Fantastic Metropolis

Hunched down in the central gangway, ears resounding at the shower of missiles from above, and struggling not to touch the red and yellow sprinkles that bubble on the rotten upholstery, José Esteves bites down on his lip and considers life. He’s used to all this. This is nothing compared to the risks he takes as a teacher…

It is when he arrives at Cacém that things become ugly. Wisely, the teacher activates all emergency circuits in his suit. Dart shooter in his right hand, and briefcase with test papers protected by his Kevlar armour, José Esteves stealthily approaches the School building.

Here we go! With teeth clenched, he rushes headlong towards the hall under a storm of rocks, slingshot missiles, even a bullet or two, all while being charged by students on spike-heavy bikes.

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After ten minutes of pitched battle, he limps into class. Having fallen twice, he suspects a knee-cap fracture. Blood trickles slowly from a wound in the left elbow. A red line around his wrist reveals the various fruitless attempts to steal his briefcase. From the other side of the wire netting, the class bawls: “We don’t want no test”, “Boycott! Boycott the test!”, “The teach is two minutes late”, “There’s no time, no time…”

“Don’t you dare…” José Esteves shouts, the truncheon flaring in his right hand. “Just remember I still haven’t gone over my slaughtering quota for the year. Remember I can still kick the crap out of one or two of you with maximum prejudice… And I don’t at all mind starting today…”

Most of the class settles down. The more stress-sensitive of the bunch gnaw on the tips of their stylos. Others amuse themselves with crumbling away the tabletops or tearing parquet blocks off the floor.

Slowly, carefully so he doesn’t stain the questionnaire with blood, the teacher slips the reams of paper through a hole in the wire netting, and goes to sit at the desk, completely exhausted.

On the other end of the room, students howl before the difficulty of the questions. One of them even devours the test paper. Three others hang on to the netting and utter death and mutilation threats in a low voice, lest they be recorded by the School’s security system which in fact never ever worked.

Uncertain, José Esteves runs his eyes over the first few questions:

Read the following text carefully:

“Know thyself, thus says the quotation and thus I tell you myself!” says SOCRATES.

1. To whom belongs the quotation?

A: Socrates. B: Mager. C: The PM.

 

2. Assuming philosophy implies reflection…

Question: Is there such thing as spontaneous philosophy?

A: yes. B: no.

 

3. “All the world comes from water.” —THALES

What Thales means to say is that…

A: all the world comes from water. B: from the earth. C: from the air. D: from nowhere.

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From the back of the room, shouts of fury and frustration grow intense. José Esteves shudders. He made it too difficult, after all. The insuccess rate will turn out huge. Which means there’ll be a visit from the Inspector and all the rest. One more disciplinary proceeding and suspension from school activities for proven mental cruelty, who knows. And as if that weren’t enough, the students will be waiting for him, somewhere, outside school grounds.

Sweat drops down his brow. He can do nothing but collect the tests two hours past, most of them still blank, or scrawled with abusive graffiti. And then he waits for the room to empty and a new batch to come in. Because this is just the first test of the day. Like this one, there are still five more to go.

The sober logotype adorning the test header reminds him how awful it would be to be transferred to a less prestigious institution than the St. Mager School for the Exceptionally Gifted.

Some days it’s hard to remember just how lucky you are.