A Bosom Friend — Moby-Dick

Mapple's benediction is still ringing in the air when Ishmael returns to the Spouter-Inn and finds Queequeg alone by a low fire, whittling his little idol's nose and humming in a heathenish way. Queequeg left chapel early; now he pages through a large book, counting by fifties and gurgling astonishment each time the pile starts over, as if fifty were the largest number the world allowed. Ishmael watches from the casement while the storm booms outside and the evening gathers round two solitary twain.

You cannot hide the soul, Ishmael decides, reading honesty and a dare-devil spirit through unearthly tattooings and a head that reminds him absurdly of Washington's bust. Queequeg's calm self-collectedness, twenty thousand miles from home yet equal to himself, melts the splintered heart Ishmael had turned wolfishly on the world. Christian kindness has proved but hollow courtesy; he will try a pagan friend, moves his bench nearer, shares smoke from the wild tomahawk pipe, and thaws the last ice until Queequeg presses forehead to forehead, clasps his waist, and declares them married in his country's phrase: bosom friends who would gladly die for each other.

After supper Queequeg gives Ishmael the embalmed head, splits thirty silver dollars without remonstrance allowed, and begins evening prayers to Yojo. Ishmael, Presbyterian born and bred, argues himself through worship: do to Queequeg as he would be done by, ergo kindle the shavings, salame the idol, kiss its nose, and sleep at peace. In their hearts' honeymoon they lie chatting in bed like man and wife opening the bottom of their souls, while the voyage that will test the bond still waits beyond the inn door. What will Ishmael owe a friend who already halved his purse before they had chosen a ship?