Chapter 31: The Chaotic Neutral
Dickens was startled by Arthur’s outburst.
But this wasn’t a sudden whim of Arthur’s, he had been in this world for almost five years.
In those five years, he had walked the country roads of Yorkshire, studied at the Atheist Academy on London’s High Holborn, walked through the bustling Royal Theatre, and delved into the darkest corners of London’s East End.
In York, he saw the luxurious estates of the nobility, gazing from afar at the magnificent York Minster, built in 627 AD.
But he also saw farm laborers in mud-soaked fields during the rainy season, wearing shoes with exposed toes, scrambling to harvest the crops in the pouring rain, just to keep a meager income.
The looms in the home workshops hummed and clanked, yet a skilled woman could only produce half a meter of cloth in a day.
And the spinning mills built by the river could easily render the women’s hard work obsolete in a matter of moments.
In London, he had seen the London docks during the busy seasons of April and September.
There were dockworkers everywhere, carrying sacks of tea and spices weighing hundreds of pounds, their heavy steps carrying the cargo down the gangways. From a distance, they looked like a colony of ants.
He also saw the desolation of the winter port, thousands of laborers gathered around a few meager cargo ships, fighting each other for a chance at a two-shilling daily wage.
He didn’t want to see these things, but as long as he remained in this world, there were things he couldn’t escape.
The Whigs?
The Tories?
In Arthur’s eyes, they were just names.
What was the difference between them?
Sorry.
He really couldn’t tell.
There were many internal regulations at Scotland Yard.
But there was only one that Arthur truly adhered to.
Scotland Yard police should always remain politically neutral, neither siding with the Whigs nor the Tories.
He had no doubt about that.
He smoked in silence, his mood, which had been carefully pieced together over the past two days, sinking back into a state of dead silence.
Seeing his state, Dickens couldn’t help but put a hand on his shoulder and say, “Arthur, are you interested in hearing my story?”
Arthur glanced at him, tapping the ash from his pipe onto the ground.
“I’ve read your articles many times, but this is the first time I’ve heard you tell a story.”
Dickens laughed and said, “You might not believe it, but I actually had a pretty good family background when I was a kid. It wasn’t rich, but we were comfortable. My father was a clerk in the Admiralty’s Ordnance Department, and my mother came from a middle-class family.
Although our family’s circumstances quickly declined after my father went bankrupt due to debt.
But as the second oldest of eight children, I was fortunate to have been educated in school for a period of time.
I remember when I was about twelve years old, my father was imprisoned for debt because he couldn’t repay it.
He wrote home from prison asking for money, but we were penniless, so soon after, my mother and our siblings were also imprisoned.
But I was lucky, I was working as a child laborer in a shoe polish workshop at the time, so the creditor let me continue working there to pay off the family’s debt and didn’t have me sent to jail.
After a few months, my father borrowed some money from a relative, and my family was finally released from prison.
After that, I worked to pay off the debt while attending secondary school.
When I was fourteen, because I had a good memory and wrote well, I got a chance to join the British News Agency and was sent to Parliament as a reporter.
I thought things would get better, but not long after, our family was evicted by the landlord for failing to pay rent, and I had to drop out of school.
After that, I did a lot of jobs. I sold newspapers, worked as a handyman, and did odd jobs on the streets.
Through perseverance, I got a chance to apprentice at a law firm.
I learned some basic legal knowledge there and also learned shorthand. With these skills, I got a job as a court clerk and continued my old job as a tabloid reporter part-time.
Then, I met you, Arthur.
I don’t know how there could be someone as handsome as you in this world?
Your speech that day really touched me. You said a lot of the things I wanted to say, and you did a lot of the things I wanted to do.
All along, I just silently endured this world, silently bearing my fate. I thought this was perhaps the tribulation I was destined to suffer.
I thought I was the only one like this, until I realized that many of the gentlemen and ladies on the jury felt the same way.
Everyone was dissatisfied with this world, dissatisfied with those ridiculous legal articles, but only you dared to stand up in court and present it all to everyone.
I’m not saying this because I want to praise you, the new police superintendent, or because I want to flatter you for any benefit.
Arthur, you’re a good person, you really are a good person.
You, you shouldn’t have done those things, but you did.
I’m telling you all this just to let you know that the things you’ve done haven’t been in vain.
Arthur, there are many things you can’t stand, and everyone can’t stand them, but it’s not your fault, that’s how the world is.
Maybe you haven’t changed much, but at least you’ve tried.
So, don’t be sad, don’t blame yourself.
At least you’ve changed the fate of some people, including little Adam, and me.
Honestly, I still believe you were sent by God to bless me. You got my articles published in The Times, you made me… you made me a lot of money…
You, you let me pay off the family’s debt, and I still have some left over to send my younger siblings to school.
I’m so grateful to you, I’m really so grateful to you.”
Dickens choked up as he spoke, tears streaming down his cheeks like a stream.
He raised his hand to wipe away the tears and said with a smile, “I’m sorry, I was trying to comfort you, but I ended up crying myself.
I just wanted to learn to do what you did, so I came to this place, and if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even have been able to keep my interview articles.
Arthur, I’m really a useless reporter, I’ll probably never be as good as you.”
Arthur looked at Dickens’ tearful smile and shook his head slightly.
After all, the person standing before him was just an eighteen-year-old young man. He didn’t have the profound thoughts of decades later, nor the sharp insight to see through everything. He only had a heart that beat with passion.
But…
For a person, that’s probably enough.
After all, the guy who was judging Dickens was just a twenty-year-old kid himself.
He took off his top hat and placed it on Dickens’ head, covering his tearful eyes.
“Eldred may be unreliable, but he’s right about one thing, you’re still a long way from being a great writer.”
Dickens couldn’t see his expression because his eyes were covered, but he could see his gentle smile through his lips.
“Arthur, I’ll probably never be a great writer in my lifetime.”
“No,” Arthur denied. “It’s precisely people like you who are most likely to become great writers. I’ll give you a parting word.”
“What?”
Arthur patted his shoulder lightly, “No matter what others say or do, I must be a good person myself. Just like a piece of jade, or gold, or purple robe, it’s not because they are inherently noble, but because I want to maintain my natural brilliance.”
With that, Arthur got up and walked away with a leisurely stride.
Dickens quickly stood up, shouting, “Did you say that?”
Arthur turned his back to Dickens and didn’t stop. He put one hand in his pocket and raised the other in a wave.
“I can’t say anything that eloquent. Read more of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations, kid!”
Dickens thought for a moment, and after a while, he remembered the hat that Arthur had put on his head.
“Arthur, your hat!”
This time, Arthur finally stopped. He struggled for a moment before gritting his teeth and replying.
“Keep it, it’s just a two-shilling hat, it’s yours!”
Seeing this, Agareus, the red devil, chuckled, “Tired of trying to be cool?”
Arthur glanced at him, “Not trying to be cool, I’m dedicating it to the new century.”
(End of Chapter)