CHAPTER 11. Nightgown.
We had lain thus in bed, chatting and napping atshort intervals, and Queequeg now and thenaffectionately throwing his brown tattooed legs overmine, and then drawing them back; so entirelysociable and free and easy were we; when, at last, by reason of our confabulations, what littlenappishness remained in us altogether departed, and we felt like getting up again, though day-break was yet some way down the future.
Yes, we became very wakeful; so much so that our recumbent position began to growwearisome, and by little and little we found ourselves sitting up; the clothes well tucked aroundus, leaning against the head-board with our four knees drawn up close together, and our twonoses bending over them, as if our kneepans were warming-pans. We felt very nice and snug,the more so since it was so chilly out of doors; indeed out of bed-clothes too, seeing that therewas no fire in the room. The more so, I say, because truly to enjoy bodily warmth, some smallpart of you must be cold, for there is no quality in this world that is not what it is merely bycontrast. Nothing exists in itself. If you flatter yourself that you are all over comfortable, andhave been so a long time, then you cannot be said to be comfortable any more. But if, likeQueequeg and me in the bed, the tip of your nose or the crown of your head be slightly chilled,why then, indeed, in the general consciousness you feel most delightfully and unmistakablywarm. For this reason a sleeping apartment should never be furnished with a fire, which is oneof the luxurious discomforts of the rich. For the height of this sort of deliciousness is to havenothing but the blanket between you and your snugness and the cold of the outer air. Thenthere you lie like the one warm spark in the heart of an arctic crystal.
We had been sitting in this crouching manner for some time, when all at once I thought I wouldopen my eyes; for when between sheets, whether by day or by night, and whether asleep orawake, I have a way of always keeping my eyes shut, in order the more to concentrate thesnugness of being in bed. Because no man can ever feel his own identity aright except hiseyes be closed; as if darkness were indeed the proper element of our essences, though light bemore congenial to our clayey part. Upon opening my eyes then, and coming out of my ownpleasant and self-created darkness into the imposed and coarse outer gloom of theunilluminated twelve-o'clock-at-night, I experienced a disagreeable revulsion. Nor did I at allobject to the hint from Queequeg that perhaps it were best to strike a light, seeing that wewere so wide awake; and besides he felt a strong desire to have a few quiet puffs from hisTomahawk.