Daiki Tamura, woke up in a cold sweat, tormented by endless paperwork and dreams of the beaches of Okinawa. Today was the day he was leaving. The transfer to Moscow seemed absurd and pointless to him, but, as they say, you can't escape fate. Especially not fate dictated by his superiors and his own, far from perfect, English.
"Xiao-Lung, will we make it to the airport?" Daiki enquired, adjusting his tie.
The Chinese taxi driver smiled, showing off his gold teeth.
"Don't worry, Tamura-san," he said. "Everything will be fine. I know you're in a hurry. For you, as someone going to work, time is money!"
Daiki couldn't help but wince. Xiao-Lung, in his opinion, was a typical representative of the Chinese diaspora that had flourished in Japan after the war. They, the Chinese, were essentially "guests" and, by all accounts, didn't seem to be leaving Japan anytime soon. He, of course, had nothing against the Chinese, just...
"Yes, yes," mumbled Daiki, looking out the window as advertisements for Japanese companies flashed by, proudly displayed against the backdrop of skyscrapers built on the ruins of old Tokyo.
Xiao-Lung, seemingly oblivious to his displeasure, started talking about how his son was studying at a prestigious university and how he dreamed of him becoming a doctor.
"You Japanese have such amazing medicine," remarked Xiao-Lung, proudly adjusting his red cap. "I would love for my son to be a real surgeon, saving lives!"
Daiki sighed. He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely listened to Xiao-Lung's musings about his son's career. He was thinking about how these six months would fly by, how he would finally return home and be immersed in paperwork again, although, to be honest, he was already tired of this routine, and there was an elusive taste of disappointment clinging to him.
Xiao-Lung, like all taxi drivers, navigated the narrow Japanese streets with incredible speed. Daiki could barely catch a glimpse of the rushing scenery, but he felt as though he wasn't in Tokyo, but in some other world...
The airport, like everything in Japan, gleamed and sparkled. Daiki, amazed once again by the scale of Japan, felt not a chilling dread of Moscow, but rather a slight unease. Deep down, he wanted to be on the plane and leave this place, but he couldn't shake the thought that he hadn't been transferred to Moscow for no reason. It had always been this way. It wasn't by chance that he was sent to Moscow, it wasn't by chance that he was sent now.
He didn't realize that he was almost more than just an experienced accountant, an experienced accountant with decent English. Daiki Tamura was who he was, and he couldn't undo the fact that he was being transferred to Moscow. He could only accept it and try to move on, with all his disappointments, all his trivialities, all his failings.
"Goodbye, Xiao-Lung," said Daiki, adjusting his tie and looking into the face of the Chinese man, who was smiling at him with his gold teeth.
"Goodbye, Tamura-san," replied the Chinese man, and Daiki, feeling an unusual sense of anxiety, moved toward the airport entrance, where more than just new paperwork awaited him. He also felt that something more important awaited him, something that would change his life forever.
The Tokyo airport greeted Daiki with the roar of engines and a clamor of voices. People rushed around, oblivious to him, caught up in their own pursuits. Daiki, weary from his journey, felt his tired legs growing heavier. "Good thing it's a short flight," he thought, dragging his suitcase toward the check-in counter with difficulty.
"Moskovien?" the uniformed attendant asked, inquiring about his destination and checking his ticket.
"Yes," Daiki replied, making an effort to appear less tired than he actually felt.
"Six months?" asked the attendant.
"Yes," Daiki confirmed, barely suppressing a yawn.
"Please proceed to the departure area," said the attendant, failing to notice Daiki's sigh of relief.
In the departure area, Daiki found his flight. He settled into a window seat, pondering what awaited him in this Moskovien, wondering if he could emerge from this vacation unscathed. "Maybe everything won't be so bad," he mused, watching a plane take off, "and there might even be some positives... like cold beer I can drink guilt-free."
The plane lifted off slowly, leaving the vast cityscape behind and diving into the dark clouds. Daiki glanced out the window and thought, with a hint of sadness, how far away Okinawa was now. "But maybe this isn't so bad after all," he pondered, looking into the dark night sky with a glimmer of hope.
The air inside the plane was thick with the smell of stagnant air. The dull interior, the equally dull people around him, and the "complete silence" mode were the main ingredients of this flight. Deyki settled by the window, glanced at grey buildings flashing by below, and took out a book from his bag - "Great Accountants of Japan."
"What am I doing?" Deyki thought, looking into the book. "I dreamt of Okinawa, of the azure sea, of delicious seafood, of warm sand..."
The flight seemed to drag on for eternity. Deyki would drift off, only to wake again, unable to shake the longing for home. Time stretched slowly, like a camel caravan through the desert.
"Long live this dreadful world..." he whispered, closing his eyes. "At least in Okinawa, it will seem a little better."
The plane landed on the runway. Deyki breathed a sigh of relief. He was in Moscoviene.