Like You'd Understand, Anyway

If I've occasionally taken first place in life's races, it's only because of my oxlike perseverance. I've always had to labor at tasks, reiterating them. On school tests, teachers forced me to stop writing, the classroom long since emptied. Eventually I developed the philosophy that everyone could be of use. I grew proud of my diligence. And before Bykovsky, I would have cited calmness as my other virtue.

14 June 1963 Evening

When I was eight, three daredevils risked their lives in a balloon that ascended to a height of 20.8 kilometers. They radioed their achievement, then began their descent. Nothing more was heard from them, though a day later shattered remnants of the gondola were retrieved, along with some body parts, which were described as unrecognizable. I remember my mother's indignation that such a detail would be reported. I remember spending the rest of the day in our chicken coop playing with a small stuffed bear. I remember thinking of them so far up and alone, the slipstream an ocean's roar, the cold an unprecedented affliction. Their bodies coming apart at such unbelievable speeds. My nights were filled with impressions of an inescapable and implacable landscape rushing up at me. Where did I get such images? I never discovered. But at eighteen I was allowed to join a nearby parachute club, and when told that I'd handled my first jump with poise, I answered, “Well, I've been jumping all my life.”

“He's a bit of a turnip, isn't he?” Solovyova asked the other day. Bykovsky was consulting a tractor manual while his mates horsed about with a rugby ball. But he appeals to me because of his intelligence: I observe him closely and still feel only occasionally able to predict his next move. Which is rare for me. Also, we're both very good with slide rules.

14 June 1963 Late Night

This evening the movie was Vostok 1. The actor who played Gagarin was especially good. Once we were bedded down for the night, it again fell to me to make conversation, Solovyova having turned to the wall and pulled the summer blanket to her ears. I noted to her that I didn't feel even mildly anxious. Was that normal, did she think? She didn't know what was normal, she answered. Korolyov looked in to wish us good night. “And good luck,” she reminded him. Oh, in five years the state'll be subsidizing vacations in space, he told her.

We've been told that strain gauges have been placed under our mattresses to record the quality of our sleep. Wires trail from our bunks to a hole in the wall leading to instruments in a little shed outside the cottage. So we concentrate on lying still. Even now our roles could reverse. A hint of upset in our “sleep” and the doctors could declare the other candidate better rested and more fit for duty. It might come down to who rolls over fewer times during the night.

Her hip under the blanket is a snowy hill in the electric light from outside. Her hair is a glossy cascade. Two hours have passed like this. Who knows what she's been thinking? I've been thinking, Soon, I'll be with him and not with him. I've been controlling hours of agitation.

Feelings are unruly. You tell them one thing and they tell you something else. When I was young and read about immaturity in books, I never encountered myself, but when I read about grownups, I did. That always left me pleased. Now I seem incapable of contemplation. I'll think the agitation has ended but then from somewhere hope will stir, swelling until it dominates my chest, like that moment when a level ski encounters an unexpectedly steep drop: it's joy, but joy attenuated with dread.

Sometimes I think it's the sacred duty of every mother to devote her life to her child in order to avoid producing strange isolates like me.

I call him Hawk. He calls me Seagull. Both have been accepted as the call signs for our flights. The mission patch for Vostok 5 features two rockets streaking up at a diagonal, side by side.

15 June 1963 Morning

The doctors woke us at 05:30, as they will tomorrow. They wanted to know how we slept. “As you taught us,” Solovyova told them. We were fed concentrated calories and vitamins in a dark brown paste followed by a breakfast of meat puree, black currant jam, and black coffee, and then attended another meeting of the Flight Committee on the contingency plans for emergency recovery. There is no realistic chance of our survival if we land at sea. However, plans must be made. Two carrier groups as well as four Tu-114s would be required to make recovery feasible. These are not available.

We were eager to hear how Bykovsky's mission was progressing. We were told that all was well and that we'd be able to listen in on transmissions in an hour. I asked if I might peek in before then. Kamanin responded that I should worry less about Vostok 5 and more about my own mission.