"Stand up."
Duport got up and stood looking at some point half way between the two men. His eyes no longer glistened.
"It's as if something has gone out of him," the doctor said.
"Do you know who I am?" the pilot asked. Rene Duport turned his head until the pupils of his eyes were pointed at the American's face. But his eyes did not seem to focus on him. Rather they were focused at some point far beyond him.
"Why did you jump?" the pilot said. Moving a step closer, he looked into the blank, dull eyes, that continued looking through him, focused on some strange horizon. The eyes no longer seemed blue, but light grey. The pilot tried to remember where he had seen eyes like that before. Then he remembered one day, years before, when he had looked down into the open eyes of a dead man. He shuddered and turned away.
"If only he would talk," the doctor said.
The pilot had turned his back on Duport. "Why? If he could talk, what would you ask him?"
It was two or three minutes before the doctor answered.
"I would ask him what it feels like to be a star."
And as the two men walked away, Rene Duport remained standing where they left him. He was watching. The pupils of his eyes never shifted, but he was always watching. The Earth, a swollen balloon, floated past his field of vision. Slowly his right arm rose until his arm was horizontal from his shoulder. Then the corners of his mouth lifted in a faint smile, as his fingers touched the Clouds of Magellan.