Das Buch

Chapter 2

by Sandalf13-(T)
August 25, 2021

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        It was a fair morning. The sun shone upon rain-washed fields and dewy gardens, still verdant, and still holding vegetables ready for picking. The clouds had fled and the sky was deep blue and clear, but a gentle wind still blew out of the west far away. The air tingled with the smell of freshness and new deeds to do, and Sam woke up refreshed and resilient, ready to take on the world. As he entered the kitchen, he noted his old cookpot hanging from a hook on the wall. Many a time Rosie had gently chided him for keeping such an old pot, but that was the pot Sam used to cook for Frodo on the way to Mordor, so long ago. How it survived the ordeal was always a mystery to Sam, little realizing that it was his own indomitable will to survive, to carry on, that kept him carrying his pack to the very edge of Sauron’s forge inside Mt. Doom. He would not be parted from it.

        Cooking for himself once again, Sam fixed a tasty breakfast and thought about the best way to start his final clean up of Bag End. “What do I do first?” One thing for sure: Rosie’s kitchen was not the first place he needed to start clearing out. Carefully organized and lovingly cared for, Rosie’s kitchen was in no need of any attention from Sam.

        Sam thought for a moment, and headed for his study. He stopped at the study's door and stared at the clutter in front of him. Although not yet thick, dust covered some of the bookshelves and tabletops, but that gave Sam even more reason to start his cleaning. He reminded himself that he had to keep on task or the job would never get finished: his study, like most studies, contained too many distractions. Over the years, Sam had frequently reached for different books on the shelves, reading to his children about the tales of the War of the Ring, and about the long history that preceded it. In his mind’s eye, Sam saw himself sitting with five of his thirteen children, Elanor, Frodo-lad, Rose, Merry, and Pippin in this same room, telling them that King Elessar Telcontar would be coming to the Brandywine Bridge3 on April 2, way back in 1436, and that he and all of his family were invited to meet with him, Arwen, and those who accompanied the King on his journey to his northern realm. Goldilocks and Hamfast had already gone to bed, while little Daisy was in her cradle near Rosie. “Yes, it was in March that we sat together and I read the King’s invitation to the children. Yes, it was in March, because I will never forget that visit of King Elessar to the Shire early that April, so long ago.”

        Many a night Sam read to his children in this study, or told them stories out of his memories of the great deeds at the end of the Third Age of Middle-earth, deeds in which he himself played a great part although Sam never thought about it in those terms. He never spoke too much about it, but Sam’s children knew the huge role that their father had played in the destruction of the Ring. If Sam himself would not tell the tale, “Uncles” Merry or Pippin would always be willing to fill in some details and had no end of enjoyment in telling Sam’s children about the heroism, strength, and endurance of their father. The War of the Ring had taught them all, Sam, Merry, Pippin, and of course, Frodo, a great deal about life. As Gandalf often said, small hands do the work that turn the great events of time and one should always be humble about his or her role in the affairs of the day. Sam still never recognized or acknowledged the esteem in which he was held by not only his fellow Hobbits, but all the peoples of the West of Middle-earth. Modest as he was, Sam did not realize that many of his fellows saw him as a latter-day hero, in the manner of the Elf-friends of old. There were Elves, Men, and Dwarves; Kings, Queens, and Princes, lords and ladies, who would willingly welcome Sam to their hearth in reverence and honor…yet Sam remained himself, the Mayor of the Shire, companion to Frodo, and friend to the Master of Buckland and the Thain of the Shire.

        One thing was for sure. As Samwise had grown and matured, he realized that possessions, whether of gold, silver, or mithril, are often a source of grief. He had decided long ago to keep only the essential things in his home and he generously gave away a great deal of his belongings over the years to his children, friends, and other Hobbits in need. Nevertheless, there was still a lot of stuff in Bag End that he needed to put in order. With a pang, Sam realized that there was now nothing keeping him in the Shire.

        “Shake a leg4, Sam, and get on with it,” he said to himself while entering his study. He glanced up, and gazed at the largest bookshelf. It had been specially made for Bilbo by the Dwarves after he returned to Bag End from Mount Erebor in 2942 S.R., so it was solidly and meticulously constructed, containing six sturdy shelves. Sam recalled that his father, Hamfast, had once commented on the fuss when several Dwarves drove a large wagon up to Bag End in order to install the bookshelf in Bilbo’s study. The Gaffer recalled that it took a lot of work and ingenuity to get the rectangular bookshelf through the round door that opened into Bilbo’s home!

        “Might as well start with this big bookcase,” thought Sam, as he brought in a few boxes that he had prepared to store the books. It was this bookshelf that still contained the original Red Book of Westmarch, the one initially started by Bilbo in his thin, wandering hand but completed in Frodo’s thin flowing script. Frodo had given it to Sam before he left for the Undying Lands. Many a night Sam pored over its pages, ever in wonder at Frodo’s dedication in writing up the fate of the Ring and the history of the War of the Ring. Ever-modest Frodo, of course, recounted in great detail Sam’s valiant efforts to help him get the Ring to The Cracks of Doom, and related how Sam wore the Ring for a short while, when he thought that Frodo had been killed by Shelob’s sting. Given his honesty, Frodo naturally noted that at the end, at the Cracks of Doom, he could not destroy the Ring: the Ring claimed him. It was only because Gollum sprang seemingly out of nowhere to bite the Ring off Frodo’s hand and take the ring-finger with it, that Frodo did not fall to the lure of the Ring. Or was it because Frodo had actually redeemed Gollum, and Gollum did not want Frodo to suffer the fate that he had? Sam did not know then, and would probably never know now. All he remembered was that Frodo’s kindness towards Gollum may have saved his life in the end.

        Sam walked over to the bookshelf and gingerly removed The Red Book from its place of honor on the shelf. “This will go to Elanor and Fastred, for sure,” thought Sam, as he began to remove other books and mementoes from the shelf and carefully place them in one of the boxes he had carried into the study. The Red Book of Westmarch was on a shelf readily reachable by a Hobbit while other, less-important books were placed on higher shelves. “I guess I will have to get a ladder,” muttered Sam, as he looked up at the shelf that contained Lobelia Sackville-Baggins Memoirs and other books, some useful (such as the cookbooks), and some not-so-useful. “I wish Rosie was here with me to help me sort through this mess.” He climbed a ladder to reach the uppermost shelf, much dustier than those below. Taking several books at a time, Sam trundled up and down the ladder, placing them in different boxes, meant for different destinations. At last, the top shelf was cleared of books. Sam took a last look around to make sure that he had gotten all of the books, when suddenly his eye was drawn to what looked like a small bulge in the back wall of the topmost shelf. “What in Heavens name could that be?” thought Sam. “Dwarves are not ones to allow such shoddy workmanship mar their work!”

        Teetering on his toes, Sam looked further into the shelf, and noticed that the “bulge” was not so much round as it was slightly square, and as his eyes adjusted to the lessened light in the interior of the shelf, he noticed what looked like a small keyhole at the right side of what now looked like a small door to a compartment. “This is a mystery to me,” said Sam to himself. “Never would I have thought that this little door existed, yet here it is. Now…if this is a door, surely it must keep something inside? And what could it be?” So saying, Sam saw that what at first had looked like a keyhole was in fact only a small, circular opening. No key that Sam had ever seen would fit into such a small space, but perhaps something else would. “A toothpick? A short, stiff, stretch of wire? What might work here?” Sam clambered down the ladder again, as suddenly a premonition of some great surprise assailed his senses, if only he could open the door. Losing sight of everything else, Sam searched for something to insert in that little opening, to see if that act would open the door. Suddenly Sam saw it…a thin splinter of wood, a relic of a small carving some several days ago. “Perhaps that would work,” mused Sam, as he climbed the ladder once again, but this time, taking a small, lit candle with him to illuminate his work. As he neared the top of the ladder, the urge to see what was behind the small door grew stronger, as if he were being drawn to discover what lay behind. This feeling reminded Sam of the excitement and expectation the Fellowship felt, as they stood before the Gate to Moria, wondering what lay behind those massive doors that Gandalf had finally opened after remembering (following Merry’s hint) the password to open the door. “Yes!” murmured Sam “It fits!” and with a slight, almost imperceptible push into the opening, the door sprang open without a sound. His heart pounding with anticipation, Sam looked into the small space revealed by the opened door. Even at this late stage of his life, Sam could be moved to wonder and surprise, and he quivered with excitement at what he saw.

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