In secret, between the shadow and the soul
This is completely true. Moby Dick is two love stories, one requited and one not.
This was originally meant to be serious, but perhaps Ishmael is just too silly, fawning over Queequeg like a preteen fangirl. Canon Ishmael, at that. (Observe, Robert. I have been making the effort to write more slash, instead of just thinking it.)
Ishmael was the sort of man who, when the ennui of life was getting to him, would leave the city and take to sea. He liked to attribute this to man’s innate attraction to the ocean, but it was probably only the manifestation of his lust for excitement. He loved danger more than life, and this is why he agreed to share a bed with a stranger, a harpooner who was, as far as he could guess, a head hunter.
Ishmael reported that he was terrified upon first seeing Queequeg. This was true, but what he neglected to mention was that despite this, indeed largely because of it, he was also exhilarated. He was excited by the formidable figure of the savage, with his strange complexion and heathen tattoos. He watched spellbound as Queequeg undressed, watching his strong limbs and chest as he revealed more tattoos and sea-sculpted muscles, and did not fully recognize the reality of Queequeg until he had jumped into bed. Ishmael shrieked, startled to find him suddenly so close and real, this wild, impossible man. At the noise, Queequeg touched him curiously and Ishmael shifted away, trapping himself against the wall, unable to bring himself to escape the bed and this exciting predicament, and feeling the barbarian’s rough hands on him, tomahawk still held between his teeth.
At last, when it became apparent that his life was really in immediate danger of termination, he yielded to reason and called for the landlord, but allowed himself in the intervening time before the landlord arrived to revel in that feeling, the imminent threat of death as this man hovered over him, grasping him roughly and growling incoherently. Ishmael was actually disappointed when, upon hearing the landlord’s explanation, Queequeg was so polite and obliging, scooting over to make room on the bed, the action so human and mundane. But he was still dark and tattooed, muscle and blades and danger under his perplexingly civilized manners.
Ishmael slept better than he had in years, pressed against that broad chest, listening to rumbling breaths, dreaming of the terrible sanctuary in the embrace of a dark god. He awoke cuddled in Queequeg’s arms, and sleepily tried to remember how he came to be in this position. He was not, as most men would have been, upset or embarrassed or inclined to leave the inappropriate position. He simply continued his earlier observation of Queequeg’s visage, his strange tattoos and powerful body. The effect, Ishmael decided, was not disagreeable, though the mystique was somewhat diminished by his gentle demeanor, evident even in his sleep.
After Queequeg awoke and removed himself from Ishmael, he offered to dress first, concerned that Ishmael would be too modest to be undressed in front of another man. This concern for Ishmael’s modesty was largely unfounded, as he took the opportunity to watch, shamelessly, as Queequeg went through his morning rituals nearly naked, and only asked him to put on trousers when he realized that the curtains were open. If he had thought more about this, he might have been startled to realize that he had developed a possessive desire to keep Queequeg for himself and not let anyone else see him.
He wondered whether he could just directly proposition Queequeg, whose sense of propriety was so oddly mixed that it was very difficult to predict. He had, after all, proven willing to hold Ishmael the night before and did not seem bothered about it upon waking. It would probably be best to wait until Queequeg gave some further indication of his inclinations, though Ishmael entertained the thought, considering that if Queequeg took offense and killed him, it would at least be a very exciting end. They spent the day together, exploring the docks, and Ishmael was half aware that he was watching his new friend somewhat inappropriately, as he imagined what might happen when they retired for the evening. But if he was standing too close or smiling a bit coquettishly, who were the other sailors to judge? As if they never indulged themselves when they were out at sea and hadn’t seen a woman in months.
Ishmael’s doubts about Queequeg’s affections were mostly resolved when Queequeg grasped him and declared that they were married, and then gave him half of his money. In his account, Ishmael willfully translated these actions as heathen tradition and a limited vocabulary for describing friendship. Really, Ishmael was somewhat embarrassed that Queequeg was more of a gentleman than him, that he would declare them to be married, while Ishmael was still fantasizing about Queequeg’s body. In the end, they were both satisfied.
(The other one is Ahab/Moby Dick.)
This was originally meant to be serious, but perhaps Ishmael is just too silly, fawning over Queequeg like a preteen fangirl. Canon Ishmael, at that. (Observe, Robert. I have been making the effort to write more slash, instead of just thinking it.)
Ishmael was the sort of man who, when the ennui of life was getting to him, would leave the city and take to sea. He liked to attribute this to man’s innate attraction to the ocean, but it was probably only the manifestation of his lust for excitement. He loved danger more than life, and this is why he agreed to share a bed with a stranger, a harpooner who was, as far as he could guess, a head hunter.
Ishmael reported that he was terrified upon first seeing Queequeg. This was true, but what he neglected to mention was that despite this, indeed largely because of it, he was also exhilarated. He was excited by the formidable figure of the savage, with his strange complexion and heathen tattoos. He watched spellbound as Queequeg undressed, watching his strong limbs and chest as he revealed more tattoos and sea-sculpted muscles, and did not fully recognize the reality of Queequeg until he had jumped into bed. Ishmael shrieked, startled to find him suddenly so close and real, this wild, impossible man. At the noise, Queequeg touched him curiously and Ishmael shifted away, trapping himself against the wall, unable to bring himself to escape the bed and this exciting predicament, and feeling the barbarian’s rough hands on him, tomahawk still held between his teeth.
At last, when it became apparent that his life was really in immediate danger of termination, he yielded to reason and called for the landlord, but allowed himself in the intervening time before the landlord arrived to revel in that feeling, the imminent threat of death as this man hovered over him, grasping him roughly and growling incoherently. Ishmael was actually disappointed when, upon hearing the landlord’s explanation, Queequeg was so polite and obliging, scooting over to make room on the bed, the action so human and mundane. But he was still dark and tattooed, muscle and blades and danger under his perplexingly civilized manners.
Ishmael slept better than he had in years, pressed against that broad chest, listening to rumbling breaths, dreaming of the terrible sanctuary in the embrace of a dark god. He awoke cuddled in Queequeg’s arms, and sleepily tried to remember how he came to be in this position. He was not, as most men would have been, upset or embarrassed or inclined to leave the inappropriate position. He simply continued his earlier observation of Queequeg’s visage, his strange tattoos and powerful body. The effect, Ishmael decided, was not disagreeable, though the mystique was somewhat diminished by his gentle demeanor, evident even in his sleep.
After Queequeg awoke and removed himself from Ishmael, he offered to dress first, concerned that Ishmael would be too modest to be undressed in front of another man. This concern for Ishmael’s modesty was largely unfounded, as he took the opportunity to watch, shamelessly, as Queequeg went through his morning rituals nearly naked, and only asked him to put on trousers when he realized that the curtains were open. If he had thought more about this, he might have been startled to realize that he had developed a possessive desire to keep Queequeg for himself and not let anyone else see him.
He wondered whether he could just directly proposition Queequeg, whose sense of propriety was so oddly mixed that it was very difficult to predict. He had, after all, proven willing to hold Ishmael the night before and did not seem bothered about it upon waking. It would probably be best to wait until Queequeg gave some further indication of his inclinations, though Ishmael entertained the thought, considering that if Queequeg took offense and killed him, it would at least be a very exciting end. They spent the day together, exploring the docks, and Ishmael was half aware that he was watching his new friend somewhat inappropriately, as he imagined what might happen when they retired for the evening. But if he was standing too close or smiling a bit coquettishly, who were the other sailors to judge? As if they never indulged themselves when they were out at sea and hadn’t seen a woman in months.
Ishmael’s doubts about Queequeg’s affections were mostly resolved when Queequeg grasped him and declared that they were married, and then gave him half of his money. In his account, Ishmael willfully translated these actions as heathen tradition and a limited vocabulary for describing friendship. Really, Ishmael was somewhat embarrassed that Queequeg was more of a gentleman than him, that he would declare them to be married, while Ishmael was still fantasizing about Queequeg’s body. In the end, they were both satisfied.
(The other one is Ahab/Moby Dick.)