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

At about five o'clock that afternoon, three Mexicans walked into the room.

"May I have a drink?" asked the eldest one, who had thick lips and was quite fat.

"What else does it take to say?" replied Mr. Fraser, "sit down, gentlemen. Would you all like to drink a little?"

"Thank you very much," said the big man.

"Thank you," said the darkest, smallest one.

"Thanks, I don't drink," said the thin man, "and I'm dizzy from drinking." He patted his head.

The nurse brought a couple of glasses. "Please hand them the bottle," Fraser said. "It was bought from the 'Red Man's Shack,'" he explained.

"The wine at the 'Red Man's Shack' is the best," said the big man, "much better than 'Dashilar.'" ”

"It's obvious," said the youngest one, "and it's more expensive." ”

"The wine in the 'Red Man's Shack' is precious," said the big man.

"How many pipes is this radio?" asked the non-drinker.

"Seven pipes. ”

"It's beautiful," he said, "how much does it cost?"

"I don't know," said Mr. Fraser, "it's rented." ”

"Are you all friends of Cayetano?"

"No," said the big man, "we are friends with the man who wounded him." ”

"The police told us to come here," said the youngest one.

"We're a little bit of a stand," said the big man, "and he and I," referring to the one who doesn't drink. "He's also a little bit of a small person," he said, referring to the dark-skinned little man. "The police told us we had to come here – so we came. ”

"I'm glad you came. ”

"We're happy too," the big man said.

"Would you like another drink?"

"That's a good idea," said the big man.

"Thank you for your hospitality," said the youngest one.

"I can't," said the thin man, "and I'm dizzy from drinking." ”

"The wine is good," said the youngest one.

"Why don't you try," Mr. Fraser asked the thin man. "You might as well be a little dizzy. ”

"The next thing is a headache," the thin man said.

"Can't you call a few of Cayetano's friends to come and see him?" asked Fraser.

"He has no friends. ”

"Everybody has friends. ”

"This person, no. ”

"What does he do?"

"He's a player. ”

"Is he a shrewd card player?"

"I think it's shrewd. ”

"From me," said the youngest one, "he won a hundred and eighty dollars." One hundred and eighty pieces were gone. ”

"From me," said the thin man, "he won two hundred and eleven pieces." Think about the number. ”

"I've never played cards with him," the fat man said.

"He must be rich," Mr. Fraser suggested.

"He's poorer than we are," said the diminutive Mexican, "and he has nothing but that shirt." ”

"That shirt is worthless now," said Mr. Frazier, "and there's a hole." ”

"That's true. ”

"Is the guy who shot him a player?"

"No, he's a sugar beet worker. He already had to leave the city. ”

"Think about it," said the youngest one, "and he plays the guitar the best and the best in the city." ”

"Sincerity."

"That's true," said the eldest one, "how well he plays the guitar." ”

"Are there no more people in town who can play the guitar well?"

"There is not a single person who can barely play the guitar. ”

"There's one guy who doesn't play the accordion badly," said the thin man.

"And a few people who play with various instruments," said the big man, "do you like music?"

"How could I not like that?"

"Shall we play some music one night? Do you think the nun would allow it? ”

"As long as Cayetano can hear, I'm sure she'll agree. ”

"Is she a little crazy?" asked the thin man.

"Chen?"

"The nun. ”

"Not at all," said Mr. Frazier, "she is a good person who is both intelligent and compassionate." ”

"I don't trust all the priests, monks and nuns," said the thin man.

"He had bad experiences when he was young," said the youngest.

"I used to be a priest's assistant," said the thin man proudly, "and now I don't believe anything." I don't go to Mass. ”

"Why? Do you want to get dizzy?"

"No," said the thin man, "I'm dizzy after drinking." Religion is the opium of the poor. ”

"I thought marijuana was the opium of the poor," Fraser said.

"Have you ever smoked opium?" asked the big man.

"Nope. ”

"Neither did I," he said, "and it looked like something really bad." Once you smoke it, you can't get rid of it. It's a harmful thing. ”

"It's like religion," said the thin man.

"This man," said the shortest Mexican, "is vehemently opposed to religion." ”

"It is necessary to fiercely oppose something," said Mr. Fraser politely.

"I respect those who are religious, even though they are ignorant," the thin man said.

"Well said," Mr. Fraser said.

"Can we bring you something?" said the big Mexican, "what are you missing?"

"I want to buy some beer, if there is a good beer. ”

"We'll bring beer. ”

"A small glass before leaving?"

"That's a good idea. ”

"Broke the bank. ”

"I can't drink it. Drunk dizzy. Then I would have a headache and an upset stomach. ”

"Farewell, gentlemen. ”

"Goodbye, thank you. ”

When they were gone, he listened to the radio, turned it down as low as he could, but it was still audible, and the radio stations finally stopped broadcasting in this order: Denver, Salt Lake City, Los Angeles, and Seattle. Mr. Fraser doesn't get a view of Denver on the radio. He could see Denver from the Denver Post, correcting what he saw from the Rocky Mountain News. From the descriptions he had heard, he couldn't imagine what Salt Lake City or Los Angeles would look like. His only feelings about Salt Lake City were clean and dull, and as for Los Angeles, he had heard that there were too many big hotels with so many dance halls that he couldn't imagine what it would be like there. He couldn't imagine it in the ballroom. But in Seattle he finally knew that there were big white cars parked in the taxi company (each car had a radio), and he rode the taxi every night to the little inn in Canada, where he followed the progress of the party according to the music they called. Every night, from two o'clock, he lived in Seattle, listening to all sorts of people's tunes, and Seattle was as real as Minneapolis, where the musicians got up early every morning to rush to the radio studio. Mr. Fraser grew fond of Seattle, Washington.

The three Mexicans came, and they brought beer, but it wasn't a good beer. Mr. Fraser met with them, but he didn't want to talk more. They left later, and he knew they wouldn't come back. His nerves had become suddenly unsupportable, and in this case, he did not want to see anyone. After five weeks, his nerves had become dysfunctional, and although he was glad that they had lasted so long, he was reluctant to be forced to do the same test again knowing the results of the experiment. Mr. Fraser has done this kind of thing a long time ago. There was only one thing that was new to him, and that was listening to the radio. He listened all night, turning his voice as low as he could, just so low that he could hear it, and he was learning to listen without using his brain.

It was about ten o'clock that morning when Sister Cecilia entered the room and brought the letters. She was beautiful, and Mr. Fraser loved to see her and listen to her, but the letters, thought to be from another world, seemed more important. However, there was nothing interesting about the letter.

"You look much better," she said, "and you'll be discharged soon." ”

"No," said Mr. Fraser, "you look very good this morning. ”

"Ah, I'm jolly. This morning I felt as if I might be a saint. ”

When Fraser heard this, he was slightly stunned.

"Yes," Mother Cecilia continued, "that's what I want to do." Be a saint. Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be a saint. When I was a little girl, I thought that if I became a monk and went to the monastery, I would become a saint. That's what I want to do, that's what I think I have to do. I expected to become a saint. I was completely sure that I would have done it. A moment ago, I thought I had become a saint. How blessed I am, and how simple and easy it seems. I used to wake up in the morning expecting to be a saint, but I wasn't. I have never become a saint. How I longed for it. All I wanted was to be a saint. That's what I want to do. This morning, I felt as if I might become a saint. Ah, I wish I could finally do it. ”

"You will become a saint. Everybody gets what they want. That's what they always tell me. ”

"I'm not sure right now. When I was a little girl, it seemed simple. I knew I was going to be a saint. When I realized that I couldn't do it all at once, I decided that it would take some time. Now it seems almost impossible. ”

"I think you're quite likely. ”

"Do you really think so? No, I don't want anyone to cheer me up. Don't cheer me up. I want to be a saint. How I want to be a saint. ”

"Of course you will become a saint," Mr. Fraser said.

"Not necessarily, I probably won't be able to make it. But, ah, how good it would be if I could be a saint! ”

"Three to one bets, you'll be a saint!"

"No, don't cheer me up. But, ah, how good it would be if I could be a saint! How good it would be if I could be a saint!"

"How's your friend Cayetano?"

"He's getting better, but he's paralyzed. A bullet hit a major nerve leading to his thigh, and he was paralyzed in one leg. They waited until he was healed and he was able to move. ”

"Maybe the nerves will regenerate. ”

"I have been praying that there will be rebirth," said Sister Cecilia, "and that you should meet him." ”

"I don't want to see anyone. ”

"You know, you like to meet him. They'll send him here in a wheelchair. ”

"Okay. ”

They brought him in a wheelchair, he was small, his skin was transparent, his black hair was too long to be curbed, his eyes were full of smiles, and when he smiled, he showed bad teeth.

"Hey, friend, what do you think?"

"As you can see," Mr. Fraser said. "What about you?"

"I saved my life, but one leg was paralyzed. ”

"It's terrible," said Mr. Frazier, "but nerves can be regenerated, not only regenerated, but just as good." ”

"That's what they told me. ”

"Does it hurt badly?"

"It's not great now. For a while, I had a terrible pain in my stomach. At the time, I thought that just this pain would kill me. ”

Sister Cecilia looked at them merrily.

"You never snorted, she told me," said Mr. Frazier.

"There's a lot of people in the ward," the Mexican said disapprovingly. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Pretty impressive. Certainly not as bad as you. When the nurse wasn't there, I called for an hour or two. I screamed for a while, feeling more comfortable. My nerves don't work now. ”

"You have a radio. If I had a room and a radio, I would be yelling all night. ”

"I don't believe it. ”

"Dude, you'll scream. It's much more comfortable. But you can't do that with so many people. ”

"At least," said Mr. Frazier, "your hands are fine." They told me that you eat by your hands. ”

"It's still up to the head," he said, patting the door of the head, "but the head isn't worth it." ”

"Three of your compatriots have been here. ”

"The police called them to come and see me. ”

"They brought a little beer. ”

"Probably bad. ”

"It's very bad. ”

"Tonight, the police called them to come and play a tune for me. He laughed, then patted his stomach. "I can't laugh yet. They're terrible musicians. ”

"What about the guy who shot and wounded you?"

"It's an idiot, too. I won him thirty-eight bucks on the cards. You don't have to kill people at all. ”

"Those three men told me that you won a lot of money. ”

"But it's still poorer than others. ”

"What's going on?"

"I'm a pathetic idealist. I was a victim of hallucinations. He laughed, then grinned and patted his stomach. "I'm a professional gambler, but I like to gamble. Really bet. Small-scale gambling is done by deception. To really gamble, you need to rely on luck. I had no luck. ”

"All the time?"

"Never. I had no luck at all. Alas, let's just say the bastard who shot and wounded me not long ago. Will he shoot? No. The first shot he missed. The second shot was taken to a poor Russian. It doesn't seem like I'm out of luck. And he shot me twice in the stomach. He was a lucky man. I had no luck. If he stepped on the stirrups, he would not even be able to kick the horse. It's all a matter of luck. ”

"I thought he would hit you first, and then the Russian. ”

"No, hit the Russians first, then hit me. The newspaper report is wrong. ”

"Why don't you shoot him?"

"I never carry a gun. I'm so unlucky, if I had a gun, I'd be hanged ten times a year. I'm a terrible player, that's all. He paused for a moment, then continued: "When I get a sum of money, I gamble; One time I lost 3,000 on the dice, and I still couldn't roll a six. Good dice are used. And that's not all. ”

"Why gamble?"

"If I live long enough, luck will change. I've had fifteen years of bad luck now. If I hand in good luck one day, I will be rich. He grinned. "I'm a good gambler and I'm really going to have fun making a fortune. ”

"Isn't it bad luck for you to gamble on anything?"

"No matter what you gamble on, and when you deal with women, you're unlucky. He smiled again, showing his bad teeth.

"Really?"

"Really. ”

"Is there any way to do that?"

"Keep working slowly, and when it's time to get moving. ”

"But what about dealing with women?"

"No gambler is lucky to deal with women. Being a gambler is too concentrated. You have to do it at night. He should have stayed with women at night. No one who works at night can always be in a relationship with a woman, if that woman has some status. ”

"You are a philosopher. ”

"No, man. He's a gambler in a small city. To a small town, then to another, then to another one, then to a big city, and then to another one. ”

"Then I got two shots in the stomach. ”

"This is the first time," he said, "and this is only once." ”

"I'm talking to you, you're tired, aren't you?" Mr. Fraser reminded him.

"No," he said, "I must have tired you." ”

"How's that leg?"

"I don't have much use for that leg. With or without that leg, I can do it. I'll have a way to flow anyway. ”

"I sincerely and wholeheartedly wish you good luck," Mr. Fraser said.

"I hope you do the same," he said, "and I hope you don't hurt." ”

"Of course it won't hurt forever. It's going to stop. It's not a big deal. ”

"Hopefully you'll be pain-free soon. ”

"I want you too. ”

That night, Mexicans played accordions and other instruments in their hospital rooms, and there was a joyous atmosphere, with accordion openings, bells, percussion instruments, and drums ringing down the hallways. In that ward, there was a motorcyclist who was speeding off the wall and broke his spine in front of a large crowd of spectators while performing at the "Midnight Playground" on a hot and dusty afternoon. There was also a carpenter who fell along with the scaffolding and broke his wrist and ankle. He falls to the ground like a cat, but without the elasticity of a cat. They were able to tie all his bones together so that he could get back to work, but it would take a long time. There was also a young man from the farm, about sixteen years old, whose broken leg had broken and had to be broken again. And Cayetano Ruiz, a gambler in a small city who was paralyzed in one leg. Down the hallway, Mr. Fraser could hear the Mexicans who had been called by the police to play music that made them laugh happily. The Mexicans had a good time. They were very excited to come in to see Mr. Fraser, to see if he had any music for them to play, and they took the initiative to play it twice more in the evening.

The last time they played, Fraser was lying in his room, the door open, listening to the lively and botched music, and couldn't help but think. When they asked him what he would like to hear, he ordered "Kokaracha" [7], a dance music that contains a lightness and lively tune that many people love. They played boisterly and emotionally. In Mr. Frazier's mind, this piece was much better than most of its kind, but the effect was the same.

Despite the emotional contagion, Mr. Fraser continued to ponder. He usually did everything he could to avoid thinking unless he was writing, but now he was thinking about what the people who played the music had said to the thin man.

Religion is the opium of the people. He believed it, the gloomy little restaurant shopkeeper. Yes, music is the opium of the people. This old man who would get dizzy after drinking didn't expect it. Now the economic problem is the opium of the people, which in Italy and Germany is associated with patriotism, the opium of the people[8]. What about sex, is it the opium of the people? Yes for some people. Yes for some of the best. But drinking wine is the best opium for the people, ah, croaking opium. Although some people prefer to listen to the radio, another kind of people's opium, he is adopting a cheap opium. Gambling must also be counted with these, a kind of people's opium, the oldest one, if there is any people's opium. There is also ambition, which is also the opium of the people, and with this ambition is the belief in any new form of domination. What you want is a minimum of domination, always less. Freedom, which is what we believe in, is now the name of a publication by McFadden [9]. We believe in this thing, even though they haven't found a new name for it yet. But what is true freedom, what is the opium of the real, genuine people? He knew it very well. It had slipped to the corner of the bright part of his mind, and it was there after he had two or three drinks at dusk, and he knew it was there (of course it wasn't really there). What was that? He knew it very well. What is that? Of course, bread is the opium of the people. Will he remember this? What would it mean during the day? Bread is the opium of the people.

"Excuse me," said Mr. Fraser, to the nurse as she came in, "will you go and get that skinny Mexican?"

"Do you like this tune?" said the Mexican at the door.

"Loved it. ”

"It's a historic piece," said the Mexican, "a truly revolutionary piece." ”

"Excuse me," said Mr. Frazier, "why do you operate on people without anesthetic?"

"I don't understand. ”

"Why are all the opium of the people good. What do you want to do with the people?"

"They should be saved from ignorance. ”

"Don't talk nonsense. Education is the opium of the people. You should know this. You're a little educated. ”

"You don't believe in education?"

"I don't believe it," said Mr. Fraser, "knowledge, I do." ”

"I disagree with you. ”

"There have been many times when I have been happy to disagree with myself. ”

"Do you want to listen to 'Kocarracia' next time?" the Mexican asked worriedly.

"Listen," said Mr. Fraser, "next time." Kokaracha'. It's better than the radio. ”

Mr. Fraser thought that revolution was not opium. Revolution is a purification of feelings, a euphoria that can only be prolonged by tyranny. Opium was used both before and after the revolution. He's thinking so well, a little too good.

After a while, they will be gone, he thought, and they will take "Kokaracha" with them. Then he'd drink a little bit of liquor and turn on the radio, and you could turn the radio down so low that you could just hear it.

Translated by Lu Jin

* * *

[1] Mexicans speak the interpreter in Spanish, so the officer below asked him what he said.

[2] This is probably an author's clerical error. Haley is not in Montana, but a city in Idaho, which borders Montana.

[3] A city in the United States, in Minnesota.

[4] In southeastern British Columbia, Canada.

[5] The Athletics is a softball team based in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The Cardinals are a softball team in St. Louis, Missouri.

[6] French, meaning Madonna.

[7] Spanish, meaning cockroach, is a popular dance song in Mexico.

[8] Mussolini and Hitler took advantage of the economic depression in Italy and Germany to incite the people's chauvinism.

[9] McFadden (1868-1945), an American publisher, published a popular and popular magazine called Liberty.