The door, wedged tightly behind a yellowing dictionary, opens into a narrow third-floor book closet. The metal shelves, heaped high with language textbooks, cling tightly to the concrete walls while in the back, dim morning light filters through far-off windows.
“Your assignment,” instructs my Senior Service Day supervisor, “is to cart out all of these old Russian textbooks. We haven’t taught that subject in years.” He sweeps the dust off the nearest pile, and coughing slightly, proves his statement to be true. Fanning the air, he retreats back into the high school.