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A löngu síðan á Íslandi ..... [3]

 
Silja Henningsdottir's picture
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“Mrs Buh-jorck Mortunsun?”  Enquired the soldier who approached Silja’s Momma. Silja’s Momma remained tight lipped. She regarded the man with distrust.

The Sarge tipped his helmet back on his head and looked at his clipboard then at Frú  Mortensson.  “You no speekee eenglish  maaam?” He asked in his thick Arkansas drawl. “Buh-jorck Mortunsun?  That is your name? Says right there on this here list o’ mine.” The Sarge indicated a point part way down a list of names.

The wind whistled slightly, Frú Mortensson remained tight-lipped. Her pale blue eyes locked on the eyes if the soldier in front.

The Sarge tried talking an little louder and slower as if it would help the lady understand him better “You caint speekee the enngelish, ann  eye  caint speekee slandick. Yooo  haave to come allawng  wiiith  usss on  that there big wag-gon. Eet  izzz  no  sayfe forrr youuw heeer no  more.” He pointed theatrically at the truck for added effect.

Frú Mortennson rolled her eyes up 

“Björk”

“Whut?  Who you callin a berk?” The Sarge looked at her angrily

Frú  Mortensson sighed. “ My name is Björk, not Buh-jorck. And I would argue my English is more accurate than your English, so there is no need at all for the baby talk, Sargeant.”

“ Well dang me, Aint’ nuthin’ else gonna beat that today.

“Pardon me?” Frú Mortensson looked back defiantly “ ’Aint nuthin’ ”. you will find is a double negative. I assume you mean ‘there is nothing’ or  ‘there isn’t anything’? .. an I correct ?”

The Sarge looked skyward, hands on his hips with exasperation. He retrenched his position “I aint never heared nothing like this, some damn ‘Slandic Suzie tryin’ to teach me how t’ talk ‘Murcain.”

Frú Mortensson, who in fact was an English tutor, frowned as she translated the Sarge’s English back into English. She decided it was not worth it.  Instead she called out to Silja, who by now had drifted off towards the fascinating truck.

“Silja! Ekki fara of nálægt þeim mönnum. Og vera þar sem ég get séð þig”

“Allt í lagi Mömmu…”  came the high pitched reply, with a wave and a smile.

 The Sarge suddenly felt a long way from Arkansas.

 

Silja, meanwhile, wandered looking in awe at the huge military  truck, her fingertips traced the shapes on the tyres which read ‘Goodyear’. She absent- mindedly wandered to the rear of the truck  were a small group of grunts were smoking and chatting..They chatted until the sight of a pair of bright inquisitive blue eyes peeking from under a bright red woollen pom-pom hat took their attention.

Private First Class Leroy Buchannan, squatted down in front of Silja. “ Hey there, lil’ lady.” He smiled at the big blue eyes and freckles.

Silja stared back her head tilted, eyes narrowed a little. She asked a question of Pfc Buchannan.

“Hvers vegna er húðin allt svart?”

Pfc Buchannan looked back  at her, smiling  “ I’m sorry honey, I don’t understand you. “

Silja’s index finger came forward and slowly drew a line down the side of Pfc. Buchannan’s face, Silja turned the finger end to look at it, expecting the black to have come off on her hand. She just looked in a puzzled way at her clean finger

The other guys in the unit laughed

 

“ Hey Leroy !  I think she just seen her first black man.”

Comments

Joe Spivey's picture

((A humourous and Highly believable scene. I have heard so many anecdotes from ww2 where just such a thing (or very similar) actually happened when European children had their first meeting with the Afro-American troops.

Stick with me kid and you'll be farting through silk.

Khal Vorgus's picture

(( I love it, as much as I love the two previous ones! Can't wait for 4 and the rest! :D ))

mah sig!

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