Ahab: What are these eagle claws gripping my brain, inserted into my brain, causing me to kick and stir? What are these termites in the wood of my leg and in the wood of my heart, eating, eating, eating? I know all these things are merely my endless dry desert, my endless expanse of terrain, my endless winding track. What are these colt hooves in my heart, thumping with my heart, going wild, going wild? O I am a lost soul—I have no sweetness left within me—I am all brackish water and bitter rotten fruit. There is a vine, entwined about my heart, putting forth poisonous fruit, putting forth rotten mildewed fruit. I am naked before you, Fedallah. You may touch me with a lover’s touch, or murder me—in either case I am helpless before you.