Pinocchio

  “Oh well, my foot!” yelled his master, entering the stable at that very moment. “Do you think, my pretty little donkey, that I bought you just to offer you food and drink? I bought you so you’ll work and earn me a handsome profit. Come on, now, attaboy! Come with me to the circus and I’ll teach you how to jump through hoops, how to smash cardboard barrels with your head, and how to dance the waltz and the polka up on your hind legs.”

  Whether he liked it or not, poor Pinocchio had to learn all these fine things. But it took three months of lessons to learn them, and nearly enough whippings to take his hide off.

  At last the day came when his master could announce a truly extraordinary event. Notices of various colors, posted on street corners, said this:

  GRAND GALA SHOW

  —

  This evening

  WITNESS THE TROUPE’S USUAL

  AMAZING LEAPS & FEATS

  PERFORMED BY ALL ITS ARTISTS

  & all its horses, mares and stallions alike,

  p l u s

  appearing for the first time

  the famous

  DONKEY PINOCCHIO

  also known as

  THE STAR OF THE DANCE

  —

  The theater will be as bright as day

  That evening, as you might guess, the theater was already jam-packed an hour before the show was to begin.

  Not a single seat was left, not in the orchestra, not in the boxes, not even if you could afford to pay its weight in gold.

  Around the circus, the tiers of seats were teeming with children, children of all ages, who were in a frenzy of excitement to see the famous Donkey Pinocchio dance.

  When the first portion of the show came to an end, the Ringmaster, dressed in a black tailcoat, tight white pants, and knee-high leather boots, introduced himself to the packed audience, and after a sweeping bow he solemnly intoned the following preposterous speech: “Esteemed public, lords and ladies! Yours truly, whilst traversing through your illustrious metropolitan, wished to procreate for myself the honor, not to make mention of the pleasure, of presenting to such a discerning and distinct audience this famous donkey, who has heretofore enjoyed the honor of dancing in the presence of His Majesty the Emperor of all the major Courts of Europe. And albeit full of gratitude, please assist us with your arousing presence and indulge us!”

  This speech was received with much laughter and much applause. But the applause redoubled and became a sort of hurricane as Donkey Pinocchio approached the center of the ring. He was all decked out for the occasion: a new bridle of patent leather with brass buckles and studs, a white camellia blossom behind each ear, his mane divvied up into lots of locks tied with charming red silk bows, a wide gold-and-silver sash around his belly, and ribbons of blue-and-purple velvet braided into his tail. In short, he was an utterly adorable little donkey!

  The Ringmaster continued his introduction of Pinocchio with these remarks: “Honorable auditors! I shall not stand here deceiving you with regard to the great difficulties surmounted by myself in captivating and subjugating the aforementioned mammal, whilst he grazed freely from mountaintop to mountaintop in the torrid zone. Observe, if you please, the wildness oozing forth from his eyes, notwithstanding our futile attempts to tame him to the life of a civilized quadruped, which oftentimes forced myself to resort to the genial parlance of the whip. But each kindness of mine, instead of endearing myself to him, made him even furthermore ill-disposed towards myself. Howsoever, following the Gallic system, I located within his cranium a small bony part, which that famous medicinal school in Paree has recognized as the bulb that regenerates hair and the Pyrrhic dance. And I absolved thenceforth to train him to dance, not to mention jump through hoops and paper-lined barrels. Marvel at him! And then judge him! But before I bid you much ado, allow me, ladies and gentlemen, to invite you back to the matinee show tomorrow evening. In the event that rainy weather threatens precipitation, the show will be postponed from tomorrow evening to eleven AM tomorrow afternoon.”

  And here the Ringmaster made another very deep bow. Then, turning to Pinocchio, he said, “Attaboy, Pinocchio! Before commencing your exploits, please greet our distinguished audience, lords, ladies, and children!”

  Pinocchio obeyed at once, kneeling down on his two front knees and waiting until the Ringmaster, cracking his whip, shouted, “Walk!”

  At that, the little donkey rose up on four legs and began to circle the ring, at a walking pace.

  After a little while the Ringmaster said, “Trot!”

  And Pinocchio, as instructed, quickened his pace into a trot.

  “Canter!”

  And Pinocchio began running.

  “Gallop!”

  And Pinocchio began racing as fast as he could. As he sped along like a Barbary steed, the Ringmaster raised his arm into the air and fired his pistol.

  At the shot, the donkey, pretending to be hit, collapsed onto the ground and acted as if he were truly dying.

  He got back to his feet amid an explosion of applause and cheers that seemed to him to rise up to the sky, and so, naturally, he lifted his head to look up. And looking up, he saw in one of the boxes a beautiful lady with a thick gold chain around her neck, from which hung a medallion. On the medallion was painted the portrait of a puppet.

  “That’s a portrait of me! That lady is the Fairy!” Pinocchio said to himself, for he recognized her at once. Overcome by happiness, he began to shout, “Oh dear Fairy! Oh dear Fairy!”

  But instead of words, there emerged from his throat a bray so sonorous and sustained that it made every spectator in the theater laugh, especially the children.

  But the Ringmaster, to teach him the lesson that it wasn’t good behavior to start braying at the audience, gave him a whack on the nose with the handle of his whip.

  Sticking his tongue way out, the poor donkey licked his nose for a good five minutes, thinking that perhaps that would ease the pain.

  But imagine his despair when, turning back toward the audience, he saw that the Fairy’s box was empty—she was gone!

  He felt like dying; his eyes filled with tears and he began to sob. Nobody noticed, however, least of all the Ringmaster, who in fact cracked his whip and shouted, “Attaboy, Pinocchio! Now show these ladies and gentlemen how gracefully you can jump through hoops.”

  Pinocchio tried two or three times, but each time he approached the hoop, instead of jumping through it, he found it easier to go under it.

  Finally he leapt into the air and through. Unfortunately, however, his back legs got caught on the hoop, causing him to crash to the ground in a heap on the other side.

  When he got to his feet, he was limping, and he could barely walk back to the stable.

  “Bring out Pinocchio! We want the Donkey! Bring out the Donkey!” shouted all the children from the orchestra seats, moved to pity by the wretched turn of events.

  But the Donkey was not to be seen again that evening.

  The next morning, after examining him, the veterinarian (that’s a fancy word for animal doctor) declared that Pinocchio would be lame for the rest of his life.

  At that the Ringmaster said to his stableboy, “What am I supposed to do with a lame donkey? He’d be nothing but a troublesome freeloader. Take him to the market and sell him.”

  Once they reached the market square, they quickly found a buyer, who asked the stableboy, “How much do you want for that lame donkey?”

  “Twenty dollars.”

  “I’ll give you twenty nickels. Don’t pretend I’m buying him to work for me—I’m just buying him for his hide. I see that he’s got really tough skin, and I want to make a drum out of it for my town’s band.”

  I’ll leave it to you, children, to guess how good Pinocchio felt when he heard he was destined to become a drum!

  And indeed the buyer, as soon as he had paid his twenty nickels, led the donkey to the seashore. Then, after hanging a large stone around his neck and tying a rope to one of his feet, he gave him a quick
shove, knocking him into the water.

  With that stone around his neck, Pinocchio sank right to the bottom. And the buyer, holding the other end of the rope, sat down on a rock to wait until the donkey had had plenty of time to drown. Then he would skin him and go home with his hide.

  34

  AFTER THE donkey had been under water for almost an hour, the buyer said, to nobody but himself, “By now my poor lame donkey must be good and drowned. Let’s pull him back up so we can make a nice drum from his hide.”

  So he began to pull on the rope that he had tied to the donkey’s leg. He pulled and pulled and pulled, and finally, breaking the surface of the water, he saw—can you guess? He saw, instead of a dead donkey, a live puppet, squirming like an eel.

  Seeing that wooden puppet, the poor man thought he must be dreaming and he stood there dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open and his eyes popping out.

  When he had collected himself a little, he wept and stammered and said, “And the donkey I threw into the sea—what happened to him?”

  “That donkey was me!” replied the puppet, laughing.

  “You?”

  “Me.”

  “Oh, you scamp! You think you can play tricks on me?”

  “Play tricks? Not at all, dear master. I’m being serious.”

  “But how in the world can a donkey, after spending a little time in the water, turn into a wooden puppet?”

  “The salt water must have done it. The sea plays funny tricks.”

  “Careful, puppet! Don’t think you can amuse yourself at my expense! Careful I don’t lose my temper!”

  “Well, master, do you want to learn the true story? Untie my leg and I’ll tell you.”

  Curious to know the true story, that poor fool of a buyer quickly untied the knot that held the puppet fast, and Pinocchio, finding himself free as a bird, began to tell his story.

  “So you see, I used to be a wooden puppet, as I am today. And I was just about to become a real boy, like so many others in this world, but instead I ran away from home, because I wasn’t crazy about studying and because I was listening to my ne’er-do-well friends. And then one fine day I woke up to find myself turned into a jackass, ears and all—right down to the tail! I was so ashamed! I wouldn’t want blessed Saint Anthony to make anyone, even you, feel such shame! Then I was taken to the donkey market and sold to the Ringmaster of a horse circus, who got the notion to turn me into a great dancer and hoop-jumper. But one evening, during the show, I had a bad fall in the ring and injured two of my legs. So the Ringmaster, not knowing what to do with a lame donkey, sent me back to market, and then you bought me!”

  “Alas! And I paid twenty nickels! And now who’s going to give me back my money?”

  “And why did you buy me? You bought me to make a drum out of my hide! A drum!”

  “Alas! And now where will I find another hide?”

  “Don’t despair, master. There’s no shortage of donkeys in this world.”

  “Tell me, you cheeky rascal, does your story end here?”

  “No,” replied the puppet, “just a few more words and then it will be over. After buying me, you led me to this place to kill me, but then, giving in to a humane, merciful impulse, you decided instead to hang a stone around my neck and throw me to the bottom of the sea. That softhearted impulse is a great credit to you, and I’ll always be grateful to you for it. But this time, dear master, you didn’t count on the Fairy.”

  “What Fairy is this?”

  “She’s my mother, and she’s like all those good mothers who dote on their children and always keep an eye on them and come to their aid in times of trouble, even when those children, thanks to carelessness or bad behavior, deserve to be abandoned and left to fend for themselves. So, as I was saying, the good Fairy, when she saw me in danger of drowning, sent a school of fish my way, and the fish, believing I actually was a dead donkey, started eating me! And what bites they took! I never would have believed that fish were greedier than children! Some ate my ears, some ate my muzzle, some my neck and some my mane, some ate the skin off my legs, some ate the fur off my back—and one among them was even kind enough to eat my tail.”

  “From now on,” said the horrified buyer, “I swear never to eat a bite of fish again. I couldn’t bear cutting open a goatfish or some fried hake and finding a donkey tail inside!”

  “I agree,” replied the puppet, laughing. “Besides, you should know that when the fishes finished eating away all of the asinine flesh that was covering me from head to toe, they finally got down to the bone—or rather down to the wood, because, as you can see, I’m made of extremely hard wood. After a few nibbles of that, those greedy fishes soon figured out that wood was not their cup of tea, and nauseated by such indigestible fare they swam off, some this way and some that way, without so much as a thank you. And now I’ve told you how it came to pass that you found a live puppet at the end of your rope, instead of a dead donkey.”

  “I couldn’t care less about your story,” shouted the enraged buyer. “All I know is I paid twenty nickels for you, and I want my money back. You know what I’ll do? I’ll take you straight back to the market and sell you, by weight, as seasoned wood, good for starting fires.”

  “Go ahead, sell me again, I don’t mind,” said Pinocchio.

  But as he said that, he leapt high into the air and splashed into the water. Swimming cheerfully away from the beach, he shouted back to the poor buyer, “Goodbye, master. If you ever need a hide to make a drum, think of me.”

  He laughed and kept on swimming. A minute later, he turned again and shouted even louder, “Goodbye, master. If you ever need some seasoned wood to start a fire, think of me.”

  And so it was that, before long, he had swum so far out that he was scarcely visible from shore. Or rather, all that was visible was a little black dot on the surface of the sea, a dot that every now and then lifted its legs out of the water to jump up and do flips, like a dolphin in a frisky mood.

  As he swam about aimlessly, Pinocchio saw in the midst of the sea a rock that looked like white marble, and on top of it a pretty little goat was bleating affectionately and beckoning him to come near.

  But the strangest thing was this: the goat’s fleece, instead of being white or black or splotched with more than one color, like the fleece of other goats, was completely blue—indeed it was such a dazzling sky-blue that it reminded him strongly of the Beautiful Girl.

  I’ll let you guess whether or not Pinocchio’s heart began to beat faster! With renewed strength and energy, he began swimming toward the white rock, and he was already halfway there when he saw, rising out of the water and coming toward him, the terrifying head of a sea monster, its mouth gaping like a huge cavern, and three rows of fangs that would have been scary even just in a picture.

  And do you know who this sea monster was?

  This sea monster was none other than the gigantic Shark who was mentioned several times earlier in this story and who, thanks to his butchery and his insatiable voracity, was known as “the Attila of fish and fishermen.”

  Imagine poor Pinocchio’s dread at the sight of this monster. He tried to dodge him, to change directions. He tried to escape. But that enormous gaping mouth kept coming at him, fast as an arrow.

  “Hurry, Pinocchio, for goodness’ sake!” bleated the beautiful goat.

  And Pinocchio swam desperately, using his arms, his chest, his legs, and his feet.

  “Quick, Pinocchio, the monster’s getting closer!”

  And Pinocchio, gathering all his strength, swam even harder.

  “Careful, Pinocchio! The monster’s catching up! It’s right there, it’s right there! Hurry up, for goodness’ sake, or you’ll be lost!”

  And Pinocchio swam faster than he ever had, on and on and on, zooming like a bullet. He was already nearly in reach of the rock, and the goat was already leaning out over the sea, stretching her forelegs toward him to help him out of the water…But!

  But by then it was too late?
??the monster had caught him. Taking a deep breath, the monster swallowed the poor puppet as if he were sucking up a raw egg, and he swallowed him with such violence and avidity that Pinocchio was knocked cruelly about inside the Shark’s body, leaving him still in a daze a quarter of an hour later.

  When he came back to his senses after that shock, he didn’t have the faintest idea where he was. All around him was a great darkness—a darkness so black and profound that he felt he had fallen headfirst into a brimming inkwell.

  He sat there listening but didn’t hear a sound. Every now and then rough gusts of wind whipped across his face. At first he didn’t understand where that wind was coming from, but then he realized it came from the monster’s lungs. The Shark, you see, suffered terribly from asthma, and when he breathed, it sounded just like the north wind blowing.

  Pinocchio at first tried to act brave. But when he confirmed that he was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, trapped in the belly of a sea monster, he began to weep and wail, and through his tears he said, “Help! Help! Oh, poor me! Isn’t anyone coming to rescue me?”

  “Who do you expect to rescue you, wretch?” said a cracked old voice in the darkness, sounding like an out-of-tune guitar.

  “Who said that?” asked Pinocchio, frozen with fear.

  “I did! I’m a poor tuna, swallowed along with you by the Shark. And you—what kind of fish are you?”

  “I have nothing to do with fish. I’m a puppet.”

  “Well, if you’re not a fish, why did you let yourself get swallowed by the monster?”

  “I didn’t let myself get swallowed—he just came and swallowed me! And now what are we supposed to do here in the dark?”

  “Accept our fate and wait for the Shark to digest us both!”

  “But I don’t want to be digested!” howled Pinocchio, starting to cry again.

  “Neither do I,” replied the Tuna, “but I’m rather philosophical, and I take comfort in the thought that, when you’re born a Tuna, it’s nobler to die in water than in oil!”