A Voice Apart

S.R. Yule, 1388 / 1389

The first thing Gandalf did when he entered the inn was to locate the best place for him to set his improvised chair.   The second thing was to invisibly improve the acoustics of the room; after all this was not an elven performance and it would need all the help it could get.   He doubted if a hobbit’s ear would even notice the difference, but he knew his would.

Bilbo came and sat down beside him, having just dropped off his batch of Took Turnips with Dora Baggins, who was busy supervising in the inn’s kitchen.  “The after music buffet is looking quite appealing,” he said eagerly, then lowered his voice to a whisper, “If we can make it though the performance, the evening promises to be pleasant.”

“How long is the performance?” Gandalf asked.  

The hobbitess directly in front of him turned around and laughed.  “It varies, Mr. Gandalf, sir.  Sometimes it is only a couple of hours.  Once it went on for four hours and ten minutes!”

“Goodness,” Bilbo proclaimed with alarm.  “How could anyone sit through anything for that long?”

“Don’t worry, it goes quickly,” the hobbitess assured.  “They have breaks while the different groups come on stage.”

“But the audience earns the banquet that follows,” her companion answered.  Bilbo and Gandalf exchanged glances.  “It is part of the price of being a parent, Bilbo Baggins,” she added, “in case you weren’t aware of that when you decided to take in Frodo.”  Bilbo suddenly thought it best to take a break before things began and excused himself.

“I’ve been coming to these for over twenty-five years,” the hobbitess continued to tell the wizard.  “Most of the time it’s lovely, but you had better be willing to sit through a few painfully wrong notes.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Gandalf answered.  “Missus?”

 “Lacy Hornblower,” she said, extending her hand.  “I’m the choirmaster's wife, and most of the musicians are mine.  This is Tawny Burrows.  Her son is a soloist in the chorale.” 

“It is a pleasure,” he responded.  “I look forward to exchanging critiques with you at the banquet.”

Bilbo returned just as the children’s chorus was lining up.  With him was Bell Gamgee.  “Hamfast wasn’t willing to come,” Bell was explaining.  “Good evening, Mr. Gandalf.”

“Hello, Bell,” the ladies in front welcomed.  “Is one of your children singing tonight?”

“Goodness, no,” Bell answered.  “No offense, but my husband doesn’t tolerate the children ‘wasting their time,’ as he calls it, with things like singing.  I’m here because I wanted to listen.”

“Missus Gamgee did sew Frodo’s robe for us,” Bilbo reminded as further explanation.  Knowing hobbit sensibilities as well as he did he couldn’t imagine anyone coming who didn’t have to be there, but as he looked around he saw more than a few hobbits who had apparently come just to listen. 

The sconces along the walls were extinguished as the chorus ascended the stage.  The audience hushed.  The young singers, all ages 9 to 15, fidgeted in their long white robes.  A few of the youngest waved to their family members.  The choirmaster entered to enthusiastic applause.  He took center stage and bowed to the audience.

“Welcome, one and all, to the annual Yule concert,” he began.  “We have a very full evening planned for you tonight.”  Minor applause and a few deep sighs.  “Our order is somewhat changed this evening from what many of you know.  The chorus will sing first, followed by the chorale and the adult choir as usual.  We will conclude, however, with a unified work of my own of mixed voices from all of the age ranges.”  Approving murmurs were heard scattered. 

Gandalf was pleased to discover that hobbits were not entirely tone deaf.  The young children had stronger voices than he had anticipated for their size and overall fared better under this choirmaster’s guidance than some of the human equivalents he had listened to over many a year. When singled out, however, their individual voices strayed across the scale as they tried to land on the correct notes.  The wizard winced many a time in spite of himself.

Gandalf clapped politely when the chorus finished, noticing that Bilbo did not.  The children’s parents, however, were extremely supportive, with cheers and whistles of approval.  Gandalf looked down at Bilbo and wondered if the demanding hobbit would relent to clap for Frodo when it was his turn.  

The chorus exited and the chorale entered in their burgundy robes.  This group was far more refined than the chorus members had been.  They stood very still as they waited for the musicians to take their seats and give a final tuning of their instruments.  Frodo glanced slightly in the direction at the wizard; Gandalf being so unmistakable in the crowd.  The boy’s oversized blue eyes glimmered in the lights at the base of the stage and the barest of smiles touched his lips. 

Gandalf looked around at the other chorale members.  No others seemed nervous.  He would have taken a moment to reflect on the matter had the choirmaster not reappeared at that very instant.  The audience again fell silent.

There was no doubt as to which child was the lead.  Standing directly behind Frodo, he had many solos.  It was true that his was an excellent voice.

A few of the other children soloed on a stanza or two, and the accompaniment was quite pleasant.  In fact, the chorale’s part of the performance was nearly flawless.  Bilbo and Gandalf both clapped enthusiastically as the young hobbits took their bows.   Many hobbits stood up when Warren Burrows took his bow.  Gandalf joined them because he knew that with his size it would be noticed if he didn’t. 

He went outside to get tea at the following intermission.  “A fine job,” he called when he spotted Frodo talking with the soloist and several of the musicians.  It was no exaggeration. 

Though not matching elven song, the adult choir was every bit as good as any human vocal ensemble that Gandalf had ever heard.  He found himself relaxing now that Frodo’s part was over and he was truly able to enjoy it.  To his left, Bilbo was thoroughly involved in the music.  The applause at the end of their performance was vigorous.

“I’m glad we came, Gandalf,” Bilbo said as they returned to their seats following the last intermission.  The performance had already gone nearly 3 hours, but they were ready for the finale, however long it would be. 

Tawny Burrows and Lacy Hornblower came back in excitedly.  “My husband has been composing this next work for quite a few years," Lacy explained.  "We are in for a treat.”

“He obviously has a good ear for music,” Gandalf said, looking forward to it himself.  “I’ve been impressed by his arrangements of the familiar tunes.”

It took quite a while for all the performers to take their positions.  The green of the choir robes filled the back risers, while the burgundy of the chorale filled the bottom ones.  Not all of the little chorus members came in, but those who did interspersed themselves with the chorale members in the front row, their white robes standing out in the burgundy.  Frodo was on the end of the front row.  Fortunately it was to the side on which Gandalf and Bilbo were seated, so their view of him was unhindered.  He still looked nervous compared with the others on the stage.  Warren, the now identified lead and soloist from the chorale, and the female soloists, stood just next to him.  The male soloists stood on the opposite side.

The instrumentalists again warmed up and the audience members repositioned themselves excitedly.

The choirmaster came forefront and bowed.  The music began.  It was not the rollicking fun of many of the earlier pieces, but captivatingly emotional.  There was nary a dry eye in the house.  Gandalf listened spellbound, for this sound did equal that of the elves.

The chorus and chorale members’ parts were wordless, save for a breathtaking solo by Warren and a simple duet sung by two lads from the children’s chorus.  The choir sang in the common tongue, yet the pronunciation was lyrical.  The voices mingled perfectly, and the accompanying instruments ebbed and flowed and built to crescendo.   Then, abruptly, all sound ended and a single pure voice rose out of the silence, causing a quiver to rise up everyone’s spine with it.  It was several notes in before Gandalf realized the voice belonged to Frodo.  It was even longer before Bilbo realized it.

The solo was not just a line long but a full song in itself, suspended in time.  When the rest of the ensemble swelled underneath it the audience took a collective breath.

It ended.  No one made a sound as the choirmaster dropped his baton to his side.  As he turned to face them a roar of excitement crashed through the auditorium.   Everyone was on their feet with cheers so deafening that Gandalf worried that the structure of the Inn might collapse around them.

The choirmaster turned and crossed his hands over his heart in gratitude.  Tears escaped from his eyes at the response.  When the ovation stilled, he turned to direct the choir to bow and the musicians to stand.  Clapping resumed wholeheartedly. The principle soloists took their bows and the applause grew.  The two chorus boys took their bows.  It increased.  Warren took his.  It amplified.  Then it stopped altogether.  All eyes were on Frodo.  He stepped forward and meekly leaned toward the audience.  The tumult was overwhelming.

It lasted only a minute more before the buffet table drew everyone’s attention.   Thus Frodo was introduced to the brevity of fame.  As uncharacteristically shy as he was for a hobbit, he was thankful it didn’t last long. 

*

“What are these?” Bilbo asked in wonder as he opened his box from Gandalf the next morning.  There were many compartments, each housing what appeared to be richly colored pieces of plant.  Some were powdered. The smells seemed intoxicating.

“Spices, Bilbo, of exotic natures,” Gandalf answered.  “They were given to me Radagast the Brown, who received them in turn from one of our order who has gone to the realms east of Middle Earth.  I think they’d be put to better service in a kitchen than in my cooking pot, so I am re-gifting them to you.  They should last at least a year.”

“How are they best prepared?”  Frodo asked from behind his uncle’s shoulder.  He was breathing in the aromas deeply, and his eyes seemed to float in a kind of ecstasy.  “Have you recipes?”

“I do not know the proper usage, Frodo.  You and your uncle will have to experiment.  Know only that they should be used sparingly, for they impart a great deal of flavor and they are each very rare.  I cannot predict when next I will be given more.”

Bilbo looked at the lid of the box, which was designed to form a tight seal in each compartment when closed.  Gandalf had marked it with the name of each spice – ajwain, cumin, cinnamon, cloves, coriander, nutmeg, ginger, vanilla, fenugreek powder, turmeric, galangal, kalonji, kala jeera, caraway, saffron and pepper.   “This is indeed a fine gift, Gandalf.  I do not know how to thank you.”

“By testing them out while he is here, of course,” responded Frodo eagerly.

The gifting could not be uniform.  As was typical in hobbit households the child was the major recipient, and thus Frodo got clothes and a supply of papers and inks from Bilbo; and from Gandalf a small book the wizard had long carried with him on nurturing nature.  Bilbo gave Gandalf some “Old Toby” leaf.

“I have something for each of you,” Frodo said as they were finishing up.  He ran off to his room.

“But you have already cleaned the hole,” Bilbo said as he returned.  “That is enough.”

Frodo smiled.  “They’re not much.”  He handed the larger package to his uncle and then turned to Gandalf.  “I know you don’t have much room to carry unimportant things around with you, so yours is smaller.”  He stepped back and instructed them to unwrap them together.

“Why, Frodo, this is exceptional,” Bilbo said as he opened his.  “Who did this?”

“I drew the picture,” the boy answered.  “Mr. Grubb, the carpenter, made the frames.  I’ve promised to clean up his workshop after Yule in payment.”

Bilbo gave the lad a bearhug.  “You have surprised me in many ways, Frodo – first with your intellectual interests, then with your singing talents, and now with your artistic ones.”

Gandalf embraced Frodo in turn.   “I will carry this with me wherever I go.”

*

The parade that day was every bit as exhilarating to the townsfolk as the concert had been the night before, for more attended that than the concert.   Rumor of Gandalf’s fireworks had attracted everyone.

There had been an accumulating snow overnight and the temperature was below freezing.  Still, hobbits young and old were bare of foot.  Gandalf marveled at it.  He knew that the soles of hobbit feet were tough, and that the hair that covered them helped warm them, but he kept thinking about how his own feet frequently were the first things to get cold, even in socks and boots.  It made him cold just to look at the children running though the snow without shoes.

The townspeople had agreed to the last minute idea of having the wizard as one of the float judges.  Gandalf would have preferred his original plan of standing on the sidelines with Bilbo by his side and Frodo on his shoulders, but the parade committee wanted him to sit in the grandstand with the other judges, apart from the influence of other opinions.  So up he went to the judges’ box.  Bilbo took Frodo several yards down the street where he was able to talk the Hornblower family into letting Frodo squeeze to the front and stand with their children.  Frodo found himself standing next to Glimmer.  When she batted her eyes at him he started to look for the best exit route.

“You were wonderful at the concert last night,” she said sweetly.  “You were as good as Warren.”

Frodo thanked her and inched away.  She immediately narrowed the distance. “What did you get for Yule?” she asked.

“Ummm, some new paper and inks.”  He looked anxiously down the street for the first sign of a float.

“How interesting,” Glimmer replied with a sincerity that surprised Frodo.  “Did you get anything else?”

Frodo had gotten two new shirts and a new pair of breeches, but he wasn’t interested in sharing that information.  “I got a book,” he added, omitting the fact that it was written in High Elvish.

“Maybe I could read it sometime,” she suggested. 

“I guess you could.”  The moment that it escaped his lips he wished he hadn’t said it.  Glimmer was suddenly swishing her skirt and looking quite hopeful.

Fortunately for him, the parade had started.  The first float had been built by the butcher’s family.  It was a tribute to the traditional Yuletide Feast and even had a pig roasting on a spit.  The family members were giving out samples, which drew everyone’s attention. 

This evening’s floats all had to do with different aspects of Yule.  One was covered with huge presents.  Another, the creation of  the Baxter family (who sold bakery) looked just like one of Missus Baxter’s specialty Yule Log nut cakes.  Yet another celebrated the decorations of the season and was covered with pine and hothouse flowers.  Alongside walked lads with streamers and other fancies on poles.  Several were carrying flowers and going up to pretty girls on the parade path in order to playfully trade them for kisses.  More than one stopped for Glimmer’s lovely older sister, Gilda.  When one also gave Glimmer a flower in passing, she turned to see if Frodo was watching and was a little miffed to see that he had disappeared. 

For he had been mesmerized by the float coming up behind that looked like all sorts of Yule sweets.  The candy maker was walking beside it, handing out individually wrapped candies.  She gave a peppermint drop to Frodo.  “That song you sang yesterday was really good, Master Frodo,” she said meaningfully.  “Everyone’s saying that old Gandalf must have laid a pretty good spell on you.”

Frodo smiled.  If everyone in Hobbiton thought his singing was a wizard’s trick, who was he to dispel the rumor?   “Thank you,” he answered and stuck the candy in his pocket.  He was suddenly of the mind to give it to Glimmer, but when he turned back to where she had been standing, he saw that she was already on her way to hear the results of the judging.

A float made of snow and ice sculptures won, for sheer resourcefulness in beautifully using materials at hand.  Ribbons were given to everyone who participated.   Gandalf, realizing that his presence had become a big deal to the hobbits, shook everyone’s hand before turning to his fireworks. 

* 

TBC

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While Took Turnips is a secret recipe, here's a recipe for Pickled Turnips:

   _ Chinese white turnip*
   _ cup vinegar
   _ tablespoons sugar
   _ teaspoon salt
   _ Dash pepper
   _ teaspoon paprika

1. Peel turnip. Cut lengthwise in half, then in 1/4-inch slices. Place in a bowl.

2. Bring vinegar to a boil and stir in sugar to dissolve. Pour over turnip. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and refrigerate, covered, overnight.

3. Drain, and sprinkle with paprika before serving.

VARIATIONS:
* If using regular turnips instead of Chinese ones: Peel and slice thin. Then sprinkle with salt, let stand 1 hour and drain. Heat the vinegar and sugar, as in step 2, but add the turnips to the pan and simmer, covered, 2 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool in the pan. Then refrigerate, covered, overnight.
* For the turnip, substitute the following vegetables in any combination: cauliflower (parboiled) or carrots, cucumbers, green peppers, chili peppers, round cabbage. Slice or dice the vegetables. Increase the amount of dressing as you increase the vegetables.