Chapter Five

Culhwch’s Interview

The firm of Mount-Ridge Architects had used interns from San Antonio College, University of Texas at San Antonio, and the University of San Antonio, since the firm’s creation a bit more than twenty years ago.  The University of San Antonio had an actual course that sent students to work for firms.  Mount-Ridge didn’t need to interview anyone, because the administration forwarded the student’s name, portfolio, and other notable experiences to them when the student registered the course.  They liked working with students of diverse backgrounds, multiple talents, and eager personalities, despite the random assignments of students and firms.

Then they met Cullen.

Since there was no need to screen him for employment, the interviewer tried to get to know Cullen and have the student get comfortable with the firm. 

The interview was conducted in mid-January.  Cullen walked into the downtown office at 8:06 AM.  A cold wind followed him through the rotating glass doors.  The sound of his boots on the marble floor made the secretary feel dread as this creature approached her.  He looked like what would happen if a Brit and an Apache had spawned a kid and raised him to be a terrorist.  The secretary couldn’t put her finger on anything except the button to summon security, but then the man said, “Hello.  My name is Culhwch Esau.  I am here to see Mr. Martin Ridge.”

The secretary stared for a second, then pushed one of the buttons on her phone.  “Martin?  I have someone named…” She looked back up at Cullen  “What’s your name again?”

“Culhwch Esau.”

“Keel-hook ace-eye.”

She nodded once, then hung up the phone.  “He’s in office 219A.  Upstairs and on the right.”

Culhwch thanked her and walked upstairs. There were workspaces, a lot people sitting around computers and talking.  Some worked, while others surfed the net.  Two or three radios played.  This was the center room, above which there were skylights, frosted to admit only diffuse light.  The office looked especially cloudy today.  There were rooms on either side, odds on the right, evens on the left. 

He found 219A at the end of the building, amid a grouping of doors that made up all of the “219” office group.  This group had the offices of the partners and their immediate subordinates.  He knocked on 219A, and noted that the door was almost three feet wide, and about nine feet tall.  The door handles were brushed steel of some kind, and in the European style.  A man shouted, “Come on in!”

Cullen grasped the handle with his gloved left hand, and pushed.  The handle’s resistance was just right.  Not too stiff, but not merely falling at the slightest touch.  He pulled the door open, and like a cathedral’s door, its widening gap proved to a space in its own right.  He didn’t open the door all the way, just enough to walk right in and then close it.

Ridge smiled.  “Hello!  Welcome to our firm!  How are you doing?  I’m Martin Ridge.”  He extended his hand.  Cullen did so as well, and they shook hands.  Ridge noticed that Cullen didn’t look anxious or nervous, but rather blank.  He assumed that he was the type that when he was anxious, he looked ambiguous.  “Don’t worry about disappointing me.  This isn’t a regular job after all, so you won’t have to go home wondering if you got hired or not.”

Cullen barely nodded.  Ridge laughed, because now he was the one that was nervous.  “Ha, so…your name is…Keel-hook ace-eye?”

“Culhwch Esau.”

“Kyeel-hook ace-aheye?”

“Culhwch Easau.”

This went on until Cullen decided that Ridge had gotten the “kh” right.  Ridge felt annoyed that this man wasn’t even trying to help him pronounce his own name.  “What do your friends call you?”

“Culhwch, or Cullen.”

“May I call you Cullen?”

“You can.”

Ridge thought that Cullen said merely that he had the ability to say “Cullen”, but not whether or not Cullen liked being called Cullen.  He wondered what was up with this guy.

“Er, so, you’re in fifth year?”

“Yes.”

“Excited about graduating?”

“No.”

“No?…you like school?”

“Not really.”

“You gotta help me here.  What don’t you like?”

Cullen didn’t respond immediately.  “I don’t like the instructors.”

“So, why aren’t you excited about graduating?”

“I’m just not.”

“It probably hasn’t hit you yet that you won’t be going back to school after this semester.”

“Maybe.”

“Er…OK, so what do you think…that you’re really…what are your…whatcha good at?”

“AutoCAD, models, structural design, development-”

“Everything!  So, let’s look at your portfolio!”

Ridge turned his direction to his computer screen, which seemed human by comparison to Cullen.  He opened his picture viewer and found the folder than had Cullen’s work on it.  He opened the folder, and started flipping through the pictures.  The pictures showed models of decent, efficient craft, but the designs were all vernacular.  Ridge smiled for the first time since Cullen entered his office.  “I think I know why your department sent you here.”

He turned to face Cullen.  “Our firm has been noted for our interpretation of the South Texan vernacular.”

“All right.”

Ridge didn’t understand why Cullen sounded more skeptical than acknowledging.  Was this guy new to San Antonio?

“Tell me, have you always live in San Antonio?”

“No, I’ve lived in other places.”

“Really! Such as?”

“Laredo, Mexico City, Luxembourg, Tokyo, Kuwait City, and Lagos.”

“Wow!  A real globe-trotter!  Was your family in the military?”  Ridge didn’t even believe his own question, because the last he had heard there were no military bases in Nigeria.

“No.  My father was a business man.”

“Oh, what kind of business?”

“He never told me.”

Ridge knew that this conversation had to end as soon as possible, and that he and Cullen really shouldn’t spend more time together than what was absolutely necessary.  He thought of way to at least get them out of the office…  “Let’s go walk around the office, and show you what’s up.”

They got up and started walking.  Ridge pointed out the all the computers that they used, the drawings created, the models built, photos of completed projects, and especially the awards doled out to the firm.  Ridge paused in front of a series of display cases.  “As you can see, our firm has been widely recognized.  This display here shows local recognition, and as you continue on down you have state, national, and international.  We’ve been well-received in many parts of the globe.  Take a look at the renderings of the recognized projects, and see if any of it looks familiar.”

Cullen slowly studied the paintings and looked over the names.  Ridge almost began rocking on his heels when various people started walking up to him and asking him to approve this, respond to that, and so forth.  He left Cullen to his own devices.

Ridge soon found out that an hour had passed since he left Cullen alone, and walked quickly back to the displays.  Cullen wasn’t there, so he checked his office.  Cullen was sitting, very stoically, without any leaning or huffing, or any signs that he was bored.  He turned when Ridge entered. “I recognized none of it.”

Ridge wondered which country this guy was from.  “Don’t you read the magazines?”

“No.”

“Which teacher recommended you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well?  How did you know to come here?”  Ridge thought that this would send a message to Cullen.

“Your name and address was on the paper that the administration sent me.”

“No one told you anything?”

“No.”

He got the impression that nobody told this guy anything, because...this guy flunked the part of Kindergarten where they grade you on how well you play with others.  Ridge needed to clear his mind.  “Let’s go for a walk.”

Cullen followed the man to the exit, and walked outside.  Ridge felt cold, like it was a signal.  He looked over at Cullen, who stared ahead at the building across the street.  He asked, “Do you like German food?”

“It’s all right.”

“Good, ‘cuz I know a place a few blocks east of here.”

They walked down Commerce Street, where Ridge noticed that Cullen was drifting towards the middle of the street.  He walked on the centerline, as if partaking in the axis of symmetry.  He moved like a ghost of San Antonio, drifting without friction.  The pavement yielded to him.  Ridge felt uncomfortable walking with a strange brown man in a strange brown coat with brown everything else.  The whole man was brown but his black hair, and his deep green eyes.  Ridge realized that he was staring at Cullen, but Cullen didn’t notice.  He looked over in the direction of the restaurant, to make sure that they hadn’t passed it yet.  He saw the building two blocks over.  “Hey, Cullen, it’s over there.”

Cullen stopped and looked over in the direction where Ridge pointed. Positioned in the middle of Commerce Street, Cullen started moving towards the restaurant in a straight line. Ridge sensed the geometry, and it chilled him. “Say, er, I hope that it’s not too busy, because, you know, this place is kinda popular.”

“I don’t mind waiting.”

They entered the restaurant, named Binnenhoff Beer and Steakhouse. The place was a former Tex-Mex joint, but now a faux German beer establishment slowly encroached over the wood floors, columns, and beams. Ceiling fans spun just a bit too fast, creating a hum and a slight breeze. The fact that they were on, during a cool day, struck Ridge as odd. He felt that maybe the fans had sensed Cullen’s presence, and started acting strangely as a result.

The greeter asked them, “How many in your party?”

Ridge announced, “Two!”

“Right this way!”

The two men followed the greeter. As she snaked her way among the tables, Ridge tried not to follow too closely. He felt the eyes of Cullen piercing through his body, past the greeter, through the wall of the building, and out into the nothingness. The greeter arrived at a table and asked, “Is this all right?”

Ridge nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Yes! Thanks!”

“All right, someone will be out to take your order soon, OK?”

Ridge and Cullen were sitting down. “Yes, thank you.”

The greeter left them, and now Ridge found himself fumbling through his menu. He tried to avoid making eye contact, or any form of contact with Cullen. Why did he come here, if he didn’t want to speak to Cullen? He thought that maybe he was offending Cullen, but after all that Cullen had displayed, he couldn’t be sure of anything about the man.

Ridge decided what he wanted, and quickly, too quickly, slap the menu down in front of himself. He looked at Cullen, who was studying the menu carefully. He felt an opening. “You know, the Reuben here is pretty good.”

“What is it?”

“Never heard of one? OK, it’s turkey, sauerkraut…and maybe something else, on rye. Some people think it’s too bitter or whatever, but I like it.”

“I think I’ll have it.”

“Good! Glad to hear it.”

Cullen sat his menu down, methodically. Ridge began to wonder if the whole thing was a practical joke, but Cullen hadn’t smiled, smirked, or twitched since they met. It’s been the same stone-walled face since they met.

They sat and said nothing for too long, in Ridge’s mind. The chairs, the table setting, and the drinks were becoming blindingly obvious to him. Even the ordering, two waters and two Reubens, seemed far too clear to make any sense to Ridge. It was like a reverse kind of déjà vu, only instead of feeling like you’ve been in a place that you’ve never been before, you felt like you had never been to a place that you had been in previously. The whole day was feeling like something out of last decade’s weird and paranormal TV shows.

Nearly shocking Ridge, Cullen asked, “What do you at your firm?”

“Oh! Er, I’m one of the chief partners. I meet with the clients…approve stuff…talk to the city officials…” He found himself waving his hands around, like he was the one being interviewed. There was nothing objectively wrong with that; prospective employees have every right to know their potential bosses as they do them. But, since nothing made sense with Cullen from the start, there was no precedent for any future behavior for Ridge to expect.

Cullen sensed none of this. “What will be our relationship?”

Ridge thought initially: distant, as in, the other side of the building, but said, “You’ll probably be under one of the project managers, or something. I don’t talk much to the…lower…level…workers.”

“All right.”

Their sandwiches arrived, and they dug in. Ridge thought that maybe Cullen would become more social as food was present, but as the sandwiches were eaten, this proved not to be the case. He gave up trying to reach Cullen, for good. He said flatly, “You’ll probably be what they call a CAD monkey. Sometimes one of the managers likes grouping students together, sometimes they don’t. When we get back, I’ll introduce you to the person that you’ll be answering to.”

Cullen nodded. “All right.”

The waitress came back and asked if they wanted anything else. Both men shook their heads no, so she left to get the bill. Cullen said, “I owe you, with sales tax and tip, about ten dollars.”

Ridge was taken aback. “That’s…very generous.”

“She was fast, so she deserves it.”

Ridge didn’t know what to say, except for, “Thanks. Thank you.”

On their way back to the office, Ridge realized that Cullen had done little technically wrong. He remembered two courses being in the transcript, sent to him, that didn’t make much sense. Something about “Skills Training.”

Ridge attempted to ask Cullen a philosophical question. “Why are you in architecture?”

“Accounting was full.”

“You wanted to be an Accountant?”

“No.”

“So…why architecture. Why anything?”

Cullen didn’t answer for a while. They just walked dead-center on Commerce Street. Finally, he answered, “I don’t know why certain things happen. There appears to be a lot of mysterious occurrences that happen right next to me. Like a parallel world exists in the same place we do, but in a different dimension. This world, these worlds, seem to have rules. All places have rules, at least in the world that we live in. The rules in this world make sense. They made sense to me when I was twelve years old. However, since coming to San Antonio, and especially in my time at the University, other people seem to live in different worlds than the one I live in. They have rules too, but they aren’t like the rules in this one.”

Cullen turned to Ridge, made eye contact in that blank style of his, and asked, “Do you think that people are trying to say something without actually saying anything?”