The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 828: Revised: Chapter 383 News from South America Brought by the Evening Breeze (5K2)_3

When we were resting by the Colorado River, some humble small shop owners said they often dined with General Rosas who was stationed nearby. At Port Blanca, a Major’s son made a living by rolling cigars; he wanted to accompany us to Buenos Aires, and claimed he could be either a guide or a servant.

However, his father opposed the decision, not because he thought being a guide or servant was disgraceful, but because he was worried we would encounter many dangers on the way. Many officers here can’t read or write, but in social occasions, they are all treated equally, unlike the British where illiterates are discriminated against.

In the Parliament of Entre Rios, there are only six members, one of whom isn’t doing anything major, just running a small general store commonly seen around. But he doesn’t seem to be looked down upon by other members due to his lesser wealth. These situations may seem strange to us Britons, but it’s the unique feature of new nations: they lack a gentleman class with specialized knowledge, so there isn’t a deeply ingrained concept of hierarchy.

Yes, I don’t actually hate these South American countries; in some places, I even quite envy them. Most of them have just gained independence from their Spanish colonizers, so they practice extreme liberalism, tolerance towards foreign religions, emphasis on education, freedom of the press, and providing convenience for all foreigners, especially those of us involved with science, who often are moved by their enthusiasm.

Elderly people naturally have their advantages because they usually have a lot of experience; they’ve consumed more salt than we’ve seen sand, so they usually handle affairs with steadiness. But young people have their own swagger; indeed, we know nothing, but so what? We do what we want; perhaps some things are dangerous, but with enough attempts, there’s bound to be one or two who strike it lucky.

This description fits countries well too; anyone who has lived in Britain all their life could never imagine how people here in South America live. Everything here seems utterly insane to them: vast grasslands, countless cattle and sheep, large chunks of roasted meat, Gauchos who treat you as friends upon meeting, laws that exist in name only, and bandits or robbers who might appear from anywhere at any time.

Alas! This is the wonderful South America, where wild people and animals roam. Britons only need a day here to have their fashionable riding pants torn to pieces by wild horses, and ladies would faint a hundred times a day. Of course, I love all these things, but more so…hehe, I’m talking about the exotic local girls; I adore them.

Of course, my affection presupposes that they haven’t recently provoked a skunk. Arthur, believe me, even the most loyal hunting dogs, when sent to chase it, will lose their courage the moment they smell a few drops of skunk oil; they’ll suffer immediate severe nausea, vomiting, and runny noses, the stench detectable even a mile away. Hence, I’m very certain that all animals in South America gladly give way to skunks.

Arthur, you see, despite your vast knowledge as the finest history graduate of University of London, there are still many things in this world you know nothing about. You should step out of this British cesspool and see the world, or I’ll surpass you despite my own lack of learning.

Haha, I’m just joking, don’t take it too seriously. I could never surpass you in erudition because I’ve dedicated my life’s talent to researching women. Speaking of which, Arthur, have you ever had in-depth interactions with any woman you admired?

Uh… I’m not trying to pry into your privacy; I don’t have such interests, you know, I’m an upright man. But… people have a natural curiosity, don’t they?

Moreover, if you haven’t even interacted, and just leave like that, wouldn’t that be too regrettable?

Damn! What nonsense am I saying? It’s all Alexander’s fault! That damned fat guy’s story-making is too real! Writing novels and scripts has made him think he’s so capable?

When I return to London, I’ll definitely give him two bullets, create a few holes in his pants, because only then will he understand that making up stories has consequences!

…

Arthur, would you write back to me? I know, you might be feeling down, but if you have time, just spare a few words. Write anything: on the bed, under the bed, at Scotland Yard, or even from the ‘Britons’ editorial office.

If you don’t want to write about those, even drawing Charles’s bald head and sending it to me would suffice; it’s the easiest thing — just draw an arc, no need for any messy hair decorations, as he’ll lose it all sooner or later anyway.

However, if…I mean if…if you don’t even want to send me that, Arthur, I’ll have to consider you dead. But…but I know that’s impossible because you surely are alive. You might well be in your office at Scotland Yard now, laughing your belly off while reading my letter to your subordinates.

You’d think: “Ha! Eld, that kid, is just too innocent; I’m ashamed to have been at the same university with him. He believes such obvious crap, choosing to believe a Frenchman over believing that I’m still alive. No wonder he got cheated out of every penny by the prostitutes in Rio de Janeiro.”

Do you think I’d get angry because of this?

Ha! Then you’d be sorely mistaken!

Arthur, your friend, the noble and brave Eld Carter, is not such a petty fellow.

If you want to mock me, you’d better let me know I look like a clown, so you can derive more joy.

Your fellow University of London alumni, the partner with whom you’ve enjoyed fine dramas, and together cursed the rotten darkness of Britain, the tenant who owes you two weeks’ rent, your best friend this lifetime and next, who borrowed twenty pounds from you and hasn’t repaid it yet nor plans to, unless you personally come to collect it — Eld Carter.