More travelogue. More flowery-worded cable TV road show. This one would be on Bravo or A&E--before those networks abandoned their original intentions for greener, dumber pastures. Also, a bit of art criticism, spoiler alert: not the only bit, just the first bit. Some whaling lore. A landlord.
A landlord who reminds me much of any other landlord who always (for some reason) puts me in mind of the poor LA fellow or lady who had to remind Charles Bukowski that rent was due every probably 10th of probably every month. At least they didn't have to deal with Henry Chinaski. I'm rusty regarding Buke. Bukowski? No, "Bulkington! where's Bulkington?"
"Hell is other people." - Satre. Especially when liquored-up whalers and Ishmael has thoughts of hitting the sack but two to a sack? Oy. "Landlord! I've changed my mind about the harpooner. -- I shan't sleep with him." And with that, a bed is rigged by he and Peter Coffin for our hero. But that sucks, the harpooner isn't back to The Spouter yet, and furthermore ain't due back till he sells all his heads.
There's some relief when Ishmael lays eyes on the bed and realizes that four harpooners could sleep comfortably in it--which is my new way of measuring size and/or distance. "Can you change the channel? You're closer to the remote. I'm four sleeping harpooners away!" I digress.
The big big bed is very uncomfortable. Nevertheless, Ishmael attempts to rest and maybe even sleep. Thoughts of skewering the Airbnb host surely danced in his head. Head. Heads. Presumably, they've all been peddled and here, in the cold dark of unfamiliar night, the savage harpooner arrives back and prepares his tattooed cheeks for bed. Not those cheeks... I don't think. I'm just being cheeky.
Not much really happens from there on out in the chapter. Ishmael fears for his life (as Queequeg threatens it) and perhaps for his soul. Queequeg strips down, smokes some tobacco in his murdering tomahawk/pipe, and claims his preferred side of the bed, and also he gets to set the Sony Dream Machine alarm to a time he finds appropriate. We sorta slip into a not-so-nice but nowhere to go but up domestic situation.
I would get into that more in the here and now but that's best left for the next chapter.
Previously: Kaplowitz Media. Commentary on Moby-Dick; or The Whale (1851) by Herman Melville (Ch. 2 The Carpet-Bag)
Next: Kaplowitz Media. Commentary on Moby-Dick; or The Whale (1851) by Herman Melville (Ch. 4 The Counterpane
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