Chapter 29. To Give is Better than to Receive

Bilbo gently closed Fortinbras’ journal and patted the cover with a pitying hand.

‘I don’t think much of your diary, Great-grandfather,’ he said. ‘Heavy rain continues on October the twelfth: there was no need to take pen in hand to report that!’

He lifted the book from his lap and eased it into a place on the small bookshelf in his room, between two picture books of his childhood, fondly remembered when he remembered them at all.

He sighed and slapped his knees with his hands. ‘What to do? What to do?’ he asked himself. He was waiting here by his mother's request, that she might put the finishing touches on his feast. The great Birthday Party was to be an intimate Birthday supper instead. He wouldn’t be standing by the gate, handing out his presents, but would be called to table when the feast was ready – so that he might not be underfoot as Belladonna was busy with the last of the preparations. Good smells wafted in the air from the kitchen, and the sun was dimming outside his open window, where the last of the birdsong was sounding, before the birds took themselves off for their rest.

After the frosty start, the day had warmed rapidly under the Sun’s rays as She rose in the sky, and they’d been able to have a picnic just after noontide at the top of the Hill as originally planned, with the Shire spread out before them like a quilt, bright with autumnal colours. It had been a lovely day, full of sunshine and laughter. Isen had been like a changed hobbit, so different from his first picnic with the Bagginses. Why, he’d walked up the Hill with Belladonna on his arm, while Bilbo and Bungo carried the hamper between them.

No presents had been involved; it had been enough to carry the prodigious amount of food Belladonna had packed away. And they’d eaten it all! …and laughed, and sang, and told stories, and generally had a delightful time. Bungo had taken the entire day, away from business, to devote himself to his son. Belladonna had baked quantities of Bilbo’s favourites, including seedcake enough that he could have it at each of the six meals that day. And Isen… Isen had put away all scandalous behaviour, and had been just like any other hobbit.

Years seemed to have dropped away, and even though he still wore his arm in a sling, and hobbled on a twisted leg, he had left off the eye patch, revealing not only a fading scar that crossed his face from nose to temple, but a perfectly bright eye that had heretofore been hidden from the world, as the hobbit had been hidden. It was no longer difficult to believe that the hobbit was not yet fifty! (Though fifty still seemed awfully old to Bilbo…)

Bilbo checked the presents under his pillow, still safe in their wrappings. A fine muffler for Papa, knitted of the finest Tookish wool, and the lovely bracelet for his mother, and for Isen, a pouch of the best pipe-weed available in Bywater, and a paper full of the sweets his uncle loved best. But there was also… and Bilbo frowned, but his father had been so earnest, and insistent that it would be best if the present came from Bilbo, and not from an adult…

Bil-bo! came his mother’s sweet sing-song. Bilbo Baggins! It’s time!

‘Coming, Mother!’ he called back, and scooped up the presents. He hurried to the door of the formal dining room, to await his guests. Peeking through the doorway, he saw the table gleaming with candlelight, set with the finest of the family silver and china, a snowy cloth of linen, and a veritable feast of bowls and platters of lovingly prepared food.

‘Peeping, are we?’ came Isen’s voice, and Bilbo jumped, nearly dropping his packages.

‘Of course!’ he replied. ‘Who wouldn’t?’

Isen chuckled, but when he looked quizzically at his nephew, as if waiting for his gift to be presented, Bilbo said, ‘Ah-ah-ah! Mama first! She did most of the work, or so I’m told!’

Laughing, his mother came from the kitchen, wiping her hands. ‘On that notable day, and on this one!’ she agreed.

Bilbo managed to hold out her present without dropping the others, and she took it and thanked him with, ‘But let’s open them all together, shall we? Such a tearing of paper as we’ll make…!’

‘One at a time, my dear,’ Bungo said, from behind his wife. ‘One at a time, that we may show the proper appreciation for the giver…’

Belladonna affected a frown. ‘Oh, you’re not at all adventurous!’ she accused.

Bungo laughed. ‘I’m more adventurous than you’d think,’ he teased. ‘I married a Took, after all.’

‘And this is for you, Papa,’ Bilbo said, separating his father’s bulky package from Isen’s.

‘And this last for me, I hope?’ Isen said. ‘Or is it for some other guest who has not yet arrived, and nothing for your poor, hopeful uncle?’

‘Well, since no other guest has arrived, I suppose you may have the last of the presents,’ Bilbo said. ‘But don’t let it go to your head!’

‘Not a hat, then, I deem,’ Isen said, tilting his head to one side. ‘Pity, that, for it was so very chilly this morning. I could use a good hat!’

‘I’ll keep that in mind for my birthday,’ Bungo said. ‘But now, lest the food go cold…’

‘We cannot have that!’ Belladonna said. ‘Not after I’ve been slaving half the day…’

‘And slave-driving into the bargain,’ Isen said, putting on a long-suffering tone. ‘Who do you think had to taste everything, to make sure the seasoning was right?’

‘Come in, come in,’ Bilbo said, remembering his duties as host. ‘Come and take your seats! Let us feast!’

This was answered by hurrahs from his guests, and all of them took their places around the festal board.

Not much was said until the first part of hunger was satisfied, and satisfied well. The roast was succulent, the potatoes done to a turn, and all the accompaniments were “perfection itself”, as Bungo declared each one. ‘Why,’ he said, ‘the Brandybucks themselves could not have set a better table, and you know what they say about Brandybucks!’

‘But not in polite company,’ Isen said behind his hand, and all the adults laughed.

‘Someday I am going to know what that means,’ Bilbo said, looking from one adult to another.

‘But not yet,’ Belladonna said hastily. ‘You’re young yet. Wait until you reach your majority.’

At last it was time to open the presents, and despite Belladonna’s wish for a grand, loud tearing of wrapping paper, she gave in and consented to go first, though she tore her paper wrapping just as loudly as she could, all by herself.

‘Oh!’ she cried, on seeing the contents. ‘Oh, Bilbo, it’s lovely!’ And she held the bracelet up, to show it off to greatest advantage, sparkling in the candlelight.

‘Well done, my boy,’ Bungo said. ‘You’ve made your mother very happy.’

‘In more ways than just this,’ Belladonna said, and her smile was luminous. ‘I couldn’t have asked for a better son, over all these twenty years, and I have no doubt for the future.’ She held the bracelet out to Bungo, and he solemnly fastened it on her wrist, which she moved to catch the light, that all might further admire the gift.

At last she said, ‘But it’s Bungo’s turn, now! He contributed a little something, after all.’

‘Very little,’ Bungo said with a laugh.

‘He is the image of a Baggins,’ Isen pronounced, after a careful examination of Bilbo. ‘I don’t see any Tookishness at all, as a matter of fact.’ He peered at Bilbo more closely. ‘Are you sure we’re related?’

‘I’m certain,’ Bilbo returned. ‘And after Papa opens his gift, you may open yours.’

‘I thought it belonged to some other cousin,’ Isen said.

‘No. I’ve decided it’s for you,’ Bilbo said.

‘Very well. Bungo! I’m perishing of curiosity!’

‘We cannot have that!’ Bungo said, unfolding the paper around his gift, though his wife most earnestly pleaded with him to tear it. ‘Ah,’ he said, unrolling the muffler and wrapping it about his neck, caressing the soft texture. ‘Finest wool imaginable. It must have come from Tookish sheep.’

‘It did,’ Bilbo said, well pleased. ‘I’m glad you like it.’

‘It will be perfect if we have any more mornings like this morning,’ Bungo said. ‘And now, Isen, it’s your turn. You had better open up that package before some long-lost cousin shows up on the doorstep to claim it.’

‘I’d like to see him try,’ Isen said. ‘Finders ought to be keepers, I always say.’ He pulled his package to him and held it down with the weight of his crippled arm, while tearing at the paper with his good hand.

‘Ah!’ he said. ‘A new pipe-weed pouch! I’ve been needing one of those.’

‘And filled with pipe-weed,’ Bilbo said proudly. ‘The finest Longbottom Leaf to be had! I tried for Old Toby, but there wasn’t any.’

‘I’ve always preferred Longbottom Leaf to Old Toby anyhow,’ Isen said complacently. ‘Ah, but it’ll be a treat to have a pipe after this fine meal. Will you join me, nephew?’

‘I’ll be happy to,’ Bilbo said, thinking gladly of his new pipe.

‘And peppermints!’ Isen said, opening the paper of sweets. ‘Such a treat!’ And nothing would do, but that he should pass the paper around, and everyone must pop a sweet into his or her mouth, before he would go on.

‘And yet one more thing,’ he said, looking quizzically at the last tissue-wrapped object that had been in the parcel. ‘Seems to me as if three long-lost cousins ought to be showing up at the door! I have three in my parcel! Nephew, what is the meaning of this?’

‘Well, I knew you’d be sharing the sweets, for you always do,’ Bilbo said honestly, ‘and so that could not be your main present. And Mama had such trouble trying to mend the torn seam of your pipe-weed pouch, that I thought I’d spare her the grief by giving you a new one, and what is a pouch without pipe-weed, I ask you?’

‘And so you didn’t regard either one as a proper present, eh, lad?’ Isen said with an approving nod. ‘You’ll go far!’

And Belladonna fought a sudden chill, hearing these words from her ill-fated, far-travelled brother to her beloved son, but she fought the shivers down bravely and covered her unease by saying, ‘So what is the last bit? What do you consider a proper present, anyhow, Bilbo?’

‘Open it and see,’ Bilbo said, covering a bit of unease himself by putting on a jolly tone. After all, it was properly his father’s present, and not his own, and he wasn’t sure what Isen would say… but his uncle, at the very least, would have to be polite, and even if he put the present away with other mathoms, to be re-gifted at a later time, politeness said he’d have to make a show of finding it useful, at least for a little while.

Isen squeezed the tissue-wrapped bundle. ‘Feels like a ball,’ he said. ‘A ball of wool? Is it that I’m to take up knitting?’ He laughed, for with a useless arm, it was a ridiculous idea.

Bilbo held his breath, and Isen, glancing into his nephew’s face, stilled a moment, still stroking the tissue. Somehow the uncle sensed that this was something of import to Bilbo, and he didn’t want to hurt the lad’s feelings, not on this special day.

‘Let me see, now,’ he said, working at the tissue with the fingers of his good hand, until he found an opening and was able to tease the wrapping away. ‘Ha.’

‘What is it?’ Belladonna said, peering in puzzlement at the ball that was revealed, apparently made of strips of woollen fabric, wound round and round, wrapped and sewn together to make a ball, firm, yet squeezable.

‘Is it so that we can play “catch and throw”?’ Isen said. ‘I thank you, nephew, for thinking of me, and wanting to spend time together.’

‘It’s for your hand,’ Bilbo said, fumbling for words.

‘My hand,’ Isen said, lifting the ball in his good hand and giving it a firm squeeze.

‘No,’ Bilbo said, and rose from his place. ‘No, you take it… so…’ He took the ball from Isen, and eased it into the curled fingers protruding from the sling. ‘Now, squeeze.’

The fingers moved, ever so slightly. ‘That’s right,’ Bilbo said in encouragement. He added the words his father had told him to practice, over and over, until he could own them. ‘You keep on squeezing, as often as you can every day, whenever you have nothing else to demand your attention, or even if you do. You squeeze, and release, and squeeze again, and work the hand…’

‘Work the hand,’ Isen said absently, staring at his useless hand, with the ball in its grasp.

‘Work the hand,’ Bilbo said. ‘Like a babe, learning to walk… He doesn’t just get up on his feet one day and walk, but he crawls first, and strengthens his legs, and then when he gets up, he stands, and bounces on his legs for quite some time, and then he takes a step…’

‘What do you know about babes?’ Isen wanted to know. ‘There are no little brothers or sisters crawling about, that I didn’t know about, are there?’

Belladonna and Bungo were holding their breath, and Belladonna had taken her husband’s hand under the table, and was squeezing it hard. She had suddenly understood where the ball had come from, and what her husband had intended, and why he had used Bilbo in his scheme.

‘See?’ Bilbo said, distracting his uncle. ‘See? Your fingers moved, even if it was only a little! Why, I think if you were to exercise them, like a babe, learning to walk, why…’

‘Why…’ Isen breathed, and something like hope bloomed in his face. ‘Why, I just might learn to dance, even, to fly…’

***

A/N: Bilbo's response to Fortinbras' journal was modelled on Frodo's thoughts on Caradhras, in "The Ring Goes South" from Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien. Thank you to Dreamflower for supplying the quote, when I could not find a single copy of the three sets of LOTR we own...