The cooper's gravity
A late response, and therefore out of competition, to the challenge "A character and an apple" of the "Poney Fringuant".
.oOo.
At the sign of the Prancing Poney
A solid hobbit was rolling an enormous cask of cider in the courtyard of the inn. The metal hoops of the barrel rattled on the ancient paving stones. Master Perry' carrier, an important liquor merchant in the East Farthing, scratched his impressive sideburns, arched his back to overcome the dungeon steps. Master Gigolet, coming to his aid, noticed some curious pins forged on the hoops of the barrel.
- Oh! Yes, that's a friend of mine's beautiful invention. I wish I could use it here! But let me tell you that...
The delivery hobbit sat down on the vast marble steps of the main building, wiping his bare forehead. He needed a break...
.oOo.
Bywater coopery, several years ago…
Whistling with detachment, Abaloc attached the last barrel in his cart, under the critical eye of his elder brother:
- Master Perry ordered his dozen casks for tomorrow night. You have time for four trips back and forth!
But young Abaloc had other plans in mind. A certain waitress at a certain inn of Whitefurrows, deserved he would load his cart, a little more than usual, to afford a stop on the way and a little tete-a-tete by candlelight!
Thus the youngest son of the Newtonne family, who was in charge of deliveries, had adjusted the pegs of his cart in order to ensure the balance of four imposing oak barrels.
- Do not worry! Daddy's tons are solid and the road descends all the way from here to Whitefurrows! Three trips will suffice! Father Perry will pour his fermented juices into casks as planned! You were not annoyed last year by the barrel of "Perrysweet" he gave us in thanks!
The elder shrugged. Indeed, the vintage had left him with a delicious and lasting amber sensation, like a ray of summer dispensed in the middle of winter. His younger brother, though hardly skilled with a cooper's knife, knew how to maintain the network of customers and the reputation of the Newtonne house, expert in barrels, casks and barrels of all sizes, for generations. Abaloc developed his empathy in any inn, praising the quality of the liquors that family production helped to maintain. He had a knack with landlords and brewers, and, though incapable of handling the dolor without injuring himself, he was given credit for a fine gift of the gab.
Le jeune hobbit vérifia ses nœuds, puis harnacha la mule au doux regard résigné, qui savait bien, elle, qui devrait venir à bout des traitres méplats de la route.
The young hobbit checked his knots, then harnessed the mule with a resigned gaze. The gentle animal knew too well, who would have to overcome the not-so-flat road.
.oOo.
Abaloc started the cart, all perky at the thought of the beautiful smile of his beloved. The mule scowled somehow, then trotted softly under the expert whip of the delivery boy. The miles passed quickly through the fresh air of October, under the joyful squalls of passerines.
But what was to happen, proved not long in coming.
Shortly after Frogmorton, the cart began to squeal so naggingly, that even the mule was worried.
Our hobbit stopped, and could only note the damage. Under the cart's excessive weight, a wheel had distorted, threatening the axle to yield.
.oOo.
His heart enraged, Abaloc unharnessed, unloaded, disassembled the wheel, and ran down to Whitefurrows. There he had to struggle with a very uncooperative wheelwright. To help the craftsman adjust and recirculate the distorted wheel, he even had to consent to replace his apprentice, who had mysteriously eclipsed on his arrival!
Finally, after several hours of palavers and sweat at the bellows of the forge, Abaloc was finally able to run back to his cart and on the road again.
But as he passed the inn, he caught sight of his pretty waitress, who shared winks and trays with the wheelwright's apprentice, by candlelight!
.oOo.
Our poor and bitter hobbit delivered his four barrels, had to bow during Master Perry's grumbling about his first delivery delay, and went away piteously. The day was falling on the sweet countryside of the East Farthing, foggy with grim mists of autumn.
His situation was not brilliant. He had eight casks left to deliver, and he would scarcely have time to return to Bywater before nightfall. This meant he would still have to make three trips, because with such a wretched cart, he could certainly not load more than three barrels per trip. But three trips were not possible in one day...
Abaloc mulled the problem over, he could not see how to get away with it. He would have to confess his delay to his family, to stand his brothers' jeers, to apologize to the customer...
.oOo.
Dismayed by all his disappointments, our poor hobbit made a halt and sought a little comfort at the bottom of his food basket. The mule chewed its oat peck, while the clerk leaned against the wrinkled trunk of an apple tree.
Abaloc contemplated the valley, which bucolic appearance and still green sage grove would have delighted his hobbit heart, in other circumstances. Not far away the Water1 unrolled its brown curls swollen with the rains of the day before. A hive nestled at the fork of the apple tree where he had found refuge, cradling our hero with a reassuring purr.
He slowly ate the victuals prepared by Mother Newtonne. Abaloc realised he was missing a dessert when he had his last bad luck - an apple fell on his head!
Not his day. The last apple of the tree was bound for his poor woolly head! A little annoyed, he nevertheless had the reflex to appropriate the culprit, in order to extort a hungry revenge from it.
But the crumpled apple began to roll in the grassy slope, now leaping between the clods, a hobbit at its heels. Despite his agility, he could not catch up with the fruit, which fell into the river. He watched the gilded apple move away, dancing softly on the beer-colored wave.
At last Abaloc had an idea of genius! He was going to use the river to tow his barrels from Bywater to Whitefurrows! By letting them float, tied to each other, he could make one journey in one day and keep his promise!
.oOo.
And that was how young Newtonne2, discovered the secrets of universal – casks - traction, thanks to an apple that had fallen on his head. But you already knew this story? Undoubtedly, a scientist in search of an attractive reputation, will have diverted this anecdote to formulate a minor discovery.
What is less well known, is that on the same day, Abaloc had experienced another essential principle, which says that the attraction of bodies, though universal, is not necessarily reciprocal. Here is a grave founding law, that only a hobbit maid could have brought to light, and which has escaped all our learned plagiarists!
.oOo.
NOTES
1 River of the Shire, which originates in the west farthing near Needlehole, flows east through the Rushock marshes, then passes between Hobbiton and Bag-end, before feeding The Bywater pool. After which its course, swollen by all the rivulets of the valley, runs parallel to the Great East Road, from Frogmorton to Whitefurrows, and throws itself into the Brandywine at Bridgefields.
2 Abaloc, whose name uses the radical Afal / Aval - the apple in gaelic - had a second surname Isahoc, so his full name was Isahoc Newtonne. Any resemblance with an English scientist of the 17th century would be pure coincidence.