Hemingway's Short Stories: The Gambler, the Nun and the Radio (Part I)

They were brought in around midnight, and all night long down the corridor everyone heard the Russian scream.

"Where's he?" asked Mr. Fraser the night nurse.

"On the thighs, I thought. ”

"How's the other one?"

"Ah, I'm afraid he's going to die. ”

"Where's he?"

"I was shot twice in the stomach. They found only one bullet. ”

They were all sugar beet workers, a Mexican and a Russian, and they were sitting in an all-night restaurant drinking coffee, and one of them walked in and shot the Mexican. The Mexicans fell to the floor with two shots in the stomach, and the Russians climbed under the table with a stray bullet that would have been fired at the Mexicans. That's what the newspaper says.

The Mexican told the police that he did not know who shot him. He thought it was a fortuitous accident.

"In a casual accident, he fired eight shots at you and hit you twice, right?"

"Yes, sir," said the Mexican, whose name was Cayetano Ruiz.

"It was just a chance accident that he shot me, that bastard," he said to the interpreter. ［1］

"What did he say?" the officer asked, looking at the interpreter across the bed.

He said it was a fortuitous accident. ”

"Tell him the truth, he's dying," the officer said.

"I can't die," Cayetano said, "but tell him that I feel bad and don't want to say more." ”

"He said he was telling the truth," the interpreter said. Then, confidently, he said to the officer, "He doesn't know who shot him." They shot him in the back. ”

"Yes," said the officer, "I know, but why do all the bullets come in from the front?"

"Maybe he's," the interpreter said.

"Listen," said the officer, his fingers almost shaking in front of Cayetano's nose, which protruded from his dead-like face, but whose eyes were as nimble as eagle's-eye. "I don't care who shoots you, but I have to get to the bottom of this. Don't you want the man who hurt you to be punished? Tell him that," he said to the interpreter.

"He said tell me who hurt you. ”

"To hell," said Cayetano, tired of himself.

"He said he didn't see the man at all," the interpreter said, "and I told you unequivocally, they shot him in the back." ”

"Ask him who wounded the Russian. ”

"Poor Russian," Cayetano said, "he was lying on the floor with his head in his arms. When they shot him, he screamed, and he has been calling for this time. Poor Russians. ”

"He said it was someone he didn't know. Maybe it was the guy who shot him. ”

"Listen," said the officer, "this is not Chicago. You're not a gangster in the underworld. You don't need to act like a movie. There is nothing wrong with telling the person who hurt you. Everybody will tell the people who hurt them. There's nothing wrong with that. Maybe if you don't tell who that person is, he'll shoot and injure someone. He couldn't have shot a woman or a child. You can't let him slip away from doing this. You tell him," he said to Mr. Frazier. "I don't trust that damn translator. ”

"I'm very reliable," the translator said. Cayetano looked at Mr. Frazier.

"Listen, friend," said Mr. Frazier, "the police say we're not in Chicago, we're in Haley, Montana [2] . You're not a robber, and you have nothing to do with acting in movies. ”

"I take his word for it," Cayetano said softly, "and I take his word for it." ”

"There's no shame in exposing people who hurt themselves. Everybody here does that, he said. He said, "What if that guy shoots and wounds you, and then goes and wounds the woman and the child?"

"I've never been married," Cayetano said.

"He's referring to any woman, any child. ”

"That man is not crazy," Cayetano said.

"He said you should expose him," Mr. Fraser finished.

"Thank you," Cayetano said, "for a good translator." I can speak English, but very badly. I can understand it all. How did you break your leg?"

"Fell off the horse. ”

"How bad luck. I was very uncomfortable. Does it hurt terribly?"

"It's not great now. At first, it hurt terribly. ”

"Listen, friend," Cayetano began, "I'm weak. You will forgive me. Besides, I was in pain, and it hurt enough. Chances are, I'll die. Please send this policeman away, for I am very tired. He made it look like he was going to roll over and sleep on his side, and then he was silent.

"I told him exactly what you said, and he told you that he did not know who shot and wounded him, and that he was very weak, and that he hoped you would ask him again later," Mr. Fraser said.

"He might die later. ”

"It's likely. ”

"So I'm going to ask him now. ”

"I told you that someone shot him in the back," the interpreter said.

"Ah, God knows," said the officer, putting the notebook in his pocket.

The police officer and the interpreter stood in the corridor outside by Mr. Fraser's wheelchair.

"I think you think someone shot him in the back, right?"

"yes," Fraser said, "someone shot him in the back." What do you think?"

"Don't be annoyed," the officer said, "I wish I could speak Spanish." ”

"Why don't you learn?"

"You don't have to be annoyed. I asked the Mexican a lot of questions, and I couldn't get anything pleasing to anyone. If I could speak Spanish, it would be very different. ”

"You don't have to speak Spanish," the translator said, "I'm a very reliable translator." ”

"Ah, God knows," the officer said. "Well, goodbye, I'll come and see you. ”

"Thank you. I'm always here. ”

"I think you're pretty good right now. I did have bad luck at the time. Bad luck. ”

"Now that his bones have been picked up, luck has changed. ”

"Not really, but it's been a long time. It takes a long, long time. ”

"Don't let anyone shoot you in the back. ”

"That's right," he said, "that's right." Well, I'm glad you weren't annoyed. ”

"Goodbye," said Mr. Fraser.

Fraser hadn't seen Cayetano for a long time, but every morning Sister Cecilia brought news of him. She said that he never sighed bitterly, and that the situation was very bad at the moment. He contracted peritonitis; Poor Cayetano, she said. He had such beautiful hands and such a beautiful face, and he never sighed. Right now, the smell of the wound is unbearable. He would point a finger to his nose and smile and shake his head, she said. He hated the smell. He was embarrassed, Sister Cecilia said. Ah, what a good patient he was. He was always smiling. He did not want to confess to the priest, but he prayed, and after he was brought in, no Mexican came to see him. The Russian will be discharged from the hospital at the end of this week. I couldn't care about the Russian, Sister Cecilia said. Poor man, he also suffered. It was a greased, dirty bullet with an infected wound, but he screamed so fiercely, and besides, I've always liked bad guys. That Cayetano, he's a bad guy. Ah, he must really be a bad guy, a bad guy through and through, he was so well-proportioned and urbane, he never worked with his hands. He's not a beet worker. I know he's not a beet worker. His hands are smooth and not a bit calloused. I knew he had to be a bad guy. I'm going downstairs now to pray for him. Poor Cayetano, his injuries are so severe, he doesn't snort. Why did they have to hurt him? Ah, poor Cayetano! I went downstairs at once to pray for him.

She immediately went downstairs to pray for him.

In this hospital, the acoustics of the radio were not very good until dusk. They say it's because there's a lot of ore underground, or maybe it's because of the mountains, but it doesn't work well until it starts to get dark outside, but it works very well all night, and you can twist west and listen to another station after one station is finished. The last radio station you can receive is Seattle, Washington, and because of the time difference, they stop broadcasting at 4 a.m., when it's 5 a.m. in the hospital, and at 6 o'clock you can hear the morning music playing in Minneapolis [3]. It's also because of the time difference, and Mr. Fraser often likes to think about the players going to the studio, imagining what it would be like for them to get off the tram with their instruments early in the morning, before dawn. Maybe it's not right, they put their instruments where they play their music, but he always imagined them carrying them with them. He had never been to Minneapolis, and thought he might never be there, but he knew what the city was like early in the morning.

From the hospital window, you can see a snowfield with amaranth and a bare dirt mountain. One morning, when the doctor wanted to show Mr. Fraser that there were two pheasants in the snow, he pulled his bed to the window, and the lamp on the iron bed frame fell and hit Mr. Fraser right on the head. It doesn't sound funny now, but it was very funny back then. Everyone looked out the window, and the doctor, a croaking doctor, pointed at the pheasant and pulled the bed to the window, and then, as in a comic strip, Mr. Fraser was struck on the top of the head by the lead base of the lamp, and passed out. It sounded the opposite of curing the sick and saving people, or rather, it was the opposite of what the people in the hospital were doing, so everyone thought it was funny, a joke on Mr. Fraser and the doctor. Everything is relatively simple in the hospital, even jokes.

If you turn your head around the bed and look through another window, you can see the city, with a faint cloud of smoke above the city, and the undulating mountains of Mount Dawson [4], which look like a real mountain under the winter snow. Since it turns out that it is too early to be in a wheelchair, there are only two views left. If you're staying in a hospital, really, it's best to stay in bed, because it's much better to have plenty of time to see two views from a room with a temperature controlled by you than to see a few minutes from one hot, empty room — even though there's a lot to see from those empty rooms — not to mention that you're going to have to go in and out in a wheelchair in an empty room waiting for a patient to move in or for a patient to move out. If you stay in a room for a long time, no matter what the view is, it has a lot of value and becomes important, and you don't change it, not even a different angle. It's like listening to the radio, you like some things you already like, and you hate new things. The best tunes they heard that winter were "Sing a Simple Thing," "Singing Girl," and "A Little Lie Without Malice." Mr. Fraser felt that the other pieces were not so satisfying. "Betty" was also a good tune, but the comical mock lyrics that inevitably reached Mr. Frazier's mind were so annoying that no one would appreciate it, and he finally stopped listening to the song and went back to the game of rugby.

At about nine o'clock in the morning, they began to use the X-ray machine, at which point the radio could only listen to Haley's radio and became useless. Many Haley people with radios protested that the hospital's X-ray machines had ruined their morning program, but never took any action, even though many thought it was a shame that the hospital would use the X-ray machines while people were listening to the radio.

When it was time to turn off the radio, Sister Cecilia walked in.

"How's Cayetano doing, Mama Cecilia?" asked Mr. Fraser.

"Ah, he's in terrible condition. ”

"Is he delirious?"

"Not yet, but I'm afraid he's going to die. ”

"What do you think?"

"I'm worried about him, you know, nobody came to see him, all the Mexicans didn't care, let him die like a dog. They're horrible. ”

"Would you like to go upstairs to a rugby game this afternoon?"

"Ah, no," she said, "I'll be too excited." I'm going to stay in church and pray. ”

"We should be able to hear it clearly," Mr. Fraser said, "and they're racing on the Pacific coast, and it's quite late here because of the time difference, so we can hear it clearly." ”

"Oh, no. I can't come and listen. The last World Softball Championship almost killed me. Athletic Team [5] When I hit the ball, I immediately prayed out loud: 'Oh, Lord, direct their eyes!' Oh, Lord, may he hit and score!' Later, they ran to fourth base in the third inning, you remember, I couldn't stand it. 'Oh, Lord, I wish he had hit the ball out of the field!' Oh, Lord, I wish he had hit the ball over the wall at once!' 'Oh, Lord, I hope they can't see the ball!, Lord, let them not see the ball at all!, Oh, Lord, I hope they miss!' and this game is even more important. It was Norte Dame [6]. Our Lady. No, I had to stay in church. Pray for Our Lady. They are going to race for Our Lady. I want you to write something for Our Lady someday. You can write it. You know you can write it, Mr. Frazier. ”

"I don't know what I can write about her. Most have already been written," Mr. Fraser said. "You're not going to like the way I write. She wouldn't care. ”

"Sooner or later you will write something about her," said Sister Cecilia, "and I know you will." You have to write something about Our Lady. ”

"You'd better go upstairs and listen to the game. ”

"I can't stand that. No, I have to stay in church and do what I can. ”

That afternoon, about five minutes into the game, a nurse trainee walked into the room and said, "Mama Cecilia wants to know how the game went?"

"Tell her they've already scored once with the ball. ”

In the blink of an eye, the nurse trainee walked into the room again.

"Tell her that they beat each other up," Mr. Fraser said.

After a while, he rang the bell and called the nurse on duty in the ward. "It's great that you could go downstairs to the church and tell Madame Cecilia, or tell her that at the end of the first quarter, Notre Dame was fourteen-0 ahead. She could stop praying. ”

A few minutes later, Sister Cecilia walked into the room. She was very excited. "What does fourteen-zero mean? I don't understand this kind of game. In softball, it's a landslide to win. But I don't know anything about rugby. Maybe that's nothing. I immediately went downstairs back to the church and prayed until the game was over. ”

"They've beaten each other," Fraser said, "I promise you." Stay here and listen with me. ”

"Nope. No. No. No. No. No. No," she said, "I immediately went downstairs to the church to pray." ”

Every time the Notre Dame scored, Fraser sent the news downstairs, and finally, he told someone the result of the game, and it was already dark for a long time.

"How's Lady Cecilia?"

"They're all in church," she said.

The next morning, Sister Cecilia came in. She was very happy and confident.

"I knew they couldn't beat Notre Dame," she said, "and they couldn't." Cayetano is a little better. He's much better. He's about to be visited. He couldn't see them just yet, but they were coming, and it would make him feel better, let him know that he hadn't been forgotten by his own people. I had just gone downstairs and met O'Brien, the lad at the police headquarters, and told him that he should get some Mexicans to see poor Cayetano. He'll call a few this afternoon. Well, the poor man will feel better. It's so bad that no one comes to see him like this. ”