Pinocchio (10 page)

And it seemed that Geppetto, though far from shore, recognized his son, for he also took off his cap and waved it, indicating with wild gestures that he would gladly come back, but that the sea was so rough that he was unable to work his oars to get closer to shore.

Suddenly there was a terrifying wave, and the boat disappeared. Everyone waited for it to rise up again, but no trace of it remained.

“Poor man,” said the fishermen who were gathered there on the shore. And muttering a prayer beneath their breath, they turned to go back to their homes.

Just then they heard a desperate cry, and looking back they saw a little boy throwing himself from a high rock into the sea, shouting, “I will save my daddy!”

Since he was made entirely of wood, Pinocchio floated easily and could swim like a fish. People watched him swim, now disappearing beneath the surface, carried by the strength of the current, and now reappearing with an arm or a leg, a great distance from land. Finally they lost sight of him completely.

“Poor boy,” said the fishermen who were gathered there on the shore. And muttering a prayer beneath their breath, they went back to their homes.

P
INOCCHIO
, driven by the hope of arriving in time to help his poor daddy, swam all through the night. And what a horrible night it was! It poured, it hailed, it thundered menacingly, and the flashes of lightning sometimes made it bright as day.

Near dawn, he spied a long strip of land nearby. It was an island in the middle of the sea.

He tried his best to reach its shore—but in vain. The waves, racing and tumbling over each other, tossed him about as if he were a twig or a piece of straw. At last, and fortunately for him, there came a wave so mighty and ferocious that it hurled him bodily onto the sandy beach.

He hit the ground so hard that all his ribs and joints cracked, but he quickly consoled himself by saying, “Once again I've made a narrow escape!”

Meanwhile the sky gradually cleared, the sun came out in all its glory, and the sea became as smooth and gentle as oil.

After laying his clothes out to dry in the sun, the puppet began to look this way and that, hoping he might spot, out on that vast expanse of water, a little rowboat with a tiny man inside. But no matter how hard he looked, he saw nothing before him but the sky, the sea, and a few sails, so far away they looked like flies.

“I wish I at least knew what this island is called!” he said. “I wish I at least knew if this island was inhabited by well-mannered people—I mean, people who aren't in the habit of hanging children from tree branches! But just who can I ask? Who—if nobody's here?”

This thought of finding himself all alone, all alone in that big uninhabited land, put him in such a sad mood that he was on the verge of tears. At that moment, a short distance from the shore, he saw an enormous fish swimming by, going quietly about his business, with his whole head above the water.

Not knowing the fish's name, the puppet called loudly to him: “Hey, Mr. Fish, could I have a word with you?”

“Two if you like,” replied the fish, who was a dolphin—and one of the nicest ones in all the seas of the world.

“Would you be so kind as to tell me if there are villages on this island where one might get something to eat, without the danger of getting eaten?”

“There certainly are,” replied the Dolphin. “Indeed, you'll find one not far from here.”

“Which way should I go to get there?”

“Just go straight down that path there, to your left, and follow your nose. You can't miss it.”

“I have one more question. Since you roam the sea all day and all night, I wonder if by any chance you've come across a little rowboat with my daddy in it?”

“And who might your daddy be?”

“He's the best daddy in the world, just as I'm the worst of sons.”

“With that storm we had last night,” replied the Dolphin, “the little rowboat must have sunk.”

“And my daddy?”

“By now he has probably been swallowed by the terrible Shark, who came to our waters several days ago to spread death and woe.”

“This Shark, is he very big?” asked Pinocchio, already trembling with fear.

“Is he big!” replied the Dolphin. “To give you an idea, I'll tell you that he's bigger than a five-story house, with a mouth so wide and deep that an entire railway train could easily pass through it with its locomotive steaming.”

“Oh dear!” cried the frightened puppet. Hastily putting his clothes back on, he turned to the Dolphin and said, “Farewell, Mr. Fish—please excuse the bother, and a thousand thanks for your kindness.”

With these words, he made straight for the path and began walking quickly down it—so quickly he almost seemed to be running. And at the slightest noise, he would turn around suddenly, afraid he was being followed by that terrible Shark that was big as a five-story house and had a railway train in his mouth.

After walking more than half an hour, he came to a small village called Busy-Bee Village. The streets swarmed with people going this way and that about their business: all were working, all had something to do. You couldn't have found a loafer or a layabout even if you looked with a magnifying glass.

“I can see,” thought that lazybones Pinocchio at once, “that this is not my kind of village. I wasn't born to work!”

Meanwhile his hunger was gnawing at him because he hadn't eaten a thing for more than twenty-four hours—not even a bowl of vetch peas.

What to do?

He saw only two ways to break his fast: either ask for a little work, or beg for a nickel or a bite of bread.

He was ashamed to beg, because his father had always preached that only the old and the sick have a right to beg. The real poor in this world, the ones who deserve assistance and compassion, are the ones who because of age or illness are unable to support themselves with the labor of their own hands. All the rest have an obligation to work—and if they choose not to and go hungry, then too bad for them.

Just then a sweaty, breathless man came slogging down the road, pulling two brimming carts of coal all by himself, with great effort.

Judging him to be a kind man by the look of his face, Pinocchio approached, eyes cast down with shame, and said meekly, “Would you be so kind as to give me a nickel, for I feel I'm dying of hunger?”

“I won't give you just one nickel,” replied to coalman, “I'll give you four, if you'll help me pull these two carts of coal to my house.”

“I'm astonished!” replied the puppet, as if offended. “For your information, I've never served as a donkey—I've never pulled a cart!”

“Good for you!” replied the coalman. “In that case, my boy, if you're really dying of hunger, eat two big slices of your pride, and take care not to get indigestion.”

After a few minutes, a bricklayer passed by, carrying a hod of mortar on his shoulder.

“Would you give a nickel, kind sir, to a poor boy who is yawning from hunger?”

“Gladly,” replied the mason. “Help me carry this mortar and instead of one nickel I'll give you five.”

“But mortar is heavy,” replied Pinocchio, “and I don't want to work hard.”

“If you don't want to work hard, my boy, then have fun yawning—I hope it makes you happy.”

In less than half an hour, another twenty people passed, and Pinocchio begged alms from all of them, but all replied: “Aren't you ashamed? Instead of being an idler on the street, why don't you look for some work instead, and learn to earn your bread!”

At last there came a good little woman carrying two jugs of water.

“Good woman, would you allow me to take a sip of water from your jug?” said Pinocchio, who was burning with thirst.

“Go ahead and drink, my boy!” said the little woman, setting down the two jugs.

After drinking like a sponge, Pinocchio mumbled, as he wiped his mouth, “I've quenched my thirst! If only I could satisfy my hunger so easily!”

The good little woman, hearing these words, added at once: “If you help me carry one of these jugs home, I'll give you a nice piece of bread.”

Pinocchio looked at the jug but didn't say either yes or no.

“And along with the bread I'll give you a nice plate of cauliflower dressed with oil and vinegar.”

Pinocchio took another look at the jug, but didn't say either yes or no.

“And after the cauliflower, I'll give you a nice bonbon with a sweet rosewater filling.”

The temptation of this final delicacy was too much for Pinocchio to resist, so he made up his mind and said, “All right! I'll carry the jug to your house!”

The jug was too heavy for the puppet to carry in his arms, and so he resigned himself to carrying it on top of his head.

When they reached her house, the good little woman sat Pinocchio down at a little table that was already set, and she placed before him the bread, the dressed cauliflower, and the bonbon.

Pinocchio didn't eat—he devoured. His stomach was like an apartment that had been vacant for five months.

When his ferocious pangs of hunger began gradually to subside, he lifted his head to thank his benefactress. But no sooner did he see her face than he let out a prolonged
ohhh!
of amazement, and sat there enchanted, his eyes wide, his fork in midair, his mouth full of bread and cauliflower.

“What are you so amazed about?” the good woman said, laughing.

“It's just,” stammered Pinocchio, “it's just…it's just…that you look like…you remind me…yes, yes, yes, the same voice…the same eyes…the same hair…yes, yes, yes…you have sky-blue hair, too—like her! My little Fairy! Oh, my little Fairy! Tell me it's you, really you! Don't make me cry anymore! If you only knew! I've cried so much, I've suffered so much!”

As he spoke these words, sobbing copiously, Pinocchio dropped down to the floor and threw his arms around the knees of that mysterious little woman.

A
T FIRST
, the good little woman was about to say she was not the little Fairy with Sky-Blue Hair. But realizing she had been found out and not wanting to pretend any longer, she decided to admit the truth, saying to Pinocchio, “You scamp of a puppet! How did you know it was me?”

“It was my great love for you, that's what told me.”

“You remember, do you? You left me a girl, and now you find me a woman—so grown up I could almost be your mother.”

“And that gladdens my heart, because now, instead of my sister, I'll call you my mother. For so long I have been yearning to have a mother, like other children! But how did you manage to grow up so fast?”

“It's a secret.”

“Teach me how—I'd like to grow up a little, too. Don't you see? I'm about as tall as a piece of cheese.”

“But you can't grow,” replied the Fairy.

“Why not?”

“Because puppets never grow. They're born as puppets, they live as puppets, and they die as puppets.”

“Oh, I'm sick of always being just a puppet!” shouted Pinocchio, smacking himself on the forehead. “It's about time I grew up too and became a man.”

“And you will, if you can earn it.”

“Really? How do I earn it?”

“It's the easiest thing in the world: just practice being a proper boy.”

“But aren't I one already?”

“Not at all! Proper boys are obedient, and you on the other hand—”

“I never obey.”

“Proper boys take pleasure in study and in work, while you—”

“While I on the other hand am always an idler and a vagabond.”

“Proper boys always tell the truth—”

“And I'm always telling lies.”

“Proper boys like going to school—”

“And school gives me a stomachache. But from now on I'm going to change my life.”

“Promise me?”

“I promise. I want to become a proper boy, and I want to be a comfort to my daddy—where can my poor daddy be now?”

“I don't know.”

“Will I ever be lucky enough to see him and hug him again?”

“I think so—indeed, I am sure of it.”

On hearing these words Pinocchio was nearly beside himself with happiness, so much so that he grabbed the Fairy's hands and began fervently kissing them. Then lifting his face and looking lovingly at her, he asked, “So tell me, dear mother, it isn't true that you were dead?”

“It would seem not,” replied the Fairy, smiling.

“If you only knew how miserable and choked up I was, when I read
HERE LIES
—”

“I do know. That's why I've forgiven you. The sincerity of your grief showed me that you had a good heart. And with good-hearted children, even if they're a bit naughty and have some bad habits, there's always some hope—hope that they'll mend their ways, I mean. That's why I came all the way here to look for you. I'll be your mother—”

“Oh, how wonderful!” shouted Pinocchio, jumping for joy.

“—and you'll obey me and always do what I tell you to do—”

“Gladly, gladly, gladly!”

“—and tomorrow,” added the Fairy, “you'll start going to school—”

Pinocchio suddenly grew slightly less cheerful.

“—and you'll choose an art or a trade of your liking—”

Pinocchio grew serious.

“What are you muttering under your breath?” asked the Fairy, in an angry tone.

“I was saying,” whimpered the puppet, “that it seems, by now, a little late for me to start school.”

“No sirree. Keep in mind that it's never too late to learn and to educate ourselves.”

“But I don't want to do any art or any trade.”

“Why not?”

“Because work seems tiring.”

“Dear boy,” said the Fairy, “people who talk that way almost always end up either in a prison or a poorhouse. For your information, everyone, whether they're born rich or poor, is obliged to do something—to keep busy, to work. Woe to anyone who yields to idleness! Idleness is a dreadful disease and must be treated at once, starting in childhood. If not, it will be too late by the time we grow up.”