Above, the etiolated late-November sun peeped out between large fast-moving gray clouds with their cold bodies sunk well below the peaks of the surrounding mountains. Below, arm in arm, they inched down the serene lakeshore amidst repeated joyful wind-borne blasts of snow. With a snicker, and after blowing several icy flakes from her phone screen, she read aloud the hastily devised story:
‘Okay,’ she said, turning the phone off and returning it to her coat pocket. ‘That was kind of funny. But also rather sad. Is that the best you can do?’
‘It’s just a sketch,’ he said. ‘And that is probably all I can do, period.’
‘Between this and pablum, I’d pick pablum,’ she said. ‘Let this little idea sit in the hopper until the final moving along comes. Oh! And Perry, speaking of that, did you hear Perrin Lovett retired from writing about American education?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ Perry said. ‘But it’s not surprising. One can only do so much before reassessing the field. The people one tries to help the most, particularly those disinterested or despiteful, either ignore one entirely or stab one in the back the hardest. I know all about that.’
‘That’s what he did, about the reassessment. Or so I think I read somewhere,’ Julia said. ‘After a book, some book chapters, podcasts, radio show appearances, and what I think turned out to be 452 articles, he declared a form of victory, perhaps pyrrhic, and moved on. He was planning to make an announcement in what would have been number 453 but instead, he turned it into some kind of polemical fiction. I suppose he is tired of what President Putin just called a quote-unquote degraded system.’
‘What was 453 supposed to be about?’
‘I think it was his commentary on a New York Times editorial admission that the fake pandemic finally revealed the total demise of Amerikan systemic education. He was also going to briefly get into the ever-so-slightly more intelligent and educated, into the multicultural sexual crime crisis at French universities. Being Perrin Lovett, he had planned to mention a stunning woman he knows who was educated at the University of Nantes—I assume he would have called her his ravissante déesse.
‘And he was going to conclude with a segue to our most educated and intelligent way of dealing with the issue of migrant children not knowing Russian when they enter our schools. He knows about the coming general immigration overhaul, the deep-sixing of the last faux Western vestiges, and he thinks well of the practice of requiring base language skills before school entrance.’
‘He should consider moving here,’ Perry said as they slowed to a halt. ‘He seems to have somewhat of a Russian heart.’
‘I know. Kind of like my Pericles. And we do need a few more rebellious Catholic Anglo-Norman Aristotelians in our midst. But now, where are we going?’
‘Back, I suppose,’ Perry said, blinking in the snow.
They turned about where the landing and a playground gave way to a little marina. On that day and under those conditions, against all odds a small lone boat was setting sail into the deeper waters even as ice began to visibly form in places on the surface. Perhaps just a little faster than before, they moved back towards the resort. As they strolled, Perry changed the subject.
‘History and economics are no longer taught in Amerikan schools. In fact, really, nothing is taught anymore. The economies of the United States and France have been destroyed by usurious financialization. Few people understand the fact because most people are stupid and because all modern and postmodern schools of economics are about as useful as a COVID so-called vaccine. As such, it is remarkable that the world’s two greatest real economists came together again to explain exactly what happened, what’s coming, and what can be done to remediate the future. Somewhere, should anyone care to partake, there’s a transcript and a video of the discussion. I wish I could link it to the good people somehow as it’s well worth the reading, watching, or listening.’
‘Is that Michael Hudson and Steve Keen talking for three hours about capitalism and multipolarity with Michael DeLay and Anastasia Bendebury?’ Julia asked. ‘I read half of it and listened to the rest.’
‘That’s it,’ Perry said thoughtfully. ‘Though I think Mr. Lovett would preface with the very attractive Anastasia Bendebury.’
‘He would, certainly,’ Julia said. ‘And not without merit. But, speaking of merit, about one-third of the way through, there was an exchange I found fascinating, hilarious, and a little alarming. Bendebury asked Keen something like, So when you say that capitalism collapses, what do you see near feudalism or you see something totally different? And he answered, Mad Max.
That would have been a total hoot coming from anyone but Steve Keen. So Anastasia sought to clarify by saying, I mean, that’s very romantic. But… And Keen cut in and said, Now it’s not romantic. But I’m looking forward to dying before it happens.
It would almost be romantic, for the average Westerner, except for the learned source. The man was, as usual, very serious.’
‘And as usual, he’ll be very ignored by most Westerners,’ Perry said. He noticed some children having a snowball fight along the treeline between two sets of cabins and smiled. ‘At least some generations will still get A Christmas Story instead of Mad Max. Those kids over there probably don’t know about any of it, not that they’ll ever need to. Safe in their greater sovereignty.’
‘I do wish those two would have left off the infrequent mention of the climate change specter,’ Julia said. ‘Of course, no one is perfect. A small matter. Then again, if the seas do rise, a lot of places full of a lot of wicked people will be swamped. London, New York, DC. That would be just fine.’
‘And, hearing,’ she said; ‘Do you think your time-traveling friends will appreciate the economics lesson? What year are they in again?’
‘Yes, and no. 1607 now, I think,’ he answered. ‘The ones closer to the present will understand. And those forever mired in a bygone dream will think or say they get it too. That 1607 business could serve several purposes, more than a few contexts.’
‘1607 as a reaction—always a reaction—to the communist’s 1619 program nonsense?’
‘Of course. Economically, 1607 doesn’t line up the way they think or imagine or fantasize it does. The London Company, within and without Virginia, a forerunner of today’s hedge funds and private central-commercial banking axes of evil, was developed to loot North America while ethnically cleansing the native populations. It simultaneously impoverished the ordinary people of London and England, even going as far and so low as barring the English from growing their own tobacco. It would soon after 1607 replace destitute Londoners down the employment rungs to even the indentured level with a host of what would be euphemistically called in the future teens, gentle giants, joggers, and bird watchers.
‘It was about what one would have expected from a fake corporate person chartered by a Bible-butchering heretic, Judeo-satanic Lodge loafer, and flaming sodomite. So if one of their crazed purposes is an attempt to blackwash and Talmudize Dixie, they might also consider going all the way and proudly proclaim it was essentially founded by an lgbtP activist—because it kind of was! Strange, but 400 years later, not much has changed on the English throne. Nor in Virginia, really.’
‘The Judaic foray?’ she asked; ‘From the outside to, as usual, converge and control all facets of the culture. Is that really happening? A minor lateral not-so-great leap of desperation?’
‘I conclude it is happening, though there is no warning them about it,’ Perry said with a sigh. ‘They simply won’t hear that. Or think about it, most of them. That’s another potential storm they’ll have to weather in time.’
‘I think your decision is coming along,’ she said. ‘Time to move on, leaving Lee where he belongs, so to speak?’
‘We’ll see—and, probably, yes. Sooner or later. It’s sad. All of America could have gone another way, emulating the functioning multi-nationalism here, fostered by faith, strength, and mutual respect, instead of abiding terminal multiculturalism barely held together by violence and treachery. The fate of the good natives in this small land compared to those of the Powhatan and the Catawba. The fate of the larger people. But, eh— The rest of the world is happily passing Dixie, America, France, and the rest of the Golden Billion by. Here’s me hoping a free and legitimate Western Remnant joins us, especially an updated and free Southern contingent. If not, they’d better watch out for the Nightrider.’
‘You never watched Mad Max?’
‘Not fully. Just like I’ve never experienced the full turkey treatment of an American Thanksgiving. Is it time, do you think?’
They stood before the main lodge office and the little path and stairs leading to the suites on the upper levels. A gust of wind dispatched a healthy quantity of snow from the evergreens all around them, though they both noticed the flakes directly from the clouds had at least momentarily abated. Unlooked for, the sun peered fully down upon the camp, adding a glow that suggested, if barely, warmth. Perry looked at his watch and said, ‘Eight kilos, four o’clock… It just might be time to start setting all the trimmings up and out.’
‘Once you give the word,’ she added, ‘Mother and I will take over. She wants to carve, just like you demonstrated with the ham. While singing about Alice in the restaurant. Small things. And that should give you and Father a little time to sip, maybe smoke, and discuss whatever men discuss when the snow slows a bit.’
‘Fantastic!’ he said. ‘We’ll probably talk about new and genuinely exciting news. About the coming tribunals and a little justice! That’s how the Department and the Center will probably close this year and open next. May some of it visit the heads of a few Amerikan neoliberals! But for our evening festivities, ahead of a long double Christmas and New Year’s, here’s to a new holiday tradition!’
‘Which didn’t start as most Amerikans tell it?’
‘No, the Massachusetts Yankee tradition, while romantic and maybe partly accurate, isn’t the whole story. Neither is the 1607ers’ 1619 reactionary reinvention. The first Thanksgiving in what is now the dying GAE homeland started in September of 1565 in Florida. Our protesting Puritan and Calvinist friends overlook the hard fact that the first Thanksgiving commenced with a real Christian Mass—in Latin too. In honor of real tradition, after your dad says an Orthodox Blessing, I may add a short Latin quip!’
‘Deo vindice!’ she said.
‘True, but I’ll probably just go with something simple and fitting like, Benedicite cibos bonos et amicos meliores.’
‘Perfectus!’ she said. ‘Ну и хорошо! And now, let’s get to it!’
With that, and a short canoodle, and the now ubiquitous kissing of noses, they made their way down the path towards the waiting feast. The wind hummed, almost singing, new snow began to fall, the sun was again veiled, and a peaceful, thankful calm held the whole of the Altai.
Perrin Lovett is a novelist, author, and small-time meddler. He is a loveable, unobtrusive somewhat-right-wing Christian nationalist residing somewhere in Dixie. The revised second edition of his groundbreaking novel, THE SUBSTITUTE, is available from Shotwell Publishing and Amazon. Find his ramblings at www.perrinlovett.me. Deo Vindice!