Pinocchio (13 page)

“It's me!”

“Me who?”

“Pinocchio.”

“Pinocchio who?”

“The puppet, the one who lives with the Fairy.”

“Oh, I see,” said the Snail. “Wait right there—I'll come straight down to let you in.”

“Please hurry, for heaven's sake—I'm dying of cold.”

“My boy, I am a snail, and snails never hurry.”

Meanwhile an hour passed, then two, but the door did not open. And so Pinocchio, trembling from being cold, afraid, and wet as a drowned rat, gathered his courage and knocked once more, and louder this time.

After the second knock, a window opened on the third floor, and the same Snail leaned out.

“Oh pretty little Snail,” shouted Pinocchio from the street, “I've been waiting for two hours! And two hours, on such an awful night, feel longer than two years. For heaven's sake, please hurry.”

“My boy,” that creature replied, calmly and coolly, “my boy, I am a snail, and snails never hurry.”

And the window closed again.

Soon the bells chimed midnight. Then one o'clock. And then two. But the door remained shut. Losing his patience, Pinocchio grabbed the door knocker angrily, intending to bang it hard enough to shake the whole building. But the door knocker, which had been made of iron, suddenly turned into a live eel, which slithered out of his hands and disappeared into the torrent of water that was coursing down the street.

“So that's how it is!” shouted Pinocchio, blinded now by rage. “The knocker may have disappeared, but I can knock just fine with my feet.”

And stepping back a little, he let fly with a tremendous kick. The blow was so hard, in fact, that his foot sank halfway into the wood, and when he tried to pull it back out, he couldn't budge it: his foot was stuck in that door like a hammered nail.

Imagine poor Pinocchio! He had to spend the rest of the night with one foot on the ground and the other up in the air.

In the morning, near dawn, the door finally opened. That good creature the Snail had taken only nine hours to descend from the fourth floor to the front door. It must be said that she had worked up a sweat.

“What's that foot of yours doing stuck in the door?” she asked the puppet with a laugh.

“It was an accident. Oh pretty little Snail, could you help release me from this torture?”

“My boy, this calls for a carpenter, and I've never been much of a carpenter.”

“Please beg the Fairy on my behalf!”

“The Fairy is sleeping and doesn't wish to be disturbed.”

“But what am I supposed to do, nailed to this door all day?”

“Amuse yourself by counting the ants that pass by on the street.”

“At least please bring me something to eat—I'm wasting away.”

“At once!” said the Snail.

And indeed, three and a half hours later, she returned with a silver tray on her head. On the tray was bread, a roast chicken, and four ripe apricots.

“Here is the breakfast the Fairy sends you,” said the Snail.

The puppet rejoiced at the sight of that heavenly gift. But when he took a bite, his spirits plummeted, for the bread was plaster, the chicken cardboard, and the four apricots alabaster—all painted to look real.

He wanted to weep, wanted to give himself up to despair, wanted to throw that tray and everything on it away. But what he did instead, either from his great sorrow or his great hunger, was to faint.

When he came to, he found himself stretched out on a sofa, the Fairy sitting next to him.

“I forgive you this time, too,” the Fairy said. “But watch out: if you do this sort of thing to me again…!”

Pinocchio promised up and down that he would study and would behave himself from then on. And he kept his word for the whole rest of the school year. Indeed, when end-of-the-year exams came, he got the highest marks of anyone in the school. And his behavior, in general, was judged so praiseworthy and satisfactory that the Fairy, delighted, told him, “Tomorrow your wish shall be granted at last!”

“What wish?”

“Tomorrow you'll stop being a puppet and become a proper boy.”

No one who wasn't there to see Pinocchio's joy at this long-awaited news can quite imagine it. All his friends and schoolmates were to be invited to the Fairy's house the next morning for a grand breakfast, to help celebrate the great occasion, and the Fairy had prepared two hundred cups of coffee-and-milk, and four hundred rolls, buttered inside and out. The next day promised to be a beautiful and joyous one. But…

Alas, in the lives of puppets, there is always some
but
that spoils everything.

N
ATURALLY
, Pinocchio immediately asked the Fairy's permission to go around town to make the invitations. And the Fairy said, “Go ahead and invite your friends to tomorrow's breakfast, but remember to come home before dark. Okay?”

“I promise to be back in an hour or so,” replied the puppet.

“Careful, Pinocchio! Children are quick to make promises, but they're often slow to keep them.”

“But I'm not like other children: when I say something, I stick to it.”

“We'll see. If you don't, so much the worse for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that children who ignore the advice of those who know best always get themselves into some kind of trouble.”

“As I know from experience!” said Pinocchio. “But I'll never be guilty of such folly again!”

“We'll see if you're right.”

With that, the puppet said goodbye to the good Fairy, who was a sort of mother to him, and sang and danced his way out of the house.

In little more than an hour, all his friends had been invited. Some accepted quickly and eagerly; others played hard to get at first, but when they heard that the rolls for dunking in the coffee-and-milk would be buttered even on the outside, they all ended up saying, “We're coming, too, as a favor to you.”

Now you need to know that, among Pinocchio's schoolmates, his dearest, closest friend was a boy whose name was Romeo, but everyone called him by his nickname, Lampwick, on account of his skinny, lanky build—as skinny as a fresh wick in a night lamp.

Lampwick was the laziest and naughtiest boy in the whole school, but Pinocchio loved him dearly. In fact he had gone straight to his house to look for him, to invite him to the breakfast, but he couldn't find him. He went back once more; Lampwick wasn't there. He went back a third time, but again no luck.

How could he track him down? He looked here, he looked there—then finally he saw him hiding under the porch of a farmer's house.

“What are you doing there?” Pinocchio asked as he approached.

“I'm waiting to leave.”

“Where are you going?”

“Far, far, far away!”

“And here I've been to your house three times looking for you!”

“What do you want with me?”

“Don't you know about the big event? Don't you know about my good fortune?”

“What is it?”

“Tomorrow I'll stop being a puppet and become a boy, like you, like all the others.”

“I hope it makes you happy.”

“Tomorrow, then, I'll expect you for breakfast at my house.”

“But what if I told you I was leaving tonight?”

“At what time?”

“Soon.”

“And where are you going?”

“I'm going to live in a land—in the most beautiful land on earth. A real paradise!”

“And what's it called?”

“It's called Toyland. Why don't you come too?”

“Me? No way!”

“Big mistake, Pinocchio! Believe me, if you don't come, you'll regret it. Where will you find a place that's better for us kids? There are no schools there, there are no teachers there, there are no books there. In that blessed land, no one ever studies. There isn't any school on Thursdays, and every week is made up of six Thursdays and one Sunday. Just think: the winter holidays start on the first day of January and they end on the last day of December. Now that's my kind of place! That's how it should be in every civilized country!”

“But how do people spend their days in Toyland?”

“They spend them playing and having fun from morning to night. Then at night they go to bed, and the next morning they start all over. What do you think?”

“Hmm!” said Pinocchio, nodding his head slightly, as if to say: “That's a life I too could enjoy!”

“So, do you want to leave with me? Yes or no? Make up your mind.”

“No, no, no, and again no. I've promised my good Fairy to become a proper boy, and I want to keep my word. In fact, since I see that the sun's going down, I must leave you at once and run off. Goodbye, then, and happy travels.”

“Where are you running in such a hurry?”

“Home. My good Fairy wants me to be back before dark.”

“Wait another two minutes.”

“I'm already running late.”

“Just two minutes.”

“And what if the Fairy yells at me?”

“Let her yell. After she's had a good yell, she'll calm down,” said that rascal Lampwick.

“And how are you getting there? Are you leaving alone, or with others?”

“Alone? There'll be more than a hundred of us kids.”

“And you're traveling on foot?”

“A coach will come by soon to pick me up and take me across the border into that happy country.”

“I sure wish I could see that coach pass by now!”

“Why?”

“To see all of you leave together.”

“Wait around a bit longer and you'll see it.”

“No, no—I want to go home.”

“Wait two more minutes.”

“I've already lingered too long. The Fairy will be worried about me.”

“Poor Fairy! I guess maybe she's scared you'll get eaten by bats?”

“But tell me,” Pinocchio said, “are you really sure that in that country there are no schools at all?”

“Not even the shadow of a school.”

“And no teachers, either?”

“Not a single one.”

“And you never have to study?”

“Never, never, never!”

“Oh, what a splendid country!” said Pinocchio, feeling his mouth begin to water. “What a splendid country! I haven't ever been there, but I can picture it!”

“Why don't you come, too?”

“It's pointless for you to tempt me! I've already promised my good Fairy that I'd become a sensible boy, and I don't want to break my promise.”

“Farewell then, and give my best regards to the elementary schools—and the high schools, too, if you pass them on the street!”

“Farewell, Lampwick. Have a good trip, enjoy yourself, and think of your friends from time to time.”

Having said that, the puppet took two steps toward home. But then, stopping and turning back toward his friend, he asked, “But are you really positive that every week is made up of six Thursdays and one Sunday?”

“Absolutely positive.”

“And you're certain that vacations start on the first day of January and end on the last day of December?”

“Absolutely certain.”

“What a splendid country!” repeated Pinocchio, so overwhelmed by delight that he spat. Then he made up his mind and quickly added: “Well, it really is goodbye: happy travels.”

“Farewell.”

“When will you be leaving?”

“Soon!”

“I'm very nearly tempted to wait.”

“But what about the Fairy?”

“At this point, I'm already running late! One hour more or less won't make any difference.”

“Poor Pinocchio! What if the Fairy yells at you?”

“Never mind! I'll let her yell. After she's had a good yell, she'll calm down.”

It was already dark, pitch-dark, by the time they saw a small light moving in the distance and heard the sound of harness bells and the blare of a toy trumpet, so faint and muffled that it sounded like the whine of a mosquito!

“It's here!” shouted Lampwick, getting to his feet.

“What is?” asked Pinocchio in a soft voice.

“The coach that's coming to pick me up. So, do you want to come: yes or no?”

“But is it really true,” asked the puppet, “that children in that country are never required to study?”

“Never, never, never!”

“What a splendid country! What a splendid country! What a splendid country!”

A
T LAST
the coach arrived. And it arrived without making the slightest noise because its wheels were wrapped with tow and rags.

The coach was drawn by twelve pairs of donkeys, uniformly small in size but various in color.

Some had gray fur, some had white fur, some had salt-and-pepper speckling, and some had large yellow-and-blue stripes.

But the strangest thing was this: that those twelve pairs of donkeys—those twenty-four donkeys—instead of wearing horseshoes like all other beasts of burden, were wearing boots of white leather.

And the coachman?

Picture a miniature man wider than he was tall, as soft and oily as a pat of butter, with a face like a little rose apple, a little mouth that was always laughing, and a thin, unctuous voice, like a wheedling cat appealing to its kind mistress.

All the children adored him as soon as they saw him, and they raced to climb into his coach, to be taken to that paradise on earth that goes by the name of Toyland on the maps.

Indeed the coach was already chockfull of kids between the ages of eight and twelve, packed one on top of the other like pickled sardines. They were uncomfortable, they were squished, they could scarcely breathe—but not a single one said
ouch!
or complained at all. The comfort of knowing that in a few hours they would arrive in a country without books or school or teachers made them so happy and agreeable that they felt neither sore, nor strained, nor hungry, nor thirsty, nor sleepy.