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Authors: Adam Roberts
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your face?’
‘It too accurately reflects the state of my soul,’ I replied.
His eyes went a little defocused at this. ‘Comrade,’ he said, in an uncertain voice.
After a little while he said, ‘What I mean is.’ But getting this much out seemed to exhaust him. There was a long pause.
I smiled at him.
‘There are scars on your face,’ he said eventually.
‘And my face is just the part of me that you can see,’ I agreed.
Frenkel was back. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, sitting down. The waitress brought over two cups of black coffee, along with some slices of bread and shavings of cheese. He smiled at her, less unconvincingly than she smiled at him. She retreated to a back room.
‘Konstantin,’ Frenkel said urgently, when we were alone. ‘Did I tell you which ministry I work in?’
‘You said you were very junior.’
‘I did? Well, yes, that’s true. Indeed mine is not a well-known or powerful section of government. It is concerned with UFO sightings.’ He poured the coffee. ‘UFO sightings,’ he said again, as if perhaps I hadn’t heard him the first time.
‘People who have seen UFOs,’ I said.
‘Indeed. We’re a busy little ministry. Though minor.’
‘Are there many such sightings in the Soviet Union?’
‘Many! More than you’d believe. Oh, it’s the United States that gets all the attention, of course, with their fifty-one areas and their triplicate Close Encounters. But more UFO sightings are reported in the Soviet Union, year by year, than in the USA. Did you know that?’
‘I had no idea.’
‘We keep it secret,’ said Frenkel. He shrugged. ‘We’re good at secrecy, in the USSR. The Americans have no talent for secrecy. They try, believe me; they get their CIA involved in all the sightings, black-suited men. But the USA as a nation simply leaks secrets.’
‘Their lack of secrecy is evidently a symptom of national degeneracy, ’ I said.
Frenkel took me at my word. ‘It is! Certainly as far as UFOs are concerned, it’s a shocking lapse. All their sightings end up in the press. Few of ours do.’
‘And why are our UFOs a matter for secrecy?’ I asked, ingenuously.
At this Frenkel looked at me with frank astonishment. ‘It is one of the jobs of my branch of government to keep track of UFO sightings,’ he went on. ‘Not all of them merit a great deal of attention of course. Indeed, few of them do. But those few . . .’ He shook his head, and once again we were back in the realm of awkward theatrics.
‘Petrazavodsk,’ said Trofim, as if prompting.
‘Do you know what happened at Petrazavodsk?’ Frenkel asked me. ‘September 20th 1977? Do you know?’
I shook my head.
‘Aliens - described by eyewitnesses as radiating pulsating beams of light . One witness called them huge jellyfish of light . Thousands saw them.’
‘I don’t remember it being in the newspapers.’
‘Of course it wasn’t in the papers! We had orders to keep it all quiet. But Andropov sent an order to the KGB and the whole Russian army - watch the skies! Seven and a half million men, watching the skies! They were scared, you know. Scared. I personally interviewed Captain Boris Sokolov, who was right at the heart of the encounter.’
I looked at Trofim. He was staring at me.
‘Konstantin,’ said Frenkel, leaning forward. ‘Do you believe in UFOs?’
‘You’ll need to frame the question more precisely,’ I replied.
It took Frenkel a second or so to process this, and then he laughed briefly and unconvincingly. It sounded like a horse sneezing. ‘I see what you mean, of course,’ he said, his face serious once more. ‘My question is ambiguous between, Do you believe UFOs are a feature of contemporary culture? - which of course they are - and Do you believe in the literal reality of UFOs? Am I right? So do you believe in the literal reality of UFOs?’
‘Somedays I’m not sure I believe in the literal reality of literal reality,’ I said.
Trofim’s brow crinkled,
‘It too accurately reflects the state of my soul,’ I replied.
His eyes went a little defocused at this. ‘Comrade,’ he said, in an uncertain voice.
After a little while he said, ‘What I mean is.’ But getting this much out seemed to exhaust him. There was a long pause.
I smiled at him.
‘There are scars on your face,’ he said eventually.
‘And my face is just the part of me that you can see,’ I agreed.
Frenkel was back. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, sitting down. The waitress brought over two cups of black coffee, along with some slices of bread and shavings of cheese. He smiled at her, less unconvincingly than she smiled at him. She retreated to a back room.
‘Konstantin,’ Frenkel said urgently, when we were alone. ‘Did I tell you which ministry I work in?’
‘You said you were very junior.’
‘I did? Well, yes, that’s true. Indeed mine is not a well-known or powerful section of government. It is concerned with UFO sightings.’ He poured the coffee. ‘UFO sightings,’ he said again, as if perhaps I hadn’t heard him the first time.
‘People who have seen UFOs,’ I said.
‘Indeed. We’re a busy little ministry. Though minor.’
‘Are there many such sightings in the Soviet Union?’
‘Many! More than you’d believe. Oh, it’s the United States that gets all the attention, of course, with their fifty-one areas and their triplicate Close Encounters. But more UFO sightings are reported in the Soviet Union, year by year, than in the USA. Did you know that?’
‘I had no idea.’
‘We keep it secret,’ said Frenkel. He shrugged. ‘We’re good at secrecy, in the USSR. The Americans have no talent for secrecy. They try, believe me; they get their CIA involved in all the sightings, black-suited men. But the USA as a nation simply leaks secrets.’
‘Their lack of secrecy is evidently a symptom of national degeneracy, ’ I said.
Frenkel took me at my word. ‘It is! Certainly as far as UFOs are concerned, it’s a shocking lapse. All their sightings end up in the press. Few of ours do.’
‘And why are our UFOs a matter for secrecy?’ I asked, ingenuously.
At this Frenkel looked at me with frank astonishment. ‘It is one of the jobs of my branch of government to keep track of UFO sightings,’ he went on. ‘Not all of them merit a great deal of attention of course. Indeed, few of them do. But those few . . .’ He shook his head, and once again we were back in the realm of awkward theatrics.
‘Petrazavodsk,’ said Trofim, as if prompting.
‘Do you know what happened at Petrazavodsk?’ Frenkel asked me. ‘September 20th 1977? Do you know?’
I shook my head.
‘Aliens - described by eyewitnesses as radiating pulsating beams of light . One witness called them huge jellyfish of light . Thousands saw them.’
‘I don’t remember it being in the newspapers.’
‘Of course it wasn’t in the papers! We had orders to keep it all quiet. But Andropov sent an order to the KGB and the whole Russian army - watch the skies! Seven and a half million men, watching the skies! They were scared, you know. Scared. I personally interviewed Captain Boris Sokolov, who was right at the heart of the encounter.’
I looked at Trofim. He was staring at me.
‘Konstantin,’ said Frenkel, leaning forward. ‘Do you believe in UFOs?’
‘You’ll need to frame the question more precisely,’ I replied.
It took Frenkel a second or so to process this, and then he laughed briefly and unconvincingly. It sounded like a horse sneezing. ‘I see what you mean, of course,’ he said, his face serious once more. ‘My question is ambiguous between, Do you believe UFOs are a feature of contemporary culture? - which of course they are - and Do you believe in the literal reality of UFOs? Am I right? So do you believe in the literal reality of UFOs?’
‘Somedays I’m not sure I believe in the literal reality of literal reality,’ I said.
Trofim’s brow crinkled,
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