Under the Mountain
February 6, 2001
7:30 a.m.
I no longer tell Brigid bedtime stories. She's a bit too old for that, anymore. No made-up meandering,, no Goldilocks and the Three Bears, no Puff the Magic Dragon and Sky Fox. I do, however, get to read to her. We've been through a bunch of stuff. We've read Newberry Award books, and we've read American Girls. We've read Animorphs, Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, Douglas Adams, Pokemon, and about a zillion others. Usually, I only get five or ten minutes of reading before either I get tired, or Brigid gets bored. I don't think she let's me read to her for my great performances, you know? I think it's something else. For whatever reason, though, she recently decided that she would read "The Hobbit." So that's what we've been making our way through for the past few nights. The night before last, we had left Bilbo Baggins standing at the edge of the dark lake under the Goblin's mountain, and had seen Gollum take note. And so we started. I read through the early stages of the great riddle contest, throwing myself into both Bilbo and Gollum's characters as they sparred verbally. I could sense Brigid getting into the story, too ... and I realized I was having fun. The contest rose to it's peak. Bilbo pulled out his final question, and vanquished the evil one. But did he? Of course, not. Gollum will not be put down so easily. And I looked at Brigid and said, "And that's where we will end tonight." Rather than the usual sliding under the covers, she replied. "No way. Uh-uh. You're not stopping there." Her eyes were direct and adamant, and I realized that I pretty much had to go on. Bilbo was still in peril. The story wasn't over. And so we followed along. I read another ten or fifteen minutes, running Bilbo through terrible stress and smiling as Brigid gasped when she learned about the trick that fate has played on Gollum, and grinning as she struggled to comprehend the hints that Tolkien leaves for the future. She does not fully comprehend the ring, you see. She does not understand that in the ring, just like in much of life, there is a greater depth. A half-hour had fled by the time we finished the chapter. I put the book down. Brigid snuggled under the covers. "I like how you said it's my birthday presents," she said. Her face was smooth and relaxed. She was satisfied. She knew Bilbo would live to fight another day. I turned out the light, and slipped out of her grasp, thinking about whether I should mention anything about the ring's importance for a moment before deciding. No, I thought. She'll understand it all later. No need to rush.  Where's Gandalf when you need him, eh? Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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"Gollum, the evil one, crept up and slipped away with her." Plant/Page |
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