قصة قصيرة : يوم من الانتظار للكاتب ارنست همنغواي ترجمتها للعربية نوره مسلم حيدر
إرنست همنغواي (1899 - 1961)
يوم من الانتظار للكاتب ارنست
همنغواي
ترجمتها للعربية نوره مسلم حيدر
دخل الى الغرفة ليغلق النافذة بينما نحن لا زلنا في السرير رأيته كأنه مريض
كان يرتعش ووجه ابيض وكان يمشي ببطء كأن
الحركة تؤلمه
ما الامر يا شاتز؟
قال لدي صداع
من الافضل ان تعود الي السرير
لا، انا بخير
اذهب الى السرير ساراك بعدما ارتدي
ملابسي
لكن عندما نزلت من الطابق السفلي كان
مرتدي ملابسه وجالس بالقرب من النار و يبدو صبي مريض في التاسع من عمره وبائسا عندما وضعت يدي ع جبهته علمت انه مصاب بالحمى
قلت له اصعد الى السرير انت مريض
قال انا بخير
وعندما جاء الطبيب لقياس درجة حرارة الصبي
سألته كم هي
قال مائه ودرجتان
في الطابق السفلي ترك الطبيب ثلاثة انواع مختلفة من الأدوية في كبسولات
مختلفة الالوان مع تعليمات في كيف اخذها، واحده منها لخفض الحرارة والأخرة للتسهيل
والثالثة لتخلص من الحموضة وقد فسره بأن جراثيم الانفلونزا يمكن ان تتواجد فقط في
ظروف حامضيه
بدا يعرف كل شيء عن هذا الحمى وقال ليس هنالك شيئا للقلق اذا كانت درجة
حرارة الحمى لم تتجاوز مائة واربع درجات
كانت هذا الانفلونزا وبائية ولا يوجد اي خطر اذا لم يصيب المريض بذات الرئة في
الغرفة سجلت درجة حرارة الصبي تنخفض وعملت ملاحظات عن الوقت المحدد الاعطاء
الكبسولات المختلفة
هل تريد ان اقرأ لك؟
قال الولد حسنا اذا تريد ذألك
كان وجه ابيضا جدا وكان هنالك بقع
سوداء تحت عينيه كان لا يزال في السرير ويبدو لا يعرف شيء عما يجري حوله قرأت بصوت
عالي عن كتاب القراصنة هوارد بايل لكن
رأيته لم يكن يتابع ما اقرأه عليه
سألته بماذا تشعر يا شاتز
قال تماما مثل السابق
جلست اسفل السرير وقرأت لنفسي بينما انتظر الوقت المحدد الاعطاء
الكبسولات الاخرى
كان من الطبيعي له بأن يذهب الى السرير
لكن عندما نظرت له كان ينظر اسفل السرير
كان ينظر بشكل غريب جدا
قلت لماذا لا تحاول ان تنام سوف
ايقظك لتناول الدواء
قال افضل ان ابقا مستيقظ قال له
انت لست مضطر للبقاء معي يا بابا اذا كان هذا يزعجك
قال لا لم يزعجني
قلت له لا انا اعني بأنك لست مضطرا للبقاء هنا ان كان هذا يزعجك
كنت افكر بأنه كان يهذي وبعد ان
اعطيته الدواء المحدد في الساعة الحادية
عشر خرجت لبرهه من الزمن
كان يوم مشرق وبارد وكانت الارض مغطاة بجليد المطر الذي كان متجمد كأنه بدت
فيه الاشجار العارية والشجيرات والاغصان المقطوعة وكل اعشاب الارض الجرداء مغطاة
بالثلج اخذت كلب الصيد الايرلندي الصغير لنزه على الطريق وعلى جدول متجمد لكن كان من الصعب الوقوف او
المشي على سطح الزجاجي انزلق الكلب الاحمر
وسقطه مرتين، في احد المرات سقطت بندقيتي وانزلقت مبتعدة فوق الجليد طيرنا سرابا صغيرا
من طيور السمان تحت انحدار مرتفع بأغصان متدليه وقتلت اثنين منها واثناء خروجها عن
الانظار فوق قمة المنحدر بعص من طيور السرب حطت ع الأشجار لكن اغلبها تفرق في كوما
من الاغصان المقطوعة كان من الضروري ان
تقفز على تلال الاغصان المغطاة بالثلج عدة مرات قبل ان تطير وكان خروجها بينما انت
توازن نفسك على الاغصان اللينة المغطاة بالثلج يجعل اطلاق النار عليها صعبا فقتلت
اثنين واخطأت خمسه ثم عدت مسرورا الاكتشاف
سرب الطيور قريبه من البيت وانا سعيد لأنه يوجد الكثير منها تركت لليوم التالي
في البيت اخبروني بأن الصبي رفضه بالسماح
لأي شخص يدخل للغرفة
قال لا يمكن ان تدخل يجب ان لا يحصل لك مثل ما حصل لي صعدت اليه ووجته ع
نفس الحالة الذي تركته به ابيض الوجه لكن قمتي خديه متوردتان بالحمى لايزال يحدق
كما كان يحدق في السابق
في اسفل السرير اخذت درجه حرارته
كم هي؟ قلت بحدود المائة كانت مائة
ودرجتان واربعة عشرا
من قال هذا؟
الطبيب، قلت له ان درجه حرارته جيده لا داعي للقلق قال انا لست قلق لكن لا
استطيع التوقف عن التفكير قلت له لا تفكر
وخذ كل شيء ببساطه قال اخذ الامر ببساطه وهو ينظر الى الامام مباشرتا
كان من الواضح يخفي شيئًا ما في نفسه
قلت له خذ هذه مع الماء
قال هل تعتقد انها ستفيدني
نعم ستفيدك
جلست وفتحت كتاب القراصنة وبدأت
اقرأ لكنني رأيته لم يتابع معي لذاك توقفت
سأل في اي وقت تعتقد انني سأموت
ماذا؟ قال كم استغرق من الوقت قبل ان اموت قلت له لن تموت ماذا بك
نعم انا سأموت سمعته قال مائة
ودرجتان
قلت له الناس لن تموت بحمى بدرجه مائة ودرجتان تلك طريقه سخيفة للكلام انا اعرف انهم يموتون
في المدرسة في فرنسا اخبروني الاولاد بأن لا يمكن ان تعيش بدرجة حراره تصل
الى اربعه واربعين وانا وصلت الى مائة ودرجتان
كان طوال اليوم ينتظر ان يموت منذ
الساعة التاسعة صباحا قلت له يا شاتز المسكين
يا شاتز العجوز المسكين انها كالأميال والكيلومترات وانت لن تموت انه ميزان حراره مختلف، انه سبع وثلاثين درجه حرارة في ذاك الميزان هي
درجه حرارة طبيعية اما في هذا النوع فهي
ثمانية وتسعون
قلت انه تماما كالأميال والكيلو مترات انت تعرف مثل كم كيلو مترا نقطعها
حين نقطع سبعين ميلا في السيارة قال أووه
لكن تحديقه كان اسفل الفراش تراخت وقل
التوتر واخيرا في اليوم التالي كان يصرخ
بسهوله الاسباب صغيره ليست في ذات الأهمية
INDIAN
CAMP
Written
by Ernest Hemingway
At
the lake shore there was another rowboat drawn up. The two Indians stood
waiting.
Nick
and his father got in the stern of the boat and the Indians shoved it off and
one of them got in to row. Uncle George sat in the stern of the camp rowboat.
The young Indian shoved the camp boat off and got in To row Uncle George. The
two boats started off in the dark. Nick heard the oarlocks of the other boat quite
a way ahead of them In the mist. The Indians rowed with quick choppy strokes.
Nick lay back with his father’s arm around him. It Was cold on the water. The
Indian who was rowing them was working very hard, but the other boat moved
farther ahead in the Mist all the time.
‘Where
are we going, Dad? Nick asked.
‘Over
to the Indian camp. There is an Indian lady very Sick.’
‘Oh,
said Nick. Across the bay they found the other boat beached. Uncle George was
smoking a cigar in the dark. The Young Indian pulled the boat way up on the
beach. Uncle George gave both the Indians cigars. They walked up from the beach
through a meadow that was soaking wet with dew, following the young Indian who
carried a lantern. Then they went into the woods and followed a trail that led
to the logging Road that ran back into the hills. It was much lighter on the
logging road as the timber was cut away on Both sides. The young Indian stopped
and blew out his lantern and they all walked on along the road. They came
around a bend and a dog came out barking. Ahead were the lights of the shanties
where the Indian bark peelers lived. More dogs rushed out at them. The two
Indians sent them back to the shanties. In The shanty nearest the road there
was a light in the window. An old woman stood in the doorway holding a Lamp.
Inside on a wooden bunk lay a young Indian woman. She had been trying to have
her baby for two days. All The old women in the camp had been helping her. The
men had moved off up the road to sit in the dark and Smoke out of range of the
noise she made. She screamed just as Nick and the two Indians followed his
Father and Uncle George into the shanty. She lay in the lower bunk, very big
under a quilt. Her head wasturned to one side. In the upper bunk was her
husband. He had cut his foot very badly with an axe three Days before. He was
smoking a pipe. The room smelled very bad. Nick’s father ordered some water to
be put on the stove, and while it was heating he spoke to Nick. ‘This lady is
going to have a baby, Nick,’ he said. I know,’ said Nick.
You
don’t know,’ said his father. ‘Listen to me. What she is going through is
called being in labour. The baby Wants
to be born and she wants it to be born. All her muscles are trying to get the
baby born. That is what Is happening when she screams.’ I see,’ Nick said. Just
then the woman cried out
Oh,
Daddy, can’t you give her something to make her Stop screaming?’ asked Nick.
‘No. I haven’t any anesthetic,’ his father said. ‘But her screams are not
important. I don’t hear them because They are not important.’ The husband in
the upper bunk rolled over against the wall. The woman in the kitchen motioned
to the doctor that the water was hot. Nick’s father went into the Kitchen and
poured about half of the water out of the big kettle into a basin. Into the
water left in the kettle He put several things he unwrapped from a
handkerchief. ‘Those must boil,’ he said, and began to scrub his hands in the
basin of hot water with a cake of soap he had Brought from the camp. Nick
watched his father’s hands scrubbing each other with the soap. While his Father
washed his hands very carefully and thoroughly, he talked. ‘You see, Nick,
babies are supposed to be born head first, but sometimes they’re not. When
they’re not They make a lot of trouble for everybody. Maybe I’ll have to
operate on this lady. We’ll know in a little While.’ When he was satisfied with
his hands he went in and went to work. ‘Pull back that quilt, will you,
George?’ he said. ‘I’d rather not touch it.’ Later when he started to operate
Uncle
George
and three Indian men held the woman still. She bit Uncle George on the arm and
Uncle George said, ‘Damn squaw bitch!’ and the young Indian who had rowed Uncle
George over laughed at him. Nick held the basin for his father. It all took a
long time. His father picked the baby up and slapped it to make it breathe and
handed it to the old woman. ‘See, it’s a boy, Nick, 5 he said. ‘How do you like
being an inter fathe Nick said, ‘All
right’. He was looking away so as not to see what his father was doing.’There.
That gets it,’ said his father and put something into the basin. Nick didn’t
look at it. ‘Now,’ his father Said, ‘there’s some stitches to put in. You can
watch this or not, Nick, just as you like. I’m going to sew up The incision I
made.’ Nick did not watch. His curiosity had been gone for a long time.
His
father finished and stood up. Uncle George and the three Indian men stood up.
Nick put the basin out inu The kitchen. Uncle George looked at his arm. The
young Indian smiled reminiscently. ‘I’ll put some peroxide on that, George,’
the doctor said. He bent over the Indian woman. She was quiet now and her eyes
were closed. She looked very pale. She Did not know what had become of the baby
or anything. ‘I’ll be back in the morning,’ the doctor said, standing up. ‘The
nurse should be here from St. Ignace by noon And she’ll bring everything we
need.’ He was feeling exalted and talkative as football players are in the
dressing room after a game. ‘That’s one for the medical journal, George,’ he
said. ‘Doing a Caesarian with a jack-knife and sewing it up With nine-foot,
tapered gut leaders.’ Uncle George was standing against the wall, looking at
his arm. ‘Oh, you’re a great man, all right,’ he said. ‘Ought to have a look at
the proud father. They’re usually the worst sufferers in these little affairs,’
the Doctor said. ‘I must say he took it all pretty quietly.’ He pulled back the
blanket from the Indian’s head. His hand came away wet. He mounted on the edge
of The lower bunk with the lamp in one hand and looked in. The Indian lay with
his face toward the wall. His Throat had been cut from ear to ear. The blood
had flowed down into a pool where his body sagged the Bunk. His head rested on
his left arm. The open razor lay, edge up, in the blankets. ‘Take Nick out of
the shanty, George,’ the doctor said. There was no need of that. Nick, standing
in the door of the kitchen, had a good view of the upper bunk When his father,
the lamp in one hand, tipped the Indian’s head back. It was just beginning to
be daylight when they walked along the logging road back toward the lake. ‘I’m terribly sorry I brought you along,
Nickie,’ said his father, all his post-operative exhilaration gone. ‘Nick Was
an awful mess to put you through.’ ‘Do ladies always have such a hard time
having babies?’ Nick asked. ‘No, that was very, very exceptional.’ ‘Why did he
kill himself, Daddy?’ I don’t know, Nick. He couldn’t stand things, I
guess.’’Do many men kill themselves, Daddy?’
‘Not very many, Nick.’ ‘Do many women?’ ‘Hardly ever.’ ‘Don’t they
ever?’ ‘Oh, yes. They do sometimes.’ ‘Daddy?’ Yes.’ ‘Where did Uncle George
go?’ ‘He’ll turn up all right.’ ‘Is dying hard, Daddy?’ ‘No, I think it’s
pretty easy, Nick. It all depends.’ They were seated in the boat, Nick in the
stern, his father rowing. The sun was coming up over the hills. A Bass jumped,
making a circle in the water. Nick trailed his hand in the water. It felt warm
in the sharp chill Of the morning. In the early morning on the lake sitting in
the stern of the boat with his father rowing, he felt quite sure That he would
never die.
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