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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