Day off. Things are considerably easier now — the heaviness in the body that was there before is gone. It’s easier to lift things, easier to turn over in bed. Had a meeting with journalists. I’m pleased; I think the conversation went well. During the day I exercised in the pool — walking, light exercises for legs and arms. You tire quickly; appetite is good. Weight is already 72 kg, up from 70.5 kg on the first day. The doctors are pleased. Recovery is going well. There are only changes in the blood, since the body had adapted to weightlessness and is now undergoing the reverse process. In the morning I played a prank — I put on the mask that Jean-Loup Chretien brought aboard, and it’s frightening enough as is, but if you see it unexpectedly, it can really scare you. I lay in bed wearing it. Zhenya Kobzev ran to the doctors and says: “Something’s happened to Valentin.” The head of the medical directorate, Ivan Aleksandrovich Skiba, Slava Bogdashevsky, and the psychologist come rushing in. I turn my face toward them in the mask and let out a roar. They recoiled. The scene was a tableau, like Gogol’s The Inspector General — my mask was reflected in their faces, distorted by shock and bewilderment at what had happened. Once they recovered, everyone was howling with laughter, saying: “Well, brother, you nearly gave us a heart attack.” And the psychologist says: “That’s a good, adequate reaction and speaks well of the state of your psyche. If a person jokes, everything is fine.”