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.
25
AT 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.”
These words touched Pinocchio’s heart, and he quickly lifted his head and said to the Fairy, “I’ll go to school, I’ll work, I’ll do everything you tell me, because, well, I’ve grown tired of living the life of a puppet, and I want to become a boy at any cost. You promised, right?”
“I did indeed, and now it’s up to you.”
26
THE NEXT day Pinocchio went to the local school.
Imagine those little scamps, seeing a puppet come to their school! They couldn’t stop laughing. They played one trick after another on him: one snatched his cap, one yanked his little jacket from behind, one tried to draw a big mustache under his nose in ink, and one even tried to tie strings to his hands and feet to make him dance.
For a while, Pinocchio maintained his composure and kept his distance. But finally, feeling his patience running out, he turned to the ones who were pestering him and making sport of him the most, and he told them sternly, “Watch out, boys, I didn’t come here to be the butt of your jokes. I respect others and I want to be respected.”
“Bravo, dunce! You speak like a printed book!” howled the rascals, falling over with laughter. And one of them, the cheekiest of the bunch, reached out his hand intending to seize the puppet by the end of his nose.
But he wasn’t quick enough: Pinocchio stuck his leg out under the table and gave him a kick on the shins.
“Ouch! What hard feet!” cried the boy, rubbing the bruise the puppet had given him.
“And what elbows—even harder than his feet!” said another, who in return for one of his rude tricks had received an elbow in the belly.
The fact is that after that kick and that elbow, Pinocchio swiftly gained the admiration and the sympathy of all the boys in school. They all took a heartfelt liking to him and began showering him with affection.
And even the teacher boasted about him, for he could see that Pinocchio was attentive, hardworking, intelligent, always the first to arrive at school and the last to get out of his seat at the end of the day.
His only fault was knocking about with too many of his schoolmates. Among them were a bunch of rogues notorious for their lack of interest in studying or doing well in school.
His teacher warned him every day, and even the good Fairy told him over and over again: “Watch out, Pinocchio! Sooner or later those naughty schoolmates of yours will end up causing you to lose all love for learning, and they might, just might, get you into some big trouble.”
“Don’t worry!” the puppet replied, shrugging and tapping his index finger on his forehead, as if to say: “There’s a lot of good sense in here!”
Then one fine day, as he was walking to school, he happened to run into his usual flock of friends. As they approached, they said, “Have you heard the big news?”
“No.”
“A shark as big as a mountain has appeared nearby in the sea.”
“Really?”
“We’re going to the beach to see it. You want to come, too?”
“Not me. I want to go to school.”
“Who cares about school? We can go to school tomorrow. One day more or less of school—we’ll still be the same old jackasses.”
“But what will the teacher say?”
“The teacher can say whatever he likes. He’s paid to spend his days grumbling.”
“And my mother?”
“Mothers never know anything,” replied those rogues.
“You know what I’ll do?” Pinocchio said. “I want to see that Shark for certain reasons of my own—but I’ll go see it after school.”
“Silly fool!” retorted one of the flock. “Do you think that a fish of that magnitude will hang around until it suits you? As soon as he gets bored, he’ll blunder off to someplace else, and that will be that.”
“How long does it take to get from here to the beach?” the puppet asked.
“We can be there and back in an hour.”
“Then let’s go! And the last one there’s a rotten egg!”
The starting signal having thus been given, that flock of rogues began to sprint across the fields, with their books and notebooks under their arms. And Pinocchio was always in the lead; he seemed to have wings on his feet.
Every now and then he turned back to taunt his friends, who were a considerable distance behind him, and seeing them panting and gasping and covered with dust, their tongues hanging out, he laughed at them heartily. The wretch, in that moment, had no idea what frights and what terrible troubles lay in store for him!
27
WHEN HE reached the shore, Pinocchio began scanning the sea. But he didn’t see any Shark. The sea was perfectly smooth, like a giant mirror.
“The Shark—where is it?” he asked, turning to his companions.
“Maybe he went to breakfast,” replied one of his companions, laughing.
“Or maybe he went back to bed for a little nap,” added another, laughing even harder.
From these absurd answers and their silly cackling, Pinocchio gathered that his schoolmates had played a cruel trick on him. His feelings hurt, Pinocchio said to them in a furious voice, “Now what? What have you gained by making me believe that fib about the Shark?”
“We’ve gained plenty!” those rogues replied in chorus.
“Such as?”
“We’ve made you skip school and come with us. Aren’t you ashamed of being so punctual and hardworking every day at school? Aren’t you ashamed of studying as much as you do?”
“What difference does it make to you if I study?”
“It makes a big difference, because you make us look bad to the teacher.”
“How?”
“Because the kids who study always make the kids who don’t want to study, like us, look bad by comparison. And we don’t want to look bad! We have some self-respect, too!”
“So what do I have to do to make you happy?”
“You have to be fed up, like us, with the school and the lessons and the teacher—our three great enemies.”
“And what if I want to keep studying?”
“We’ll never look you in the face again, and we’ll make you pay the first chance we get!”
“To tell the truth, you almost make me laugh,” said the puppet, shaking his head.
“Hey, Pinocchio!” shouted the biggest of the boys, w
alking right up to him. “You better not act like a tough guy here! You better not act so cocky! Because you might not be afraid of us, but we’re not afraid of you, either! And don’t forget there’s one of you and seven of us.”
“Seven—like the seven deadly sins,” said Pinocchio, laughing.
“Did you hear that? He insulted all of us! He called us deadly sins!”
“Pinocchio, you better apologize—or else!”
“Nanny-nanny-boo-boo!” said the puppet, thumbing his nose to mock them.
“Pinocchio! You’ll be sorry!”
“Nanny-nanny-boo-boo!”
“We’ll beat you like a donkey!”
“Nanny-nanny-boo-boo!”
“We’ll send you home with a broken nose!”
“Nanny-nanny-boo-boo!”
“You’ll get the boo-boo now!” shouted the boldest of those rogues. “Here’s a taste to start with, and you can save the rest for supper!”
And as he said that, he punched Pinocchio in the head.
But it was tit for tat, as the saying goes, because the puppet, as might be expected, answered at once with a counterpunch. And from then on, the battle became general and fierce.
Though Pinocchio was alone, he defended himself like a hero. He used those rock-hard wooden feet of his so well that his enemies were forced to keep a respectful distance. Wherever his feet could reach and strike, they left souvenir bruises.
At this point, the boys, vexed at being unable to match the puppet in hand-to-hand combat, thought it wise to resort to projectiles. They untied their bundles of schoolbooks and began flinging them at Pinocchio: their spelling books, their grammar books, Thouar’s Popular Tales, Baccini’s Memoirs of a Chick, a couple of books by a fellow named Collodi, and still others. But the puppet, who was sharp-eyed and quick-witted, always managed to duck in time, so that all the books sailed over his head and dropped into the sea.
Think of the fish! Believing that those books were something good to eat, whole schools of fish swarmed to the water’s surface. But after sampling a page here and a frontispiece there, they spat them right back out, making the sort of face that seemed to say, “This stuff is not for us: we are accustomed to much better fare!”