We had only gone a little way down the road when Katya took my hand, and let my arms encircle her. Awkwardly, since she was taller than me even without heels, we kissed standing right by the side of the road, swept by the headlights of at least one passing car, whose occupants cheered us on.
“Come to my room, Yuri,” was all she said, and I did.
Long after midnight I crept back to the room I shared with my friend from the bureau, feeling more alive than I had in my life. Katya in bed was — how shall I put this? — very different from Marina.
I lay awake for at least an hour, trying to remember the touch of her beautiful skin, her fragrance, wondering when and where I could see her again, and just how Uncle Vladimir was going to react to this news.
27
Soyuz 1
I had to be off to Area 2 early the next morning and didn’t dare stop by Katya’s room. The eight Soyuz cosmonauts were entering their final days of training, and one of their tasks this morning was to rehearse emergency egress from their two spacecraft, both of which were still sitting upright on the floor of the assembly building next to their Soyuz launch vehicles. As a member of the team that would recover both crews, I had to take part.
The first set of exercises involved the backup crews, with Gagarin, Kubasov, and Gorbatko showing that they could climb through the nose hatch of Soyuz Number 4, the active docking craft.
Of course, Soyuz Number 4, like Soyuz Number 5, already had its spherical orbital module in place in preparation for launch. (It would be jettisoned prior to reentry.) So the egress of the three men was very time-consuming, and not at all realistic, especially when all three cosmonauts had to be extra careful not to damage any switches or other equipment as they unstrapped and climbed out.
Nikolayev, the backup commander, completed his escape from Number 5 in almost the same amount of time it took for the three in Number 4 to do the same thing. When apprised of this, Nikolayev joked, “Yuri’s smaller than anyone,” which happened to be true and caused everyone, including the great Gagarin himself, to laugh.
Then we watched as the crewmen who would actually fly the mission went through the same rigmarole. Komarov, Yeliseyev, and Khrunov out of 4, Bykovsky out of 5. Bykovsky, who wasn’t much larger than Gagarin, was the clear champion, though the Komarov team showed it could move when needed. I was encouraged to know that they were sufficiently at home in their spacecraft to move about it with some confidence. It would certainly make things easier for them once they’d thumped down out on the steppes.
Saditsky, Kostin, and several other cosmonauts were present, as was General Kamanin, who smiled and nodded at me. Kamanin and Gagarin were called away before the egress training could be completed. “The State Commission just now realized that Gagarin is the backup commander, meaning he could command the next Soyuz mission,” Saditsky told me. “They had a shitfit.”
“What’s the problem?”
“They don’t want to risk their big hero.”
“What does Gagarin think about this?”
“He fought to get himself assigned to the crew! He says he’s too young to be a museum exhibit.”
“What do you think?”
Saditsky smiled. “I wish I was the only cosmonaut in the team, so I could be the first man in space and the first to walk on the Moon. Failing that… Gagarin’s a pilot: He’s been sitting on his ass for six years and he wants to fly. Let him.”
Just as the cosmonauts were packing for their next destination, the big doors at the far end of the building opened and two forklift trucks pulled in, each one dragging a pair of green bundles on a trailer. These were the Soyuz recovery parachutes, a primary and a reserve for each vehicle, packed and fresh from testing in Feodosiya and ready to be installed. Having no interest in this procedure, I was about to leave when a group of my colleagues from the bureau, led by none other than Artemov himself, arrived, with Lev Tselauri tagging along like a puppy.
Feeling a bit resentful at Lev’s iciness, or arrogant about my chances with the military cosmonaut team, I approached them. Artemov, who was busy giving unnecessary orders to the installation team, didn’t notice, but I saw a look of dread move across Lev’s face, like a cloud passing in front of the sun. But only momentarily. “How did the egress go?” he asked.
“The prime crews did a good job. Backups could use more work.”
“That’s the way it should be.”
“How have you been?” I asked.
From the way he slumped, you’d think I had just told him his family had been wiped out by Nazis. “I have something to tell you,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper.
Lev took me by the arm and marched me away from the crowd around the spacecraft, all the way into the April afternoon.
“I’ve been avoiding you.”
“I noticed.”
“I’m sorry. But you will understand.” I hoped so: This was not the cheerful, cynical, brilliant Georgian I had lived with for two years. “You see, I’m getting married.”
He seemed anything but happy. “Congratulations.”
“To Marina.”
For a moment I couldn’t see or hear anything. For an even longer moment, I couldn’t say anything. Lev waited — did he think I was going to hit him? I suppose that crossed my mind. But all I could do was say, “Oh. I hope you’ll be very happy.”
“You have a right to be angry.”
“Don’t tell me about my rights.” By then I was walking away, blind with fury. Marina and Lev! I remembered the time I had run into him in her neighborhood when I made a surprise visit to her building. I stopped, turned back. “When did it start?”
“Last summer.” Having confessed, he now seemed defiant, ready to answer any question, no matter how painful.
But I had no desire to hear any more answers. I felt exhausted and wanted only to return to the hotel.
Which did not happen for two more hours. I spent them sitting alone on the bus, trying not to hate Marina and Lev, torturing myself with the knowledge that my father had been right about her.
I don’t remember much about the preparations for the launch of the vehicles that would officially become Soyuz 1 and Soyuz 2. The weather turned bad after a week, bringing cold, almost wintry rain that doused the launch center, the town of Tyuratam, and everyone’s spirits. Defense Minister Ustinov flew in for the meeting of the State Commission, and threw everyone into a tizzy by questioning plans for the Soyuz docking. He thought the commander of the active craft — Komarov — should rely more on the automatic docking systems, which had never actually been tested in orbit.
It was impossible to change the procedures this late in the training, of course, but that didn’t stop Artemov and his deputies from putting Komarov and Gagarin through a series of pointless exercises.
On April 19, a group of Air Force generals flew into Tyuratam, among them my father. He left me a note at the desk telling me that he had arrived, that he would be with Marshal Rudenko and General Kamanin and the other chiefs, but he hoped we would see each other.
There was also a letter from Katya, mailed from Moscow. It was just a few lines, saying how much she had enjoyed spending time with me, and most importantly, giving me her address and phone number. That simple letter, following the revelation of Marina’s treachery, lifted my spirits so much that I looked forward to going back to Moscow, something which, for several days, seemed unappealing, now that I knew of the approaching Lev and Marina wedding, not to mention the birth of their child!
On the evening of the twenty-first, my father asked me to join him and the other generals at a dinner in old-town Tyuratam. “It’ll be a great opportunity for you,” he said when I balked. “Buy a few rounds and make sure you thank everyone, because these are the guys who signed your appointment to active duty.”