Chapter 22 17.fasting

Queequeg's "fast" lasted about a day, so I was in no hurry to get back to the hotel.I respect everyone's religious beliefs, even if his beliefs are a bit ridiculous like ants saluting poisonous mushrooms. In fact, don't our planet still have those sights of kneeling before a dead body with a kind of groveling that no other planet has seen?Just because the corpse had a lot of land when it was alive, and there is also a lot of land in the inheritance after death.Even so, I can't find a reason to despise them. Good Christians, let us be merciful, and not think ourselves superior because some of the members of the human race think otherwise.

Queequeg's fasting of Jojo may have seemed absurd to you, but what was that?As long as he himself does it naturally and harmoniously, with peace of mind, that's enough! God bless you, Christians and pagans alike, for everybody's got their heads smashed before they know what's going on. At last it was evening, and I believed his service was over, so I went upstairs and knocked at the door, but there was no response; I pushed, and it was locked. "Queequeg!" I yelled at the keyhole, but there was still no response. "Queequeg, it is I, Ishmael!" Still nothing.

I panicked a little. Have you had a stroke?I leaned over the keyhole and looked in. I could only see a corner of the room, nothing out of the ordinary.what!what is that?javelin! Yes, that is the javelin that the proprietress took away yesterday!what 's wrong?He was never parted from the javelin for a moment, which meant he was in the room too. "Queequeg! Queequeg!" Something must have happened!He's had a stroke!I pushed the door desperately, but the door only swayed, and there was little hope of pushing it open.I hastened downstairs, met a maid, and told her my opinion.she cried out:

"It's terrible, it's terrible! I went to tidy up the room in the morning, and the door was locked. I thought you both went out!" "It's terrible, it's terrible! Mistress! Mistress! Life is at stake! Mrs. Hussey, Mrs. Hussey! Stroke, stroke!" She yelled incessantly and ran to the kitchen, and I followed behind anxiously. Mrs. Hussey rushed out with a mustard jar in one hand and a vinegar bottle in the other. "Where's the firewood shed? Tell me! For God's sake, find something to open the door!" "Yes, axe, axe! He's had a stroke, yes, he's had a stroke!"

I yelled and turned around and rushed upstairs. Mrs. Hussey looked like she was matching the contents of the bottle in her hand, and she stopped me with her hand: "What's the matter? Boy." "Axe! For God's sake, get another doctor!" "What are you doing?" She put down the bottle in her hand and shouted, "I said what are you going to do? Break open the door? What's wrong with you? Shipmate!" I tried to calm down and told her what happened.She hurried to the little room at the foot of the stairs, took a quick look in, and cried: "Oh, the javelin is gone! I haven't looked at it since I put it there yesterday! Oh, is it another poor Stigs? Another sheet? God, have mercy on his mother!"

"My house is also gone, Betty, you go to the paint box, I want him to paint a sign that says: 'No suicide, no smoking here!'" "May God have mercy on his wandering soul!" "Huh? What's that sound? Wait a minute! Boy, stop!" She stopped me when I was about to hit the door again. "No, no, I can't allow my house to be destroyed! There's a locksmith a mile from here, call him—no, wait!" She put her hand into her pocket, and quickly took out a key, "This time I will be able to open it!" Queequeg, however, locked the safety latch inside as well.

"No, just knock it open!" I yelled, took a few steps back, and prepared to use all my strength to crash down.But the proprietress stopped me again and refused to let her property be destroyed.I threw her off desperately and ran for the door. "Crash!" The door opened. Queequeg sat motionless in the middle of the room, cross-legged, eyes closed, hands resting on top of Jojo's head.He paid no attention to the group of people rushing into the house, remained motionless, as if nothing had happened, exactly like a statue. "Queequeg, what's the matter with you?"

I can't wait to ask. "Have you been sitting like this all day?" asked the proprietress. Queequeg answered no one's questions.I really wanted to push him down all at once. He must have been exhausted after sitting like this for eight or nine hours without a drop of water. "Oh, Mrs. Hussey, he's alive anyway, let me take care of it, if you please." The proprietress heard what I said and left.I closed the door and tried to persuade Queequeg to rest, but he remained motionless and did not lift his eyelids, as if I did not exist at all. Alas, perhaps this annual fast of his should be a day of immobility!I shouldn't bother him, he'll get up sooner or later, he won't stay like this forever.

I went downstairs to eat alone. A few sailors who had just gone on a raisin-cloth voyage—the sailors' common name for a short whaling voyage in the Atlantic north of the equator—were telling stories from the sea, and they told I can't stop talking, and I listen to it with great interest. When it's eleven o'clock at night, I think it's time to go upstairs. But to my astonishment, Queequeg was still sitting there!He's been sitting like this all day, and I'm getting a little annoyed. "Queequeg, move and eat, and don't spoil yourself, for you will die, Queequeg!"

He seemed not to hear anything and was motionless. Forget it, I'll go to sleep first.Before going to bed, I put the heavy and thick bear coat on him. I blew out the wax and tried to get myself to sleep as quickly as possible, but I couldn't.Come to think of it, how could you fall asleep in a room like this cold with a heathen who sat cross-legged all day, no more than four feet apart? ! At last he fell asleep dimly, and woke up in a trance. It was almost dawn, and Queequeg was still sitting there, just like last night! The sun shines through the window sills and into the room.Queequeg moved!He struggled to stand up, his joints rattled, and he turned his legs and walked to the bed with a look of joy on his face.He lowered his head and pressed his forehead to mine, telling me that his fast was over.

My religious concept is tolerant, and I have no objection to others having their own beliefs, provided that that person does not persecute or even kill people of other beliefs because of their own beliefs.It now seems necessary to add that the belief of this heathen must not be such an insane anomaly that anyone who sees the ritual of his belief has to suffer the same bodily torments as the believer. I think I'll have a discussion with Queequeg. "Queequeg, go to bed, I have something to say to you." I started like this, and then I talked about the origin of religion to the current religious schools. In summary, what I want to explain to him repeatedly is that this kind of meditation sitting in a cold room is extremely stupid. It violates the laws of nature and has Hinder your health! I told him that he was excellent in other respects, and that he was a hopeless savage in this one, and it pained me so much!I told him that such a fast that damages the body must damage the mind, and that all thoughts that originate in the process of fasting must also be unhealthy and lifeless.This is why pessimistic religious leaders suffer from dyspepsia. I had to tell him bluntly that the so-called hell is a mental image you have when you have indigestion, and the root of this image, the root of this indigestion is your unreasonable fasting. I asked him if he ever had dyspepsia, and he said no.Only once, and that was at his father's royal banquet.That afternoon they killed fifty enemies and cooked and ate them that evening. "Okay, stop talking!" I resisted the nausea welling up in my heart and quickly stopped his narration.I know the custom in those islands that every time there is a battle, the slain becomes the dish on the victor's plate.There were betel nuts and breadfruit all around, as if the plate contained a Christmas turkey. I think my words had an influence on Queequeg, although I knew it would be good if he could understand a third of what I said, but after listening to my narration, his expression was still a bit serious, and he was not as happy as before.Obviously, he was thinking about something.But unfortunately, I saw another meaning in his face: he must think that he knows more about religion than I do. Seeing my eloquent statement, he was full of pity: "This man who can't understand piety O man of the Gospel of the Pagans, poor man!" We went downstairs, and Queequeg let himself go, and ate and drank every kind of chowder, to the delight of the proprietor: thanks to the fast, he made a fortune! We walked towards the "Pequode" with great interest.As he walked, he picked between his teeth with halibut bones.