Slept poorly — my mind couldn’t switch off from the various thoughts and emotions of yesterday. The weather is nice, hazy. Ran out for exercises; Tolya stayed in his room. In the morning I went in to see him with Zhenya Kobzev and asked how he was feeling. His upper lip is swollen; the mustache is saving him. I say: “Tolya, don’t worry — we’re going to fly. If I have to, I’ll carry you to the rocket myself.” He smiles. I understand it’s hard, especially since what lies ahead is complete unknown territory for him — and everything was exactly the same for me the first time. After lunch, we watched, by tradition, the film “White Sun of the Desert” — an interesting, optimistic, and deeply humane film. It suits us, right down to the words of the song: “Your honor, Lady Luck, to some you’re kind, and to others — not so much…” Each of us has had his share of that “not so much” in life — like when, right before launch, I twisted my ankle training on the trampoline and didn’t fly. But right now I firmly believe in our luck, mine and Tolya’s. After the film we went for a walk and sat on the riverbank. A beautiful view opens up — the bend of the river to the right and to the left against the backdrop of bare steppe, blue sky and the setting sun. And across the river, a solitary yurt of a Kazakh hermit who, even near a city, doesn’t want to part with a free life in nature. Tolya, Zhenya, and I had a man-to-man talk, and Tolya and I swore an oath that in any situation we would show level-headedness and a commitment to maintaining good relations. We came back to the hotel, had a steam in the bathhouse, and our pre-flight preparation concluded with a one-liter enema. Then a massage. Right now Tolya is in his room spinning the radio dial before bed, and I’m finishing my earthly diary entries. Leonov came in and said: “Sleep as long as you like tomorrow — ahead of you are two intense days of flight on the transport ship until docking.”