CHAPTER TWO

A Friendship Forever

The stranger finally put out the little fire and placed the small statue back in his coat pocket. I wanted to speak out, to say something to let him know I was there. But before I could, he quickly placed the axe-shaped thing between his teeth, brought a lit match up to it, and blew out a huge cloud of tobacco smoke. Then he quickly jumped into bed.

I finally made a noise, and he started in surprise. But I couldn't say anything and rolled toward the wall.

He started shouting and waving his axe-pipe around, spreading small bits of hot ash all over the bed. I was totally afraid that he would cut me with a knife or set the bed on fire with his pipe.

"Who be you?" he yelled. "Speak, or damn it, I kill you!"

Jumping out of bed as fast as I could, I cried out for the landlord. Thank heaven he quickly arrived holding a light in his hand.

"Now don't be afraid, I tell you," he said, smiling from the open door. "Queequeg won't hurt one hair on your head."

"How come you didn't you tell me the harpooner was a human-eater?" I screamed.

"I thought you'd know, being a schoolmaster, that head-sellers are also human-eaters. Didn't I tell you earlier that he was out selling heads?" He turned to Queequeg and said, "Look here you. This man sleeps with you—you understand?"

"I understand," Queequeg answered. He continued to puff away at his pipe. Then he politely pulled the bedcover back for me to get into bed.

I looked at him good and hard. I realized that under all the paint and tattoos he was probably a good, normal man. I was sure he probably thought I was just as odd-looking and he probably had as much reason to be afraid of me as I had to be afraid of him.

"Okay, landlord," I said, "but could you ask him to put the Indian axe away and not smoke in bed. I don't really like going up in fire."

Queequeg quickly agreed and rolled over to one side of the bed, as if to say, "Don't worry. You don't have anything to fear from me."

"Good night, landlord," I said. "And thanks for your help."

Early the next morning, Queequeg politely said that he would dress first and let me enjoy the room by myself. I realized that my roommate was the polite one, while I was being the rude one. Still, I couldn't help looking in wonder, as he got dressed. He first put on his tall full hat, and then got back under the blanket to put on his boots. After this, he got out of bed to put on his pants and shirt.

Next he took a large wet piece of soap and began to soap up his face for a shave. I wondered about the kind of knife he would have. I soon found out, much to my surprise. He took the head of the harpoon off its long pole, sharpened it against his boot, and began to shave away at his beard. At the time I was amazed by this, but later on I learned how sharp these steel harpoon-heads are kept.

I was expecting to hear exciting sea stories from all the experienced whalers during breakfast, but to my disappointment, they were all silent and shy. Queequeg was pretty busy, though, even though he didn't eat any of the hot bread or coffee. He had brought his harpoon with him to the table. Now and then he would reach the harpoon across the breakfast table and spear one piece of beef after another. The beef was hardly cooked, which I imagined was right for his taste.

After breakfast I was alone in the public room with him. I watched him pick up a heavy book from the table. Then he started to slowly count in his strange language how many pages were in the book. Every time he finished counting fifty pages, he would stop and whistle in surprise. Then he'd continue counting.

I couldn't help but wonder why he wasn't friendlier with the other seamen who were staying at the hotel. But I have to say that I also liked him for it. I realized that he was a man 20,000 miles away from his homeland of New Zealand. He couldn't have been in a place more foreign to him than if he'd landed on another planet.

Even though he was so far away from his home, he still was able to keep himself relaxed and comfortable, happy with his own company. I felt myself quite attracted to him. I decided to move my bench close and try my best to talk to him. I didn't have to speak first, though, for he soon asked me if we would be sharing a room together again that night. When I answered yes, he looked quite pleased, as if I'd shown he was a good person by not changing to a different room.

Then he tried to explain the book whose pages he was counting—what printing was and what the pictures in it meant. Since I also liked tobacco, I suggested that we should smoke a little. He took out his tobacco sack and axe-pipe. We quietly sat passing the pipe back and forth between ourselves.

When we had finished the pipe, he pressed his forehead to mine, held me around my waist, and announced that we were "married." At first I was a little shocked but I learned that in his country's language he meant that we were now best friends and that he would even die for me if he had to. I was deeply touched by his feelings. Here in America, we don't often trust people so quickly. Close friendships take a long time to form. As for the case of this kind wild man, the old rules of America just didn't matter.

After dinner and another friendly smoke, he gave me his shrunken head as a present. Then he took his tobacco sack and looking under the tobacco, took out about thirty dollars worth of silver. He divided the money into two halves and told me that half of the money was mine. I tried to refuse his offer, but he wouldn't take "no" for an answer. He picked up the silver money and put it in my coat pocket.

Next he took out the little bent statue I had seen him use last night in his ritual. He could only explain himself in his own language, which of course I didn't understand, so he made signs to let me know he wanted me to join him in his religious ceremony. This created a problem for me. As a good Christian, I knew worshipping statues was against my religion. But then I started to think about my God. I knew that God didn't want us Christians to worship other Gods, but it didn't seem possible that He, the mighty ruler of all heaven and earth, would be mad about a little piece of wood. Also, didn't I learn in church that God wants us to do things to make other men happy, just as we want them to make us happy? I decided to light the fire and then offered the statue some burnt cake, and bowed once or twice. After this, I went to bed. Queequeg was already awake when I woke up early the next morning. He began to tell me about his life. "I was born on Kokovoko—a small island in the South Pacific," he explained. "My father was King, and my uncle was High Priest of the island. I will become King when my old father dies. But first I wanted to see the Christian world so I can bring back great improvements to my people."

"So when a whaling ship came to Kokovoko, I begged, begged the captain to take me on the ship. The captain said no, but I would not give up. I rowed my boat to the narrow place that ships must enter. Then I put a hole in the boat so that it sunk in the water. After that I climbed up the side of the ship, and threw myself on deck. Again the captain said no. But when he saw how serious I, the chief's son, was, he decided to let me stay on board. There, I learn whaling."

"Are you going to return home soon and to take over your father's position as King?" I asked.

"I watched how other sailors behaved and learned that even Christians could be evil and wicked," he said. "Now I feel that I cannot carry on the line of thirty pure kings that were before me. One day I will feel clean and pure again."

"What are you planning to do now?" I asked.

"I want to sail again," he said strongly.

"I was also going to join a whaling ship and this is why I am here in Nantucket," I told him.

"Then because you are my friend, I will go and sign on to same ship."

This made me happy for two reasons. First, Queequeg was my friend, and second, he was an experienced harpooner. I could think of no better teacher for me on my first whaling voyage.

(end of section)