Chapter 180: The Great Disaster [2]
“For a moment… please, just listen to me for a moment.”
Jean-Pierre stepped forward into what could only be described as chaos incarnate. On his own, he never would have made it through. But now, he had Liston by his side.
“Hey, bully…”
“Even the Qing Dynasty gang is here? Jean! What the hell is going on?”
Yes, the Qing Dynasty gang had shown up too. Before the Opium War, the Qing Empire had still been regarded as powerful by Western nations. That might be why Asians like me faced less discrimination than other non-white races. These guys were obsessed with Chinese ceramics and silks, so it made sense that people felt threatened by someone strong coming from such a nation.
No… no. I’m Korean, damn it.
Maybe I got a little too into my gangster role for a moment. That came out wrong. Still, everyone seemed to accept it.
“Move.”
“Ugh—”
And they moved.
Thanks to Dr. Liston. He did not have to speak. One glare from him was enough to part the crowd like the Red Sea. That was how Jean-Pierre and the rest of us made it to the center.
The police officer who had followed behind looked at the scene in awe and muttered something absurd.
“Amazing… is this the power of the Sword Master?”
He sounded a little delirious, but it was nothing new. Everyone in this century was at least a little unhinged.
“Alright… please, hear us out!”
“You don’t even have to ask. I came here to listen.”
“What is this nonsense, dragging people away when we’re already drowning in patients?”
“Cholera! I just got another message. Some idiot stuck his hand in the water again, and now he’s sick!”
Jean-Pierre’s voice came out strained. Whether from diarrhea, the beating, or both, it was hard to tell. Still, the crowd responded. The coachman was quick to translate what they shouted back.
Sigh.
Not just me. Everyone sighed. It was not just my burden anymore. The concept of miasma was beginning to shift from something abstract, like bad air, to something closer to a living pathogen.
“Just listen, damn it!”
Jean-Pierre shouted again. Ordinarily, when someone who looked half-dead started yelling, people would at least listen. It was not even about manners. It was just basic humanity.
But not here.
Not in Paris.
“Boo!”
“Right!”
“Guillotine!”
“The guillotine is too kind! Just tie him up!”
I could not believe it. Guillotine? Without even hearing him out?
“The fuck…?”
That was when Liston stepped in. I happened to be tying my shoes, head down. When I looked up, he was towering over Jean-Pierre and scowling furiously. The crowd fell silent almost immediately. A single word from Liston had more impact than Jean-Pierre screaming himself hoarse.
Maybe England really is better than France…
That thought crossed my mind as the crowd quieted. Liston turned to Jean-Pierre, who looked slightly stunned.
“Alright. I’ll speak, and you interpret. And you bastards, don’t interrupt unless you’re ready to die.”
“Uh…”
Jean-Pierre’s face twisted. He probably wanted to protest that the French were intelligent, rational people capable of debate. But after that chaotic reception? He could only nod.
“Now, those who agree with us, move to the right. The rest of you, go left. Anyone standing on the left should be ready to fight me one-on-one.”
“You… you want me to say that?”
“Say it.”
“…Fine.”
Jean-Pierre translated the ultimatum. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Surprisingly, very few protested. A couple of them glared, but even they backed down quickly after making eye contact with Liston. Even the Qing gang looked unsure. Ultimately, the crowd split, though most went to the left.
“Alright, you idiots. Time for a lesson on miasma. Listen carefully, you French frogs.”
“…Uh…”
“Just paraphrase that part, please.”
“Got it.”
Liston launched into his speech. There was plenty of cursing mixed into the English, which made me wish I could hear how it sounded in French.
“Miasma isn’t just air. It’s a living thing! A biological organism!”
“Boo!”
“Blasphemy!”
“You dare insult centuries of medical tradition?!”
Liston was absolutely right, but predictably, the backlash came anyway. Now I realized that French doctors were stubborn as hell. Some even dared to point fingers at Liston’s scowling face.
Still, no one attacked him. There were too many of them to fight, but even they had limits. A doctor was still a doctor. They would need us if they got sick. That much, at least, they understood.
“There have been reports of microorganisms visible under microscopes for centuries! We just chose to ignore them!”
“There’s no proof those things cause illness!”
“Yes, there is. Pierre?”
“Ah… We drank the water.”
“What water?”
“The Seine.”
“Wait, just like that? No treatment? No boiling?”
“Just plain river water.”
“Huh…”
The moment he said that, the crowd’s focus shifted. Even Parisians in the eighteen hundreds thought drinking Seine water was lunacy. People went silent, staring at Jean-Pierre with disbelief that bordered on reverence.
“Our English friends boiled and distilled their water before drinking it. We examined it under a microscope. Miasma—microorganisms—were almost nonexistent. Meanwhile, the water we drank was swarming with them. The result? All of us got enteritis. They didn’t.”
The murmurs started again. More people moved to the right. In this age, where everyone secretly admired reckless bravery, respect began to replace mockery. I realized then that if I had stuck to my original plan of conducting a retrospective epidemiological study, I never would have convinced them.
But Liston?
He made them feel it.
A real teacher.
I watched, thinking I wanted to be like that someday. The tide was turning. Slowly. But then, someone stepped forward.
“Excuse me.”
All the French doctors around me stiffened. Even Jean-Pierre looked nervous.
“Who is that?”
“That’s Korai. A graduate of the University of Montpellier. He’s one of the top authorities on Hippocratic medicine in Paris.”
Fantastic. We were up against someone who still worshipped a man who had lived over two thousand years ago. I could respect the philosophical spirit of Hippocrates, but that was not what these people were following.
“Miasma is a living thing, you say? Then why would God create creatures that bring disease?”
“Isn’t it a fact that rats spread the Black Death?”
“Rats are evil by nature! But what you’re saying is nonsense!”
And yet, Korai had presence. Even Liston hesitated.
“Listen! Let’s talk about the Black Death. Just because rats were present doesn’t mean they caused it. What made people sick was the stench from where the rats gathered! Did plague victims ever touch rats directly?”
“Well… no, not directly…”
And just like that, it became persuasive again. Liston, who had been so fierce moments ago, fell quiet. I clenched my fists. I could not step forward. I was not French. I would probably be guillotined for opening my mouth.
“Exactly! That’s why the idea of airborne miasma still holds!”
“Mm!”
At that moment, Liston snapped. He punched the stone wall beside him. With a loud crack, part of the centuries-old masonry crumbled to dust.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“See that dust?”
“Uh… yes?”
“You can’t see it, but it exists.”
I thought he had lost it. Maybe he planned to bring down the building like Samson from the Bible. But then he said something that caught even me off guard.
“What if the miasma that caused the Black Death was too small to see? It floated in the air. But this cholera spreads through water. That’s the only difference. It’s still miasma.”
How many people here actually understood what he was saying? How many realized this moment would go down in medical history? I suddenly felt a deep loneliness. No one else seemed to grasp it.
Respiratory versus waterborne transmission. Droplets versus ingestion. This would not become common knowledge until the twentieth century, maybe even the nineteen tens.
I had only hinted at it, but he had come this far on his own. I was so proud that I clapped before I could stop myself. Of course, I was the only one. Even our team stayed quiet.
That was fine. Since Liston said it, we could explain later.
“What kind of nonsense is that?”
“It’s not nonsense. It’s logical deduction!”
“Hippocrates would be turning in his grave!”
Korai and the other traditionalists refused to budge. But more people moved right. Even if they did not understand everything, they sensed something had changed.
I wanted to convert the rest, but surprisingly, Liston pulled back.
“Professor?”
“Huh? Oh, those guys?”
“Yes.”
“I already did my experiment, and it worked. Looking at all this, I realize even the Thames isn’t safe. This could hit London too.”
“Then shouldn’t we—?”
“No. If we can use this moment to prove we were right, and they were wrong, we’ll have overwhelming evidence. The survival rate will speak for itself.”
“…Ah. I see.”