Witness account · 2 min read · Set in The Licensing Office ·
Eleven in Hall B
A security guard counts the people in a waiting room, and then counts the same man eleven times.
- reliability: uncorroborated
- witness: Kofi Adeyemi, security guard
I count people. It is most of the job. Ask me how many are in Hall B at any hour and I will tell you within one, and I will be right.
On the Tuesday, at ten past two, I counted forty-one applicants. Then I counted again, because there was a man in a brown coat by the pillar and then, I swear, another by the water cooler, and another by the notice board, and I told myself it was a family. It is not unusual. Whole families come in the same coat. But I kept counting. Eleven. Eleven men in the same brown wool coat, the same grey in the hair, and none of them doing the same thing. One was tying his shoe. One was reading the fire notice as if it were a letter. One was wiping a glass he did not have, with a handkerchief, very slowly. One was asleep sitting up.
None of them spoke to each other. That was what bothered me. Brothers speak.
I went to get Mr. Hallett, my supervisor. It took four minutes. When we came back through the double doors I did the count and it was four, and Mr. Hallett was beside me saying, “Which man?” I said all of them. He looked at the hall for a long time, and he said, “There's one man. Is he not allowed to wait?” And he looked, I promise you, upset, as if I had asked him something improper.
I looked again. Three of the four had gone. The one who was left was by the pillar, tying his shoe, and when I met his eye he looked up at me, and he looked sorry. I would say he looked as sorry as a man can look. Then he raised one hand a little, as you do to the person who has counted you, and the shoe was done and he was gone too.
I wrote it up as an irregular headcount. The report went in a drawer.
I will say one more thing, because I have thought about it. When there were eleven of him, each was busy at something small and private. When there was one, he was only watching the door. He was not waiting for his number. He was waiting for me to stop looking so that he could stop having to be so many.
I have not counted that hall since without feeling I owe it an apology.