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Previously on “A Footnote to Plato”…
Zeb drove with one hand on the steering wheel. He chattered nervously, “Draco used to contain the pole star, but that was like thousands of years ago. The earth doesn’t really stay put on its axis, you know. It’s pulled in two directions by the sun and moon, so it shifts eventually. In other words, the north star now won’t be the north star later.”
Isaac closed his eyes again—not the best time to speak of wobbling worlds. closed his eyes again—not the best time to speak of wobbling worlds.
In Chapter 6, The Virtual Cup, Zeb spots Dr. Fischelson meeting with the college president and uses the Pythagorean theorem to convince the big time coke dealer he wants to buy from to change their venue.
In Chapter 7, The Last Supper, Zeb sells enough coke to pay his tuition, so he’s off the hook for now. While he and Julian discuss Dr. Fischelson’s predicament, Joshua and Uri confront Dr. Fischelson—and each other—about the sexual harassment investigation as Alexandra watches from below. Isaac comes up with an idea for his sabbatical and asks Zeb to join him—in Greece.
Excerpt from Chapter 8
When they arrived at their three-story apartment building—apparently the one with the penis-nosed cartoon character spray-painted on its front door—they verified the address a few times, from various phones, before entering. The door was unlocked. A wet-grout atmosphere greeted them. Something crunched underfoot, some sort of hard-shelled bug, judging by the texture of the sound. No one bothered to look for a light switch; what little they could see, they saw all too well. The tall counter at the front suggested a reception lobby. A mop was balanced on the counter, and the neon sign across the street threw electric-red light onto its shaggy head, turning it into the wig of a demented clown. At the back of the room beneath a winding staircase were an industrial vacuum, a few boxes, a broken wicker chair, and other household items that would normally be concealed from public view.
So. This was the place they would call home for the next week. It looked nothing like the photos. The online description had said: Live like a local in the Psirri district, famous for its restaurants and discotheques. Walking distance to everything: The Parthenon, Plaka, Monastiraki square, Acropolis museum, Kerameikos, Pnyx, and much more! Easy metro ride to Piraeus port. Enjoy clean, comfortable beds, modern furnishings, washer and dryer, full kitchen, and awesome wifi. Penthouse apartment view of Parthenon can’t be beat!
But it seemed they had just traveled thousands of miles to sleep in a glorified utility closet. If they didn’t like their accommodations, the most they could do was leave a bad review on the rental website and get their money back later, who knew when. They had no recourse to make things right right now, and the thought of finding a hotel at this hour . . . who on earth thought it would be a good idea to visit a country on the verge of fiscal collapse? If something bad were to happen, they were on their own. After all, if you couldn’t count on trash pickup, what could you count on? None of them had seriously considered what life would be like without the rule of law, but they were starting to get the picture.
It was hard to ignore last year’s headlines: In 2012, a retired pharmacist shot himself in the head in Syntagma Square in protest to the austerity measures. Migrants poured into Greece by sea, sometimes drowning in their attempts to flee war zones, and they didn’t always receive a warm welcome. Neo-Nazis had been elected to the Hellenic Parliament with seven percent of the popular vote, making them the third-largest political party. Militant anarchists were blowing up fascist headquarters, but that sort of opposition, even if it was against Nazis, wasn’t much comfort to the Americans; back home, people were ‘up in arms’ over regulations limiting the size of sugary sodas. Back home, it never would’ve come to this.
However, the little group from Winston College in Vermont feigned calm, fearing it would be intolerant to criticize.
It was Dr. Fischelson who finally broke the silence. “Is this it?” There was no mistaking his tone—he, too, feared for his life. Although the others felt relieved by his admission, they also felt ashamed for reasons that were unclear to them, and so withheld their replies in favor of awkward silence…
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A Footnote to Plato: Chapters 8 & 9