I choose to keep silent.
He asks me if I like it back here in Berlin. He asks me if my father’s hometown is everything I expected. He asks me if I’d rather be in Moscow. He asks me if I rather be back there training. How does he know this last bit? Or rather, why does he know this? The space program is top secret. What does he want with it? My palms are sweaty, but my stern face shows no emotion. He asks me if I am disappointed that I wasn’t given a chance to prove myself. He asks me if I would like another chance. I feel like my whole body is shaking, but I’m sure it isn’t.
He reminds me about all the extensive medical tests, and how they didn’t give me any coherent explanation for my expulsion. I look away. He tries to convince me it wasn’t political, but that just reinforces my doubts.
Where is he going with this? I haven’t said anything in a long while and I am getting very annoyed at his blabbering. He asks me if I ever had any blood problems? I don’t know what he’s referring to. He explains that my blood test results showed a very unusual blood behavior. They thought it wasn’t safe to send someone off into space with such an anomaly.
I remember the moment I was given this speech.
However, he says my blood is exactly what they are looking for. I am worried. No one knows where I am. How could I be so stupid? How did I get myself in this spot? A fugitive drop of sweat runs down my forehead and hides behind my eyebrow. I think he can begin to tell I am getting nervous.
He lightens the tension by changing the subject. He mentions that, back at the space program, Gagarin seems to be the favorite. Yuri and I got to know each other well during our training. Good guy. I’m happy for him. Maybe not happy. But I agree with their decision. The doctor tells me that I may not be suitable to travel through space, but I am still a quintessential specimen for an even more extraordinary program. I don’t like the fact that he uses the word ‘specimen’. He tries to add something else but cuts himself early, as if he were trying to censor his own words. What did he want to say?
Dr. Vodnik calls me by my last name and tells me if I would like to be part of what he jokingly calls, “Soviet Time Program”. He says it is highly confidential and he can’t give any more details until I accept. He knows it is an unreasonable offer to accept without knowing any further, but describes it as a risk I’ll have to take. If I’m interested I’ll have to join blindly. He doesn’t reiterate the fact that the KGB is in possession of my family history, and the fact that all of that could go away if I only accepted his offer. But the thought lingers in my mind, and he knows it. I am intrigued, but also skeptical, and scared.
The doctor says he knows my answer already. The way he says it doesn’t seem to be a figurative speech. However, he adds that he will give me a day to come to my own conclusion, but not without reminding me that it’s a chance to change history. This last sentence strikes a chord inside of me, and he smiles, as if he knew exactly what words to use.
X
It’s morning. The first glimmer of sunlight enters my apartment back in Wünsdorf. I’m laying on my bed. I haven’t been able to sleep. Something has been bouncing frantically inside my head all night. I can barely think anymore. I stare at the moldy ceiling.
I think I know the answer to Dr. Vodnik’s offer, but I am too afraid to say it out loud. What am I so afraid of? Why am I hesitating? What else do I have? It then hits me! I haven’t heard from work at all. Am I fired? What happened? Will I still be able to return to work tomorrow? I mean, today. I must have been so distracted that I completely forgot. Do I even care? Maybe that’s why I haven’t thought about it until now. Maybe it’s not important anymore. Maybe that’s a sign. A sign… how ridiculous. I don’t believe in god, why would I believe in signs?
Why am I so scared of change? Change is what my whole life has been about. Why am I still scared of it?
I can’t lay down any more. I get up. It’s cold. My apartment is always cold. I go to the tiny kitchenette and look around. Not much to eat. I grab a slice of bread. I eat it without tasting it. There’s some coffee already made. When did I make it? How old is it? I don’t care enough. I heat it up on the stove and drink it. No milk. I don’t have milk. I should do some shopping. Wait. Why am I thinking about groceries? I’m trying to distract myself to avoid making a decision.
Do it. That’s it. Done. Do it. Let’s go.
I exit the apartment. My body feels soft and tingly. I haven’t slept, and I am still skittish. My legs are not in the mood to walk, but I force them. My whole body is begging to go back home, but I push myself forward.
I take the train back to Berlin. What time is it? Am I too early? It can never be too early. Not for something this big.
There are only bizarre people on the train at this hour. I try to avoid eye contact with them. I think some are staring at me. Why are they staring?
I take the tram and make my way to the cemetery. I see the crumbling church again. The heavy damage it has endured during the war has left it in desperate need of repair. The shattered ruins rise into the sky, looking down at the street. It looks a lot more commanding in this twilight than it did yesterday in plain daylight.
The doctor is having a smoke in front of the mausoleum, as if expecting me. Am I that predictable? He greets me good morning, throws away his cigarette and ends his conversation with a square-faced comrade. Before leaving, he courteously introduces us. He gratefully specifies that Dr. Khariton has offered invaluable consultation to the project I’m about to join.
Back in his office he confesses that the reason he knew I’d come back is that he is quite sure he has seen me before. I say it is possible. We live in the same city after all. He shakes his head. He says he saw me ten years ago. When I was a child? Where? In Kaliningrad? Why? No. Not in my hometown. Not when I was a child. He says I looked different, but I was the same age I am now. What? That’s ridiculous.
Maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe this old man isn’t as coherent as I had hoped. Maybe I made a big mistake. It’s too late now. I gave my word. Let’s give this delusional scientist a chance.
He takes a deep breath, gets up from his chair and walks around his small office nervously. First time I see him nervous since we met. I stay seated, turning my head towards his direction and following every single minuscule movement, trying to figure him out.
It is taking the doctor a long time to explain what I am here for. He seems hesitant. Maybe he is probing me. Is he testing whether I am the right candidate after all? Is he regretting his choice? Should I be regretting it too?
He asks me if I like reading science fiction. The question catches me by surprise. What does that have to do with anything? He asks if I have read anything from René Barjavel. I haven’t. Never even heard of him. I don’t read a lot of fiction. I only read non-fiction. Facts. Maybe it wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. He is trying very hard to think of good questions, but he was obviously not born to be an interrogator.
I finally break the awkward conversation. I rarely break out in this manner, but this decision has kept me up all night. I don’t want to think it was the wrong move. It has I have enough doubts of my own. I don’t want him eroding my confidence on the project this early on.
What does he want to know? I ask him directly. I accidentally interrupt him in the middle of a sentence. He doesn’t seem to mind though. I acknowledge his concern for security and secrecy, but I assure him that the only way to make this work is to start building a trustworthy relationship. I accidentally sound a little arrogant, so I take a step back in my tone of voice. I explain that there are traitors everywhere, and some are professionally trained to deceive our intuitions. I tell him he will have to take that risk, no matter who he chooses to be part of his project. As a scientist he should be aware that he cannot be one hundred percent sure of anything. I am competent. That is all he needs to know. He now needs to take a leap of faith.