Collecting Raw Material
A Zeno the Stoic Adventure. Part 4.
Hail Lambpoonies!
Please enjoy another chapter from Zeno the Stoic. Once again, it is a sequel to The Dog, which can be picked up at the red link for a mere drachma. If you want to know how much a drachma is, read that book. I think I cover it. Not sure. Anyway, enjoy!
4
304 B.C.
Zeno walked stiffly through the agora as the rosy fingers of dawn embraced Athens once again. He’d spent the night fitfully, rolling on hard stone under the stoa trying to find a comfortable position to lay in and never quite finding one. Crates and Hippa must have a secret technique, some sort of trick, allowing them to rest on unyielding earth as if a feathered bed.
They were sleeping still when he'd set off in his ragged sack, eager to find a new tunic for himself. Nothing too fancy. He meant to meet back with his strange wisemen and wagered if he bought something with a high thread count, he'd never hear the end of it. But first, he had to hit the bank.
He knew Med Mutual had a small kiosk in the Parthenon atop the Acropolis, though he had never visited it. As was the way, temples mixed the sacred and the profane in a manner absolutely no one cared about until some nobody named Josh flipped a few tables in Jerusalem centuries later. Funny how a tantrum from one renowned for not throwing tantrums can cause such change.
Zeno ascended the hill alongside the sun, thinking about none of this. He anticipated the joy of a full wallet, instead. The stiffness in his body fled as his muscles propelled him upward, closer to the gods. The gods of this land, anyway. Here, monuments to deities were almost always held aloft by massive columns, the sheer size intending a sense of structure and wonder. He expected nothing different from the Parthenon. But what he saw when he crested the hill took what breath his climb had left him.
Dozens of columns, each six feet wide, soared forty feet overhead, supporting a roof made of pure white marble. People, hilariously short people, thronged about its base threading their way in and out between the columns. Zeno did the same, entering the temple and moving beneath its roof. The smell of cooked meat permeated the place, mixing with the less salivating scent of parchment, sweat, smoke, banking, and the buzz of human prattle.
In the center, a massive statue made of pure gold held court. Athena, helmeted and proud, held her spear and approved of all that was done under her roof. This included the treasury for the city, a barbecue joint, and a half dozen desks where bankers held tiny courts of their own. Zeno figured he’d grab a bit of goat after withdrawing some cash. Only a portion of a sacrifice was burnt beyond edibility. The rest was sold.
Each marked with a different letter, the desks lined the left side of the temple. Every one was helmed by seemingly identical, bearded men wheeling and/or dealing with clients/victims. Zeno approached the desk marked with Alpha and silently awaited attention. It was the only desk without twenty people queued in a line. Zeno couldn't believe his fortune.
“Welcome to Med Mutual,” Alpha said. “What can your favorite banking destination do for you?”
“I need to make a withdrawal.”
“Withdrawal slip, please.”
“I don't have one.”
“You need a withdrawal slip to make a withdrawal.”
“Where can I get one?”
“You want Desk Mu. It’s outside and around the corner,” the man said, dismissing Zeno with a handwave and a shout. “Next, please!”
Zeno wandered outside, locating Desk Mu by the long line of people awaiting service. He took his place at the end and summoned the patience required to navigate this kind of thing. He clung to his calm the entire hourlong wait while his stomach roared at the smell of barbeque wafting out of the temple’s food court.
“Hi,” Zeno said to Mu once it was his turn. “I'd like a withdrawal slip.”
“Sure thing,” Mu said cheerfully. “What is your name, birth year, father's name, and how long have you been an Athenian citizen?”
“Zeno. 334 B.C, whatever that means. My father is Mnaseas. Try to pronounce that one, am I right? And since never.”
“Good. Great. Excellent. And it’s pronounced Mnaseas. Easy,” Mu checked off his notes before pausing. “Oh. Wait. What do you mean by never?”
“I'm not a citizen.”
“Is this one of those Cynic things? Where you're a citizen of everywhere? Nice sack, by the way. I had a colleague in Corinth years back who wanted to be a dog, too.”
“No,” Zeno admitted. “I’m really not an Athenian.”
“Oh bother. You're going to want a Filthy Foreigner Affidavit then. I can't give any filthy foreigners a withdrawal slip without one. Try Desk Beta inside. He can hook you up,” Mu dismissed Zeno with a hand wave. “Next, please!”
Groaning, Zeno conjured his patience again and located the Desk Beta line inside. Yet another long one, and he took his place at the end. He imagined wrapping his hands around Beta’s neck to distract himself from his screeching gut for the hour it took to reach the desk.
“Hi,” Zeno addressed Beta. “I'm a filthy foreigner, apparently.”
“Aren't they all thethe dayth,” Beta lisped.
“Right. Mu told me you could give me a Filthy Foreigner Affidavit so I can get a withdrawal slip.”
“Not again,” Beta shook his head. “Mu ith a bit touched. You want Theta, not Beta. Fourth time thith week with that guy. If he wathn't thomeone'th nephew he'd be gone, I thwear. Next pleathe!”
Zeno's eyelid twitched, but he dutifully took his place at the end of the line for Desk Theta. Even Beta's ridiculous lisp couldn't lighten his mood. He just needed a couple gods damned obols of his own gods damned money so he could get out of this gods damned sack and eat some gods damned food. He stared at the food court for a full hour as his line wound its way to Desk Theta and shadows on the floor lengthened.
“Hi,” Zeno affected cheerfully once he'd made it. He'd kill this one with kindness if it slaughtered everyone in the temple. “Beta said you could give me a Filthy Foreigner Affidavit.”
“Zeus’ saggy sack,” Theta stared at Beta and howled. “Fix that bloody lisp, Beta! Try marbles!” He turned back to Zeno. “I swear, if he wasn't someone's brother he'd be out of here. Anyway, you want Zeta. ZETA. With a Z. Zee. Or Zed, if you want to pronounce it like that for some reason.”
“I don't want any of this anymore.”
“I don't either,” Theta whined. “I guess we’re all just victims of late-stage capital. You never saw this kind of thing in the Soviet Union. Whatever that is. Next!”
Zeno could no longer tell his grumbling head from his grumbling stomach after locating the Zeta Desk and dutifully awaiting yet another gods damned hour for the tender affections of yet another gods damned banker. He hoped this one wasn’t a communist.
“Hello,” Zeno began, regretting ever beginning. “I need a Filthy Foreigner Affidavit, please.”
“Very good, sir,” Zeta said. “What filthy, foreign land do you hail from?”
“Citium,” Zeno spit through clenched teeth.
“Oh, Citium,” Zeta bubbled. “You don't need a Filthy Foreigner Affidavit if you're from Citium. That's one of our colonies. It's in network. The Mu out front should have told you.”
“Well fuck, Mu!” Zeno screamed, palming the underside of Desk Zeta and flipping it, sending scrolls and coins flying as Zeta and his crony-banker clones ducked for cover.
Before anyone could react with an appropriately disproportionate application of violence, Zeno scooped up a couple coins and cheesed it before the fuzz could arrive.
He sprinted down the hill along the street entering the city below, keeping an eye out for prospective clothing stores and pursuing authorities. Finally, out of breath, he ducked inside a store with a dark interior, advertising clothes for sale.
Forever Thirteen emblazoned the sign hanging out front alongside a crude drawing of an old man with a beard holding the hand of a young boy. How wholesome. He poked through several racks of clothes before realizing they only carried loincloths of various color and all far too small to gird his loins. They seemed too small to gird any loins, in fact. It took him a full ten minutes to realize it was a sex shop.
He hopped out and found another called Hot Tunic. He beheld racks and racks sporting tunics priced for just a couple obols in a variety of colors. He would have liked a purple tunic, since he supplied the city with that dye, but he settled on a cheap grey one. Penniless once again he still found a bounce in his step. Food could wait.
Preening, he returned to the Stoa of Zeus to reunite with his wisemen. Crates was there, lounging where he'd slept, and he leaped to his hunchbacked feet upon seeing Zeno.
“There you are. Nice tunic,” Crates said, appraising his new clothes. “Looks brand new.”
“Thanks,” Zeno purred, doing a little twirl. “It was oddly difficult to get a hold of.”
“Be a shame if something happened to it,” Crates continued as he placed a hand inside the armpit and ripped it open in one graceful, violent motion.
Zeno's despairing shriek roared through the air, echoing across both the Athenian agora and eternity.
The sex shop! ‘How wholesome’ 😵 Well played.