The sailors of the Pequod had their own dreams after getting off the ship.
"The Bluefin Harbor. I'm going to open a seafood teppanyaki place right in front of it. I already scoped out a prime location on the last voyage."
"Isn't that just copying some famous place in the marlin harbor?"
"No, it isn't?!"
Ishmael's light jab at the seafood teppanyaki place was Starbuck's goal.
"Pip wants to make a lot of money. Pip's going to be a landlord. They said that's the most profitable thing."
The already mercenary Pip wanted to be a landlord.
Though Starbuck beside him seemed to have a slightly different idea.
"Hmph, I've already pegged that one as my dishwashing lackey. I saw him last time—he's good at scrubbing off grease."
"No, Starbuck, Pip's going to live under Pip's building. You have to pay Pip money."
"...So the first mate is just a punchline to you people, isn't he?"
"Pfft."
[People like me, who had buried the past and lived by barely grasping the next inch in front of us with no dream and no future. While crossing paths with life and death aboard the ship, we leaned on one another and, little by little, began to imagine a future.]
...Future, huh. It didn't seem like a word that suited me very well.
I was always too busy surviving the immediate moment to ever think about some grand dream of mine.
I had a nominal future under the label of living normally, but was that really what I wanted? Even I couldn't say for sure.
[I drew something too. In a small, fishy harbor veiled in fog, I walk with Queequeg. In my hands might be thick books, or... a suspicious blade with a clean finish, or maybe just the day's tasty meal. And then... I'd keep worrying it over. How to live steadily, and without fuss.]
I feel a subtle kinship with Ishmael from the past.
A modest dream, and a life spent chasing it—that sort of story, the kind that could happen anywhere.
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I wasn't all that different either. I walked a similar road, and I had my own ending.
Thinking about that, Ishmael and I might be rather alike. Maybe that was why Ishmael's attitude toward me had been unusually gentle.
Suddenly, I found myself wanting to say something to Ishmael—something comforting, or at least something helpful.
Something useful for a person in that state... Should I dig through my old memories for once?
What would I have wanted to hear back then?
"....."
"...Saramago, is something wrong?"
"...No. Nothing."
I really have no talent for comfort. If I can't even remember what I myself would have wanted to hear, that only proves it more.
Still, I'm also the kind of person who can, in one way or another, produce the end result called comfort for someone else.
I quietly looked at Ishmael. Dante must have seen the same scene I did.
Which meant...
"Ishmael, when this operation is over and we go back..."
That stupidly kind human was going to try to do something.
"....."
Dante chose his words. It was about time I started climbing out of the dream too.
At some point, I'd come back to reality. I couldn't quite remember when.
That wasn't important right now, though. Maybe I should just play along with Dante's words. It was probably going to be some silly remark anyway.
"Let's all go get ice cream together. Last time, only a few of us got to have any."
"Pfft... That sounds nice. I'll pay."
What a genuinely funny person. How does he have the nerve to say something like that there?
It was Dante's own witty reply, but Ishmael's reaction was rather lukewarm.
Well, even that reaction was enough. The fact that she responded at all was a relief.
"Go back... huh. If I say I'm not going back, what would you do?"
"...What are you talking about?"
"After I blow my heart apart... and finally kill that bastard Ahab with these hands..."
"....."
"After that, would I... have any reason to go back again... any reason to keep living...?"
Wow, we really are alike. The only difference is that the other side at least has a clear purpose.
Though being swept up by something specific is the same either way.
"Is that a formal resignation?"
"...No. Forget it."
Ishmael dodged Otis's probing with a vague answer and kept moving forward.
Could she overcome it? Once you've shoved yourself into a pit, the only way out is to climb on your own.
We could pull her up from the exit, sure, but climbing to that point would be her burden.
For now... I decided to hold off on answering too.
When it mattered more, I'd push at her back.
After the battle with the Abnormality ended and we got back on the ship for a while, we traveled onward for some time.
"A wall..."
Before us appeared a wall of immense thickness.
No, not a wall. This was...
"Beyond this, there is... an artery. It opens and closes. Separately. Briefly. That moment. If merfolk catch you, you break. In two."
Goooooooooooo───!
Just as Queequeg's words were drawing to a close, the wall before us began to open with a massive tremor.
"Merfolk, tear them off. If speed is slow. Split."
"─────!!"
Maybe because of the enormous vibration, the quiet merfolk suddenly swarmed toward us.
There was no time to hesitate. Even without Dante's orders, I might as well take a few measures first.
I swung my spear in a huge horizontal arc and shook off the merfolk that had latched on first.
If the front line's momentum dropped off sharply, we'd be able to seize a considerable advantage afterward.
Right on cue, Ishmael, who instantly understood what she had to do, quickly knocked back the merfolk rushing in after them.
Seeing us escape the crisis just by batting away a few of them made me think I'd definitely done the right thing by stepping in first.
"That should do it."
As the ship passed over that wall, or rather, over some muscle within the whale, Queequeg gave the signal.
"Glad we got through safely..."
"No time to rest. Stay focused."
Wow, does this person never get mentally exhausted? She was the one who pushed hardest, and she's still saying we need to stay focused.
We've been inside the whale for... what, over an hour now? Even so, it's been long enough to lose focus at least once.
I'm already half-delirious from the pills and my lousy condition.
That's the problem with my eye's ability. It widens the gap between people too much. If I activate it, I can calm down a bit, though.
"Hah, that wall twitching like that means it's about to close any second..."
BANG───!!
"Wow, Gregor. Why don't you open a fortune-telling shop? I can even front the money."
"...That's sarcasm, isn't it?"
"You always speak at such oddly perfect times that I wondered if you had some kind of gift."
"If I had something like that, I wouldn't be talking..."
This guy is surprisingly pathetic.
Always getting his words wrong, and for a soldier, being weaker than expected when it comes to acting, too.
Rodion poked at Gregor's cheek with her fingers while he lay back with his forearm over his head, looking dizzy.
Tap. Tap-tap.
That little prank, which kept needling Gregor's nerves, ended with Rodion bursting into laughter at the sight of Gregor's completely harmless attempt at getting angry.
Splish.
Listening to the sound of flowing water, the ship kept heading deeper inside.
But... this is.
"Ishmael."
"...Yes?"
Wow. She answered. I'm a little moved.
"Your headband. It's gotten dirty with blood. Let me wash it—no, never mind. Give it here."
"W-wait...!"
Was it called a desperate knot? The kind of knot Queequeg uses, tied so it can't be undone by anyone alone.
Of course, for someone who hasn't learned it, the structure itself would be impossible to parse, but it wasn't much of an obstacle for me.
Skillfully, as if I already knew its structure, I slowly loosened the knot.
"You're... good at untying that."
"I'll wash it and give it back in a second. Just wait."
I gently wiped the loosened headband against the water below and my own clothes.
It didn't take much finesse. With a little knack, anyone could do this much.
After cleaning the knot with ease, I tied it back onto Ishmael's head the same way.
"That's much better. Is it uncomfortable?"
"...No."
"A desperate knot. You're skilled. Have you learned it before?"
"Ah, no. I've only seen it before. I've never learned it from anyone."
Queequeg's gaze turned toward me.
Had I been a little too casual just now? I was slightly tense, but from the look in her eyes, she didn't seem hostile.
Rather, it felt more like I'd earned some goodwill.
How strange... no, actually, if it's about Ishmael, then it makes sense.
Queequeg seemed quite close to Ishmael. In that case, it was natural to worry about someone who seemed to be standing alone on the outside.
And if there was someone nearby treating her kindly, maybe that brought some relief.
...I'm not the sort of person who should be getting that kind of look, though.
Ishmael wore a complicated expression for a moment, then—let's call her Queequeg... Queequeg-ssi. That sounds awkward.
She began speaking to Queequeg.
"Queequeg, I... survived by holding onto the rope tied to your coffin. That rope that maybe you were the one who held onto... I clung to it desperately..."
"That rope... was also a rope for you."
Between the two of them, a shared understanding clicked into place one piece at a time.
Not a small tremor of emotion. And a vivid memory that could never be forgotten. If a prisoner stood at the center of that, then what followed was only natural.
The Golden Bough in Dante's head. And my eye.
My consciousness is dragged back down into the depths once more. To find yet another memory of Ishmael.
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