Chapter 4: A Meteorologist Forgotten His Job, Suspected Due to Agoraphobia (3)
"Once, I dreamt I was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering about, happy with myself and doing as I pleased. I didn't know I was myself. Suddenly I woke up and there I was, solid and unmistakable myself. But I didn't know if I was myself who had dreamt I was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming I was myself." -Zhuangzi
His damp dress shoes were squelching against the gravel. Otto, having safely arrived at the mountaintop, catched his breath as he stood in front of a peculiar retro concrete building.with a steel-girded observation platform.
Amidst his fever, Otto pushed himself as he walked juggling the heavy furoshiki-wrapped bento boxes towards the heavy wooden door of the building. A brass plaque beside the heavy wooden door reads: “Japan Meteorological Agency, Kokubunji Weather Station.”
Otto put his hands on the cold metal door knob trying to turn it. Alas, the door won’t budge, it seems like whoever the man he dreamed of didn't forget to lock the door before went out.
Otto sighed as he tried to search within his trousers front pocket.
(none)
He then tried the other side pocket.
(none either)
So he tried to find the key within the suit pocket before finally finding it along with a vintage leather wallet. So he inserted the key into the brass keyway. With a firm, clockwise twist against the resistance of the internal deadbolt mechanism, and a loud k-clack the door could finally be opened
Otto sighed in relief. He turned the handle and the heavy door creaked open on stiff, iron hinges, breaking a seal of dry air. Carefully, Otto stepped into the cold gray linoleum flooring against the faint smell of aged paper logs and the metallic tang of ionized dust clinging to warm vacuum-tube transformers. A heavy stillness hangs over the dark room, isolated from the chirping insects and swaying rice fields outside.
Right then, even with dizziness because of his fever, Otto decided to inspect his supposedly new living space, at least for the unknown period to come.
A massive, steel-paneled desk dominates the center of the room, housing a dark, circular JMA-issue CRT radar scope. The curved glass screen is cold to the touch. Though at this moment Otto knew nothing about the function of the instrument.
Resting beneath a dust-moted acrylic case, a solid brass cylinder slowly rotates against a mechanical clockwork spring. A delicate, counterweighted metal arm holds a glass ink nib filled with fading purple dye, tracing a perfectly horizontal grid line across a roll of graph paper.
A bulky, olive-drab steel desk supports a heavy beige rotary telephone next to a mechanical Telex terminal. A continuous roll of rough, dual-ply paper rests in the feeding tray, currently blank and silent.
Large, hand-drawn seasonal climate maps of the Kagawa Prefecture are pinned to corkboards alongside official Japan Meteorological Agency protocol rosters. Only one name is written under the July 1986 duty schedule: Sato.
(Wait… Sato?)
Figuring out something, Otto decided to put down the furoshiki paper on the large desk filled with paper full of charts in the middle of the room before inspecting his vintage leather wallet.
There he found an ID Card with a picture of a handsome military styled man and the name written as “Kenji Sato”.
Right at that moment a strange realization washes Sato as he no longer feels that much of a displacement. He was Kenji Sato, a meteorologist tasked with the Tanabata Festival’s weather monitoring at the Kokubunji Weather Station. A man known for his generosity albeit having a taciturn attitude typical of a military man.
Though at this moment, he was also perfectly clear that he in fact wasn’t the real Kenji Sato, the feeling was extremely overwhelming especially having forgotten the details of his job as a meteorologist. Instead a memory of having become a 21st century corporate analyst complete with the spreadsheet framework was entrenched deeply within his mind.
Right, his name was Otto, but at least for this period he was Sato.
A weird feeling indeed.
Thankfully there seems to be his log book and personal notes left inside this station.
(Right… I could cram it for a bit. There’re still a few days left before Tanabata’s Festival. It would be alright as long as I could provide the relevant report in time.)
Seemingly forgotten about his fever, Sato decided to spend the night reading through his log book and notes.
I'm curious, when did the last time you guys dreamt as someone else yet accepted it without question?
