Korolev and Gagarin got personal audiences in the Politburo. They spread their rocket plans out on Khrushchev’s desk and asked for money
for a titanic space program. A lot of money.”
“And they got it,” Dimitru interjected. “Probably double what they asked for. I suspect the army raised the ante a fair amount.”
“In any event, Korolev can build his rockets—as many as he wants. But only under top secret conditions somewhere out in the steppes of Kazakhstan and only on condition that he never
uses the word ‘ascension.’ He’s only allowed to refer to it by the code name ‘the Project.’ If he doesn’t”—and Baptiste made his fingers into
scissors—“they’ll cut out his tongue.”
“But why would the chief of all the Soviets want to cut out people’s tongues,” Grandfather put in his oar, “just on account of a Russki flag on the moon that
nobody’s going to see from down here anyway?”
“Forget the flag,” replied Johannes Baptiste. “That’s just to taunt the Americans and rub their noses in Soviet superiority. Pure vanity. That’s also why the
Sputnik sends out those signals. From a scientific perspective, the
beep-beep
makes no sense. Basically, the Sputnik is just announcing, Listen up, listen up. I exist. I’m up here.
Of course, that’s how Khrushchev drives his opponent Eisenhower stark raving mad and demonstrates to the Americans that the Bolsheviks’ engineers are faster, smarter, and further along.
Remember, we’re in the world political phase of a Cold War that sometimes produces quite heated skirmishes. Even in Baia Luna, to which the ringing skull of our doughty Hermann Schuster can
attest. Without a doubt the Kremlin wants to win the race against the capitalist system of the USA. But that’s not the heart of the problem. The essence of an ascension is something
completely different. And I claim that Korolev knows what it is.”
Pater Johannes paused to ask for a refill of water, and I guess also to give us listeners a chance to ask questions. No one had any, so he continued: “I don’t see the world with the
eyes of a politician but of a pastor concerned with the spiritual needs of his flock. All the more so since I can feel that my days are numbered. And what I see concerns me. Really concerns me.
Where do we come from and where are we going? Those are the fundamental questions of human existence. The world knows only one answer: ashes to ashes and dust to dust. There is no God and no
heaven. But I believe in the Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. I believe in heaven and that there’s someone up there.”
“Laika the dog?” I interjected.
“Forget about that yapper. No, Pavel, I’m talking about a woman. I already mentioned that mysterious Vatican dogma of the corporeal Assumption into heaven of Mary the Mother of God.
Is it beginning to dawn on you why Korolev is building rockets? The reason that the Soviets plan to shoot cosmonauts into the firmament is so top secret that only Khrushchev, Korolev, and this
Gagarin fellow are in on it. They’re looking for an answer to the question: Does God exist?”
“Oh my God.” Dimitru groaned and hammered his fist on his skull. “The Bolsheviks simply fly up to the stars and take a look. Pure empiricism! The ultimatoric proof of
God’s existence! No more Thomas Aquinas!”
“You could see it that way. And I’ll wager that in the near future, when the first cosmonaut returns from space, there’s only one thing Khrushchev and Korolev will want to
know—”
“Did you see God up there?” Fritz chimed in.
“You’re no dim bulb, Hofmann Fritzy, but you’re not a good listener. You think you’ve got nothing more to learn, not in church and not about church. Wrong, boy, big big
mistake! If you’d only think back, you upstart whippersnapper, then you’d know what Korolev’s question would be and can only be: Did you see Mary up there?”
I registered a nervous tic in Fritz’s
for a titanic space program. A lot of money.”
“And they got it,” Dimitru interjected. “Probably double what they asked for. I suspect the army raised the ante a fair amount.”
“In any event, Korolev can build his rockets—as many as he wants. But only under top secret conditions somewhere out in the steppes of Kazakhstan and only on condition that he never
uses the word ‘ascension.’ He’s only allowed to refer to it by the code name ‘the Project.’ If he doesn’t”—and Baptiste made his fingers into
scissors—“they’ll cut out his tongue.”
“But why would the chief of all the Soviets want to cut out people’s tongues,” Grandfather put in his oar, “just on account of a Russki flag on the moon that
nobody’s going to see from down here anyway?”
“Forget the flag,” replied Johannes Baptiste. “That’s just to taunt the Americans and rub their noses in Soviet superiority. Pure vanity. That’s also why the
Sputnik sends out those signals. From a scientific perspective, the
beep-beep
makes no sense. Basically, the Sputnik is just announcing, Listen up, listen up. I exist. I’m up here.
Of course, that’s how Khrushchev drives his opponent Eisenhower stark raving mad and demonstrates to the Americans that the Bolsheviks’ engineers are faster, smarter, and further along.
Remember, we’re in the world political phase of a Cold War that sometimes produces quite heated skirmishes. Even in Baia Luna, to which the ringing skull of our doughty Hermann Schuster can
attest. Without a doubt the Kremlin wants to win the race against the capitalist system of the USA. But that’s not the heart of the problem. The essence of an ascension is something
completely different. And I claim that Korolev knows what it is.”
Pater Johannes paused to ask for a refill of water, and I guess also to give us listeners a chance to ask questions. No one had any, so he continued: “I don’t see the world with the
eyes of a politician but of a pastor concerned with the spiritual needs of his flock. All the more so since I can feel that my days are numbered. And what I see concerns me. Really concerns me.
Where do we come from and where are we going? Those are the fundamental questions of human existence. The world knows only one answer: ashes to ashes and dust to dust. There is no God and no
heaven. But I believe in the Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. I believe in heaven and that there’s someone up there.”
“Laika the dog?” I interjected.
“Forget about that yapper. No, Pavel, I’m talking about a woman. I already mentioned that mysterious Vatican dogma of the corporeal Assumption into heaven of Mary the Mother of God.
Is it beginning to dawn on you why Korolev is building rockets? The reason that the Soviets plan to shoot cosmonauts into the firmament is so top secret that only Khrushchev, Korolev, and this
Gagarin fellow are in on it. They’re looking for an answer to the question: Does God exist?”
“Oh my God.” Dimitru groaned and hammered his fist on his skull. “The Bolsheviks simply fly up to the stars and take a look. Pure empiricism! The ultimatoric proof of
God’s existence! No more Thomas Aquinas!”
“You could see it that way. And I’ll wager that in the near future, when the first cosmonaut returns from space, there’s only one thing Khrushchev and Korolev will want to
know—”
“Did you see God up there?” Fritz chimed in.
“You’re no dim bulb, Hofmann Fritzy, but you’re not a good listener. You think you’ve got nothing more to learn, not in church and not about church. Wrong, boy, big big
mistake! If you’d only think back, you upstart whippersnapper, then you’d know what Korolev’s question would be and can only be: Did you see Mary up there?”
I registered a nervous tic in Fritz’s
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