Mr. Bedford in Infinite Space

It was almost as though I had been killed. Indeed, I could imagine a man suddenly and violently killed would feel very much as I did. One moment, a passion of agonising existence and fear; the next, darkness and stillness, neither light nor life nor sun, moon nor stars, the blank infinite. Although the thing was done by my own act, although I had already tasted this very of effect in Cavor’s company, I felt astonished, dumbfounded, and overwhelmed. I seemed to be borne upward into an enormous darkness. My fingers floated off the studs, I hung as if I were annihilated, and at last very softly and gently I came against the bale and the golden chain, and the crowbars that had drifted to the middle of the sphere.

It was almost as if I had been killed. In fact, I could imagine that someone suddenly and violently killed would feel much as I did. One moment, a rush of agonizing existence and fear. The next, darkness and stillness. No light or life, no sun, moon, or stars, only infinite emptiness. I had brought this about myself, and I had already experienced the same effect with Cavor. Yet I felt astonished, stunned, and overwhelmed. I seemed to be carried upward into an enormous darkness. My fingers floated away from the studs. I hung there as if I had been destroyed. At last, very softly and gently, I came against the bale, the golden chain, and the crowbars. They had drifted to the middle of the sphere.

I do not know how long that drifting took. In the sphere of course, even more than on the moon, one’s earthly time sense was ineffectual. At the touch of the bale it was as if I had awakened from a dreamless sleep. I immediately perceived that if I wanted to keep awake and alive I must get a light or open a window, so as to get a grip of something with my eyes. And besides, I was cold. I kicked off from the bale, therefore, clawed on to the thin cords within the glass, crawled along until I got to the manhole rim, and so got my bearings for the light and blind studs, took a shove off, and flying once round the bale, and getting a scare from something big and flimsy that was drifting loose, I got my hand on the cord quite close to the studs, and reached them. I lit the little lamp first of all to see what it was I had collided with, and discovered that old copy of Lloyd’s News had slipped its moorings, and was adrift in the void. That brought me out of the infinite to my own proper dimensions again. It made me laugh and pant for a time, and suggested the idea of a little oxygen from one of the cylinders. After that I lit the heater until I felt warm, and then I took food. Then I set to work in a very gingerly fashion on the Cavorite blinds, to see if I could guess by any means how the sphere was travelling.

I do not know how long I drifted. In the sphere, of course, my earthly sense of time was even less useful than on the moon. When I touched the bale, I felt as if I had awakened from a dreamless sleep. I realized at once that I needed to turn on a light or open a window. Otherwise, I would have nothing to focus my eyes on, and I had to do that to stay awake and alive. Besides, I was cold. So I kicked off from the bale and grabbed the thin cords inside the glass. I crawled along them until I reached the rim of the manhole. From there, I could work out where the light and blind controls were. I pushed off and flew once around the bale. On the way, something large and flimsy drifting loose gave me a scare. Then I grabbed a cord close to the controls and reached them. First, I turned on the little lamp to see what I had collided with. I found that the old copy of Lloyd’s News had come loose and was drifting in the void. That brought me back from infinity to my own proper dimensions. It made me laugh and pant for a while, and gave me the idea of taking a little oxygen from one of the cylinders. After that, I turned on the heater until I felt warm, and then I ate. Then I worked very cautiously on the Cavorite blinds, to see if I could somehow guess how the sphere was travelling.

The first blind I opened I shut at once, and hung for a time flattened and blinded by the sunlight that had hit me. After thinking a little I started upon the windows at right angles to this one, and got the huge crescent moon and the little crescent earth behind it, the second time. I was amazed to find how far I was from the moon. I had reckoned that not only should I have little or none of the “kick-off” that the earth’s atmosphere had given us at our start, but that the tangential “fly off” of the moon’s spin would be at least twenty-eight times less than the earth’s. I had expected to discover myself hanging over our crater, and on the edge of the night, but all that was now only a part of the outline of the white crescent that filled the sky. And Cavor—?

I shut the first blind as soon as I opened it. For a while I hung there, flattened and blinded by the sunlight that had hit me. After thinking a little, I tried the windows at right angles to the first one. On the second try, I saw the huge crescent moon, with the little crescent earth behind it. I was amazed to find how far I was from the moon. I had expected little or none of the “kick-off” that the earth’s atmosphere had given us at the start. I had also expected the tangential “fly off” from the moon’s spin to be at least twenty-eight times less than the earth’s. I had expected to find myself hanging over our crater, at the edge of the night. But all that was now only part of the outline of the white crescent that filled the sky. And Cavor?

He was already infinitesimal.

He was already extremely small.

I tried to imagine what could have happened to him. But at that time I could think of nothing but death. I seemed to see him, bent and smashed at the foot of some interminably high cascade of blue. And all about him the stupid insects stared...

I tried to imagine what might have happened to him. But at the time, I could think only of death. I imagined him crumpled and broken at the foot of an endlessly high blue waterfall. And all around him, the stupid insects stared...

Under the inspiring touch of the drifting newspaper I became practical again for a while. It was quite clear to me that what I had to do was to get back to earth, but as far as I could see I was drifting away from it. Whatever had happened to Cavor, even if he was still alive, which seemed to me incredible after that blood-stained scrap, I was powerless to help him. There he was, living or dead behind the mantle of that rayless night, and there he must remain at least until I could summon our fellow men to his assistance. Should I do that? Something of the sort I had in my mind; to come back to earth if it were possible, and then as maturer consideration might determine, either to show and explain the sphere to a few discreet persons, and act with them, or else to keep my secret, sell my gold, obtain weapons, provisions, and an assistant, and return with these advantages to deal on equal terms with the flimsy people of the moon, to rescue Cavor, if that were still possible, and at any rate to procure a sufficient supply of gold to place my subsequent proceedings on a firmer basis. But that was hoping far; I had first to get back.

The drifting newspaper inspired me to think practically again for a while. It was clear that I had to get back to earth. But as far as I could see, I was drifting away from it. Whatever had happened to Cavor, I was powerless to help him. He might even still be alive, though that seemed impossible after I had seen the bloodstained scrap. Alive or dead, he was there behind that curtain of lightless night. He would have to stay there, at least until I could call on our fellow men to help him. Would I do that? I had something of the sort in mind. If possible, I would return to earth and think the matter over. Then I might show the sphere to a few discreet people, explain it, and work with them. Or I might keep my secret, sell my gold, and obtain weapons, provisions, and an assistant. With these advantages, I could return and deal on equal terms with the flimsy people of the moon. I could rescue Cavor, if that was still possible. In any case, I could obtain enough gold to put my later plans on a firmer footing. But that was hoping for a great deal. First, I had to get back.

I set myself to decide just exactly how the return to earth could be contrived. As I struggled with that problem I ceased to worry about what I should do when I got there. At last my only care was to get back.

I set out to figure out exactly how I could get back to Earth. As I struggled with that problem, I stopped worrying about what I would do when I got there. At last, all I cared about was getting back.

I puzzled out at last that my best chance would be to drop back towards the moon as near as I dared in order to gather velocity, then to shut my windows, and fly behind it, and when I was past to open my earthward windows, and so get off at a good pace homeward. But whether I should ever reach the earth by that device, or whether I might not simply find myself spinning about it in some hyperbolic or parabolic curve or other, I could not tell. Later I had a happy inspiration, and by opening certain windows to the moon, which had appeared in the sky in front of the earth, I turned my course aside so as to head off the earth, which it had become evident to me I must pass behind without some such expedient. I did a very great deal of complicated thinking over these problems—for I am no mathematician—and in the end I am certain it was much more my good luck than my reasoning that enabled me to hit the earth. Had I known then, as I know now, the mathematical chances there were against me, I doubt if I should have troubled even to touch the studs to make any attempt. And having puzzled out what I considered to be the thing to do, I opened all my moonward windows, and squatted down—the effort lifted me for a time some feet or so into the air, and I hung there in the oddest way—and waited for the crescent to get bigger and bigger until I felt I was near enough for safety. Then I would shut the windows, fly past the moon with the velocity I had got from it—if I did not smash upon it—and so go on towards the earth.

At last, I worked out what I thought was my best chance. I would drop back towards the moon, getting as close as I dared to pick up speed. Then I would shut my windows and fly behind the moon. Once past it, I would open my earthward windows and head home at a good speed. But I could not tell whether this plan would ever bring me to earth. I might simply find myself spinning around it in some hyperbolic or parabolic curve or other. Later, I had a lucky idea. The moon had appeared in the sky in front of the earth. I opened certain windows to the moon and turned my course aside so as to head off the earth. By then, it was clear to me that I would pass behind the earth without some such measure. I did a great deal of complicated thinking about these problems, for I am no mathematician. In the end, I am sure it was much more luck than reasoning that enabled me to hit the earth. If I had known then, as I do now, the mathematical odds against me, I doubt I would even have bothered to touch the studs and make an attempt. Having worked out what I thought I should do, I opened all my moonward windows and squatted down. The effort lifted me a few feet into the air for a time, and I hung there in the strangest way. I waited as the crescent grew bigger and bigger, until I felt I was close enough for safety. Then I would shut the windows and fly past the moon at the speed I had gained from it. If I did not crash into the moon, I would continue towards the earth.

And that is what I did.

And that is what I did.

At last I felt my moonward start was sufficient. I shut out the sight of the moon from my eyes, and in a state of mind that was, I now recall, incredibly free from anxiety or any distressful quality, I sat down to begin a vigil in that little speck of matter in infinite space that would last until I should strike the earth. The heater had made the sphere tolerably warm, the air had been refreshed by the oxygen, and except for that faint congestion of the head that was always with me while I was away from earth, I felt entire physical comfort. I had extinguished the light again, lest it should fail me in the end; I was in darkness, save for the earthshine and the glitter of the stars below me. Everything was so absolutely silent and still that I might indeed have been the only being in the universe, and yet, strangely enough, I had no more feeling of loneliness or fear than if I had been lying in bed on earth. Now, this seems all the stranger to me, since during my last hours in that crater of the moon, the sense of my utter loneliness had been an agony....

At last, I felt I had enough of a head start from the moon. I shut out the sight of it and sat down to wait in that tiny speck of matter in infinite space. I would wait there until I struck the earth. As I now recall, my mind was incredibly free from anxiety or distress. The heater had made the sphere reasonably warm, and the oxygen had refreshed the air. I felt completely comfortable, except for the faint congestion in my head that always troubled me away from earth. I had turned off the light again, for fear it would fail me in the end. I was in darkness, except for the light from the earth and the glitter of the stars below me. Everything was so completely silent and still that I might have been the only being in the universe. Yet, strangely enough, I felt no more lonely or afraid than if I had been lying in bed on earth. This seems all the stranger to me now, because during my last hours in that crater on the moon, the sense of my utter loneliness had been agony....

Incredible as it will seem, this interval of time that I spent in space has no sort of proportion to any other interval of time in my life. Sometimes it seemed as though I sat through immeasurable eternities like some god upon a lotus leaf, and again as though there was a momentary pause as I leapt from moon to earth. In truth, it was altogether some weeks of earthly time. But I had done with care and anxiety, hunger or fear, for that space. I floated, thinking with a strange breadth and freedom of all that we had undergone, and of all my life and motives, and the secret issues of my being. I seemed to myself to have grown greater and greater, to have lost all sense of movement; to be floating amidst the stars, and always the sense of earth’s littleness and the infinite littleness of my life upon it, was implicit in my thoughts.

Incredible as it may seem, the time I spent in space was unlike any other period of my life. Sometimes I seemed to sit through countless eternities, like a god on a lotus leaf. At other times, it seemed only a moment’s pause as I leapt from the moon to the earth. In truth, the journey took some weeks of earthly time. But for that time, I was free from worry, anxiety, hunger, and fear. As I floated, I thought with a strange breadth and freedom about all we had been through. I thought about all my life and motives, and the secret concerns of my being. I seemed to grow greater and greater and to lose all sense of movement. I seemed to float among the stars. And always in my thoughts was a sense of how small the earth was, and how infinitely small my life upon it was.

I can’t profess to explain the things that happened in my mind. No doubt they could all be traced directly or indirectly to the curious physical conditions under which I was living. I set them down here just for what they are worth, and without any comment. The most prominent quality of it was a pervading doubt of my own identity. I became, if I may so express it, dissociate from Bedford; I looked down on Bedford as a trivial, incidental thing with which I chanced to be connected. I saw Bedford in many relations—as an ass or as a poor beast, where I had hitherto been inclined to regard him with a quiet pride as a very spirited or rather forcible person. I saw him not only as an ass, but as the son of many generations of asses. I reviewed his school-days and his early manhood, and his first encounter with love, very much as one might review the proceedings of an ant in the sand. Something of that period of lucidity I regret still hangs about me, and I doubt if I shall ever recover the full-bodied self satisfaction of my early days. But at the time the thing was not in the least painful, because I had that extraordinary persuasion that, as a matter of fact, I was no more Bedford than I was any one else, but only a mind floating in the still serenity of space. Why should I be disturbed about this Bedford’s shortcomings? I was not responsible for him or them.

I can’t claim to explain what happened in my mind. No doubt it could all be traced directly or indirectly to the strange physical conditions in which I was living. I record it here for what it is worth, without comment. The strongest feeling was a constant doubt about my own identity. I became, if I may put it this way, detached from Bedford. I looked down on Bedford as a trivial, incidental thing I happened to be connected with. I saw Bedford in many different ways, as a fool or a poor creature. Until then, I had taken quiet pride in him, thinking him a very spirited, or rather forceful, person. I saw him not only as a fool, but as the son of many generations of fools. I looked back on his schooldays, his early manhood, and his first experience of love. It was much like watching an ant going about its business in the sand. I regret that some of that clarity still lingers. I doubt I will ever regain the wholehearted self-satisfaction of my earlier days. But at the time, it was not at all painful. I had the extraordinary conviction that I was in fact no more Bedford than anyone else. I was only a mind floating in the quiet serenity of space. Why should I be troubled by this Bedford’s shortcomings? I was responsible for neither him nor his shortcomings.

For a time I struggled against this really very grotesque delusion. I tried to summon the memory of vivid moments, of tender or intense emotions to my assistance; I felt that if I could recall one genuine twinge of feeling the growing severance would be stopped. But I could not do it. I saw Bedford rushing down Chancery Lane, hat on the back of his head, coat tails flying out, en route for his public examination. I saw him dodging and bumping against, and even saluting, other similar little creatures in that swarming gutter of people. Me? I saw Bedford that same evening in the sitting-room of a certain lady, and his hat was on the table beside him, and it wanted brushing badly, and he was in tears. Me? I saw him with that lady in various attitudes and emotions—I never felt so detached before.... I saw him hurrying off to Lympne to write a play, and accosting Cavor, and in his shirt sleeves working at the sphere, and walking out to Canterbury because he was afraid to come! Me? I did not believe it.

For a while, I fought against this truly grotesque delusion. I tried to recall vivid moments and tender or intense emotions to help me. I felt that if I could remember one real pang of feeling, the growing separation would stop. But I could not. I saw Bedford rushing down Chancery Lane, his hat pushed back and his coat tails flying. He was on his way to his public examination. I saw him dodging and bumping into other little creatures like himself in that gutter swarming with people. He even greeted some of them. Me? I saw Bedford that same evening in a certain lady's sitting room. His hat was on the table beside him, and it badly needed brushing. He was in tears. Me? I saw him with that lady in various poses and moods. I had never felt so detached before.... I saw him hurry off to Lympne to write a play and approach Cavor. I saw him working on the sphere in his shirt sleeves. I saw him walk out to Canterbury because he was afraid to come! Me? I did not believe it.

I still reasoned that all this was hallucination due to my solitude, and the fact that I had lost all weight and sense of resistance. I endeavoured to recover that sense by banging myself about the sphere, by pinching my hands and clasping them together. Among other things, I lit the light, captured that torn copy of Lloyd’s, and read those convincingly realistic advertisements about the Cutaway bicycle, and the gentleman of private means, and the lady in distress who was selling those “forks and spoons.” There was no doubt they existed surely enough, and, said I, “This is your world, and you are Bedford, and you are going back to live among things like that for all the rest of your life.” But the doubts within me could still argue: “It is not you that is reading, it is Bedford, but you are not Bedford, you know. That’s just where the mistake comes in.”

I still thought all this was a hallucination caused by my solitude and my loss of weight and sense of resistance. I tried to recover that sense by banging myself around the sphere, pinching my hands and clasping them together. Among other things, I turned on the light and caught that torn copy of Lloyd’s. I read those convincingly realistic advertisements for the Cutaway bicycle, the gentleman of private means, and the lady in distress who was selling those “forks and spoons.” There was no doubt that they really existed. I said to myself, “This is your world, and you are Bedford. You are going back to live among things like that for the rest of your life.” But the doubts within me could still argue: “It is not you who is reading. It is Bedford. But you are not Bedford, you know. That’s just where the mistake comes in.”

“Confound it!” I cried; “and if I am not Bedford, what am I?”

“Damn it!” I cried. “And if I’m not Bedford, what am I?”

But in that direction no light was forthcoming, though the strangest fancies came drifting into my brain, queer remote suspicions, like shadows seen from away. Do you know, I had a sort of idea that really I was something quite outside not only the world, but all worlds, and out of space and time, and that this poor Bedford was just a peephole through which I looked at life? ...

But I found no answers in that direction, though the strangest thoughts drifted into my mind. They were strange, distant suspicions, like shadows seen from far away. You know, I had a kind of idea that I was really outside not only the world, but all worlds. I was outside space and time, too, and poor Bedford was just a peephole through which I looked at life. ...

Bedford! However I disavowed him, there I was most certainly bound up with him, and I knew that wherever or whatever I might be, I must needs feel the stress of his desires, and sympathise with all his joys and sorrows until his life should end. And with the dying of Bedford—what then? ...

Bedford! No matter how much I disowned him, I was certainly bound up with him. I knew that wherever I might be, and whatever I might be, I would have to feel the pressure of his desires. I would share all his joys and sorrows until his life ended. And when Bedford died, what then? ...

Enough of this remarkable phase of my experiences! I tell it here simply to show how one’s isolation and departure from this planet touched not only the functions and feeling of every organ of the body, but indeed also the very fabric of the mind, with strange and unanticipated disturbances. All through the major portion of that vast space journey I hung thinking of such immaterial things as these, hung dissociated and apathetic, a cloudy megalomaniac, as it were, amidst the stars and planets in the void of space; and not only the world to which I was returning, but the blue-lit caverns of the Selenites, their helmet faces, their gigantic and wonderful machines, and the fate of Cavor, dragged helpless into that world, seemed infinitely minute and altogether trivial things to me.

Enough about this remarkable phase of my experiences! I describe it only to show how isolation and leaving this planet affected me. They disturbed not only the functions and feelings of every organ in my body, but also the very fabric of my mind, in strange and unexpected ways. For most of that vast space journey, I hung there thinking about such intangible things. I was detached and apathetic, a sort of clouded megalomaniac among the stars and planets in the void of space. The world I was returning to seemed infinitely small and utterly trivial to me. So did the blue-lit caverns of the Selenites, their helmet-like faces, and their gigantic, wonderful machines. So did the fate of Cavor, who had been dragged helpless into their world.

Until at last I began to feel the pull of the earth upon my being, drawing me back again to the life that is real for men. And then, indeed, it grew clearer and clearer to me that I was quite certainly Bedford after all, and returning after amazing adventures to this world of ours, and with a life that I was very likely to lose in this return. I set myself to puzzle out the conditions under which I must fall to earth.

At last I began to feel the earth pulling me back to the life that is real for humans. Then it became clearer and clearer that I really was Bedford after all. I was returning to our world after amazing adventures, and I was very likely to lose my life on the way. I began to puzzle out the conditions under which I would fall to earth.