Ahab's Wife, or the Star-Gazer

  “He doesn’t know, does he, Mother?”

  “Well, here I am,” I said. “I went up to the cupola to watch the moon and fell asleep.”

  “He is a fine, bright lad,” Mayhew said. “I’ve stuffed his ears with tales of whales and ships.”

  “I shall go with Captain Mayhew as cabin boy,” Justice said with horrible cheerfulness, “if my father doesn’t come back.”

  Turning to go, Mayhew said, “Mind your mother, boy. I won’t have a cabin boy who doesn’t mind his mother.”

  “And what has happened to Gabriel?” I inquired.

  “The judge says he’s too mad to hang, and the gaoler has taken him out to Quaise with the other poor, mad folk.”

  “My father is not poor,” Justice said. “He’s very rich.”

  “Hush, Justice. It does not do to brag.”

  Captain Mayhew looked up. “It’s as fine a house as any in Nantucket. And beautiful inside.” He sighed. “I invest in oil,” he said.

  “What whaling captain does not?”

  “Not that sort of lubricant. A new kind of oil, oozed from the ground, lying about in pools over the bogs in Pennsylvania.”

  “Pardon me, Captain Mayhew, but it is unusual for a sea captain to turn landward for his profit.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Captain, but someday the whales will all be dead, hunted to extinction by the likes of Captain Ahab and myself.”

  Justice made a darting motion with his arm. “Let Moby Dick die first!”

  AFTERWARD, I crossed the street to visit the judge.

  “What is this new oil that Captain Mayhew speaks of?” I asked.

  The judge shook his head. “A sad business,” he said. “No one wants the stuff. When you burn it, it billows noxious black smoke.”

  “I fear Captain Mayhew’s taken a loss, then.”

  “Did Captain Mayhew discuss his business with you?” Austin Lord wished to tease me.

  “Why not?” I said, with something of my old sauce.

  “Well,” the judge began, scratching the side of his nose thoughtfully, “you scarcely know Captain Mayhew. One does not discuss business with casual acquaintances.”

  “Do you think Captain Mayhew will stand a heavy loss?”

  “He has already stood a heavy loss, my confidential friend. Now he insists on throwing his money down a sinkhole.”

  “Confidential, of course. Why is that?”

  “The project is undercapitalized. He got into earth oil too soon. There’s no technique for transforming it into something that can be used in lamps. There will be, no doubt, someday. But Mayhew is already living at Absalom Boston’s boardinghouse.”

  “I should like to invest some of my excess in Mayhew’s earth oil company.”

  “Too risky. I advise against. Strongly.”

  But despite my friend’s objections, I made the investment, and substantially. Perhaps I could tide over Mayhew’s enterprise; he tided over my son’s need for a father, for a few days.

  THOSE WERE RESTLESS days and nights for me. My son was taking beginning steps into the broader world. Not only did he go every day to visit the wharf—he soon made friends with many of the mates and crew, and occasionally a captain, for Ahab’s sake, would chat with him—but, as he had proposed, he quickly learned to read and write. His first laboriously written sentence was a simple demand to his father: Tell me about A Chase ye have made this voyage. I was glad for all of Justice’s progress, yet it made me uneasy.

  Many a night I kept a moon watch. I saw her through all her phases. My physical tides became tied to her, and when she was dark, and her gravitation pull was added to that of the sun behind her, then my menses were pulled from me. When she circled around to the other side of the earth and her face was fully lit, there was a ripeness and readiness to my body. Sometimes I thought of Mrs. Maynard’s porcelain devices, but such things repelled me. I did not merely want my sex to soar; I wanted the entirety of Ahab, body, spirit, and mind. During the full moon, I thought of farmers throughout the great plains of the West, of Indiana and Illinois, and how they planted corn and wheat when the moon was full.

  AS THE DAYS, weeks, months, years passed since our parting Christmas Day, and as we received no further word from Ahab after that delivered by Captain Mayhew of the Jeroboam, nor came any ship to port that had seen him, a kind of cocoon spun its slow self around me. Oh, I could still chat amiably, about nothing, with the judge; and the Mitchells would occasionally tell me some interesting fact, but those facts were no more than pinpricks to a determined sleeper. My letters to Margaret were dull, and she wrote back to me more briefly than she had at first. Her observations about her “Summer on the Lakes” seemed intense, but oddly impersonal, and in fact it turned out that she soon published a book of that title, and some of the very phrases and sentences of her private correspondence to me could be read there. I do not know exactly why that disappointed me. Perhaps I should have been thrilled. Only in church did I find some enlivening of my spirit. My minister never failed to say words that seemed to reach down in me and quicken something vital that might lie dormant otherwise.

  I thought of the fog and mist that Christmas Eve when I had told my husband farewell on the cobblestones of Nantucket. There had been strange movement of feet; there had been Fedallah, whom Ahab had reached out and grabbed into our ken. What had been shrouded by that immaterial whiteness? It seemed inside me. It had stopped my throat like cotton and kept me from crying out warnings to my husband and from making enough entreaties to right his mind before he sailed.

  He had used my shoulder like a crutch that evening. He would board the ship under cover of darkness so that none of the crew would see him come a-limping down the street. Stay, husband, stay, my heart pleaded, even then, with the ship emerging before us in the mist, and something like cotton muffling my spirit.

  Now there was a numbness to my life. My son grew. He prospered, for he was eager to learn everything that might fit him for a life at sea. My friends were kind and patient with me during this period, but it was as though they stood on the other side of a many-layered veil.

  Once Maria and I were sitting on the same side of the table in the dining room when she said, “Turn your telescope upon the moon. You could map her face. Galileo was almost burned at the stake for saying the face of the moon was blemished with craters.”

  “Really?” The bit of history interested me. I wished something would burn away my dull anxiety. “Where was the heresy in such science?” I asked.

  “The moon, being a heavenly body, was supposed to be perfect, reflecting the perfection of God’s creation. The church would not brook Galileo’s observation of irregularity on its surface. The observation of sunspots was also a threat to their system of belief.”

  “Surely only a few crackpots would dispute so irrationally?” I poured out tea for us both and told her this was not China tea, but Darjeeling, from India.

  “You assume a time as reasonable as our own. Galileo was invited by the Pope, the very head of the church, to recant.”

  “Truly?” I was incredulous that a person could rise to such power as a Pope and yet be so foolish, even in a distant time.

  “When Galileo refused to recant, the Pope said, ‘Show him the instruments of torture.’ ”

  “And?”

  “Galileo recanted. Now you can use the telescope safely to map the craters of the moon.”

  I smiled at my loving friend. “I doubt that I shall ever travel there.”

  She returned my smile, yet persisted. “There are mares, seas, on the moon, albeit dry ones, as well as craters.” Her eyes glowed over the rim of the teacup. “And one of the seas is called Tranquillity.”

  I gazed into Maria’s face and saw nothing resembling tranquillity but a face where passion had been transformed into scientific curiosity.

  “Do you still search for your comet?” I asked, putting my arm around her.

  “Oh, yes.”

  She waited for a lover she had never seen. br />
  CHAPTER 121: Letter from Susan

  Dear Una. I pretty sur you be real surprised to see how good I write. And to get this letter. How do I aim to mail this letter. Well, I am at your house again. Been north for quite a while. When I got back here, I seed your note saying Welcome Traveler and also how Any business can be conducted by your neighbor, so I just now put your name and then care of him on this envelope. Figure next traveler will take it to him. As I doesnt dare. It dead of winter here now. Just like it wuz when we both here. Good fire going in the hearth. But I be thinking Whoa, Susan. Back up and tell Una where you ben and how it wuz and why you here again.

  Where I ben. Maybe four or five days after I lef you and we shout Freedom, I look behind, see I be followed. I knew who. Wolf-man bounty-hunter you told me about. Had to be. I could see the wolf snout point up over his head, and his beard, and him so small. I saw he wuz gaining, but I move fast as I could. Snow everywhere. I says to myself Just get on top of that little snow hill in the middle of the cornfield. But time I got up on the noll, he caught me. I wuz so scared that I split off and part of me just hung up in the air and watched. But I wuz able to think what to do, anyway. I bought myself free with your money.

  You might wonder how I got the time to tell all this. Trapped in the snow again, here at your house. Me and my friend who was resting here. My friend, he say it must be zero outside. I get to my friend later. Snow near bout to the knee outside, but we warm in here.

  Once the wolfman wuz out of sight, I call out to my part left hanging, just a air shiver-self like ice crystals. Self she come on through sunset air to be with me, and I start on.

  Come deep dusk and the night wind, I know I got to find a place to stay. No house in sight. I start down a little rise and I stumble. I roll down the hill till I a white snowman. Then I have to bust out of all that snow. I done rolled off a little creek bank. Well, I start digging me a cave under the little overhang. I make me an ice cave. Once I get inside, I block up almost all the front opening with snow and ice.

  I go to sleep for a while. Dream I home, warm on the porch, got a sugar cane joint in my hand. Purple case all peeled back, me chewing and sucking on the good part till it limp. It flop over on my hand like a little white mop head. I wake up.

  I wake up hungry in the ice cave, safe from the wind, take off my mitten, grope till I get into my napsack. Touch cornbread with ham bits. Potatoes gone. Still got some honeycomb in your little tin box. I feel around, put my fingertips under that little curled lip, hinge the lid on back—honeycomb just waiting. All sticky. I can’t see much in my ice cave. Jus feel and taste. Doorwall gray with dawn light. I scoop up snow for thirst then I kick and bust out. All bright dazzle.

  I walk on some more. Peddlers pick me up in they wagon and I stay warm in a little tiny room inside the cart, got a little stove even. Her name wuz Judith and she got a black cloud for hair and silver-rim eyeglasses. She stay in the warm room while her husband drive on through the cold. We kin hear the horse feet, so soft, wind moan. She give me some hot tea and it wuz in a clear glass set in a silver cup-holder. She got stacks of dishes in there. Every plate with a silver rim. Silver buckles on harnesses. Pile of silver money on the table—everything all snug in that little moving room. They drive on to some friends of theirs and that woman had a baby while we stayed there. I learn some mid-wife from Judith. I felt good for Emma, but I felt so sad thinking of your baby. We stayed there a bit.

  One night Judith told my fortune and it was a black Jack and a red heart Jack, and she say that Coming and Going may be the same thing, far as I wuz concerned. It upset me.

  Spring come on. Judith and Abraham drive off with the cart, me up on the box between them. Cart wuz yellow with red curly cues, and they give Emma and Paul a little baby cradle painted the same yellow with curly cues on the head hood. But soon they need to drive west and I got to walk north, but it spring now.

  One day I go to sleep under a apple tree covered with blossoms. I chose that tree. You never saw so much pink blooming as that apple orchard and I just wanted to be part of all that pink. Little white girl woke me. She was dressed all in pink check gingham. Her folks wuz mighty nice to me. I did a few chores, stayed there several months, on through the summer.

  The woman picked up with my reading and writing where you left off. She wuz teaching little Molly at the same time. I must brag on myself because my teacher did. I didnt let on that you already started me out and I already got the hang of what it all about, how you sound out the letters. Sometimes I jus spell the way it sound. I know better. That I ought to always write was and not wuz, but if Im thinking about what it is I want to say, I forget the spelling. I can spell just, not jus, too, when I think about it, but I dont want this to be full of blots and cross-outs, so I let mistakes stand. Guess I ought to told Mrs. Anderson I already had some learning but I just bout to bust with pride when she brag on how quick I catch on, and I end up not ever telling. When we read out of the Bible once I get a few words I know what got to be next. Mrs. Anderson say I just about grade eight in reading.

  In one lesson, we was learning the names of shapes. She point out circle, like the lids on the stove, and lines that run parallel, and rectangle like the bed. Then we came to triangle, and go look at the rafters, but I be thinking Triangle, triangle, that what this family be. Three parts. No real place for me. And it weigh on me. It weigh on me so I miss my mam. Weigh like being a slave. They wuz good as could be. But I dont fit into they shape.

  One night Mr. Anderson showed us a comet in the sky up over the barn. I took it as a sign. Like the light of the Lord which led me this far. Next morning I in such a hurry to go, I dont even say good-bye. But I write a note. My first letter to anybody. It say Thank you for your kiness.

  Next place I stayed was with Shaker folks. And they invited me to move right in. Already one old black woman staying there. When I walked across the yard, she rake behind me. Rake out my footprints. She say she dont ever want to own nothing, but if she was young like me shed get something for herself. She didnt even own the rake.

  I stayed on a bit. They wuz wonderful dancers, but men and women all separate. No kind of marriage at all. I think This here some kind of idolatry spite of all they say about Jesus. They got twin stairsteps all in a spiral like they done twirled off the fingertips of God. Staircases so pretty they scare me. Belong in heaven, not this world. Everything so neat and well-made. Chairs hanging on pegboard all around the rooms so cant no dust hide under chairs.

  Then I learn they got overseers. Two women two men live in high rooms looking out over everybody else. They see you do wrong, lazy or grouchy, got envy, het up, anything—you got to confess. Or they confess for you. I dont want to live my life watched. I ben watched.

  They give me a nice oval basket, sausage and bread, a little patty-pan with the cake still in it. Walked north till I come to big water. My heart about broke. Nothing there. Nothing but water and sandy beach. I think this be the ocean you told me about. I taste it, but the water be sweet. Is this why you left your mam and all you know I ask myself. To come to this. This was the wilderness and the dessert. Nothing but sweet water and too much of that.

  Then I see a trunk bobbing along on the waves. Here come something for me. Thats what I told myself. That place wuz such a disappointment. It was nothing. Wasnt nothing there meant anything at all to me. So what if it be freedom. It Was Nothing. I put my hopes in that trunk just jigging along out on the water.

  Fore long it washes up and I step out on the wet sand to grab a handle, pull it in. Didnt have any lock and I opened it right up. I thought Wouldnt it be great if this trunk full of hot bread. Now I knowed that couldnt be, still I hoped. Mighty cool wind off the water.

  Trunk was full of two printed books and lots of hand-written pages. These books said on they cover Faust, on one, and Wilhelm Meister, on the other, and when I open them up, I cant read a word. Now I know I can read. Finally it come to me they got to be in some other language. But the loose pap
er handwriting was in English, but it wasnt a good hand—just dashed cross the page so you had to go slow to make out a letter. I made out one whole sentence. It said Of all the Greek myths that of Orpheus and Eurydice is the sweetest I know.

  I dig on down in the trunk but it was wet and the ink was smeared. Looking for some little something to cheer me up. At the bottom, the words was all washed off. They wuz just pale blue pages. I picked one up. Like a square of sky. I held it up, all tender and wet, and it matched the sky.

  Made me mad as a hornet. I kicked that trunk over. Then I dragged it out to the water. Same water, always moving. Same blank nothing sky. Not even a cloud for me to look at it. Why this place hurt me so, I asked myself. Nothing here for me, I answered myself. Now, I thought, if my mam wuz here—

  Thats when I knew my path and the meaning of Judiths fortune cards. Yes, I knew the way. I wuz going back for my mam. I thought a sentence Of all the folks, love for my Mam sweetest I know. So I have started back. Winter has caught me here for a while.

  Im thinking about you Una. Im hoping this letter find you. I hope that your heart is cheered. I sur did hate to leave you by yourself, but I had to go. You musnt try to find me. Dont forget me. My friend stirring. This be the morning we leave. I got to stop. I aint afraid cause I scaped the jaw of death crossing back over. Another chance, I write you all bout that and my new friend. I will find a way to write to you again for I have copied down the name of your neighbor to send in care of. The reason I dont have the address you wrote down for me it blew away while the dwarf took the money. I still got Libertys hair curl. Hope you dont mind I take a book cause I might not ever see one down there. It say Nature Ralph Waldo Emerson on the cover and I ben reading it.

  Susan Spenser, if I can borrow your name as it was writ in an old book.

  CHAPTER 122: The Samuel Enderby of London Puts in for Repairs at Nantucket

  PRECIOUS PERSON, precious letter! So Susan had looked freedom in the face and found it sterile. But I hated to think of her traveling south. Don’t, don’t! She had written not a word of the danger or of fear. She could not accept freedom when those she loved were left behind. But still I wanted to shout Don’t. The Shakers must have been at South Union, Ohio; the great body of sweet water, where she found only a trunk of books and papers, might have been Lake Erie. I thought of her eagerness to learn, of how much she had already learned from kind Mrs. Anderson. And Susan had loved me enough to write to me. I felt alive again.