Critical

Julian Tsai

A symphony of clinking dress shoes and morning regards echoed through the grandeur tall lobby. Rising from the left side of the orchestra, the muffled swooshing of the larger-than-life revolving doors supplemented itself to the chorus. With it, waves of London’s chilling ever-wind infiltrated in. Moist molecules of the impending rain soaked into everyone’s bones. 

“Moooses! How you doing brother?”

“Morning Alex. I’m great, thank you for asking sir,” said Moses as he pressed the big green button that had his index fingerprints engrained on it. It had been pressed so many times, the green pigment had started giving way to the off-white plastic base underneath. 

“Morning Moses.”

“Good morning sir.”

With another press of the button, the airport-like turnstiles parted ways to let in another businessman with a three-piece suit, carrying a leather suitcase with “Bloomsbury Group” detailed on it. Behind him, Moses heard the courteous small talk while each quiet strike of a bell signaled the descending elevator that was to take the group of suits up to a floor unknown to Moses. After letting in a few more people, and seeing that no one else was in sight, Moses sat down on his bench, letting out a deep sigh that expelled smells of the one pound 75 pence breakfast sausage roll that never fills him up.

Staring out into open space, he wondered what the previous passing Englishmen had for breakfast. Perhaps they got up a bit earlier and enjoyed a full English meal at The Ivy next door. Or maybe their wives cooked some chicken and vegetables that sat spewing steam on the wide oak dining table waiting for them to finish buttoning all three buttons of their navy blue suit jackets. Walking down the spiraling staircase, a cup of espresso would be inserted into their hands, and with a small but affectionate kiss, greeted with ‘good morning darling, have a nice day at work.’ Without notice, the face of the businessman in Moses’s imagination suddenly became his own, and he was the one sitting at the table slowly eating the tender chicken while his wife told him how extraordinary the opera she saw last night was. With a large smile on his face, he matched the rise of her intonation, excitedly telling her how they should go to another one next weekend. To intensify the image he was visualizing, Moses closed his eyes to let the darkness be the canvas. He was laughing, laughing very hard with his wife at a joke she just made. The well-seasoned salad sat in its transparent glass bowl, the streaking morning sunlight slowly warming it up. Originating from the large house-stereo system situated in the living room, classical ambient music danced through the gothic archway separating the two spaces. The corner of Moses’s mouth creased up a few degrees like a kid with a lollipop while his eyebrows scrunched into the middle like the envious, angry kid that didn’t get one. If only, he thought, if only that was reality. 

The striking elevator bells suddenly shook Moses awake. His eyes shot right open, but his mind was still in a slightly delirious state. Quickly glancing at the Ikea clock face on his desk, he saw that it was already noon! Moses was appalled at how he could have fallen asleep on the job, thinking it wasn’t right that he was left sleeping undisturbed for hours. Hearing the footsteps and conversations of the people heading to lunch, Moses sprung up and steadied himself. He smiled at the passing businessmen, returning courteous regards when appropriate. When the assembly of hungry Englishmen finally passed, Moses sat down on his bench again to drink some water and to forcefully blink a few times in an attempt to fully wake himself up. Moses had never, in his years of being a receptionist, fallen asleep on the job. From deep within his body Moses’s stomach growled, begging him for lunch. Moses was about to take out the thin sandwich he wrapped this morning when he was interrupted by the sharp ringtone of the dusty counter phone that rarely ever received calls, especially during lunchtime when everyone was out. He hesitated a few moments and looked at the rattling phone before picking it up to his ear. It was a woman’s voice.

“Hey Moses, will you head up to the 86th floor? Mr.Galahad wishes to see you.”

This stunned Moses. He recognized the name Mr.Galahad as the head of the company, but he had never seen him before. Moses assumed that he had always used his own personal entrance, explaining why he never pressed the green button for him before. 

“Umm… Moses?”

“Yes, sorry about that. Yes, I will head up now. Is it okay leaving the entrance unguarded or is someone going to come and stand in for me?”

“Don’t worry about that. 86th floor okay? See you soon,” said the woman’s voice on the other end before hanging up abruptly.

A few cycles of the phone’s lingering sounds were played out before Moses gradually placed it back into its slot. In contrast, the lobby was dead silent. The lobby was always silent, Moses thought, except for four instances in a day: when the suits clocked in and out of work and during lunchtime. Other than that, no one had ever entered this lobby. No one had ever mistaken it for something else; no one had ever come in asking for a bathroom; no one had ever come in as a visitor. Moses realized that he was in fact going to be the first person other than those Bloomsbury businessmen to ascend in those elevators behind him. The fear of Mr.Galahad and the presumed assistant’s enigmatic request continued to incubate, and thousands of different stories ran through his mind like school kids during recess. Moses wondered if they saw him sleeping. It must be, and now Mr.Galahad was going to personally fire him. Once that possibility birthed itself inside Moses, it couldn’t be silenced. Regardless of what was to come, he had to go meet Mr.Galahad on the 86th floor.

After cautiously looking around the lobby, Moses walked down the right hallway and pressed the closest upward arrow button. Stepping back and pushing his body against the cold black wall, Moses waited patiently for one of the three large steel doors to open. In his years of working there, Moses had let countless people up these elevators but not once himself. He had his interview and admittance to his job on that small sofa in the lobby. Every day at eight a.m., Moses came dressed and went straight to his post at the receptionist's desk then left through the same big doors every night at closing time. His knowledge of the company matched his physical extent within it. Moses was desperate then, so he applied for this opening when recommended by a friend from his old receptionist gig. He never thought of asking what the company does, and little hints were given from the businessmen’s attires. The company’s affairs never seemed imperative to Moses. All he had to do was to let in people he recognized as Bloomsbury businessmen. No instructions were given for if unknown personnel approached him since it was never going to happen. What if Bloomsbury was a governmental unit? Or what if Bloomsbury was a fraudulent corporation and Moses was the perfect unquestioning, obedient worker needed to hold up a normal front? What if they were the ones that orchestrated the… Ding! The elevator’s bell interrupted Moses’s firing thoughts right before it got too preposterous. 

Moses stepped into the elevator and was confronted by the countless buttons—from G to 86—organized in a strict grid system that somehow resembled a lottery scratch ticket. It was the biggest elevator he had ever seen. The rectangular box had no ornate decorations, just four light-brown cushioned panels set against a black background on each side. A wooden handlebar ran along the three walls at hip height. Moses lightly pressed the button symbolizing the 86th floor, but nothing happened except for the illumination of the round glass piece. There was no sudden upward jolt or sound of churning gears. No displaying panel signaled to him the progress of the elevator. For all he knew, Moses could be dragged down to a secret basement or already on the 47th floor. The elevator was also spotless, inexplainable since Moses had never seen a janitor or cleaning lady around. Not a single dust particle seemed to exist in this space as if it was a vacuum-sealed box. The best way to describe what Moses was smelling at the moment was nothing. Absolutely nothing. It didn’t smell good or bad, just pure nothing. It was as if his senses were paused. 

The absence of sensory details compelled Moses’s mind to run wild again. He thought about the aftermath of if he was to be fired. He wouldn’t be able to make rent this weekend or even afford food. Even if no one depended on him here in London, he was partly responsible for his remaining family out in Birmingham. Though not much, he had consistently sent money to them every few months and was often praised for the big difference it supposedly made; the close-knitted Jamaican community there definitely made it easier to get by on lower funds. The cleanly polished silver doors reflected Moses’s image right back to him. He stepped forward to take a closer look at his clothes. The elevator continued to remain so still that it felt like he was walking on solid ground rather than an elevator going up dozens of floors. Moses tried to smooth out his cheap Primark suit that looked its price. His eyes and hands were intently focused on his creased pants when his reflection was separated in the middle by the sudden opening doors. 

Right away, from that first step he took off the elevator, Moses could tell the difference between the floor that he was let out on and the ground floor he was so accustomed to. Moses felt like his steps were lighter, as if his foot hovered a centimeter off the ground, never touching it. The gentle and delicate air made Moses believe he was able to fill more of his lungs with this air than he could have downstairs. What confronted him outside the elevator was a pristine clean hallway so white that one shimmer of sunlight would be enough to make it a blinding hazard. Moses looked around to assess his next course of action in this peculiar space. He was rotating his crooked head around like a curious chicken when a familiar voice sprung out of midair.

“Hi Moses, I’m glad you made it. Now, if you will just follow the tunnel on your right, that would be great.”

It was the same female voice from before, but Moses couldn’t find a face to match the voice. No signs of a speaker or broadcaster could be found on the white surfaced hallway. It was clear to Moses that the ten-second transmission just now came from somewhere else, but it sounded so crisp and without echoes that it felt like it was spoken right by his ears. Moses spotted the indicated path for him and followed it with an air of caution. 

The winding hallway continued to be so flawlessly white that it made Moses look back every once in a while to make sure no smear or litter was left behind by his footsteps. It was after the third bend of the path that Moses finally saw an end to this walkway, though he didn’t recognize it as what it was until it was within reach. Blending in with the surrounding was an off-white sliding door with a color difference only the most intricate eye could discern. Without fault, the door silently glided open once Moses was within a certain distance, connecting the hallway to even more white surfaces. Sitting behind a small bare desk in yet another fully white room was a blonde girl dressed in business casual. There was only a notebook in front of her, but the way her hands rested on it suggested that it wasn’t what she was doing five seconds ago. 

“Hi Moses, it is my pleasure to meet you.”

“He…llo. Nice to meet you too Ms…?” Responded Moses.

“You can call me Agnes.”

“Agnes, okay… Hi,” Moses said as he hesitantly walked towards the desk. “The hallway is umm, very clean.”

“Yes. We try to keep the 86th floor as clean as possible, per Mr.Galahad’s request.”

“Right, per Mr.Galahad’s request…But how come I had never seen any janitors around?”

“You don’t see what you don’t have to.”

Moses had to repeat what the assistant said in his head a few times. You don’t see what you don’t have to. He believed that he understood what the sentence meant, but how it could be used to answer his question he was not sure. A slightly puzzled look appeared on Moses’s face. He was about to ask for clarification when Agnes interjected his running thoughts.

“Mr.Galahad is waiting for you.”

Moses’s confusion and bewilderment dissolved to display a resolved look.

“Right! I’m sorry to have kept him waiting, where could I find Mr.Galahad?”

“Right down this way, and you will soon see the door. You won’t mistake it,” said Agnes while gesturing to her left with an open palm.

“Thank you. Agnes.”

Moses looked at where Agnes pointed to find a small pathway stretching out of the room. Each footstep that he took produced an echoing clink that he failed to notice before. Right at the mouth of the pathway, Moses peered back to find Agnes still looking at him, concocting a slow nod with a smile to signal reassurance. Moses cracked a half smile and awkwardly nodded back at her before advancing on his path. About fifty meters ahead of him was a double-paneled glass door, though lacking the transparency of most. Through the leaking cracks beneath the door, he instantly recognized this faint transmission of a silky female vocal. It was someone that he remembered hearing all the time through his father’s faulty speakers, but the name escaped him at the moment. The nagging sensation of having a memory just barely denied tugged at Moses’s heart. He took one long calming breath before giving the glass door two rapid knocks. 

“Come in!”

Moses pushed open the door and exposed his eyes to marvels it had yet to be introduced. This grand room, in contrast to the previously bare walls and surfaces he had been accustomed to, felt overwhelming to his senses as if a floodgate of colors and shapes was drowning him. A long curved window that ran from one corner of the room to the other displayed a view of central London that Moses thought was only possible for eagles and planes. On the left side of the room sat an ornate bar with hanging martini glasses that looked like it was plopped out of a five-star hotel bar, a few dark red sofas kept it company by its side. Sat near the back like a wallflower was what Moses recognized as the source of the music, an extensive stereo system that was quite similar to the ones that would appear in his imagination. Single strips of glass ornaments that looked like it was dissected from a chandelier hung from the ceiling in a sporadic fashion. The mid-tempo musical notes danced around in the air stepping tango with the tangerine-like sweet smell. On the right side of the room, the half that Moses was standing in front of, a majestic desk that rivaled the receptionist desk in the lobby placed itself firmly on the ground. A monitor, a few pieces of scattered paper, and a pencil were the only items on it. Standing behind it was a white man in his fifties—the few strands of grey hair on his chin told Moses that much— who had big round affectionate eyes colored in with brown and coupled with caterpillar-like eyebrows. Perfectly groomed short hair perched on top of his head in a detached way that seemed like it was a separate entity in itself. Clothed with the best suit money could buy—the lack of creases told Moses that much—with a pinstripe tie was who Moses assumed to be the wide-smiling Mr.Galahad.

“Well Hello! Welcome, welcome,” said Mr.Galahad with his two hands extended out to either side like a TV announcer. The ending intonations of his speech dived up and down like a rollercoaster, much like the typical deep British accent.

“Good afternoon Mr.Galahad, my name is Moses. You called for me?”

“Oh yes yes, I know who ye are. Come, sit, join me here.”

Moses followed Mr.Galahad to the red sofas on the left.

“Sorry for making ye come all this way up. I hope Agnes was informative for ye in your journey.”

“That’s quite alright sir.” Moses nervously sat on the edge of the sofa, but the softness of the cushions clawed at him, inviting him to relax and lean back. 

“I thought during lunchtime, when most people are out, would be a preferable time for our meeting.”

“Yes…interesting hallways sir,” said Moses, instantly regretting what he had just said thinking it was a stupid comment.

“Oh thank you. I wanted them fully clean and empty to not have any disturbance to me thoughts. Believe me or not, most of me great ideas come from the journey from the garage to here. Automatic actions like those, when ye don’t need to use your brain to carry it out, are golden times for creativity. So, I wanted the pathway, including the elevator, to have no sound and nothing for me eyes to see. Just me thoughts.”

Still holding a smile on his face, Mr.Galahad saw Moses looking out the window and followed suit. The color blue was missing from the city view as grumpy dark clouds were marching in. From this angle, the top of St.Paul’s Cathedral was visible, and so was half of the London Eye. The still-renovating Big Ben, wrapped in a white tarp, was inconspicuously hidden in the right corner of the window panes. This might be the best possible view of the city, Moses thought. He sure had not seen anything like it before.

“It’s nice huh? It’s hard to have a view that can still be enjoyable while dunked in grey. When designing this office, the Swedish architect stressed for me to have them south-facing windows. But I told him, that’s not of too much value here in London. Rather be able to see these monuments.”

“y…yes, it is spectacular. I’ve never seen such a view,” said Moses timidly, constantly grappling for the right words to say.

“It was a pain in the arse building this building I tell ye Moses. London has so many of these regulations and policies regarding tall buildings. One, there are a few spots they use as basically ‘critical vantage points’ where the view of most of the historic monuments cannot be obstructed. They brought me them maps depicting it, looked like a bunch of spider webs. Bunch of bullocks if ye ask me. We had to find this very specific block to satisfy them loonies. Luckily there weren’t as many indispensable buildings here in Clerkenwell. Also, there’s a reason this building is shaped a little bit like a bottle. Much like the Gherkin, apparently this type of structure made it easier for the wind to flow right around us. Caring for the pedestrians, them weezers said. Eva been to Manhattan? Those wind tunnels will kill ye if it here in London.”

Moses was not sure how to respond to Mr.Galahad. His mind was darting back and forth now, going from ‘is it really okay that the receptionist desk is empty right now’ to ‘what am I doing here’ to ‘ I am starving right now.’ Moses just sat there like a puppy looking at Mr.Galahad, who was now standing near the window looking out as if he was a king making sure his land was at rest. Suddenly, as if he was able to read Moses’s mind, Mr.Galahad turned around to face him.

“Oh, where are me manners go. It’s lunchtime! Ye must be starving son. Aye!” Said Mr.Galahad, who produced a snap of a finger and whistle that sounded like one unified sound. Instantly, from the same glass door Moses walked in from, a short white-uniformed man walked in pushing a cart filled with food and drinks. The two men sitting on the sofa followed its path with their eyes, one with a content smile, the other with big dreary eyes that looked like it was about to cry. Saved from the one time their family went to a wedding years back, Moses had never seen so much food that was available to him. There were plates of fried fish, sizzling steak, and boiling bowls of soup. Sautéed mushrooms and crispy chips were only a few of the sides. The cushion’s claws had to grip onto Moses extra hard to stop him from springing out at the food. He was no longer worried if he was going to be fired. The short man was now placing each of the plates on the table in front of them.

“Please, indulge. I will just have this salad here. Tryna cut me some weight ye know, me lassie’s request.”

“Thank you sir, if you don’t mind,” said Moses, who already had a knife and fork in hand before the short man was out of the door. The two men now sat eating their respective foods, Mr.Galahad with the salad bowl, and Moses with whatever he could stuff in his mouth. His mother’s every teaching about manners and respect went out the window; Moses was starving. He would only take a few bites out of the burger before spotting the sausage and gravy. Then, the sausage and gravy would seem inconsequential compared to the lasagna behind it. There were foods that Moses couldn’t even put a name on.  The cushion’s claws no longer had to clasp onto him. Mr.Galahad sat there, forking lettuce and tomatoes into his mouth in a civil manner, looking at Moses with a non-judgmental eye. 

“How do you like your job Moses?”

Peering above his eyebrows with stuffed cheeks, Moses straightened up and quickly chewed down whatever he had in his mouth before responding.

“Yes sir, I love it. No complaints.”

“Lovely. You’ve been working here for seven years right? Big job ye have there, safeguarding our building.”

“Thank you sir, I do what I can.”

“If me memory correct, your family is from Jamaica?”

“Yes sir. My grandfather came over after world-war II, but instead of staying in London like the rest of the flock, he went to Birmingham instead. Still a big Jamaican population there.”

“Right. And they are still there in Birmingham aye? Ye mum and others.”

“Yes sir. My father died when I was young and my mother sent me here to London with a friend’s family, and I have been here since.”

Mr.Galahad paid attention and concocted short ‘mm’ sounds to Moses’s reply, though not in the usual fashion. With every piece of information Moses related, Mr.Galahad seemed to smile and nod as if he was a test administrator confirming every correct answer he already knew. Sensing a pause in the questioning, Moses continued eating the fish and chips he was working on, though slower now. The abundance of food piling up in his stomach bestowed a lively warmth within him.

“If you don’t mind me asking sir, what is the music you are playing?” Asked Moses.

“Oh! That’s Cleo Laine. Old gem of a lass aye. Ye don’t hear her too often now. Puts me in a peaceful trance hearing her sing about love. Great ear of yours son.”

Moses knew he recognized the artist. In many of the scant memories he had of his father, Moses would be playing with toys on the ground while his father sat on a stool listening to crackling transmissions of Cleo Laine out of his radio box. Scratched-up Cleo Laine CDs and vinyl still rested in random corners of the house, Moses remembered, collecting dust as the years went on. 

“Yes. My father use to listen to Cleo Laine,” said Moses.

Mr.Galahad once again gave a self-affirming nod to this answer. Almost finished with his salad bowl, he checked his wristwatch before setting down his utensils.

“As me mum used to say, playtime can’t last forever son. Ye must be wondering why I called ye up here,” said Mr.Galahad.

In fact, Moses was not thinking about that at all. All worries and questions he had  evaporated in the face of so much luxurious food. Not even half of the plates had been touched. Moses was already full to the brim, but he placed his utensils down and wiped his mouth melancholy, slightly regretting having not eaten faster.

“Sorry, sir. Yes, what can I do for you sir?”

“Alright. I’m going to give ye a long story short yeah? Not too much time we got here, me workers are coming back soon. So, Bloomsbury’s business has been growing, an with it, we lot are getting more work to do. Naturally yeah, we need more employees to get those work done, meaning we need more space to house them employees. Ye get me so far yeah son?”

Moses nodded his head to signal comprehension.

“So, we reckon we get another building going yeah. It has been in the works for a while now. As I explained earlier, building high-rises in London is near impossible yeah. But we have got through the initial steps. We lot are now officially allowed to build one in London, but the problem is where we are allowed to build it. As more and more enterprises are trying to build taller and taller buildings, the spots that would not violate the ‘critical vantage points’ I mentioned earlier are dwindling. These limited spots available for a high-rise are almost like them black-market kidneys now! Which mall’s lease is coming up, which parking lot is deserted, which old buildings could be bought for cheap: only a few people know these locations, and a lot more people are trying to know these locations. Following me still son? Black market building locations?”

“Yes sir,” said Moses, who found all this rather interesting. He never knew that all the buildings he was a receptionist at before were this hard to come by. Then I guess, Moses thought, receptionists are quite a rare job as well.

“The whole situation got me lot some serious work. But finally, someone found a source. Someone in Brixton has got the location of an available plot, and through some method of ours, we got it reserved. The secret, the key to the company’s future, rests in Brixton. And it is waiting for ye to go get it.”

At this, Moses felt a surge of energy through his body exemplified by the goosebumps on his skin. His eyelids were stretched open, mouth gasped a few centimeters. Moses could not wait for Mr.Galahad to go on.

“Sending it digitally in any form is no longer the safe option. We need to retrieve it traditionally yeah, like how they do it back in the kingdom: with a trusted messenger. Look, all those geezers ye see every day walking through your turnstile; they all don’t have the company’s true intentions at heart. At any chance they get, they would cut any piece off this company if it benefited them in any way. But ye, Moses. No, not ye. Ye have been the guardsman of this company for seven years. For seven years, ye did not let any harm infiltrate through our doors. No, I trust ye, Moses. More than any of those empty suits out there.”

Throughout all this, Moses sat on the red sofa motionless and speechless. He didn’t feel like he needed to say anything. He could listen to Mr.Galahad go on like this forever. He wanted him to go on forever.

“So, son. Can ye do this?”

“Yes, Mr.Galahad. I can.”

The atmosphere of seriousness and tension suddenly broke like air pressure. 

“Great! Oh that’s noble of ye son. Agnes will give ye the details on your way out. Take this, place the information in here when ye get it,” Mr.Galahad said as he reached under the dining table to retrieve a leather suitcase that was engraved, in golden ink, ‘The Bloomsbury Group.’

Moses retrieved the suitcase with both hands. 

“I just have one quick question sir…out of pure curiosity…what is it that we do?”

Mr.Galahad hesitated for a split second before answering.

“ah well, that is a long story in itself. Too complicated to say in one answer. But I will say this yeah, we lot are a service company. We do something for some people.”

“we… do something for some people,” echoed Moses.

“Yes, we do something for some people. I shall tell ye about it when ye come back. Perhaps over dinner here again yeah?”

“Yes, that would be lovely sir.”

Mr.Galahad suddenly sprung up and reached out his hand firmly.

“Alright go on now son, or else it might rain soon,” said Mr.Galahad

Moses stood up and met Mr.Galahad’s grip with his right hand while his left hand clutched at his new suitcase.

“Yes sir. Thank you sir, I will return soon. Anything I need to say or do once I get there to confirm my identity or whatnot?” Asked Moses as the two men walked side by side toward the other side of the room.

“Agnes will give ye all the information. Trust her, yeah? Be safe now, and don’t tell anyone what ye are doing. I trust ye Moses,” said Mr.Galahad as he patted Moses on the back.

Moses smiled and looked compassionately up at Mr.Galahad, who he now realized was significantly taller than he was. He would’ve wanted to stay in that position for a bit longer, but mama’s manners made him move politely toward the door. Mr.Galahad began walking towards his desk again as Moses was reaching the double glass door. Just as Moses pushed the door open, he heard Mr.Galahad’s voice rise again in the room.

“Oh, one more thing Moses. Very important. Remember: things are not what they seem.” 

Things are not what they seem. Moses’s perplexity showed on his face, a visual cue for Mr.Galahad to explain further.

“Well, it’s just that ye are about to do something out of the ordinary for ye, or honestly for anyone, but ye especially; we know our employees, Moses. I know your life. And when ye are about to do something out of the ordinary, the world outside may at times seem out of the ordinary. Things may look different to you, but just remember, there’s only one reality, and that’s the one ye already know.”

Moses felt simultaneously confused and informed by this explanation. Mr.Galahad looked down and was crouching to sit on his chair. Obediently, Moses stepped out and allowed the glass panel door to glide back into place. Moses marched down the crispy white hallways he once traversed through. He felt confident but intimidated by the abyss, though all towards one feeling: empowerment. Holding the Bloomsbury engrained leather suitcase, Moses was embarking on a confidential crossing through London. Who knows, he dreamt, some workers might come back early from lunch and catch sight of him exiting out of the elevators, those same elevators they used every day. Either way, he had to go get the instructions from Agnes first. 

To be continued….