The Illustrated Man

Two astronauts, Hitchcock and Clemens, have a conversation on a spaceship a billion miles from Earth. Hitchcock says he no longer believes Earth is real, but Clemens argues that it is; he’d just dreamt about it that morning. Hitchcock pedantically points out that it is always night in space; Clemens tells him to shut up. Hitchcock continues, sharing that he no longer knows where he is or where he has been: “I don’t believe in anything I can’t see or hear or touch. […] It’s safer this way, not to believe” (137). Clemens argues that memory is an acceptable substitute for the real thing, but Hitchcock angrily informs him that he has always lived this way. As soon as he leaves a place or person or time, that entity is dead to him. Clemens tells him he needs to learn to hold on, but Hitchcock responds that memories hurt, like a porcupine’s quills. The only thing he is positive exists is himself.

At lunch, Hitchcock’s condition deteriorates. Clemens asks him why he came to space at all, and Hitchcock responds that he wanted to be in a place between places: “I liked the idea of nothing on top, nothing on the bottom, and a lot of nothing in between, and me in the middle of nothing” (139). He believes that every day he dies and starts again. He leaves abruptly; the rest of the crew is concerned he is going insane. In space, sometimes this happens; “you get wildly philosophical, then frightened” (141). Clemens tries to convince Hitchcock to go the ship psychologist, but Hitchcock begins demanding mental evidence he can feel—a certain, interior knowledge that no one can provide. He shares the death of his wife and his abortive efforts at becoming a writer on Earth and admits that he now is unsure if there is any way to prove that man was him. Finally, Clemens slaps him to prove he is there, but still, Hitchcock is unsure. Clemens leaves.

Alarms sound. A meteor hit the ship; Hitchcock is convinced it was after him. An intervention from the ship’s psychologist is futile. Clemens realizes Hitchcock is doomed because no one can ever continuously prove to him that reality exists. Twelve hours later, alarms sound once again. Hitchcock had put on a spacesuit, muttering about nonexistence, and walked out of an airlock. He is now millions of miles behind them; Clemens thinks about him falling through space.