A Goddamn Moskal

As if blessed by the ghost of Christmas, the city enclosed itself beneath a thick cover of snow and sleet. It entered it’s dormant state, people leaving for home. Scrooge's progenies hard at work counting their money, evaluating their co-workers efforts this quarter, cutting Christmas-bonuses to the ruin of many. Cars slide powerless across the road humming mute tunes. Pedestrians hurdling in their warm fur coats.

“Oh good, you’re here, you are the new janitor right?”
The woman looked uneasy with her presumption of the menacing character.

“Lest there is someone else named Pavlov, arriving at the exact time at which I was supposed to be here. Then yes, I am.”
Artiom replied, monotonously. The lady concurred and prompted Artiom toward the changing rooms.

“In there you should find an overall with your name taped on it, uh, put that on and get back here.”
The woman seemed stressed over her work, perhaps hurrying to pick up the pace so that she could go home and enjoy Christmas-leave with her family.
Artiom did as he was told and wasted no time. In a minute or two he stood ready for orders.
The basement bore no resemblance to the grandeur of the upper levels of the ministry. Bad plastering hung loosely on cold, wet concrete walls. The janitorial presence seemed ignorant however, as the ivory tiled flooring lay covered in smuts. Shoddy pay equals itself in the work effort, Artiom supposed. After a few minutes the woman came back in urgent haste, prompting Artiom to get working.

“The hall of ministers, I presume?”

Artiom had long thought about the possibility to get close and personal with Aspuratov. It begged the question; would he be there? He’d been a slippery snake ever since their first encounter. Alas, he would not see him coming this time. He eagerly awaited the woman’s mindless compliance with his indirect request.

“No, you’re… uh… you have the second floor.”
The woman corrected.

“I was under the impression that the former janitor worked those specific halls?”
Artiom tried to persuade the stressed out woman. Hoping for a slip through the cracks. But alas, she knew perfectly well how to manage the situation, no matter how stressful.

“Yeah… I put Putra on that, he… uh… he knows the place better, knows how to… to satisfy the pesky old men.”
The woman explained, never averting her gaze from her hopelessly scribbled clipboard.

“I’m sorry, are you confused with… anything?”
She continued, as Artiom stood inert by her side. He said nothing more as he continued towards the service elevator.

"Oh and, uh… you’ll find the cleaning equipment you need in the locker marked with a, uh... a broom, can’t miss it.”

Artiom continued his silence and tried to hatch a new plan to get him up to the hall. Fact of the matter was, this was no low-security paper-stamp company. This place housed the very elite. Men who point fingers to move mountains. Bloated figures of dishonest men who pledge allegiance in vain attempts to reclaim honour they’ve never had. Leaders who’ll put women and children between themselves and the crooks. Oh how he longed for the moment where he’d gaze into their deceitful eyes and hear them heed to his every word. Only to be embraced the cold hand of reality as they try to drift away from it all. The elevator stopped with a worrying clunk. He slid the gate open with an ear-aching screak and quickly saw the reason behind his predecessor's depression. The floor lay empty; few desks seemed to inhabit the office-space and the fluorescent tubes shun ambiguously along the dark paths in-between.
He had no interest in sprucing this place up. He surveyed the area and realized that this place was next to abandoned. Why furbish such a place? He stepped back into the lift and hit the button.
His next stop was the hall of ministers.
He stepped into the majestic lobby, only to be met with an even greater display of influence and oppression. Large pillars depicting historically influential figures with stone faces, looking down upon their successors. Eloquent quotes hanging framed on the walls. The massive hall stood, much like the previous floor, empty. Except for one sad figure hunched over his mop. Artiom immediately caught his attention and the figure asked him; “What are you doing here? Are you the new guy? If you are, then you’re in charge of the second floor, incase Anita hasn’t told you.”

“Anita told me to see you first to know the basics of this place.”
Artiom tried to convince.

“The hell is there to learn about cleaning… ? You’d think she would have told me…”
The man pondered.

“She seemed quite stressed out.”
Artiom continued to spur on his lie.

“Well we are all stressed out, we’re basically all that’s left in this godforsaken part of the building, swabbing this floor that’ll be left all alone over the winter, just for some stupid Christmas-party for all the hotshots. Just wanna get home and watch some tele with my wife you know?”
Artiom concurred with a humble nod.

“Well what is there to actually teach…? Um, be very precise, I guess. These tight-asses seem to spot the smallest of dust-trails. Other than that I don’t know. Not sure what Anita was expecting. Uh, could you possibly help me with the chairs and tables? You seem like a sturdy fella’. They’re in the room around the corner!”

Artiom closely examined his surroundings as he wandered around the hall. He dusted the old mahogany engraved chairs with red silk seats, as well as the thick-legged tables. After a few minutes he had it all set up.

“You done already? Jeez, usually takes me half an hour with those heavy-ass tables.” Well thanks for the help. I'll put them into position when I get the time. What’s your name by the way?”

“It’s Pavlov.”
Artiom responded.

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Pavlov, I’m Putra.”

Artiom nodded towards him and left the premises before his memory faded. Once back on the second floor he hurried for a piece of paper and pen and made a precise blueprint of the office upstairs. He admired his work and put it into his pocket before realizing he had hours left before he could leave and plan his attack.

“Might as well, I suppose.”

He said to himself before grabbing a mop and starting to swab. As he passed the window he couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit of warmth inside of him as he gazed over the snow-covered streets accompanied by the fading lights of streetlamps.

“And a grand day it shall be, the passing of thine lord, for I have seen fit to replace his throne.”