Mr Bedford In Infinite Space

: The First Men In The Moon

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,< r />
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.



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.



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--?



He was already infinitesimal.



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...



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.



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 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.



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....



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.



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.



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.



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."



"Confound it!" I cried; "and if I am 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? ...



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? ...



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.



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.