Search

-The Philosophy Professor- Chapter 2

Updated: Oct 16, 2020



The Philosphy Professor

The next morning Jeremy woke up and fled his room immediately. It was a mixture of excitement and claustrophobia that urged him to leave so early. Sure, it was reassuring for Leeds University to arrange his accommodation but Juan’s presence was getting overbearing and annoying. He knew the old man meant well and was thankful for the hospitality; picking him with the car was a massive help, but there was only so much phonic nonsense he could take before confessing his real thoughts about Thatcher, Churchill and Augusto, whoever the hell that pink-cheeked General was. He picked a perfectly round and red apple from the tree in Juan’s garden and left before the old sergeant woke up.

Crumpled in his pocket, Jeremy ferried a document directed to a certain Mr. Dominguez who was to be his contact in La Serena. He also had a map of the city which highlighted the campus with a red ring. What the map did not say was that the University was situated at the top of a hill and that the clambering would leave him confused and gasping for air when he arrived to the top an hour later. The views of the white-washed city were breath-taking as his sight stretched all the way to the Pacific coastline but he was also completely lost. He roamed around like a spaced-out vagabond trying to find the semblance of a reception area. Around him were a series of Spanish colonial looking manor houses scattered around pine trees and wild bushes. Then Jeremy spotted a larger more graceful building with an Islamic looking minaret which he identified as the University library. As soon as he entered the old nineteenth century shaped edifice Jeremy was knocked back by the smell of dampness. He thought he had discovered the smell of time past. Around him hundreds of old books were stacked in cupboards and shelves. Opposite the door there was a small wooden desk guarded by a skinny man with a moustache. Jeremy had never seen such a finely shaped moustache. -Morning. Busco a señor Dominguez- he uttered, struggling to find his Spanish amidst the fogginess of the tiredness in his mind.