When the last echo of his sultan's step has died away, and Starbuck, the first Emir, has every reason to suppose that he is seated, then Starbuck rouses from his quietude, takes a few turns along the planks, and, after a grave peep into the binnacle, says, with some touch of pleasantness, "Dinner, Mr. Stubb," and descends the scuttle. The second Emir lounges about the rigging awhile, and then slightly shaking the main brace, to see whether it will be all right with that important rope, he likewise takes up the old burden, and with a rapid "Dinner, Mr. Flask," follows after his predecessors.
But the third Emir, now seeing himself all alone on the quarter-deck, seems to feel relieved from some curious restraint; for, tipping all sorts of knowing winks in all sorts of directions, and kicking off his shoes, he strikes into a sharp but noiseless squall of a hornpipe right over the Grand Turk's head; and then, by a dexterous sleight, pitching his cap up into the mizentop for a shelf, he goes down rollicking so far at least as he remains visible from the deck, reversing all other processions, by bringing up the rear with music. But ere stepping into the cabin doorway below, he pauses, ships a new face altogether, and, then, independent, hilarious little Flask enters King Ahab's presence, in the character of Abjectus, or the Slave.
It is not the least among the strange things bred by the intense artificialness of sea-usages, that while in the open air of the deck some officers will, upon provocation, bear themselves boldly and defyingly enough towards their commander; yet, ten to one, let those very officers the next moment go down to their customary dinner in that same commander's cabin, and straightway their inoffensive, not to say deprecatory and humble air towards him, as he sits at the head of the table; this is marvellous, sometimes most comical. Wherefore this difference? A problem? Perhaps not. To have been Belshazzar, King of Babylon; and to have been Belshazzar, not haughtily but courteously, therein certainly must have been some touch of mundane grandeur. But he who in the rightly regal and intelligent spirit presides over his own private dinner-table of invited guests, that man's unchallenged power and dominion of individual influence for the time; that man's royalty of state transcends Belshazzar's, for Belshazzar was not the greatest. Who has but once dined his friends, has tasted what it is to be Caesar. It is a witchery of social czarship which there is no withstanding. Now, if to this consideration you super-add the official supremacy of a ship-master, then, by inference, you will derive the cause of that peculiarity of sea-life just mentioned.
Over his ivory-inlaid table, Ahab presided like a mute, maned sea-lion on the white coral beach, surrounded by his war-like but still deferential cubs. In his own proper turn, each officer waited to be served. They were as little children before Ahab; and yet, in Ahab, there seemed not to lurk the smallest social arrogance. With one mind, their intent eyes all fastened upon the old man's knife, as he carved the chief dish before him. I do not suppose that for the world they would have profaned that moment with the slightest observation, even upon so neutral a topic as the weather. No! And when reaching out his knife and fork, between which the slice of beef was locked, Ahab thereby motioned Starbuck's plate towards him, the mate received his meat as though receiving alms; and cut it tenderly; and a little started if, perchance, the knife grazed against the plate; and chewed it noiselessly; and swallowed it, not without circumspection. For, like the Coronation banquet at Frankfort, where the German Emperor profoundly dines with the seven imperial electors, so these cabin meals were somehow solemn meals, eaten in awful silence; and yet at table old Ahab forbade not conversation; only he himself was dumb. What a relief it was to choking Stubb, when a rat made a sudden racket in the hold below. And poor little Flask, he was the youngest son, and little boy of this weary family party. His were the shin-bones of the saline beef; his would have been the drumsticks. For Flask to have presumed to help himself, this must have seemed to him tantamount to larceny in the first degree. Had he helped himself at the table, doubtless, never more would he have been able to hold his head up in this honest world; nevertheless, strange to say, Ahab never forbade him. And had Flask helped himself, the chances were Ahab had never so much as noticed it. Least of all, did Flask presume to help himself to butter. Whether he thought the owners of the ship denied it to him, on account of its clotting his clear, sunny complexion; or whether he deemed that, on so long a voyage in such marketless waters, butter was at a premium, and therefore was not for him, a subaltern; however it was, Flask, alas! was a butterless man!
It's an interesting little scene. Ahab presiding over the dinner table like some abusive father, everyone afraid to speak or do anything that smacks of independence. And poor Flask, the least among them, stuck with the leftovers, without so much as butter for his biscuit. Fear overruling all impulses, including hunger.
Ahab sort of reminds me of a very wealthy man, now long dead, from my home town. When I was a high school senior, I received a scholarship that was named after him. It was customary that the two recipients of this scholarship--the valedictorian and salutatorian of the graduating class--would meet with this man one morning, have pictures taken with him for the newspaper, and then be treated to breakfast.
When I showed up at this man's place of business, he was surrounded by a whole crew of adults. The principal of the high school. The vice president of the man's company. A newspaper reporter and photographer. Nobody was talking. They had smiles plastered on their faces, and they seemed to be waiting for the man, who was seated at a desk, to say or do something.
I quickly sized up the situation. Here was a man who liked people to be uncomfortable in his presence. Liked the power that came along with his extreme wealth (he was a millionaire many times over). I saw some empty chairs directly in front of the man's desk, and, being very young and unimpressed by this kind of bullying, I walked up to a chair and sat down. The man stared at me, and I stared back at him, not letting my gaze drop.
I knew the man was not going to rescind the scholarship. That would court bad publicity, especially considering members of the local media were already present. I also knew that I wasn't going to spend the next two hours in uncomfortable silence. So, I reached out, stuck my hand in the man's face, and thanked him for the scholarship.
He looked at my hand as if I was some diseased leper for several moments, and then he reached out and shook my hand. Not firmly. He said some form of "you're welcome," and then people went into action. They lined us up for the picture. Told us all to smile. The man remained seated at his desk, from what I remember, so we all sort of crowded around him, like grandkids flocking around a grandparent in a wheelchair for a Christmas picture. The man handed us checks. Then we went out to breakfast.
Of course, at the restaurant, which was chosen by the man, the silence continued at the table. The man ordered his meal first, of course. Then the adults. Then my classmate and myself. People were ordering light meals, that didn't cost a whole lot of money. I ordered something large and expensive. During the breakfast, there were a lot of knives and forks clattering against plates. Not a whole lot of conversation. So I started talking.
Again, I don't remember the details of the conversation I initiated. At the time, my classmate and I were in rehearsals for the senior class play, so I imagine we talked quite a bit about that. It was Thornton Wilder's Our Town, and I was playing the Stage Manager. My classmate was playing either Mrs. Webb or Mrs. Gibbs. I don't remember. But I wasn't going to pass an entire hour in complete silence, watching a rich man sop up egg yolk with his toast.
And then it was over. I left the restaurant with a check in my pocket and dignity intact.
I refuse to be made to feel inferior to anyone, especially because I don't have money or the right social position. Nobody should have to put up with that. My dad worked hard for over 50 years, fixing people's blocked sewers, installing toilets and water heaters. He treated his customers with respect and kindness, whether they were millionaires or unemployed and on disability.
In this way, Saint Marty takes after his father, and Saint Marty is thankful for that.
No comments:
Post a Comment