On 8 October 2015, the astronaut Igor Sergeyevich Krasnov landed safely in his flying machine Champion. Communications were working normally, and the order came through from Mission Control that he was not to leave the module without escort. Igor remained in his seat, looking at the wide, semi-circular screen on which he was now being shown a picture of the surrounding locality. Twilight. Clumps of snow like bald patches on the field. Lights moving in the distance.

Igor looked at the dry grass, tears pouring down his face.

Champion had taken off on 2 March 1963 and taken Igor on a voyage beyond the limits of the solar system, flying close to the speed of light. His flight had lasted a year and a half, but on earth, 52 years had gone by. Anna, Igor's daughter, had reached 50 and was now 27 years older than him.

He was not thinking of his daughter as he looked at his first twilight back on earth. His tears were not for her, nor for himself, but... for the Lord only knew what. That he was once more seeing snow; that he would soon be going outside, breathing cold air and asking what those lights over there in the distance were. His daughter did not come to mind at all during those few minutes.

A helicopter appeared on the screen. His welcoming party had arrived.

The general public knew nothing of his flight; there was no news coverage of either his launch or his return. His flight had been a secret in 1963, and remained a secret in 2015.

Igor reported that he had completed his mission, and presented his findings on the planet he had been sent to study, producing soil samples, chemical analysis of the atmosphere, and photographs. Contrary to expectation, the planet had proved to be hostile to life.

After a thorough examination in a closed hospital, Igor was sent on extended leave. Of course, he received the fullest possible briefing on present-day life. The young astronaut instantly grasped developments in technology, but he proved to be quite out of synch with the politics and economics of the new world order. He had come back sincerely expecting to find communism alive and well in his homeland.

Igor's daughter still lived in a small town in the Vladimir region. He bought some sweets and sweet wine as a present, and made his way out there on the train. He bought a third class ticket because he wanted to people-watch and earwig on their conversations. He found himself thinking that nothing had changed over the half-century—all the same people and the same views out of the window, as if time had stopped, gone back, even. After five hours he reached his stop and got out. The station struck him as small and dilapidated. He decided against taking a taxi, and set off walking. He did not hurry. He stopped occasionally, taking it all in. Smoke drifting from a stove chimney. Children running across the rusty rails. He breathed in the forgotten air.

In the house where his daughter lived, and where he himself had once lived, the stove was also lit and a light was burning in the window. He lingered at the wicket gate, looking at the apple tree, now large and spread. He flipped the latch. Walked up to the porch. A dog came bounding out, barking madly. He said, 'Hey, hey, I'm a friend,' and patted the scruff of her neck. His daughter was at home. He told her, untruthfully, that his father had been a friend of her father's.

'He died during testing. I don't remember him,' she said.

'Not at all?'

'I remember sitting in his arms. Vaguely. Him carrying me. Where we were going to or coming from, I don't recall.'

They drank wine, then had tea with the sweets from Moscow. He asked her about relatives and acquaintances. Many had died.

After tea, he scrambled up onto the roof and righted the television aerial. He replaced a rotten plank in the wooden porch step. He spoke to Anna like someone who had seen much more of life than she had. Nor did this strike either of them as strange. She complained about her health. He told her to give up coffee at once, especially instant coffee on an empty stomach. He said he wanted to settle here, in this town. Rent a flat.

'I'm not afraid of work,' he said. 'Doesn't matter what kind.'

And settle in the town he did. He found a job in a computer workshop, got married, had a son. His daughter visited every week. After about 30 years, her health gave out, and he took her into his own home. He fed her with a spoon and took her for walks. His wife called him 'My saint.'

Read Elena Dolgopyat's postcard.





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