The Thief
After the peace agreement was reached, good days seemed to have returned for Britain merchants. Merchant ships were laden with woolen textiles, cotton cloth and other goods. Although they could have smuggled goods into the Europe market before, smuggling was too troublesome and could not be carried out openly.
After France defeated Prussia, Britain's economy, which had been in dire straits due to the loss of so many markets in Europe, was somewhat relieved by this event. Many factories that had been closed resumed operations, and as a result, the air quality in London deteriorated further.
As he coughed, little Oliver quickly scanned the crowd hurrying by on the street, searching for potential targets.
This was Oliver's first mission. He had to muster his courage and choose a suitable target. At the same time, the voice of his guild leader, Fagin, echoed in his mind.
"Oliver, don't believe the nonsense you heard at the church orphanage. Yes, 'Thou shalt not steal' is one of the Ten Commandments, but taking back what is rightfully yours is not stealing. Look at those factories, look at the workers, the women, and the child laborers. They work themselves to the bone, sixteen hours a day, even twenty. They're hungry, they're cold, and if they get sick and can't work, they immediately go hungry. Most of them, men, women, and children, don't live more than a few years. They die in poverty and despair."
Oliver, weren't these people hardworking? Didn't they toil from morning till night, without a moment's rest? Why did they suffer such a fate? The priest would tell you that all people have original sin, and their suffering is God's will, right? But the priest didn't tell you, did he? When Adam disobeyed God's will and was thus expelled from the Garden of Eden, what was God's judgment upon him?
God said, "By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground." Even as punishment, God mercifully gave our ancestors a promise: that a person can earn a living and support themselves by working hard and being willing to sweat.
But my little Oliver, tell me, those workers who went into the factory and died within a few years, didn't they sweat? Didn't they work hard? How could they make a living? Why is this? Did God break His promise? Is God deceiving us?
No, God doesn't deceive us. So why is it that a man who sweats and works hard can't even make a living and can only die a miserable death? Oliver, my child, look again. Does every man in this world really have to sweat to make a living? No, that's not how it is. Look at those 'respectable people,' those 'respectable people' who eat delicacies every day and drink wine smuggled from France. Did they sweat? Were they just barely making ends meet?
Why is this? God said that one can only earn a living by the sweat of one's brow. Why is it that some people sweat but cannot earn a living, while others live a life of ease and comfort, yet are well-fed and clothed? Why, Oliver, why?
"I don't know," little Oliver said to himself as he stood alone on the street corner.
"That's because those 'decent people' stole everything from us! According to God's will, everyone should work hard, but everyone should be able to eat their fill. But those 'decent people,' those real thieves, they stole all our money, all of us!" Auchin's voice echoed in his mind again.
"Oliver, people say I'm a thief, and all my brothers are thieves. Look at Jim, do you know how he lost his hand? It was caught in a machine in the factory. Was it because he was careless? No, it was because he was too tired. He worked non-stop for 18 hours a day in the factory! Oliver, people aren't machines; they can't keep running for that long. Even machines need to rest."
Oliver, God created day and night, and also made night occupy half of the day. Why? It's because God believed that a person should rest for at least half the day. Oliver forced a person to work continuously for 18 hours, which is a Christ sin.
Oliver, those factory owners, merchants, and respectable nobles—they're all thieves, including the King of Britain —he's a master thief! They live such good lives because they've stolen everything that should belong to poor people like us!
Oliver, they say I'm a thief; they've put a bounty on my head, fifty pounds—and let me be proud, that's even more than the bounty the Pharisees offered for Jesus (who, according to the Bible, was betrayed by Jesus Judas thirty pieces of silver). But look at me, Oliver, all those big crimes I've committed, all that money I've stolen and robbed, and do you think I eat well, dress well, and am as wealthy as a respectable man? Where has all my money gone?
Oliver, that's not my money, that's all the poor people's money. Every penny I took back from those thieves was returned to its rightful owner. That's why they can't destroy me.
Oliver, they've hanged five Fagin in these decades, and maybe tomorrow I'll be the sixth. But as long as the real thieves who defy God's will remain, Fagin will never die. Oliver, do you know what I love most about you? I love your integrity and kindness, and I believe that one day, your Fagin will become Fagin's too.
Oliver, remember, we're not thieves. We're just helping more people get back what's rightfully theirs. Our hands only reach out to the 'decent people,' never to those who truly sweat and toil but barely, or can't, make a living."
"I'm not a thief, I'm just carrying out God's will, helping those people get what's theirs back," Oliver said softly to himself. Then he saw a fine product of grapes, silk, and protoplasm walking into a bookstore across the street.
The bookstore was frequented by wealthy, respectable people, while that guy looked completely naive and unsuspecting.
Oliver quietly walked over. His shirt was decent enough, and his pants were passable, though they were old and faded, but at least they were clean. However, his shoes were really not presentable; they had a hole in them, so much so that his toes could stick out and breathe fresh air, like little grass sprouting from the ground in spring.
Once he got into the bookstore, he could quickly approach the seemingly foolish "respectable man." He was currently standing in front of the counter, looking at the books on the shelves.
Perhaps because of poor eyesight, the respectable man stretched his neck out long, like a duck, as if his head was being held up by an invisible hand. His trouser pockets were bulging, shaped like wallets.
Oliver touched the small razor blade in his pocket, then casually walked into the bookstore. As long as the guy standing at the bookstore entrance didn't see Oliver's shoes that allowed his toes to breathe, he could go inside and get some money for the suffering poor.
However, the waiter standing at the door quickly noticed his shoe with its exposed big toe, and then, a large hand silently nudged him, sending Oliver spinning like a top before he was quietly back on the street. He knew he couldn't get in and could only keep an eye on his target from afar.
The seemingly simple-minded, respectable man appeared to have overheard something, glanced over, and then continued talking to the bookstore owner, "Boss, do you have an English version of the script for Spartacus?"
"There are only a few left. Do you want one too?" the shop owner asked.
"Yes, a friend of mine mentioned it, but he said the French version is better. Is the book selling well?" the respectable man said.
"It's good, you know, the France are very good at storytelling. The stories are indeed very interesting," the bookstore owner said. "But if you want to buy it, you'd better hurry, or it'll be sold out."
"If it sells well, they'll probably print more, right?"
"Of course, but even so, there are still people accusing this book of blasphemy. Oh, God help me." The bookseller crossed himself. "So, heaven knows if there will ever be a second edition."
"Oh, so this book is probably out of print. That makes it even more worth buying," the respectable man said, pulling his wallet from his trouser pocket.
"How much is this book?" the "respectable man" asked.
The shop owner quoted a price. The "respectable man" then opened his wallet, Oliver saw that it was full of colorful bills.
The "respectable man" paid, casually stuffed his wallet into his trouser pocket—not quite neatly, with a corner sticking out—then picked up a book, flipped through it, and walked out of the bookstore. Oliver quietly followed him.
The "respectable man" was completely unaware. He kept his head down, reading a book as he walked along the street, and then turned into a narrow, rarely visited alley.
"This is a good place; no one will see me make a move," Oliver thought, and followed them inside.
The "respectable man" continued walking, head down, reading a book and humming something under his breath. Oliver quietly followed, reaching for his wallet. But just as his hand grasped the wallet, the "respectable man's" hand suddenly appeared from nowhere and grabbed his wrist.