Curiosity and I wrestled for a few moments before I, as usual, lost. “Okay, what is this all about?” I blurted out, gesturing to the map.
My dad set his cup down, his eyes soft. “Let’s begin at the beginning. Liv, how do we know about Atlantis in the first place?”
Liv again. Every time he said it, I had to regain my balance. I forced my eyes to his. “We know about it because of the Greek philosopher Plato.”
He slid a sketchbook out into the center of the table and lightning fast drew a cartoon version of Plato, complete with a beard, toga, and large book, then looked up at me seriously.
I stifled a laugh. His theories may have evolved, but his drawings hadn’t. They were exactly the same, with big goofy Ping-Pong-ball eyes and small noses. I’d missed seeing his renditions of the world.
He looked up from the pad. “Good. And who did Plato hear it from?”
A quiz. And fortunately—or unfortunately—I knew all the answers. I wanted to pretend I hadn’t thought about them in years, but the truth was, I had. All the time. “Plato heard it from Solon, who was a famous Greek politician and poet.”
“Not quite,” Theo said. “Solon lived two hundred years before Plato, so he never told him in person. Plato knew the story because it had been passed down orally from Solon, who had gone to Egypt and learned about it firsthand from the Egyptian priests.”
“Right,” I said, barely containing my sigh. They had to realize how ridiculous this was. It was like a convoluted game of telephone.
My dad, of course, continued. “And why do we, as people of the twenty-first century, know this story?”
“Because of Plato’s dialogues,” I said, making sure to beat Theo to the answer. Then, before Dad could ask, I added, “Plato’s dialogues were fictionalized conversations used to discuss philosophical topics.” Timaeus and Critias had sat on my nightstand the way Charlotte’s Web or James and the Giant Peach sat on other kids’ bedside tables. And yes, I did have a very weird childhood, thank you very much.
“Excellent. Almost everything we know about Atlantis comes from Plato. Who was Plato?” He capped his pen, then looked at me expectantly.
Who was Plato? Was this a trick? Now they were both looking at me. Last year my history class had studied Plato, and every time the teacher said his name, it had felt like she was referring to an old family friend. It had taken me almost a month to stop flinching when she brought him up. I’d gotten a 99 on my final paper, with a note from my teacher that read Excellent in-depth understanding of topic. I’d actually held back.
I dropped my eyes to the cartoon. “He was a Greek philosopher who lived in Athens. He founded the first university in the world. A lot of people consider him the most influential philosopher of all time.”
I felt, rather than saw, Theo and my dad share a look. I’d either passed or failed. I couldn’t tell which.
My dad added a scroll to Plato’s right hand, then gave his beard a few extra squiggles. “What else is he known for?”
I hesitated, and Theo chimed in. “He figured out a lot of scientific truths about the Earth. He was one of the first to say that the Earth isn’t flat and that the planets orbit the sun and not the other way around.”
Earth not flat Planets orbit sun. Most influential. My dad scribbled it all at the top. He looked up at us. “Plato studied under Socrates, and later he taught Aristotle. He also founded the first institution of higher learning in Western Civilization. He was one of the most well-known philosophers of his time, and his theories are still taught all over the world. All of this is impressive. But I think there is only one qualification that truly matters.” His eyes met mine. “Do you think we can trust him?”
The question startled me, and I flinched, then shot a look at Theo. He’d asked me this exact question in regard to my dad right before bed last night. Do you think you can trust your dad? So much for Theo not reporting to my dad on our conversation.
“Well…,” I hedged. My dad’s dark eyes were still on mine, and for a moment I imagined myself saying what I really thought. Atlantis is a made-up story that an old philosopher told to scare people into avoiding being rich jerks. It was a parable, meant to caution the people of Athens to not be greedy about money, knowledge, and technology. It was never meant to be considered truth. No one was ever meant to try to find it. No one was meant to upend their lives over it. But his eyes were so bright. I forgot how bright they got when we were talking about Atlantis. And when I opened my mouth… well…
“I’m not sure,” I mumbled.
I know. Pathetic. It was almost genetically impossible that I had descended from a lawyer, and a good one at that.
My dad broke our gaze, then blinked. Once, then twice. “That’s okay. In fact, that’s more than okay, because it’s part of what I’m trying to establish in the documentary.”
“Think of it this way,” Theo said, setting his elbows on the table and leaning in toward me. “In Plato’s time, Solon was one of the most famous and well respected people in history. Everyone knew who he was, so Plato would have been very careful about getting his story right. Also, Plato said a lot of things about the story of Atlantis that show how fantastical he thought it was—how big it was, the elephants, all of that. Why would he express doubt about his own made-up story?”
I hated to admit it, but it was an interesting point. Luckily, a rebuttal quickly came to mind. “But did Plato ever say it was true?”
Theo’s eyes lit up. “We have twenty-two documented moments of Plato telling the audience, point-blank, that the story is not a fable; it’s true.”
Twenty-two? That seemed like a lot of work for a lie. Also, Theo would be excellent on my school’s debate team. Judging by the way his voice had gotten all fired up, I had a feeling that if I didn’t stop him, I might be stuck at this table all day. Time to put an end to this.
I held up one hand. “Fine. What if Plato was telling the truth? Then what?”
A smile spread across my dad’s face. “Then we get to talk about Santorini.” He flipped to a fresh page of the sketchbook and quickly sketched the island of Santorini. “Theo, what did Plato say specifically about Atlantis?”
Theo straightened in his chair, his smile matching my father’s. “He said that an island containing an advanced civilization was destroyed in the space of a few short days. The island was oblong, and it contained rocks in three different colors: white, red, and black. During the destruction, there were floods and earthquakes, and afterward, the sea was impassable.”
My dad gestured to the island, aiming a kind smile at me. “What shape is this?”
“Oblong,” I admitted. But Santorini’s shape didn’t prove anything. There had to be hundreds of oblong islands on the earth. What were the chances that my father had been born on the correct one?
Next, he marked three spots near the bottom of the island and scribbled out their names. Red Beach, Black Beach, White Beach.
“Wait,” I said. “Those are actual places here?”
He looked up, pen still in hand. “Absolutely.”
“Also, a hot spring and a cold spring,” Theo said. His camera was out again, and he fiddled with the switch. “That’s also in the dialogues.”