Previously, on Call Me Moby:
We've finally made it onto an honest-to-god ship. That's right! After over fifty pages of faffing about on land, Ishmael and Queequeg have finally found themselves aboard the Moss, a packet schooner.
"The Moss?" I can hear some of you asking. "I thought the ship in Moby-Dick was supposed to be the Pequod."
Yes, well. Hold on to your trowsers, smarty-pants! We're not there yet. The Moss is simply bringing our protagonists from New Bedford to Nantucket. There I'm sure they'll stumble upon the Pequod sooner or later.
For now, Ishmael and Queequeg are out on the deck of the Moss, enjoying the salt breeze and foaming ocean spray.
Chapter 13. Wheelbarrow. Page 60:
At the same foam-fountain, Queequeg seemed to drink and reel with me. His dusky nostrils swelled apart; he showed his filed and pointed teeth. On, on we flew; and our offing gained, the Moss did homage to the blast; ducked and dived her bows as a slave before the Sultan. Sideways leaning, we sideways darted; every ropeyarn tingling like a wire; the two tall masts buckling like Indian canes in land tornadoes. So full of this reeling scene were we, as we stood by the plunging bowsprit, that for some time we did not notice the jeering glances of the passengers, a lubber-like assembly, who marvelled that two fellow beings should be so companionable; as though a white man were anything more dignified than a whitewashed negro. But there were some boobies and bumpkins there, who, by their intense greenness, must have come from the heart and centre of all verdure. Queequeg caught one of these young saplings mimicking him behind his back. I thought the bumpkin's hour of doom was come. Dropping his harpoon, the brawny savage caught him in his arms, and by an almost miraculous dexterity and strength, sent him high up bodily into the air; then slightly tapping his stern in mid-somerset, the fellow landed with bursting lungs upon his feet, while Queequeg, turning his back upon him, lighted his tomahawk pipe and passed it to me for a puff.
"Capting! Capting!" yelled the bumpkin, running towards that officer; "Capting, Capting, here's the devil."
"Hallo, you sir," cried the Captain, a gaunt rib of the sea, stalking up to Queequeg, "what in thunder do you mean by that? Don't you know you might have killed that chap?"
"What him say?" said Queequeg, as he mildly turned to me.
"He say," said I, "that you came near kill-e that man there," pointing to the still shivering greenhorn.
"Kill-e," cried Queequeg, twisting his tattooed face into an unearthly expression of disdain, "ah! him bevy small-e fish-e; Queequeg no kill-e so small-e fish-e; Queequeg kill-e big whale!"
"Look you," roared the Captain, "I'll kill-e you, you cannibal, if you try any more of your tricks aboard here; so mind your eye."
There are a few passages here that are tricky to parse. Therefore, I shall provide a few helpful translations to assist the troubled reader:
Sideways leaning, we sideways darted; every ropeyarn tingling like a wire; the two tall masts buckling like Indian canes in land tornadoes.
Ropeyarn, or rope yarn: "Yarn or thread composing the strands of a rope." Which is to say, it's rope.
Indian canes: Don't think Navajo walking sticks; instead, think palm leaves. A.k.a. rattan or manila. The "Indian" here refers to the subcontinent, not Native Americans.[1]
land tornados: I mean, I know I'm a lousy land-lubbing boobie, Ishmael, but come on. They're tornados. Just call them tornados.
But there were some boobies and bumpkins there, who, by their intense greenness, must have come from the heart and centre of all verdure.
Greenness has two complementary meanings here: the bumpkins are "green" in that they're inexperienced with sailing, but they're also literally turning green from seasickness. Either way, they're a bunch of land-lubbing idiots who've clearly never been on a boat before.
The brawny savage [...] sent him high up bodily into the air; then slightly tapping his stern in mid-somerset, the fellow landed with bursting lungs upon his feet.
Queequeg grabbed the bumpkin up, twirled him around in the air, and then, after giving him a small smack on the bum, dropped him back to his feet.
Importantly, Queequeg did not send the bumpkin to Somerset a county in England where you can find the historic city of Bath. Instead, somerset is simply an archaic spelling of the word "somersault". Which isn't as exciting, but there you go.
Early on in the passage, Ishmael notes Queequeg's pointed teeth:
His dusky nostrils swelled apart; he showed his filed and pointed teeth.
Tooth filing is a pretty widespread practice, done in cultures everywhere from Mexico to Bali to Congo. Even the Vikings seem to have hopped onto the tooth modification bandwagon at some point.
From what I can tell, though, tooth sharpening is slightly less common. Take those crazy Vikings, for example: they only filed furrows into their teeth, without actually sharpening them into points. Mesoamerican tooth filing, too, was more about carving designs than sharpening. And (as per the very reputably-named stufftoblowyourmind.com) in the Balinese mesangih ceremony, canines and incisors are filed down---not sharpened---out of the belief that teeth symbolize anger, greed, and other savage human instincts.
It was easiest for me to find examples of tooth-sharpening in Africa; but since Queequeg is a Pacific islander, I wanted to find evidence of the practice a little closer to his home. The best I could come up with were the Mentawai people of Indonesia, where "women are encouraged to have their teeth chiseled and filed in order to 'restore balance to their bodies' and increase their appeal."
Apart from these traditional cultural practices, the other context in which tooth-sharpening may be familiar to you is amongst sideshow performers, like Erik Sprague, a.k.a. the Lizardman.
The Lizardman has a whole page on his site about his experience with getting his teeth sharpened by one Dr. Harvey Winters of Albany, NY. (Apparently it cost $250 per tooth.)
Googling Dr. Winters's name brought me to the professional website of one Dr. Harvey Winter---no S---of Albany, NY. I eagerly examined his list of offered cosmetic procedures, but---alas!---although veneers, implants, crowns, bondings, restorations, and tooth whitening are all there on the page, there's no mention whatsoever of tooth sharpenings. Very disappointing.
I hold out hope that there's a dentist named Harvey Winters somewhere out there in Albany who just happens to have really terrible SEO.
Word of the Day: boobie *snicker snicker*
Ishmael's Current Mood: mischievous đź‘ą
[1]: Have you ever wanted to know all about the classification of Indian canes and their zonal distribution? I mean, who hasn't, right? It's you're lucky day!
