Victory day — it’s a world record. We’ve exceeded the previous achievement by 10 percent, and that officially counts as a new record. In the morning Ryumin came on to congratulate us on the record, and Ivanchenkov from the department where I work did the same. Zhenya Kobzev gave us a code from our table, which meant that our work was rated very poorly. That really upset me. At the next session I decided to double-check. It turns out that instead of “very good” he’d given “very poor.” He mixed up the numbers. That’s how you end up close to a heart attack.

We performed medical experiments. Everything is normal. In the evening we sat at the table, drank juice to the record. You can be proud of your life. We talked heart-to-heart, and in the last communication session Tolya and I broke into song: “This victory day…”

I absolutely don’t feel that we’ve set a record. A day like any other — worse, even. Apparently, when you finally reach a big result, there’s no particular emotion, no elation from success — just the calm of having completed difficult work. In the evening we listened to our meeting with N.A. Kryuchkov on Radio Mayak.