Into the Dark, part 14 (after battle)

Queequeg?

What are you doing?!

Queequeg used to spend some nights...

... in crushing loneliness. In unbearable pain.

Queequeg sat in the corner of a dark, dark room. She looked down at her arms.

Then, with a small dagger she uses for cutting harpoon ropes...

She mercilessly tore into her arms. Like she was carving something into her flesh.

This is price.

I peered closer. Her body was covered with countless, strange tattoos. Over them were scars of old and gnashed wounds, cut as though to hide the tattoos drawn on her skin.

Did you... do that to yourself?

I did.

But... why?

Because of shame. Because the tattoos... I engraved them. Myself.

Queequeg... don't do this.

We'll go look for a place that could erase your tattoos. There's got to be one out there, at one of the nests. So... stop hurting yourself like this.

My tattoos, tattooed in a special way. So no normal way to erase.

And... even if there is...

I won't erase like that.

... Why?

No way to be free from... past.

On a Whaling ship, any discussion of the crew's pasts was an unspoken taboo.

Whalers were often running from their pasts,

Wanted to wash their pasts away in the Waves,

Or threw themselves against the Waves in their desperate need for money.

Ishmael. You already knew.

I come from the Middle.

... I had a hunch when I saw your tattoos.

The Middle... never forgets.

Everyone in the Backstreets knows the story. Though it may just be one of those tall tales, it's not a tale one can so casually laugh off.

Once, a child bumped into a stranger and spilled ice cream on his clothes.

The stranger, whose clothes were spoiled, comforted the crying child and sent him on his way home.

That stranger was an officer of the Middle. And the spoiled clothes happened to be his favorite set.

That day was the last day anyone, including the child, ever saw the child's family.

Maybe it's just dark humor. Maybe it's just one of those countless, baseless urban legends. But no one dares to treat this tale like it is.

Because the Middle really was like that.

But the Middle that I've heard of...

…….

I know that the Middle accepts anyone into their fold... But... I also heard that once you're a part of the Middle... they'll never let you go...

Yes. The Middle remembers. The Middle never forgets. Never.

So, can't leave. So they captured me.

They said to me... to really leave, erase everything of the Middle from me. If not, they catch me again.

My tattoo is the Middle's brand. So I cut up the brand. Have to.

My speech, also touched by the Middle. So I went to doctor... to cut up my tongue. To cut up my brain. To break myself.

......

And I ran. Again.

Even after you lost your speech... even after you cut your whole body up to erase your tattoos... they're still coming after you...? That's too high a price...

Not true.

Back then... I was...

... a maggot.

Hey, you're being too hard on yourself, even if it's just a metaphor...

Crawling in filth. Thinking filth was everything.

Thought filth was the world. Thought I knew the world.

They wanted to make me 'Big Sister'.

So I killed. And killed. And killed. Not because of orders. Killed with my own hands. Because I wanted to. Because I wanted respect as Big Sister.

... No.

We're all... still in our cocoons. Soon, we'll break out of our shells and be born again… okay?

Born again...

Yeah. Once this voyage is over...

... let's go find it together.

A way to break out of our cocoons...

How?

I dunno. That's why I want to go find it with you, together.

This is first time.

First time I heard Ishmael... saying she don't know.

…….

That's how we started looking beyond this voyage.

Kraken Port. That's gonna be the home of my very own seafood grill joint. I've eyed up a nice place during our last voyage, y'know.

Aren'tcha just copying that one popular place from Marlin Port?

I ain't!

Pip wants to be rich.

Pip wants to be a landlord. Landlords make a ton of money, y'know.

Heh. I've got my eyes on you, kid. You're gonna be my dishwasher. I've seen how you scrape the oil off the ship!

No, Starbuck. You'll rent Pip's building. And you better pay rent on time.

... My first mate badge don't mean crap to you guys, don't it?

Pfft.

People who wanted to bury their pasts. People living from one day to the next without dreams, without futures. People like me.

Between every close call, between every moment of triumph, amidst the brutal trials we endured in solidarity, we began to sketch the rough pictures of our futures.

I sketched something for myself, too.

In that sketch... I'm walking alongside Queequeg in some small port shrouded in mist and the smell of fish.

Maybe we're holding large textbooks in our hands.

Or... maybe we're carrying suspiciously well-maintained weapons.

Or maybe we're just heading somewhere with our hands full of tasty treats for the day.

And... we kept sketching.

How we will continue to live out the rest of our days. How we will persevere.

Here, Ishmael stared wordlessly into her shimmering reflection. Into the rippling and opaque river of acid surrounding the boat.

Just as she stared into the Lake back aboard Mephistopheles.

Her expression was so solemn and withdrawn... that I couldn't bring myself to even approach her.

In the opaque waters, Ishmael saw...

Herself.

Her future that now rested forever out of reach, at the cold abyss of the Lake.

Her friends who could never return.

How would it feel to know that your dreams will never come true?

I was too absorbed in this hazy, ruminating thought to realize that I'd approached Ishmael and struck up a conversation.

<Ishmael, once this whole ordeal is over and we go back to Mephistopheles...>

She turns around.

<…….>

<How about we all go get ice cream together?>

<You know, the one Don Quixote wanted.>

It won't matter whatever future I bring up with Ishmael now. None of it would reach her.

So... the most I could offer her now was a hopeful, immediate tomorrow.

Something a little closer than the future that Ishmael is trying so hard to take back.

Go... back?

What will you do, manager...

... if I told you that I don't want to go back?

<... What do you mean?>

Once we destroy the heart, and once I squeeze the life out of Ahab with my own two hands...

…….

... What... would I... go back to? Why would I... go on?

Is that an official resignation request?

... No. Forget it.

<…….>

If Ishmael finally gets what she wants...

What's 'next'? Would there even be anything left?

Should I... is it right for me to even ask her to continue onto the 'next'?