Inside the cabin, near the stern windows. Ahab sits all by himself, staring out over the sea.
Wherever I sail, I leave behind a foamy, milky‑white wake. Pale water, and my own even paler cheeks.
Jealous waves roll sideways, trying to wash away my trail. Let them try. I will pass by first.
Out there, along the endless curved rim of the ocean, the warm waves glow red like wine. The golden sun sinks deep down into the blue water.
That sun, which climbed high at noon, is slowly diving toward the horizon. And my soul climbs upward. It grows tired from climbing its endless steep hill.
Is the crown I wear too heavy for me? This Iron Crown of Lombardy.
It sparkles set with many jewels. Yet I, the one wearing it, cannot see those distant glimmers. I only feel dimly that I carry something blinding and overwhelming.
I know it is iron, not gold. And it is cracked. I can feel its sharp, jagged edges cutting into me. My brain throbs as if beating against hard metal. Yes, my mind is like a steel skull‑‑the kind that needs no helmet, even in the most brutal, brain‑shaking battle.
Is my forehead burning hot and dry?
There was a time when sunrise lifted my spirits nobly, and sunset calmed me. Not anymore.
This beautiful evening light does nothing for me. All beauty brings me pain, because I can never truly enjoy it.
I have been given sharp, high understanding, yet I lack the simple ability to take pleasure in things. I am cursed in the most subtle, cruel way‑‑damned even while surrounded by paradise.
Good night. Good night.
He waves one hand, and steps away from the window.
That was not as difficult as I expected. I thought at least one man would stand firm against me. But my single driving gear locks right into all their different wheels, and they turn along with me.
Or think of it another way: they are piles of gunpowder sitting before me, and I am the lit match.
Oh, how bitter it is. To set everyone else ablaze, the match itself must burn away.
Everything I have dared to do, I have willed. And what I have willed, I will finish.
They believe I am insane. Starbuck certainly does. But I am possessed‑‑madness pushed to its furthest limit. A wild madness that grows calm only to understand itself.
The old prophecy said I would be torn apart. And so it came to pass. I lost my leg.
Now I make my own prophecy. I will tear apart the thing that tore me apart. I will be both the prophet and the one who makes the prophecy come true. That is more than you great gods have ever managed.
I laugh and jeer at you. You are like trivial gamesters, boxers, deaf and blind fighters.
I will not beg like a schoolboy bullied by a brute: pick on someone your own size, leave me alone.
No. You knocked me down. But I have gotten back up. And you ran away and hid.
Step out from behind your soft hiding places. I have no long‑range weapon to strike you. Come out. This is Ahab’s challenge. Come and try to turn me from my path.
Turn me? You cannot shift me. If you moved me, you would have to shift yourselves. Humanity has you trapped there.
Turn me aside? My fixed purpose runs along iron rails. My soul is grooved to follow that track.
I rush forward without fault, over unmeasured deep chasms, through split‑open mountain hearts, underneath rushing waterfalls.
Nothing can block me. Nothing can bend this iron‑laid road.