یک روز انتظار

by Ernest Hemingway, زهرا تدین (Translator)

Genres: Short Stories, Classics, Fiction, School, 20th Century, Audiobook, Historical Fiction

15 pages, ebook

First published January 1, 1933

About the author

Ernest Miller Hemingway was an American novelist, short-story writer and journalist. Best known for an economical, understated style that significantly influenced later 20th-century writers, he is often romanticized for his adventurous lifestyle, and outspoken and blunt public image. Most of Hemingway's works were published between the mid-1920s and mid-1950s, including seven novels, six short-story collections and two non-fiction works. His writings have become classics of American literature; he was awarded the 1954 Nobel Prize in Literature, while three of his novels, four short-story collections and three nonfiction works were published posthumously.
Hemingway was raised in Oak Park, Illinois. After high school, he spent six months as a cub reporter for The Kansas City Star before enlisting in the Red Cross. He served as an ambulance driver on the Italian Front in World War I and was seriously wounded in 1918. His wartime experiences formed the basis for his 1929 novel A Farewell to Arms. He married Hadley Richardson in 1921, the first of four wives. They moved to Paris where he worked as a foreign correspondent for the Toronto Star and fell under the influence of the modernist writers and artists of the 1920s' "Lost Generation" expatriate community. His debut novel The Sun Also Rises was published in 1926.
He divorced Richardson in 1927 and married Pauline Pfeiffer. They divorced after he returned from the Spanish Civil War, where he had worked as a journalist and which formed the basis for his 1940 novel For Whom the Bell Tolls. Martha Gellhorn became his third wife in 1940. He and Gellhorn separated after he met Mary Welsh Hemingway in London during World War II. Hemingway was present with Allied troops as a journalist at the Normandy landings and the liberation of Paris. He maintained permanent residences in Key West, Florida, in the 1930s and in Cuba in the 1940s and 1950s. On a 1954 trip to Africa, he was seriously injured in two plane accidents on successive days, leaving him in pain and ill health for much of the rest of his life. In 1959, he bought a house in Ketchum, Idaho, where, on July 2, 1961 (a couple weeks before his 62nd birthday), he killed himself using one of his shotguns.

Reviews

[Maureen · Rating 3 out of 5]

A sweet story about a little boy who’s thoughts on his sudden illness, are somewhat different to the reality.

[EMMA · Rating 1 out of 5]

و زماني بخاطر نداشتن اطلاعات كافي يا اشتباه دچار چه ترس هايي ميشيم و چقدر زندگي از نظرمون هيولا ميشه!

[Mohamadreza Moshfeghi · Rating 4 out of 5]

انتظاری که زندگی را می کشد

[Rosita · Rating 4 out of 5]

خیلی کوتاه بود. البته خاصیتش هم همینه . از مجموعه‌‌ی مطالعه در وقت اضافه.
اگر همینجوری نگاهش کنیم، با یک داستان ساده و بی‌اهمیت درمورد یک بچه‌ی سرما خورده رو به روییم. اما بنظرم ارزش خوندن رو داره. از دید من، همینگوی میخواسته نصیحت کنه که گاهی از ناآگاهی و تفکرات غلط، آدمیزاد زجر میکشه و مشکلاتش رو بزرگتر از چیزی که هست میبینه. اگه حقیقت رو پیدا کنه میتونه دوباره به روال ساده‌ی زندگیش برگرده و به آرامش برسه.

اما همین نصیحت ساده رو بصورت خلاقانه توی ۹ صفحه تبدیل به یک داستان کرده!
برای کتابی در این حجم داستان شیرینی بود. اما باید اعتراف کنم که اگه اسم نویسنده موردعلاقم روش نبود بهش بهایی نمیدادم! و خب این بده!🤐😅

[shamim · Rating 3 out of 5]

خدایی به عنوان داستان کوتاه چیز بدی نبود.

[Mahsa · Rating 4 out of 5]

هیولاهایی که خودمون توی ذهنمون می‌سازیم، شکست دادنشون سخت تره... همیشه همینطور بوده.

به وقت آذر نود و نه ...

امروز که دوباره خوندمش، دلم میخواد یه ستاره بیشتر بهش بدم. چقدر ترس‌های کوچیک گاهی میتونن بزرگ بشن...

به وقت دی هزار و چهارصد

[سارا · Rating 4 out of 5]

خوب بود این ک همه چیز بستگی ب دید ما داره :)

[Robert Khorsand · Rating 1 out of 5]

یک روز انتظار برای هیچ.

از نظر من به عنوانِ یک داستان کوتاه انقدر سبک و تهی از محتوا بود که اگر کسی نام نویسنده رو‌ بهم نمی‌گفت و ازم میخواست حدس بزنم نوشته‌ی کیه جواب میدادم لابد یک لطیفه‌ی مسخره‌ی دوزاری از ایرج ملکیه که امروز تو اینستاگرام لایو رفته 😑

[i.Shayan · Rating 3 out of 5]

دوسش داشتم کوتاه ولی پرمحتوا

[Srividya Vijapure · Rating 4 out of 5]

A really nice short story but with a wealth of meaning.

Have to bow to the genius of Hemingway, who managed to convey a very important truth in just a few words. In this story, he stresses on the importance of communication and how it is complete only when the receiver has understood what you want to say. He talks about the ambiguity of words and how easily it cam be misunderstood, if we don't take the pains to confirm whether or not it has been understood.

Do read it, its short but brilliant! My only grouse was that it was too short, it left me feeling as if I had the wrong copy or that mine was missing a para or so! :)

[Reyhaneh.r · Rating 4 out of 5]

『هوالنور』
عدم آگاهی سبب نگرانی‌های بی‌مورد می‌شود اما خود آگاهی بسیار هم باعث افزایش نگرانی‌های دیگر می‌شود. درد بی‌جایی که از ندانستن می‌کشیم بهتر است یا درد جانکاه دانستن؟
من مورد دوم را ترجیح می‌دهم.
_سه شنبه ۳۰ دی ۱۴۰۴

[Mahshid · Rating 4 out of 5]

نود و نه درصد ترس ها و نگرانی هامون ،چیزهایی ان که اصلا درست نیستند،همشون یا از پایه غلطن یا حاصل یه سوتفاهمن،ولی بال و پر دادن بهشون میتونه آدمو از پا دربیاره؛چیزی‌ که همینگوی توی این داستان چند صفحه ای سعی کرد بیانش کنه.

[Federico DN · Rating 2 out of 5]

The metric system.

Little 9 years old Schatz is staying at home today, due to his fever. His Papa reads to him in bed, yet sadly the kid is restless, and can't focus nor sleep. The boy is extremely worried, about his abnormally high fever.

Meh. It was ok. First time a not depressing Hemingway; yet far from being a ray of sunshine though.



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PERSONAL NOTE :
[1933] [4p] [Fiction] [Not Recommendable]
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★★☆☆☆ The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Other Stories <--

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El sistema métrico.

El pequeño Schatz de 9 años se queda hoy en casa, debido a su fiebre. Papá le lee en la cama, pero lamentablemente el nene está muy inquieto, y no se puede concentrar ni dormir. El niño está extremadamente preocupado, por su fiebre abnormalmente alta.

Meh. Estuvo ok. Por primera vez un Hemingway no depresivo, aunque lejos de ser un rayo de sol.



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NOTA PERSONAL :
[1933] [4p] [Ficción] [No Recomendable]
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[Ala es]

کل بدبختی همه ما ادمها از این زیاد فکر کردنمون میاد. تقریبا هرچی میکشیم از بازیای افکارمونه.
داستان جریان زندگی رو نشون میده که چجور یه مسئله قابل حل برامون بغرنجو کشنده به نظر میاد اما همه چی در اطرافمون خیلی عادی در حرکته. منتها استرس و نشخوار فکری تصمیم گرفته همه چیو صد بدتر نشون بده.

[MohammaDReza · Rating 4 out of 5]

و چقدر زیبا همینگوی یه موضوع به ظاهر ساده رو در قالب یک داستان درآورده. البته وقتی عمیق به موضوعش نگاه کنیم خیلی هم ساده و پیش‌و‌پا افتاده نیست. گاهی اوقات به‌خاطر ندانستن/جهل چه فکرهایی بدی که به ذهنمون نمی‌آد.

[HosseinMahdavi · Rating 2 out of 5]

کوتاه ،ساده،با یه پیام خوب:
تفکرات اشتباه میتونه زندگی آدمو نابود کنه.

[Mahsa Rami · Rating 4 out of 5]

یه داستان خیلی کوتاه درست مثل غم یک کودک اما جالب
عجیب بود
چقدر به خاطر ناآگاهی ترس های زیادی رو تجربه کردیم

[Nastaran Masoomi]

اون درجه‌ها باهم فرق دارن

[Chadi Raheb · Rating 4 out of 5]

موسیقی مناسب؛ پیچ و خم های قشنگ صدای میلاد تمدن؛ و داستان سیکل معیوب زندگی خیلی از آدمها

[Mina Ghadimi · Rating 3 out of 5]

خیلی کوتاه، وقتی بهش بیشتر فکر کردم جالب بود.

[Hasti · Rating 3 out of 5]

کوتاه ولی جالب

[Valerie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Бідний хлопчик…

[نغمه. · Rating 3 out of 5]

پسرک یک روز تمام، یعنی از ساعت نه صبح منتظر بود که بمیرد.

[گیتی · Rating 3 out of 5]

گاهی چه ندانسته هایی که ما را به کام مرگ نمی‌کشانند.

[Willows in the Wind · Rating 3 out of 5]

A symbolic short story by Ernest Hemingway, one of my favorite writers. His language is often concise and straightforward yet exciting and enjoyable. Hemingway Was renowned for novels like The Sun Also Rises, A Farewell to Arms, For Whom the Bell Tolls, and The Old Man and the Sea, which won the 1953 Pulitzer.
In his book "A Day's Wait", he depicts the conversation between a boy and his dad on the son's illness, which does not seem bizarre, but the symbols are noteworthy, indeed. I recommend reading a review after reading each of his works. Here is one from "http://www.bookrags.com/studyguide-er..." on "A Day's Wait" (SPOILER ALERT!):
The father and son do not understand each other. The father knows that the boy will be ok, but he does not communicate this to his son. Where the father sees a passing illness, the boy thinks he is facing death. The temperature symbolizes the secret knowledge of the father than he does not think to teach to his son. The son only learns this secret knowledge through trial and error, while, in his mind, risking his life.

[Menna Rouby · Rating 4 out of 5]

this short story hold a lot of ideas and fealings,and "a day's wait " exemplifies hemingway's style: he was reporter, traveller and adventurer which reflect on his writting approach , that had a very clear instructions, use vigorous english , declarative sentence , very determined full of energy , use short sentence with positive way which make you feel a kindly and humanity life inside it.

the characters appear more strong and unemotional but they are also sensitive.

Eyewitnesses here is the father , he describe what he saw in very different ways, (his point of view) , and he end story with son's point view

[Jasmine Gh · Rating 4 out of 5]

چه قدر جالب بود
اینکه داریم زندگیمونو عادی میگذرونیم و راحت میخندیم و گریه میکنیم برای اینکه به فکر مرگ نیستیم
و اگر اتفاقی احساس کنیم به مرگ نزدیک هستیم دست از همه تلاش ها میکشیم و فقط منتظر مرگ میشیم
زندگی کنیم اما یادمونم باشه مرگ همین نزدیکیاس

[Elham Ghafarzadeh · Rating 3 out of 5]

کاش همیشه در مقابل درد و رنج‌هایی که مجبور به تحمل‌شان هستیم می‌دانستیم انتظار چه چیزی را باید داشته باشیم؟ مرگ یا زندگی!

این داستان کوتاهِ کوتاه رو به صورت صوتی از ماه آوا شنیدم:
http://maahava.com/Book/%DB%8C%DA%A9-...

[Classic reverie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Hemingway's "A Day's Wait" is a short story about a father and son and a misunderstanding.

Story in short - A father cannot understand why his sick son cannot sleep.


➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖
Page 332
HE CAME INTO THE ROOM TO SHUT THE windows while we were still in bed and I saw he looked ill. He was shivering, his face was white, and he walked slowly as though it ached to move. “What’s the matter, Schatz?”
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“I’ve got a headache.” “You better go back to bed.” “No. I’m all right.” “You go to bed. I’ll see you when I’m dressed.” But when I came downstairs he was dressed, sitting by the fire, looking a very sick and miserable boy of nine years. When I put my hand on his forehead I knew he had a fever. “You go up to bed,” I said, “you’re sick.” “I’m all right,” he said. When the doctor came he took the boy’s temperature.


❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌spoiler alert


A touching but humorous in its way about a boy with a fever who thinks he is going to die because of his high temperature not taking in account the difference in Celsius and Fahrenheit.

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“What is it?” I asked him. “One hundred and two.” Downstairs, the doctor left three different medicines in different colored capsules with instructions for giving them. One was to bring down the fever, another a purgative, the third to overcome an acid condition. The germs of influenza can only exist in an acid condition, he explained. He seemed to know all about influenza and said there was nothing to worry about if the fever did not go above one hundred and four degrees. This was a light epidemic of flu and there was no danger if you avoided pneumonia. Back in the room I wrote the boy’s temperature down and made a note of the time to give the various capsules. “Do you want me to read to you?” “All right. If you want to,” said the boy. His face was very white and there were dark areas under his eyes. He lay still in the bed and seemed very detached from what was going on. I read aloud from Howard Pyle’s Book of Pirates; but I could see he
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was not following what I was reading. “How do you feel, Schatz?” I asked him. “Just the same, so far,” he said. I sat at the foot of the bed and read to myself while I waited for it to be time to give another capsule. It would have been natural for him to go to sleep, but when I looked up he was looking at the foot of the bed, looking very strangely. “Why don’t you try to go to sleep? I’ll wake you up for the medicine.” “I’d rather stay awake.”
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After a while he said to me, “You don’t have to stay in here with me, Papa, if it bothers you.” “It doesn’t bother me.” “No, I mean you don’t have to stay if it’s going to bother you.” I thought perhaps he was a little lightheaded and after giving him the prescribed capsules at eleven o’clock I went out for a while. It was a bright, cold day, the ground covered with a sleet that had frozen so that it seemed as if all the bare trees, the bushes, the cut brush and all the grass and
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the bare ground had been varnished with ice. I took the young Irish setter for a little walk up the road and along a frozen creek, but it was difficult to stand or walk on the glassy surface and the red dog slipped and slithered and I fell twice, hard, once dropping my gun and having it slide away over the ice. We flushed a covey of quail under a high clay bank with overhanging brush and I killed two as they went out of sight over the top of the bank. Some of the covey lit in trees, but most of them scattered
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into brush piles and it was necessary to jump on the ice-coated mounds of brush several times before they would flush. Coming out while you were poised unsteadily on the icy, springy brush they made difficult shooting and I killed two, missed five, and started back pleased to have found a covey close to the house and happy there were so many left to find on another day. At the house they said the boy had refused to let any one come into the room.
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“You can’t come in,” he said. “You mustn’t get what I have.” I went up to him and found him in exactly the position I had left him, white-faced, but with the tops of his cheeks flushed by the fever, staring still, as he had stared, at the foot of the bed. I took his temperature. “What is it?” “Something like a hundred,” I said. It was one hundred and two and four tenths. “It was a hundred and two,” he said.
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“Who said so?” “The doctor.” “Your temperature is all right,” I said. “It’s nothing to worry about.” “I don’t worry,” he said, “but I can’t keep from thinking.” “Don’t think,” I said. “Just take it easy.” “I’m taking it easy,” he said and looked straight ahead. He was evidently holding tight onto himself about something. “Take this with water.” “Do you think it will do any good?”
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“Of course it will.” I sat down and opened the Pirate book and commenced to read, but I could see he was not following, so I stopped. “About what time do you think I’m going to die?” he asked. “What?” “About how long will it be before I die?” “You aren’t going to die. What’s the matter with you?” “Oh, yes, I am. I heard him say a hundred and two.”
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“People don’t die with a fever of one hundred and two. That’s a silly way to talk.” “I know they do. At school in France the boys told me you can’t live with forty-four degrees. I’ve got a hundred and two.” He had been waiting to die all day, ever since nine o’clock in the morning. “You poor Schatz,” I said. “Poor old Schatz. It’s like miles and kilometers. You aren’t going to die. That’s a different thermometer. On that thermometer thirty- seven is
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normal. On this kind it’s ninety-eight.” “Are you sure?” “Absolutely,” I said. “It’s like miles and kilometers. You know, like how many kilometers we make when we do seventy miles in the car?” “Oh,” he said. But his gaze at the foot of the bed relaxed slowly. The hold over himself relaxed too, finally, and the next day it was very slack and he cried very easily at little things that were of no importance.

[Nita · Rating 3 out of 5]

بیشتر یه نصیحتِ پنهانِ کوتاه بود.. و خوب بود.. همین!=)