Damn Dutch

"End of the shift!" The shouts echoed through Hope Factory, a joyous chorus.

"Judy, let's go, girl. If we don't run faster, that stinky stuff at the entrance will be sold out again!"

Dusk had settled, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. Half past eight was quitting time at the Hope Factory, and the air buzzed with a palpable sense of relief and anticipation. At this moment, groups of female workers were literally running out together, a vibrant, energetic stream of humanity, each with a charming, genuine smile on her face, no longer showing their previously sallow, emaciated appearance. They were plump, healthy, and full of life.

Arthur stood in front of his wooden house, a cigarette held casually between his fingers, watching the food distribution window not far away, a contented, almost peaceful smile on his face. The two hundred female workers recruited from Valentine had also enthusiastically started working; they were the ones currently queuing diligently at the food distribution window, their faces eager, as they had only been there for a week and hadn't received their wages yet, so they couldn't afford to spend money at the burgeoning stalls outside.

In fact, Arthur knew, even after receiving their first month's wages, they wouldn't spend a single cent; only after receiving their second month's wages, ensuring they had ample spare money, would they finally allow themselves to go out and treat themselves, to indulge in the smallest luxuries. After all, they had come from grinding poverty, and their spending habits were particularly measured, etched with the caution of scarcity.

In stark contrast, the older, more established workers had already started spending freely, without a second thought; after three months of diligent saving, each of them had nearly a hundred dollars. Those with families would dutifully mail money home, a lifeline to their loved ones, while those without families would spend as much as they pleased, without a care in the world, as the factory provided food and lodging, ensuring their basic needs were met, so there was no need for them to save money for unforeseen risks.

"Arthur, let's go, dear." Mary walked out of the wooden house, having changed into a refined lady's dress, her face soft, inviting.

"Let's go, Mary." Arthur nodded, extinguishing the cigarette in his hand with a deliberate twist, then extended his arm for Mary to link hers through, a gesture of tender affection. Then, the two walked towards the factory entrance, chatting and laughing, their voices low and intimate, their happiness a tangible presence.

Dutch and Miss O'Shea had already gone for a stroll, enjoying the twilight air; the stalls outside the factory had now transformed into a vibrant, bustling snack street, a lively bazaar, allowing people from the factory to go out for a walk after work, enriching their leisure life with simple pleasures.

"Arthur," Mary began, her arm linked tightly through his, her gaze sweeping over the bustling stalls on both sides of the road, and the contented female workers strolling and laughing in the middle of the road. Her voice suddenly softened, tinged with a touch of sadness and guilt.

"I never thought you would change so much. I'm sorry, Arthur. I didn't back then…" She trailed off, her voice thick with unspoken regret.

"No, Mary, it's not your fault," Arthur said, gently patting the back of Mary's hand, comforting her with profound understanding.

"You couldn't abandon your family, just as I couldn't abandon the Van der Linde Gang, abandon Dutch, abandon Hosea. It wasn't our fault; it was just a demonstration of taking responsibility, of doing what we believed was right. Dutch always told me that one needs to take the responsibilities they should, and that was the fundamental reason we separated back then. Come on," he urged, his voice soft, coaxing, "don't think so much about it anymore, you did nothing wrong, and besides, haven't you already given up your family and come here now? I don't want you to have any psychological burden, not a single one."

Mary had been thinking a lot lately, her mind a tumultuous storm of emotions. She was afraid Arthur would resent their past separation, afraid he harbored a secret bitterness. And she was always afraid others would whisper, would say she came not out of true love for Arthur, but because she saw the Van der Linde Gang rise, saw their prosperity and sought to cling to it. In short, her mind was a mess now, filled with both regret for their painful past separation and gnawing worry for her current life, her new status.

"Oh, Arthur, you are always so… understanding." Mary was deeply moved, her eyes glistening. She hugged Arthur's arm even tighter with both hands, pressing herself closer, seeking comfort and reassurance. Arthur also lowered his head and bent slightly, his face softening, appearing as if he was about to kiss her forehead, a moment suspended in tender anticipation.

However, at this very, very intimate moment, Dutch's booming voice suddenly, jarringly, rang out directly in front of the two.

"Oh, Arthur, hahaha, Arthur! You're out too, kid?! Oh, sh*t! Look at the street in front of us, kids, our stalls have been set up, haven't they?! A veritable bustling market! I think with some time, this place will become more and more prosperous, more and more lively, eventually evolving into a new city, by God! Arthur, you must try this stinky cheese, oh, damn it, I've never eaten such a damn thing! It's an experience!"

Dutch suddenly appeared in front of them both, materializing as if from thin air, holding a piece of pungent, stinky cheese excitedly in front of Arthur's face, the overwhelming odor of the cheese already reaching his nostrils, a crude assault on his senses.

Miss O'Shea, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, followed closely beside Dutch, holding a string of some unknown, colorful food and tasting it with relish, looking at Arthur and Mary with a wide, knowing smile on her face. Under the constant nourishment of Dutch's boundless love, Miss O'Shea no longer exhibited the raw hysteria and haughtiness she had in the game; every night, Dutch would tirelessly use practical, intimate actions to teach her to interact kindly, genuinely, with the people in the gang, to shed her harsh exterior. Clearly, with the constant enhancement of Dutch's inexplicably youthful, vigorous body, the result of this ongoing "education" was nothing less than perfect.

"Oh, sh*t! Dutch, Molly, can you two please not suddenly appear in front of us in the future?!" Arthur covered his face with his hand, groaning, muttering "sh*t!" repeatedly under his breath. Damn it, he fumed internally, his face burning with mortification, he was in the midst of a tender moment with Mary, about to deepen their damn relationship, and these two damn people just popped up, ruining everything! It was simply unbearable!

"Dutch, Miss O'Shea, hello." Mary also felt incredibly awkward, her cheeks flushing. Compared to Arthur, she was still an outsider to the gang's peculiar dynamics and already uncomfortable, and now, thrust into this public display of Dutch's boisterous "affection," her posture became even more stiff, more awkward.

"Hahaha, alright, Arthur, I didn't expect you to start disliking me now, damn it!" Dutch laughed heartily, his booming voice echoing in the street, enjoying Arthur's obvious discomfort immensely.

"I can't even imagine how low my status will become if you two have children in the future! Oh, damn it, Molly, perhaps by then Arthur won't even let us eat at the table with them!" Dutch roared with laughter, playfully teasing him, and seeing Arthur's face clearly turning a furious shade of red with annoyance, he laughed even louder and, with a mischievous tug, pulled Molly away from them both. "Alright, Arthur, alright, kid. We're going now! Damn it, Miss O'Shea, please walk faster, don't disturb Morgan and Mrs. Morgan's tender moment!"

Dutch and Molly walked away, their boisterous laughter echoing back down the street, their figures disappearing into the bustling crowd. Arthur covered his face with both hands, utterly mortified, almost not wanting to show it again.

He was naturally thin-skinned, easily embarrassed, and this was perfectly demonstrated in the animation of the first chapter when the train bomb didn't explode, leaving him exposed and humiliated. With Dutch mocking him like this, he felt as if all the surrounding workers, hundreds of them, were looking at him, witnessing his humiliation.

"Oh, sh*t! Let's go too, Mary, let's go a bit further ahead, a lot further! I think we won't run into that damn old Dutch there!" Arthur muttered, his voice muffled by his hands, and hurriedly pulled Mary forward, practically dragging her through the crowd. But before they had taken two steps, before they could even begin to regain their composure, little Jack's high-pitched voice, clear as a bell, already rang out, a cruel twist of fate.

"Uncle Arthur! Mom, look, it's Uncle Arthur!"

Arthur's expression changed drastically, his eyes wide with a sudden, profound despair. He looked forward, and from within the bustling crowd ahead, Abigail had emerged with little Jack, her face set in a grim, almost accusatory expression, and a grim-faced John followed closely behind, his eyes narrowed.

"Abigail, Jack!" Arthur's gaze was fixed on the grim-faced John, who met his eyes with a knowing, shared torment. Arthur felt, with a chilling certainty, as if he had experienced this exact scene before, an endless loop of familial awkwardness.

"John!"

"Arthur!"

John and Arthur nodded at each other, their faces expressionless, a silent understanding passing between them, then, with a shared, desperate resolve, they walked forward, abandoning their romantic stroll, without looking back, away from the scene of their interrupted tenderness. Both of them now had only one single, unifying thought in their minds, a thought that resonated with profound, shared exasperation: That damn old Dutch!