly. He brought the piece he was given quickly to his mouth to bite a chunk of it. He would not eat it all. No. The bread would be stored away for later. But a few bites would not hurt. "Merv..." What did he hear the French say, when they had said thank you. Mervi..Mers...Marsea? Mercy? He tried each and studied Le Bras to see if any of those might clear the man's face for that distinct feeling of recognition.

"Mer - ci," he repeated, then inclined his head at the boy, "De rien."

"Mer si." The lad repeated. "Mer se..si." He said again with more confidence. He tore of a bit of his bread and stuck it into his pocket. There was another unhappy chirp, though there was atleast one crumb that had happened to fall onto his shirt and then further under his coat. Only, it excited the little bird, but hardly made her fed. Pye cleared his throat and then focused on the next word. "De rien?" " What was De Rien for? "...wot's... wot's de rien?"

He did not know. Merci and....wait, if it was in any relation to the first, it could even be a response to it. "You're welcome?" He hesitated. Or was it: "...Don' mention it?" No, that was too long. "Is' nothing?" Hm, but was it really any of those.He hesitated, grinned and added. "...wot's..wot's any curses in French?" Because curse words were the easiest to remember!

“Yes! Like ‘it is nothing’.”

At the second question Le Bras laughed out loud. Good lad. That was, after all, one of the most important things to learn -- after the words needed to find food and women. “Merde,” he said, after thinking a moment, “Shit.”

"Merd'.. Merde." The lad continued and liked how the r seemed to roll when he said it. He grinned and bashfully and unashamedly repeated the word again. "Merde!" He was quite entertained by that. It meant shit. So he was told.

"Don't sound nothing like English." Which was something obvious and expected in Pye's opinion. If French sounded like English, he would not have trouble understanding it! "Merde!" He repeated again with a broad grin. He liked that word for the sound of it.

Le Bras grinned and cocked his head to one side, thinking. "Ah, yes, bâtard. It is like your English word. Bastard?"

It was not hard to remember that word, nor to repeat it. It appeared to entertain Pye immensly as well, his demanour more relaxed though he ought to have had it stiff and controlled. " This'un is easy. S' not too differen' than our own. We say bastard , aye. You must've 'eard it from many o' our own.. if they was British." He hesitated. "...dunno how many people that'd be...but.. some do cross over."

He gave it a shrug: "...Do ye fear your officers?"

"Eh..." he shrugged, "It depends on the officer, I think. I have had some officers who were not good men, but not fearful - no, fear...some? - I did not fear them. Maybe if I did something very bad, then I might." He shrugged again. "We have a new lieutenant, he seems alright. I think our sergeant is more...." Damnit, there was that word again. "How do you call a person who makes others to fear?"

"intimidatin'..." The lad answered thoughtful. "..s' one way ter call 'em. Can't call 'em fearless.. mebbe fearful..but it can quickly turn ter be used wrong. That'un. "He shrugged. "...yer think yer sergeant s' got more reason t' have you fear 'im than yer leiutenant?"

“You would not ask that if you knew our sergeant,” Le Bras chuckled. “He is not a man who one wants to make angry.”

"I've had a sergeant like that." He paused. "...He was a downright blackguard." When soldiers talked to soldiers all was swell, it was the officers one would not talk with in such fashion. "He'd fancy your girl or something you had n'.. he'd make sure you was flogged all till yer lass gave in, or .." He shrugged lightly. "well.. he knew how t' get 'round officers right perfect, and knew how ter get t' soldiers do 'is biddin'." Now, he had to take a deep breath, so much that he'd said. He blushed as red as the tattered remains of his collar.

"m' sorry. You said.. yours was bad? but if you do right around him, he's leavin' you alone, is he? Is 'e French? Do any o' t'...them like Bright get ter more n' soldiers?"

"I did not say that he is bad. Only that it is not good to make him angry. He is..... big, strong," he aimed a mock punch at the boy's head, "He makes one... how do you say it? He studies one a lesson."

"He is French, oui," he nodded, but frowned in confusion over the final question, "What do you say? More than soldiers?"

Pye ducked before he realised that the Frenchman was only playing. He laughed merrily both at his error and at this unexpected act of Le Bras. "I see. He teaches one a lesson." He looked proud to have been able to teach the other man something of the Language himself.

"N' then yer learn from it." He added, before becoming yet again thoughtful. "I meant t' say...is there.. can even British soldiers become officers , do you think? In your army I mean. In ours us common can be.. mehap sergeants or summat like that. Not much higher n' it though." He shrugged. "Ain't noble born n' rich enough fer it." He grinned at that and added with a pause: "But..mus' be better 'mong fellow rifle.. soldiers n' being all alone up there, no?"

"In the French army, any soldier can to become an officer," explained Le Bras proudly, "Though... I do not know about the deserters. I think it is possible. Why? Do you desire your own company?"

The boy's last comment answered his question and Le Bras heartily agreed. "Much better." A man of limited ambition, he could think of little less appealing than the prospect of isolation and increased responsibility which came with a commission.

"Much better." He nodded and smiled, feeling quite relaxed even if his broken fingers still throbbed with pain, and he was tired. He was not hungry however and his chick would not be hungry once he was left more with himself and out of the direct sight of the French. "Couldn't have a company, not rich." He said with a shrug. "or o' t' right blood." He reasoned though he fell back on what Le Bras said and what he had heard from the French before. "...s' not true just about every common man can be an officer though, is it?... like. ..even if yer smart or have wot' an officer needs t' have....that surely can't be enough!"

He looked on and thought briefly and then more quietly he added. "...Will I need t' talk with an officer....'bout...that?"

“Our lieutenant was a soldat first,” Le Bras retorted, “It is better, no? That men become the officers because they have the good qualities?”

The boy’s last question struck him as a bit premature. It wasn’t even guaranteed that he would be permitted to enlist, let alone earn promotions. But perhaps he had misunderstood. “What do you say? Talk to an officer about what?”

"..I was tole that men can't be officers couse.. they's not got t' proper breeding. Though we have one who's an officer but came from t' ranks. Well not we.. t' other riflemen do. ...though...." He bit his lip and silenced himself.

He only spoke again to reply to Le Bras's question and even then he had to hesitate first to make his words simple and easy to understand. "...Do I need to talk to an officer if ..i'd like to uh.. join. So they get to know that. Or do you talk with them?" He tried to appear eager and yet not too eager. Should he have appeared as the latter he might end up suspicious and that was the last thing he had wanted or needed.

"I do not know. I told you that I will ask my sergeant. And I will."