11th June: Returning with gifts

"Ah no, would you like it?" The lad didn't appear to understand exactly. "You.." He pointed then at Freddie. "Wine." He pointed to the bottle. "Drink?" And with that he made a gesture which was closest to a man downing a bottle. At least he did not try it with solely saying it slow.

"Du...Wine?" There, he remembered the word from another sentence that he had been told before. He just hoped Du was you, and not I or him or something.

Freddie suddenly realized what the man was asking: He was inviting him to share! His grin broke free again and he carefully enounciated: "Yes, please! I ... like ... waine. Sank you."
He dug into his bag and helt out his spotless canteen cup.

Pye looked at the Friedrich with great relief when he mastered some English. He had the bottle tipped so that the cup was being filled. "...Pye. Zachary Pye." He indicated himself. "Du?"

"Friedrich Rottländer." He snapped to attention. "Batman to Capitian Torrington".

Just as suddenly he relaxed again, tossing a jaunty salute to Pye. He liked the man for taking the trouble to talk to him.

"I'm please to make your ...", now what was the word again that concluded the phrase? "... Bekanntschaft?" he added, looking inquiringly around.

"Acquaintance," Cotton supplied helpfully, grinning. Being batman to an officer did teach you something, anyway. Rottländer was grinning fit to bust, something Cotton seemed to remember doing himself in a similar circumstance not so very long ago.

The young lad probably knew him, or at least knew of him, which wasn't quite the same thing. He held out his hand. "Ich bin Gabriel Cotton," he said. "I'm batman to Captain Vickery - Herr Hauptmann Vickery," he added, although his meaning probably was clear enough. There was only one man named 'Vickery' in the Company, after all.

Freddie recognized the name immediatly: The man rumored to be the best shot in the brigade had just offered him his hand! Then the second part of the sentence sank in: Cotton was a batman, too, and to the captain of the company, and certainly Captain Vickery would have taken on only the very best candidate.

He took the proffered hand, something close to hero-worship in his eyes, and said reverentially: "Sie sprechen Deutsch!"

Pye observed the other batman amused. He looked like he had just met his hero. He did not know what exactly the other man said, but he could make a rather good guess of it. He grinned at the two and spoke. "He's the sort yer can really trust. Take me word on it. An' since he'um a batman... didn't you say you was one? He can teach you.. if'n you need ter. Cap'n Vickery would'a been lost if not fer 'im." He hastened to say and then realising that he was speaking English and the other lad had previously shown that he was unable to speak the language all that well he began to speak slowly again.

"You need to learn... to Speak.. English.. for officer." He hesitate for a moment longer. "An' so...um.. we can understan' you too." He paused again. "...you need help learning?"

This rapidly became the best day in his life!

At least Freddie hoped that he had understood correctly. When Pye had started, the young German had been totally lost, because he had been totally unable to separate the individual words. But obviously the other man had realized and once again adjusted to a simpler pattern of speech.
The last few sentences, Freddie thought he had understood nearly every word.

His face changed again, now showing a shy smile, and for the first time his nervous energy seemed to ebb a little. Trying to match the others' courteous efforts, he asked them carefully:

"Would you ... help me ... to learn English? And ... to be ... a good batman?"

Cotton nodded. 'Sie'... His German wasn't the most fluent ever, but he knew enough to know that Rottländer had just addressed him in the formal way, as though he was an officer. "Ja..." he said. His command of the language didn't stretch far enough for him to be able to explain, in the lad's own language, that he didn't need to be called 'Sie'. Though maybe part of it was the age difference, too. He still hadn't quite worked that one out.

"Um... You can call me 'du'," he said and shrugged. "If you have any problems, you can ask me," he added, using gestures to try to help make his meaning clearer. "It's easy, though. And yes, we'll help you learn English."

"Cotton. Do... I have an idea.... I think. Do yo think... Well. Wot' if ... me n' Burke can teach him English..an' ... um...he will teach us German?" He glanced at Cotton as if searching for some sort of confirmation or agreement to his idea or perhaps him saying no, which was all the same.

"Then...then we all benefit from it!" He said then shied away as the idea, once said, suddenly appeared prudent.

Freddie was once again puzzled by Pye's speech. When the rifleman wasn't speaking slowly, there was no way Freddie could understand him.

But he had understood Cotton quite clearly this time and that man had offered to help him. He had also suggested the "Du", but here Freddie wasn't sure whether the man had done so only because it was closer to the English "you" or whether he really knew what he proposed.

As none of the two men had so far showed any impatience because of his painfully slow English, he tried again to speak in this language: "Thank you ... Mister Cotton. When I can ... help you ... for it", he gesticulated, quite sure that this wasn't the correct phrase for 'in return', but he hoped the others understood nevertheless, "you ... only ask."

Freddie fell silent for a moment, face screwed up in concentration as he prepared his next sentence.
"But ... You are ... batman of the captain ... and more old ... and teach me ... I call you "Sie". "Du" ... is not ..." He couldn't find any English word for 'polite'. "Aah ... I can't ... you don't say "Du" to ..."
He suddenly remembered that in the army there were 'superiors', so he hesitantly added this word, hoping it would convey his meaning.

Slightly embarrased, he turned to Pye, who appeared to be more of his own age, hoping that perhaps he could make friends with him. "You say yes? You help me? And I help you?"

Cotton smiled. "We'm the same... du bist einen Jäger, ich bin einen Jäger. The same. 'Mister Cotton'..." he shook his head. "I'm not an officer. You call me Gabriel, or Cotton. I ain't your superior." He indicated his sleeve, where an NCO would have his stripes, and shook his head. "I'm just a Rifleman, like you, and Pye, Mister Rottländer."

If the younger Rifleman felt more comfortable calling Cotton 'Sie', he wouldn't stop him, although it was not something he was particularly comfortable with himself.

"I will help you." Pye answered, articulating each word very slowly. "And Cotton will. Ask anything...and um..... you say in Geman, I or him will say in English. Like....." He looked around and then pointed at his coat. "Rifleman's coat." He murmured. " Coat." He added again, to indicate the piece of clothing. "Shoes." He indicated what he wore on his feet. "Like this. Understood?" Still he spoke rather slowly and louder than usual, thinking this might help the other lad understand him better.

Freddie still had the feeling that Cotton hadn't quite understood what he had meant, but decided not to try and explain again until his English was up to it.

Now he concentrated on what Pye was saying, nodding after each word to indicate that he had understood it. As he realized what the whole sentence meant, his infectious grin once more started on his face. He pointed to his own feet. "Schuhe!" He raised one leg, wiggling his foot: "Ein Schuh!" Setting his foot down again, he made a swirling motion with his hand. "Zwei Schuhe. One shoe, two shoes?"

Wanting to learn something he would probably need in his new positions, he decided to share one of his treasures with his new friends. He ducked into his satchel, sending pieces of green cloth and patches of leather fluttering down around him. Finally he brought to light a small packet, carefully wrapped in oil cloth. Unfolding it, he showed the others that it contained dried leaves. Making an inviting motion, he asked both men:

"Möchten Sie eine Tasse Tee?"

Cotton chuckled and stooped to retrieve some of the bits and pieces that Rottländer had scattered around him while going for his packet of tea.

"Tea sounds like a good idea," he said, straightening up and holding the bits and pieces out to their owner. "Bitte, Herr Rottländer," he added, grinning broadly. If he was going to get called 'Mister Cotton' then he could darn well address the younger Rifleman as 'Herr Rottländer' - propriety and what-not else be damned!

So, ein meant one and zwei meant two. And Schuh and schuhe just described whether there was just one or more. "Yes, one shoe , two shoes. We jus' add an S fer when we want to say more n' one. Like, shoes, ducks, cats, dogs... all just an added S at the end!"

He glanced curiously at the lad when bits and pieces went flying and was confused at the offer. Tee....it sounded a bit like tea, didn't it? Well... it started the same. Only that made no sense unless he looked at what the boy pulled out.

"I ...what did he say Cotton? That that is tea?"

Cotton shook his head. "Möchten Sie eine Tasse Tee? Would you like a cup of tea? Meanin' the both of us." He indicated Pye and himself. "An' I said, please." He indicated his own fire. "Come over an' talk with us, lad," he said, turning back to Rottländer. "You can make your cup of tea over there just as easily as over here, after all."

"Would you like a cup of tea? Would you like a cup of tea?" Freddie sang the words again and again, setting them to a popular tune, as he darted over to the indicated fire.

Here he spotted a small kettle that looked as if commonly used for the job, wiped the inside with a piece of cloth, filled it with water, set it to boil, put another log on the fire, and restacked the rest.

Then he indicated the tree trunk used as a bench. "You ... are now ... officers. You say ... what ..."

Unable to complete the sentence in English, he mimicked a rather snobbish person shooing others around, pointing at several objects. His face and stance changed to accommodate a series of caricatures of different moods from totally disgusted over bored to lazily satisfied.

"You ... sit, please ... and tell me ... what words ... I ... need."

Pye blinked a couple of times and then had to put a hand to his mouth to stiffle laughter that threatened to come out with the strength of a raging river. He shook his head and debated if he, or Cotton should do it and whom he could impersonate. Captain Vickery was not any of those things that Friedrich presented them with. But he could reenact a certain Simmerson who was a bastard if there ever was one. He stuck his nose up, pushed his belly out as far as he could, which, being that he did not have anything of a reserve there, was not really as impressive as the said officer, and then with what he thought was a fairly good impression of the man, snapped at poor Friedrich in the sort of:" Where's my tea? Get your bloody arse up to it. Why is it taking so long?" He may have gotten an accent fairly alright, only he was not sure on the rest.

More calm and more like himself he said:" You need ter bring us tea first an' be very polite.. but dunno...wot' you say. Cotton does it."

Cotton couldn't help laughing at Rottländer's comical impersonation of an impatient officer ordering someone around. Pye's own impression of a bossy officer made him calm down a little, though. "Our officers ain't like that, though," he said, indicating Pye and shaking his head. "They'm more like the Captain - well, they would be, followin' his example an' all." He was thoughtful for a moment. "Have you met the Captain yet? Talked with him?" He wasn't quite sure how to say it in German, not being fluent like the Captain was.

"You can't go far wrong with 'would you like a cup of tea' though." He wasn't sure exactly what help an Engineer officer needed when dressing in the morning - Vickery needed help with his sash, of course, but then he had the Light Infantry style, with the whipcord ends that tied themselves in knots if you weren't careful about it. "You need to look after his sword," he added, indicating his own sword-bayonet. "Here, get yourself a cup of tea an' sit down here, won't you?" He shifted up to make a bit of room for the lad, making his meaning plainer.

Nearly doubling over with laughter himself, Freddie took Pye's mug, cleaned it ceremoniously, filled it and placed it on a suitable piece of bark before presenting it in all due form to Pye, every inch the brow-beaten servant. "Bitte sehr, Herr Pye!" It felt good to have someone to laugh with.

Cotton's mug Freddie filled without any flourish, though, but much more careful to keep all the leaves out of the mug and not to spill anything.
He hadn't understood all the words, of course, but the longer he listened to the man, the better he caught the meaning of his speech.

"I ... talked with Cpt. Torrington ... short ... shortly? He is ... müde." Freddie let his shoulders sack and his eyelids drop, giving a picture of utter exhaustion. "He say...s I come ... tomorrow. I ... cleaned ... his horse. He sayed 'Thank you!'"
Taking his own mug, Freddie sat down cross-legged, facing the two others. "Captain Vickery is ... a ... nice officer ... gentleman. We ... have luck. You ... Wie lange", he indicated a span with his hands, "are ... was ... you with the company?"

"Tired," Cotton supplied, guessing the meaning from Rottländer's mime. He nodded. "Captain Vickery is a very nice officer, yes. I have been with the Company for... three years now." He smiled. "I 'listed four years ago," he made the gesture of rubbing a coin, meaning taking the King's shilling, to help the German rifleman grasp his meaning. "I was a redcoat for one year an' then joined the Rifles." He grinned. "I like bein' a Rifleman well enough. It's a good life."

He grinned. "How long have you been with the Company, then?" he asked, indicating the younger Rifleman.

"Little longer ... than ... a year" Freddie answered. "I finished ... training. Then I ... come ... came here. I fighted at Rolica," he added proudly. "I killed a Frog!" He mimicked the slash of a bayonet. "I like it ... bein' a rifleman ... auch."

He tilted his head to look the stars, then asked somewhat wistfully: "You think we fight Frogs here? Or go back?" He sprang up and went through the motions of an orderly retreat with bayonets at the ready.

"One year?" He had to think for a moment for the German word. "Ein... ein Jahr?" He thought he remembered the younger man joining, but he'd been busy with his own small group and he had no duties or responsibilities outside of that group at the time.

"No, we'll fight the French here. We ain't goin' back now, not after what they did the other week." He still felt that he'd let the Captain down by not being there after the officer had been wounded, as he should have been. "We'll keep goin' forwards until the officers say not to."

"Yes, ein Jahr, that is 12 Monate." Freddie could feel that the older man was troubled by something, but didn't dare to ask, so he simply refilled his mug before sitting down again.

After a moment of companionable silence he suddenly remembered something: "You ... were .... gefangen, or?" He crossed his hands in front of him, as if shackled. "Was it bad?"