Omon Ra (10 page)

“…”

“Never mind, I can make it out. Now … ‘To Lieutenant Wulf for Eastern Prussia. General Ludendorff.’ Oh, I
beg your pardon, Brigadenführer, it came open by itself. What a remarkable cigar case, it shines just like a mirror. So in 1915 you were already a lieutenant? And a flier too? Come now, Brigadenführer, it’s embarrassing. Because of these three crosses I can’t fly a single assignment. There are plenty of Yaks and MiGs, they say, but we have only one Vögel von Richthofen. If it weren’t for this special mission, I’d probably be mouldering in an empty barracks somewhere … Yes, my name is written just like ‘bird’. My mother was upset at first, when she found out what my father wanted to call me. But then Baldur von Schirach—he was a friend of my father’s—dedicated an entire poem to me. They study it in the schools nowadays … Careful, they’re shooting from that window over there … Oh no, the wall’s good and thick … I can imagine what he would have written if he’d known about the special mission. It was a real poem all in itself. I believed them when they said they were transferring me to the Western Front, and I only just found out what was happening in Berlin. At first, of course, I was annoyed. Have they nothing better to do in Anenerbe, I thought, than to recall combat pilots from the front? But when I saw the plane—Holy Virgin Mary! Straightaway … Why, of course not, Brigadenführer, it’s just that I lived in Italy as a child. Yes. In all my years of flying I never saw anything so beautiful. It took some time for me to work out what it actually was—an Me-109 with a special engine and extended wings … Damn, the magazine’s jammed … Okay, I’ll fix it… Anyway, the moment I stepped into the hangar it took my breath away. So light and white—it seemed to glow in the darkness. But what really surprised me was
the training. I thought I’d be studying equipment, but instead of that they used to bring me to you at Anenerbe and measure my skull, and all the time Wagner’s music was playing. If I asked any questions, no one answered. When they woke me up that night, I was sure they were going to measure my skull again. But no, when I looked out of the window there were two Mercedes standing there with their engines running … Excellent shot, Brigadenführer! Right on the turret. Where on earth did you get the knack … Well, we got in and drove away. Afterwards … Yes, there was a cordon of SS men with torches. We drove past them and came out of the forest, and there was a building with columns, and an airfield. There was no one at all around, just a light breeze blowing and the moon in the sky. I was sure I knew all the airfields around Berlin, but I’d never seen this one. My plane was standing there on the runway, with something white hanging under the fuselage, like a bomb, but they would not even let me stop beside it, they brought me straight into this building … No, I don’t remember. All I remember is the Wagner. They told me to get undressed and they washed me like a child … No, let’s keep the grenades, we’ll need them later … So they massaged my skin with oil—it smelt of something ancient, a pleasant kind of smell. And they gave me a flying suit, entirely white. With all my decorations on the chest. Well, Vögel, I thought, this is it … All my life I dreamed of something of the sort. Then the men from Anenerbe said: Walk across to the plane, Captain. They’ll tell you everything there. They all took turns shaking me by the hand, and I set out. My boots were white too, I was afraid to step in the
dust… Just a moment … I went up to the plane, and there … Why, it was you, Brigadenführer, not in that helmet, but in a black pointed cap … And you started explaining everything to me—ascent to eleven thousand, set course for the moon, and press the red button on the left panel… Damn. Just missed one! … They gave me a white map case, and then coffee with cognac from a thermos flask. No thank you, I said, I don’t drink before takeoff, and you said strictly: Do you know who sent that coffee, Vögel? Then I turned round and I saw him—I would never have believed it. Just like in the newsreels, even the same double-breasted jacket. But he was wearing a pointed cap and there was a pair of binoculars round his neck. And the moustache was a bit wider than it is in the portraits … Or perhaps the moonlight made it look like that. He waved, just like in the stadium … So anyway, I drank the coffee, got into the plane, put on the oxygen mask, and took off. And immediately I felt so good, my lungs felt huge. I climbed to eleven thousand and set a course for the moon—it was immense, it seemed to cover half the sky—and I looked down. Everything below looked green, and there was a river glinting … Then I pressed the button, and I began keeling over to the right, and I can’t remember how I made a landing … Sign it? And you scribble something down for me as a keepsake. Thank you … Did many of them break through to Berlin? That’s clear enough … It’s nothing, from the crushed brick, probably. My nose isn’t broken … Aha, I see, it’s nothing at all. You could shave with a cigar case like this, and you wouldn’t need a mirror … Thank you …”

“…”

“No thank you, no more. I didn’t really ask for it. You put them there yourself, Comrade Colonel, when you lit the candle … Well, what next—I read a lot of books, and then I made myself a small telescope. I looked at the moon mostly. Once I even got dressed up as a moonwalker for one of the school shows. I remember that evening very well … All the kids were gathered in the hall in their simple costumes—they could all dance. But in my costume, if I went down on all fours, I looked just like a moonwalker. The hall was filled with music, everyone was getting red in the face … I stood by the door and then crawled around the empty school on all fours. The corridors were dark and empty. I crawled up to a window, and outside up in the sky was the moon. It wasn’t even yellow, but kind of green, like in Kuindzhi’s picture—do you know it? I have it hanging above my bed, I cut it out. It was then I swore to myself I would get to the moon … Ha-ha-ha … If you do your best for me, Comrade Colonel, then I’m sure to get there … What next? After school I went to the Zaraisk flying school, and then straight here … Does that give you some idea? Yes, I know, Comrade Colonel, it’s always better man to man … Sign it? You don’t mind blue ink? That’s right. A simple heart, a short statement … Yes, please. Raspberry, if possible. Where do you get the cylinders for the syphon? Oh, what a silly question … Comrade Colonel, may I ask another question? Is it true they bring the soil from the moon to your department? I don’t remember, someone in our crew … Of course I would like to see it, I’ve only seen it on television … What! How much does a jar like that hold,
about three hundred grammes? Could I? Thank you … Thank you very much … Could you give me another sheet, just to pack it better … Thank you. I remember. To the right along the corridor to the lifts, and then down. I won’t make it? It’s still affecting me? All right, then, show me … What a strange pointed cap you have. No, I like it. We had caps like that in the army during the civil war. Very handsome, but unusual, no peak and a round cockade … No, I haven’t forgotten. Left, you say? And why are you carrying that torch? The electrician … I see, he needs a special pass. Light the way for me, the steps are steep … just like in our landing module. Comrade Colonel, it’s a dead end …”

There was a click, and then the different sound of a man and a woman singing in unison. The brightness in their voices contrasted jarringly with what I had been listening to.

I turned off the tape recorder—I felt terribly afraid. I remembered the colonel in the black robe with the whistle and the stopwatch hanging round his neck, and I realised that no one had asked Mitiok any questions—every time he had responded to the quiet note of the whistle, as it interrupted his monologue.

None of the others asked me about Mitiok. He wasn’t actually friendly with anyone except me, apart from playing a few games with homemade cards with Otto. His bed was already gone from our box, and only the coloured pictures from the magazines were left hanging on the wall to remind us that a boy called Mitiok had ever existed. In class everyone acted as though nothing had happened; Colonel Urchagin was particularly cheery and jolly.

Meanwhile, our small group, which seemed not to notice the loss of one of its members, carried on as usual. No one actually said as much, but it was obvious: we would be flying soon. The Flight Leader met with us several times to tell us how he had fought in a partisan detachment during the war; we had our photographs taken—first separately, then all together, and then in front of the banner with all the teaching staff. Above ground we began to run into new cadets—they were being trained separately from us, and I didn’t actually know what for: there was talk of sending some automatic probe to Alpha Microcephalus immediately after our expedition, but I was never really certain that the new boys were the probe’s crew.

One evening in early September I was unexpectedly
summoned to the Flight Leader. He wasn’t in his office, and the adjutant in the anteroom, who was trying to combat his boredom with an old number of
Newsweek
, told me he was in room 329.

I could hear voices and something that sounded like laughter behind the door with the number 329.1 knocked, but no one answered. I knocked again and turned the handle.

A cloud of tobacco smoke hovered just below the ceiling, reminding me somehow of that vapour trail in the air space over the Zaraisk flying school. There was a small Japanese man sitting in the metal chair in the centre of the room, his arms and legs strapped down—I knew he was Japanese from the white rectangle with a round red sun on the sleeve of his flying suit. His lips were blue and swollen, one eye was shrunk to a narrow slit in the centre of a crimson bruise, and his overalls were spattered with blood—some of the red spots were fresh, others already dried and brownish-looking. Landratov was standing in front of the chair in his tall gleaming boots, wearing the dress uniform of a lieutenant of the Air Defence Forces. Over by the window a short young man in civilian clothes was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed on his chest. The Flight Leader was sitting at the table in the corner, staring absentmindedly right through the Japanese and tapping on the table with the blunt end of a pencil.

“Comrade Flight Leader!” I began, but he stopped me with a wave of his hand and began gathering into a file the papers that were scattered about the table. I looked across at Landratov.

“Hi,” he said, extending a broad palm in my direction;
then, taking me completely by surprise, he punched the Japanese right in the stomach. The Japanese croaked faintly.

“The bastard doesn’t want to go on a joint mission!” Landratov said, and shrugged, his eyes round with astonishment; then he turned his feet out in an unnatural fashion and performed a quick dancing squat with a double slap to his boots.

“Stop it, Landratov!” barked the Flight Leader, getting up from the table.

I heard a low whine, filled with hatred, coming from the corner of the room, and when I looked I saw a dog sitting up on its hind legs in front of a dark-blue bowl with a picture of a rocket on it. It was a very old husky, with eyes that were completely red, but more astonishing to me than its eyes was the light-green uniform jacket that covered its body, with the epaulettes of a major-general and two orders of Lenin on the chest.

“Let me introduce you,” said the Flight Leader, catching my eye. “Comrade Laika. The first Soviet cosmonaut. Her parents, by the way, were colleagues of ours. They worked in the security branch too, but up in the north.”

A small flask of brandy appeared in the Flight Leader’s hands, and he poured some into the bowl. Laika made a feeble snap at his wrist but missed, and then she began whining again.

“She’s a smart one,” the Flight Leader said with a smile. “If only she wouldn’t piss all over the place. Landratov, go and get a rag.”

Landratov went out.

“
Ioi o tenki ni narimasita ne
,” said the Japanese, parting
his lips with some difficulty. “
Hana va sakuragi, hito va fudzivara.”

The Flight Leader turned an inquiring expression to the young man by the window.

“He’s delirious, Comrade Lieutenant-General,” said the young man.

The Flight Leader picked up his file from the table.

“Let’s go, Omon.”

We went out into the corridor, and he put his arm round my shoulders. Landratov passed us with a rag in his hand, and as he closed the door of room 329 he winked at me.

“Landratov’s still young,” the Flight Leader said thoughtfully. “He’s a bit wild. But he’s a fine flier. Born to it.”

We walked on a few metres in silence.

“Well now, Omon,” said the Flight Leader, “you’re for Baikonur the day after tomorrow. This is it.”

I’d been expecting the words for months, but still it felt as if I’d been hit in the solar plexus by a snowball with a heavy metal bolt inside it.

“Your call sign, as you requested, is ‘Ra’. It was hard”—the Flight Leader gestured upward significantly with his finger—“but we won out in the end. Only don’t you say anything yet down there.” He jabbed his finger downwards.

•

During the final test run on the model rocket I was simply a spectator—the other guys did the test while I sat on a bench by the wall and watched. I had passed my test a week earlier, up in the yard, when I rode the fully
equipped moonwalker round a figure eight a hundred metres long in six minutes. The team’s timing was spot on, and afterwards we were lined up in front of the rocket for a farewell photograph. I never saw it, but I can easily imagine what it looks like: at the front is Sema Anikin in his padded jacket, with streaks of engine oil on his hands and face; behind him, leaning on an aluminium cane, is Ivan Grechko in his long sheepskin coat, with an oxygen mask dangling on his chest; behind him, in a silver spacesuit padded with warm patches of flannelette blanket decorated with yellow ducklings, is Otto Plucis—his helmet was pushed up and back, making it look like a hood frozen solid in the cosmic frost. Next is Dima Matiushevich, in a spacesuit that’s exactly the same, except the blanket has plain green stripes instead of ducklings; the last member of the team is me, in my cadet uniform. Behind me, in his electric-powered chair, sits Colonel Urchagin, with the Flight Leader standing to his left.