A-Days-wait

1ADay’sWaitErnestHemingwayHecameintotheroomtoshutthewindowswhilewewerestillinbedandIsawhelookedill.Hewasshivering,hisfacewaswhite,andhewalkedslowlyasthoughitachedtomove.'What'sthematter,Schatz?''I'vegotaheadache.''Youbettergobacktobed.''No,I'mallright.''Yougotobed.I'llseeyouwhenI'mdressed.'ButwhenIcamedownstairshewasdressed,sittingbythefire,lookingaverysickandmiserableboyofnineyears.WhenIputmyhandonhisforeheadIknewhehadafever.'Yougouptobed,'Isaid,'you'resick.''I'mallright,'hesaid.Whenthedoctorcamehetooktheboy'stemperature.'Whatisit?'Iaskedhim.'Onehundredandtwo.'Downstairs,thedoctorleftthreedifferentmedicinesindifferentcoloredcapsuleswithinstructionsforgivingthem.Onewastobringdownthefever,anotherapurgative,thethirdtoovercomeanacidcondition.Thegermsofinfluenzacanonlyexistinanacidcondition,heexplained.Heseemedtoknowallaboutinfluenzaandsaidtherewasnothingtoworryaboutifthefeverdidnotgoaboveonehundredandfourdegrees.Thiswasalightepidemicoffluandtherewasnodangerifyouavoidedpneumonia.BackintheroomIwrotetheboy'stemperaturedownandmadeanoteofthetimetogivethevariouscapsules.'Doyouwantmetoreadtoyou?''Allright.Ifyouwantto,'saidtheboy.Hisfacewasverywhiteandthereweredark2areasunderhiseyes.Helaystillinbedandseemedverydetachedfromwhatwasgoingon.IreadaloudfromHowardPyle'sBookofPirates;butIcouldseehewasnotfollowingwhatIwasreading.'Howdoyoufeel,Schatz?'Iaskedhim.'Justthesame,sofar,'hesaid.IsatatthefootofthebedandreadtomyselfwhileIwaitedforittobetimetogiveanothercapsule.Itwouldhavebeennaturalforhimtogotosleep,butwhenIlookeduphewaslookingatthefootofthebed,lookingverystrangely.'Whydon'tyoutrytogotosleep?I'llwakeyouupforthemedicine.''I'dratherstayawake.'Afterawhilehesaidtome,'Youdon'thavetostayherewithme,Papa,ifitbothersyou.''Itdoesn'tbotherme.''No,Imeanyoudon'thavetostayifit'sgoingtobotheryou.'Ithoughtperhapshewasalittlelight-headedandaftergivinghimtheprescribedcapsuleateleveno'clockIwentoutforawhile.Itwasabright,coldday,thegroundcoveredwithasleetthathadfrozensothatitseemedasifallthebaretrees,thebushes,thecutbrushandallthegrassandthebaregroundhadbeenvarnishedwithice.ItooktheyoungIrishsetterforalittlewalkuptheroadandalongafrozencreek,butitwasdifficulttostandorwalkontheglassysurfaceandthereddogslippedandslitheredandfelltwice,hard,oncedroppingmygunandhavingitslideovertheice.Weflushedacoveyofquailunderahighclaybankwithoverhangingbrushandkilledtwoastheywentoutofsightoverthetopofthebank.Someofthecoveylitthetrees,butmostofthemscatteredintobrushpilesanditwasnecessarytojumpontheice-coatedmoundsofbrushseveraltimesbeforetheywouldflush.Comingoutwhileyouwerepoisedunsteadilyontheicy,springybrushtheymadedifficultshootingandkilledtwo,missedfive,andstartedbackpleasedtohavefoundacoveyclosetothehouseandhappythereweresomanylefttofindonanotherday.3Atthehousetheysaidtheboyhadrefusedtoletanyonecomeintotheroom.'Youcan'tcomein,'hesaid.'Youmustn'tgetwhatIhave.'IwentuptohimandfoundhiminexactlythepositionIhadlefthim,white-faced,butwiththetopsofhischeeksflushedbythefever,staringstill,ashehadstared,atthefootofthebed.Itookhistemperature.'Whatisit?''Somethinglikeahundred,'Isaid.Itwasonehundredandtwoandfourtenth.'Itwasahundredandtwo,'hesaid.'Whosaidso?''Thedoctor.''Yourtemperatureisallright,'Isaid.It'snothingtoworryabout.''Idon'tworry,'hesaid,'butIcan'tkeepfromthinking.''Don'tthink,'Isaid.'Justtakeiteasy.''I'mtakingiteasy,'hesaidandlookedstraightahead.Hewasevidentlyholdingtightontohimselfaboutsomething.'Takethiswithwater.''Doyouthinkitwilldoanygood?''Ofcourseitwill.'IsatdownandopenedthePiratebookandcommencedtoread,butIcouldseehewasnotfollowing,soIstopped.'AboutwhattimedoyouthinkI'mgoingtodie?'heasked.'What?''AbouthowlongwillitbebeforeIdie?''Youaren'tgoingtodie.What'sthematterwithyou?'Oh,yes,Iam.Iheardhimsayahundredandtwo.''Peopledon'tdiewithafeverofonehundredandtwo.That'sasillywaytotalk.''Iknowtheydo.AtschoolinFrancetheboystoldmeyoucan'tlivewithforty-fourdegrees.I'vegotahundredandtwo.'Hehadbeenwaitingtodieallday,eversincenineo'clockinthemorning.4'YoupoorSchatz,'Isaid.'PooroldSchatz.It'slikemilesandkilometers.Youaren'tgoingtodie.That'sadifferentthermometer.Onthatthermometerthirty-sevenisnormal.Onthiskindit'sninety-eight.''Areyousure?''Absolutely,'Isaid.'It'slikemilesandkilometers.Youknow,likehowmanykilometerswemakewhenwedoseventyinthecar?''Oh,'hesaid.Buthisgazeatthefootofhisbedrelaxedslowly.Theholdoverhimselfrelaxedtoo,finally,andthenextdayitwasveryslackandhecriedveryeasilyatlittlethingsthatwereofnoimportance.