It Seems Weird, but It Works

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s like a key, man. Sounds crazy, but it fits right inside the lock, dig?”

“A key? We’re not locked behind a door. We’re trapped in the wilderness.”

If this were a BART train, I could have just ignored – or humored – this wild-eyed fellow. Unfortunately, I was in the middle of a sweltering jungle and the only other human being in the area was sweating through a silk suit and carrying a saxophone. He had introduced himself as ‘P.J. Wascombe.’

“Naw, man. You don’t get it. The music is the key,” P.J. insisted. “Listen, I didn’t take no bus or cab here. How about you, Perfessor? What was you doing right before you ended up here?” 

“I was at the museum doing research. I’m a musicologist.”

“And what’s that in your hand?”

“It’s an ancient ocarina,” I held up an acorn-shaped object for him to see. “Preliminary dating indicates it’s the oldest ocarina in the world.”

“You was playing it right before you ended up here, wasn’t you?” 

“I mean, it’s strictly forbidden, but I’m researching ancient music systems. I had to hear the tuning, so I just played through some scales and fooled around. Like I said, I’m a musicologist.” I pointed to his saxophone, “Like John Coltrane.”

“You know John Coltrane? Can you get me an audition?”

“I only know him by reputation. He’s been dead for many years.” P.J.’s face fell and his eyes watered up.

“When did that happen?”

“1967.”

“But, It’s only 1953.” I shook my head.

“This morning when I went to the museum, it was June 15th, 2026.”

“What? You’re from the future?”

“No. You’re from the past. How long have you been here?”

“It’s hard to reckon, but I ain’t seen the sun rise or set.”

“So, you’ve been here less than a day?”

“I don’t know about that. There’s nothing to count it against.”

“When’s the last time you shaved, P.J.? You’ve got a dark five o’clock shadow, but no beard.” He ran the back of his hand up his throat and cheek.

“That feels about right. Less than a day..”

“What were you saying earlier about a key?”

“Well, I was playing music when I disappeared and you were playing music when you disappeared, so I figured…”

“…that the musical notes must be the key to the door we came through.”

“Exactly. So what was you playing when it happened? Show me.” I obliged and P.J. nodded as I played, fingering keys silently on his sax. 

“Okay. I recognize some of them notes. Let me see if I can get my hands to remember.”

The trees in the jungle glade reflected and resonated with the amazingly pure tones he produced. He played the sequence of notes from the ocarina in a number of variations then, when he hit the root note he vanished, leaving nothing but his footprints. I followed suit and soon found myself facing an angry curator.