Nineteenth Century Medical Guide

Chapter 483, Page 479: Parental Genes

When her husband Juan Carlos, a shoemaker who had long run a stall in the San Sebastián market, died, his wife, Mrs. Ramona, wept bitterly, just enough to commemorate the occasion.

In over twenty years of marriage, this guy has caused him more trouble than any other woman has experienced from her husband.

He earned an average of 3 pesetas (equivalent to 5 francs) a day, which was considered a high income among the common people of Saint Sebastián. One peseta went to tobacco, alcohol, and clothing; another to brothels and the bullring; and the remaining peseta was used for the living expenses of his wife and two children, as well as the food he ate when he got home.

Mrs. Ramona had to rack her brains and use all her skills to take on several short-term jobs to supplement the family income and support her family.

Later, during a drunken "test of courage" activity, Mr. Juan was encouraged by other older men to jump into the bullring, where he was stabbed in the stomach by a bull's horn and died in the hospital not long after.

Mrs. Ramona was in great pain after losing her husband, and even the burden on her shoulders felt lighter.

The two children are now adults. The daughter got a job at a cigarette factory through her mother's connections, earning four pesetas a week. The son learned many skills from his father from a young age, and by following in his father's footsteps, he can continue to support his father's income by taking over the shoe repair shop in the vegetable market.

With fewer people in the family and more income, life seemed to be getting back on track, but Juan's restless genes blossomed in his son.

Mrs. Ramona forgot that her son had grown up with his father, learning not only his craft but also his father's hobbies. Wearing a felt hat and a bright red cloak, he stormed into the bullring like a madman, watching the bullfight while sipping Andalusian wine.

His father's death did not instill fear in him; instead, it aroused his inner needs.

He admired the bullfighters' graceful movements, their beautiful clothes, and even more so, their unbridled flirting with women.

He himself, a smelly shoemaker, never dared to, nor had the chance to, express his love to the bullring owner's daughter.

Desire is the driving force for people to move forward, but Juan Gallardo couldn't find the direction.

By chance, through a friend's introduction, he got the opportunity to repair shoes for that girl. This was the first time he was grateful to his father, and the first time he found the dirty shop so pleasing to the eye.

"A shoemaker is a shoemaker, a stinky shoemaker who spends his whole life crawling at people's feet!"

When delivering shoes, a man who looked like an officer smiled and said something to the girl that completely broke Gallardo's defenses. Two weeks later, he secretly sold the shop without his mother's knowledge and used the money to get a job in the mounted police force, which seemed to offer better prospects.

Imagine yourself in a police uniform, riding a fine horse, charging into the dense jungles of the northern mountains, and toying with the shameless bandits like a bullfighter.

Gallardo hopes to make a name for himself in the police force.

Then you can
The sword handed to him by the veteran mounted policeman brought him back to his senses.

Reality is often bizarre: maintaining order is the job of mounted police, but extorting protection money on the streets is their livelihood. When protection money can no longer fill the ever-widening gap, some things slowly begin to surface.

In fact, Gallardo had a premonition all along.

The Spanish Civil War spawned numerous bandits, and the mountain police were formed to deal with these scoundrels. Now that they've been largely eradicated, what are the extra mounted police doing?

The answer is simple: they'll become robbers, after all, mounted police also need to survive.

The blade reflected the lightning in the rainy night. Gallardo looked at the old mounted policeman who often took care of him, and the image of that beautiful girl inevitably appeared in his mind again.

As the old mounted policeman said, if you don't have money, you'll always be at the bottom and you'll never be able to marry a good girl.

He sheathed his sword, turned around, and gently pushed open the door. The luggage of the four men lay to one side, glowing red in the firelight. The tall, thin man had rummaged through the bag several times along the way; even a fool would know where the money was.

But when Gallardo tried to step over the mattress to rummage through his luggage, the veteran mounted policeman stopped him: "What do you mean?"

Gallardo lowered his voice: "Give me the money."

The veteran mounted policeman gave him a wink: "Where are they?"

“Them?” Gallardo lightly shook off his arm. “I’ll just take the money. Let them fend for themselves. Maybe they’ll wake up tomorrow lost, or they might get attacked by wild beasts along the way. Anyway, it’s none of my business.”

"Wouldn't it be better to just kill them?"

“But there are no more bandits here.” Gallardo spoke respectfully, using honorifics in a low voice, “Uncle Manuel.”

"If you keep them alive, can you really keep your money?" The old mounted policeman realized the young man was hesitant to act, so he snatched the sword from his hand. "Only their deaths can guarantee our safety. Or are you planning to leave San Sebastián and hide in some remote, desolate place?"

"I'm going to Madrid."

"Madrid? What are you going there for?"

Manuel had no idea what kind of trouble this guy was up to this time, but for the sake of his old friend Carlos, he still had to give him some advice.

He brushed aside his slightly disheveled long hair, slowly drew his sword, and said, "Your family is in San Sebastián, the woman you love is in San Sebastián, and you work in San Sebastián. Are you going to go to Madrid to beg for food?"

"There's no way out if we stay here."

"Hahaha," Manuel couldn't help but laugh, his wrinkles crinkling into a deep knot. "Don't be naive. What else can you do besides going back to being your little shoemaker?"

After saying that, he pointed the tip of his sword at the sleeping man in front of him.

Gallardo initially wanted to gloss over the matter, take the money, and leave. Seeing the veteran RCMP officer about to silence him, he didn't want to get involved; since he hadn't done it himself, the man's death would be beneficial to him.

But for some reason, seeing the sword tip about to pierce down, he couldn't help but stand in front of the old man.

"Uncle Manuel!"

He raised his voice, making it louder than the thunder and rain outside the window. Unfortunately, the medicine was very effective; all four of them fell into a deep sleep, showing no reaction whatsoever.

"What exactly do you want?!" Manuel gripped his shoulders tightly. "If you don't want to make money, go back to the city and continue repairing your worn-out shoes!"

Gallardo also found his actions strange, but a familiar voice kept reminding him: "We are police officers, I don't want to hurt anyone."

The more people tried to stop him, the more determined the old man became to give up.

He was already taller and bigger than Gallardo, and with a quick trip on his toes and a little force with his palm, he pushed the man to the ground: "I recommended you to the mounted police force because you were Carlos's son, bold, and decisive. Now you seem like a woman, all fussy and indecisive!"

The fall was quite hard; Gallardo's lower back was hit by the doorknob, and he winced in pain. Looking up, he saw the old mounted policeman's sword already at the man.

But the next second, the man who was sleeping soundly on the mattress suddenly rolled over to dodge the attack, jumped up with both hands on the ground, slapped the sword out of his hand, and punched the other man in the back of the head with his other fist.

By the time Gallardo came to his senses, the man had already pinned his Uncle Manuel down, a dagger appearing in his hand at some point: "I've been on guard against you all this way, and you've been quite patient." In the blink of an eye, the other three also stood up, each holding a weapon for self-defense, clearly prepared beforehand.

"Jonah, spare his life."

"I have my measure."

The blade of the dagger circled around his chin and gently wedged into Manuel's neck, forcing him to strain to lift his head to avoid having his throat slit.

Manuel believed his plan was perfect; the mounted police identity, the route taken, the abandoned village, and the inn were all real. Strictly speaking, their claim of "robbers on the move" was also true, except for the ingredient they added to the soup pot at the end, which was fake.

How did these people figure it out?
He can't figure it out!
Casper picked up the sword that had fallen to the ground, ran his fingers over the blade, and then reached out and took Manuel's hat: "It really is the pattern of the Spanish army's swords, and the badges and identification on the hat are all correct. Are you really mounted police?"

Manuel panicked and shouted, "We were kindly guiding you, and you dare to assault a police officer! Wait until we get back to San Sebastián!"

"Dishonest."

Casper, used to this kind of person, never wasted words. He raised his hand and stabbed Manuel in the calf with his sword, the pain almost making him jump up. Because of the dagger at his neck, Manuel's rationality suppressed his body's natural reaction: "Ah! It hurts!! You're not tourists, who are you?"

Casper gently drew his sword, wiped it on his trouser leg to remove the blood, and said, "Answer whatever I ask."

“Okay, yes, I am a mounted police officer, and so is he. We are indeed here on patrol, not robbers.”

“700 francs is a lot. You could live a good life in Paris for a while.” Casper couldn’t understand. “With your standard of living here, it would be enough to support a family for more than half a year.”

Manuel, realizing the reality, quickly apologized: "We were bewitched. We had bad intentions because we saw you had so much money. We were wrong. Please let me go."

"You wouldn't happen to be in cahoots with the bandits, would you?"

"No, no, absolutely not!"

"Was the carriage that was hijacked on the mountain road also your doing?"

"No, no! That was, that was something we deliberately put there to look good." Manuel swallowed, feeling the temperature of the blade. "Spare us, spare us, I'll return the money to you."

Seeing this, the three of them looked towards the corner again.

Jonah was the enforcer, Casper was in charge of interrogation, Bergett was the atmosphere-maker, and in the end, it was Cavie who made the decisions.

He took the oil lamp from the wall, walked over, and illuminated Manuel's large head. Then he made Jonah drop the dagger, allowing him to catch his breath: "Give me a reason to let you go."

"I really am a mounted police officer, a veteran mounted police officer, someone who has influence within the force, and I can provide you with any assistance!"

Seeing his kind face and knowing he was the one who made the decisions, Manuel grasped at his lifeline and kept saying, "I can give you money too. I'll waive the protection money I've been charging for the past six months. I can even take you to Madrid, be your bodyguard, and stay with you until you leave Spain. And, and more..."

He says whatever comes to mind, trying his best to tap into his potential, but in the end, that's all he can say.

“I don’t lack money, and I don’t lack bodyguards.” Kavi shook his head.

"I can find you the best hotels and act as your tour guide and translator."

Manuel's eyes were full of hope, believing this reason would be enough to gain his freedom. Unfortunately, Kavi continued to shake his head: "You don't understand what I mean. Anything that can be bought with money is not necessary for me."

Suddenly, Kavi looked at Gallardo, who was slumped in the doorway: "Young man, is attempted murder punishable in Spain?"

“A prison sentence, plus public caning,” Gallardo said. “I’m not sure of the exact duration, but the caning is usually 20-50 strokes.”

"Send him to jail tomorrow."

Kawi had Jonah tie the man to the post, yawned, and lay back down on the mattress: "I'm tired. You take turns watching him."

"clear."

At this point, Gallardo had regained his composure. He wanted to say something, but didn't know how to begin. After hesitating for a long time, he finally asked, "Who exactly are you? I mean, we clearly drugged you, and we saw you drink it, so why isn't it working?"

Bergert took a small bag from Manuel's pocket and poured out some crystalline powder. He then took a wide-mouthed jar from their suitcase, which happened to contain about the same amount of powder.

“Do you know what this is?” Bergett asked.

“They’re sleeping pills. I bought them at the hospital earlier this year because I had insomnia.” Manuel hadn’t expected them to have such things, but he didn’t have time to think about it and just explained, “The doctor said they were very effective at inducing sleep, so I…”

“St. Anthony Hospital?” Kavi frowned.

"Yes, it's St. Anthony Hospital. How did you know it was St. Anthony Hospital?"

"This is called chloral hydrate, which was accidentally synthesized by the German chemist Liebig in 1832. Two years ago, a doctor confirmed its hypnotic effect through animal experiments, and after publishing a paper, it quickly entered the pharmaceutical industry for clinical use."

Bergert put the bottle back in the suitcase and looked at Kavi beside him: "He's that doctor. No one in the world knows more about these powders than him. Not just because of his experiments, but also because these powders were produced by him in a pharmaceutical factory in Switzerland."

Few people know about Cavi's whereabouts in Spain; at least, Landres, who had worked with him for more than half a year, certainly doesn't.

If you ask him about Kavi's whereabouts, he will usually shake his head and explain that he hasn't seen him in a long time or that he is far away in St. Petersburg. The reason is sufficient, but not reliable, because on the night he finishes his lecture, Princess Maria of Tsarist Russia, who is also in St. Petersburg, received accurate information about Kavi's whereabouts.

"Spain? He went to Spain?" Maria looked at the invitation letter that had just been delivered to the palace from the new Spanish king, and took her brother's hand. "He was invited too?"

"Yes, he is a VIP of the new King of Spain, so we definitely have to invite him."

Grand Prince Vladimir, who had just returned from Paris, was still pondering how to politely decline the invitation, muttering to himself, "That place is a mess. Maybe I should let my second brother go instead. I'm better off staying in Paris. Princess Mathilde is putting on a private art exhibition for her little lover. It's a bit boring, but it's still better than Spain."

"I'll go."

Vladimir almost doubted his ears: "Huh?"

“I said I’d go, I’d go to Spain.”

"The invitation only said that a prince was invited to make an appearance, it didn't say that you were invited."

“Am I not Father’s child? Besides, I can go with him to spend the winter, can’t I?” Maria raised her head slightly, a plan immediately forming in her mind. “I want to go to Spain! Father, I want to spend the winter in Spain!!!”