THE PINOCCHIO INTERMEDIATE VOCABULARY BUILDER

by Mark Phillips

All Rights Reserved © 2004 Mark Phillips

Introduction

If your vocabulary needs building, you’re probably the type of person who doesn’t like to read. But because people remember the meanings of unfamiliar words only if they learn them in context, the only way to build your vocabulary is—you guessed it—by reading. And the fastest and most painless way of putting that idea into practice is by reading just one short book that happens to include all the vocabulary words you need to know—for standardized tests such as the PSAT or SAT, or for everyday intelligent-sounding conversation.

Just as people might use “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog” to easily and conveniently test out the keys of a typewriter or computer (because it contains all 26 letters of the alphabet in a single, short sentence), you can use The Pinocchio Intermediate Vocabulary Builder (a specially rewritten version of Carlo Collodi’s classic, The Adventures of Pinocchio) to easily and conveniently build your intermediate-level vocabulary (because it contains all the words you need to know, 1000 of them, in context, in a single, short book).

Whereas the physical edition of this book includes definitions by the author at the bottom of each page, this Kindle edition instead makes use of Kindle’s built-in dictionary. In the story, each vocabulary word appears in capital letters. Simply use Kindle’s “Lookup” feature to instantly reveal the definition of the word. (If the built-in dictionary seems not to include the word in question, use Kindle’s “Search” feature to find the word in the built-in dictionary. If the word still does not appear, search for a simpler form of the word; that is, present tense rather than past tense, singular rather than plural, and so on.)

Chapter 1 “Geppetto Makes a Puppet”

Once upon a time a block of firewood found its way into the room of a kind but poor old wood carver named Geppetto. It was a small but comfortable room on the ground floor, with a tiny window under the stairway. The furniture couldn’t have been much simpler: an old chair, a rickety bed, and a broken-down table. In a back corner stood a DECREPIT, old stove.

As soon as he saw that piece of wood, Geppetto was filled with joy. Rubbing his hands together happily, he said to himself: “This has come in the nick of time. Now I can make myself a beautiful wooden puppet that can dance and turn somersaults. With it I can travel the world and earn my supper.”

Geppetto took out his tools to begin cutting the wood into the proper shape, but first stopped to ask himself: “What should I call him? I think I’ll call him Pinocchio. I once knew a whole family by that name, and they were all lucky.”

After choosing the name for his puppet, Geppetto set to work. He made the hair, the forehead, and the eyes. All of a sudden the newly made eyes moved back and forth, then stopped and stared at him! Seeing this, Geppetto asked, “Why are you staring at me?”

But there was no answer.

After the eyes, Geppetto made the nose, which began to grow as soon as it was finished. It grew and grew until it became so long that it seemed endless. Poor Geppetto kept cutting it and cutting it, but the more he cut, the longer the nose grew. In DESPAIR, he finally left it alone.

Next he made the mouth. No sooner was it finished than it stuck out its tongue at him!

Eager to finish what he’d started, Geppetto ignored the insult and went on with his work. After the mouth, he made the ears, the chin, the neck, the shoulders, the stomach, the arms, and the hands.

As he was about to put the finishing touches on the fingertips, Geppetto suddenly felt his face being poked. “Pinocchio, you bad boy!” he yelled. “You’re not even finished yet, and you’re already rude to your poor old father. That’s very bad, my son. Very bad!”

The legs and feet still had to be made. As soon as they were done, Geppetto felt a sharp kick! Though thoroughly EXASPERATED by the puppet’s antics, Geppetto didn’t yell. Instead, he said to himself: “Well, I guess I deserve it. I should have realized this might happen before I started to make him. But now it’s too late.”

He took hold of the puppet and put him on the floor so that he might walk. Pinocchio found that his wooden legs were too stiff to move, so he lay on the floor and just wiggled them about HAPHAZARDLY, as a baby does in a crib. Now, with his legs LIMBERED up a bit, he got back up and took a few FALTERING steps. When he nearly tumbled over, Geppetto took his hand and patiently taught him how to put out one foot in front of the other.

With a little practice, Pinocchio was able to walk all by himself. Very soon after that he was able to run all around the room! He came to the open door, and with one leap he was out into the street. Off he ran!

Poor Geppetto ran after him but wasn’t able to catch up. “Stop him! Stop him!” Geppetto shouted. But the people in the street, seeing a wooden puppet running by, were too amazed to move.

By sheer luck, a policeman stood directly in Pinocchio’s path. Hearing the commotion, he looked up. As the wooden boy ran by, the officer grabbed him by his long nose and returned him to his father.

Geppetto grabbed Pinocchio by the back of the neck and started to drag him home. As he was doing so, he shook him two or three times and said to him angrily, “We’re going home now. I’ll deal with you when we get there!”

Pinocchio, on hearing this, threw himself to the ground and refused to take another step. One person after another gathered around the MUTINOUS child until a small crowd had formed.

“Poor puppet,” said one man. “I’m not surprised he doesn’t want to go home. Geppetto’s certainly not an ABUSIVE father, but there’s no doubt that he’ll give the boy a good spanking.”

“Geppetto’s a good man,” added another, “but if we leave that poor puppet in his hands, who knows what he might do!”

Hearing these comments, the policeman suddenly ended matters by setting Pinocchio free and placing Geppetto under arrest! Then, hoping to DISPERSE the crowd, he yelled, “Okay, break it up. Show’s over.”

While poor old Geppetto was being led off to the police station, Pinocchio ran wildly through the town, taking one short cut after another toward home.

Chapter 2 “The Cricket”

On reaching home, Pinocchio found the front door AJAR. He slipped into the house, locked the door behind him, and threw himself on the floor with a sigh of relief. But his happiness lasted only a short time, for just then he heard INTERMITTENT chirping sounds.

“Who’s that?” asked Pinocchio.

“I’m a cricket who’s been living in this room for many years!” answered the voice.

Pinocchio turned and saw a cricket crawling slowly up the wall.

“But now this room is mine,” said the puppet with a PROPRIETARY attitude, “so please get out. And don’t come back.”

“I won’t leave this spot,” answered the cricket, “until I’ve told you something very CONSEQUENTIAL.”

“Tell me, then, and hurry.”

“Boys who refuse to obey their parents and run away from home will never be happy. When they’re older they’ll be very sorry.”

“All I know is that tomorrow morning I’ll leave this place forever. If I stay here the same thing will happen to me that happens to all boys and girls. I’ll be sent to school, where I’ll be forced to study. And I hate to study! It’s much more fun, I think, to chase butterflies and climb trees!”

“You fool! Don’t you know that if you do that, you’ll grow into a donkey and you’ll be laughed at by everyone? Why don’t you at least learn a trade, so that you can earn an honest living?”

“Can I tell you something?” asked Pinocchio, who was beginning to lose patience. “Of all the trades in the world, there’s only one that really suits me.”

“What’s that?”

“Eating, drinking, sleeping, and playing all day.”

“I’m telling you for your own good, Pinocchio,” said the cricket in a calm voice, “that there are DIRE REPERCUSSIONS for people who live that way. They generally end up in the hospital or in prison.”

“Be quiet! If you make me angry, you’ll be sorry!”

“But Pinocchio, I’m already sorry—for you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a silly, wooden-headed puppet.”

These words INFURIATED Pinocchio beyond all reason. He jumped up in a rage, took a hammer from the bench, and threw it with all his might at the cricket. The poor insect was crushed against the wall.

If the cricket’s death bothered Pinocchio at all, it was only for a few minutes. As the day wore on, a queer, empty feeling at the pit of his stomach reminded him that he had had nothing to eat.

A boy’s appetite grows very fast, and in a few moments the queer, empty feeling had become hunger, and the hunger grew bigger and bigger, until soon he was as hungry as a wolf.

Poor Pinocchio ran around the room, RUMMAGED through all the boxes and drawers, and even looked under the bed in search of a piece of bread or a cracker. But he found nothing.

And meanwhile his hunger grew and grew. Finally he wept and thought to himself: “The cricket was right. It was wrong of me to disobey my father and to run away from home. If he were here now, I wouldn’t be so hungry! Oh, how horrible it is to be hungry!”

And as his stomach kept grumbling more than ever and he had nothing to quiet it with, he thought of going out for a walk to the nearby village in the hope of finding some kind person who might give him some food.

Chapter 3 “The Pears”

Pinocchio hated the dark streets, but he was so hungry that, in spite of it, he ran out of the house. The night was pitch black. It thundered, and bright flashes of lightning now and then shot across the sky, ILLUMINATING the entire town. A cold, angry wind blew, raising clouds of dust and making the trees shake and moan.

Pinocchio was terrified of thunder and lightning, but his RABID hunger made him forget his fear. He ran as fast as he could toward the village. He arrived tired out and panting, with his tongue hanging out like a dog’s.

The whole village was dark and deserted. The stores were closed, and all the doors and windows were shut. It seemed like a ghost town.

Pinocchio, in desperation, ran up to a doorway, threw himself upon the bell, and pulled it wildly, saying to himself: “Someone will surely answer that!”

He was right. An old man in a nightcap peered through an APERTURE in the upstairs window curtain. He called down angrily, “What do you want at this hour of the night?”

“Will you be good enough to give me a bit of bread? I’m dying of hunger.”

“Wait a minute and I’ll be right back,” answered the old fellow, thinking he had to deal with one of those naughty boys who love to roam around at night ringing people’s bells while they’re peacefully asleep.

After a minute or two, the same voice cried, “I have something I think you’ll find INVIGORATING. Get under the window and hold out your hat!”

Pinocchio had no hat, but he managed to get under the window just in time to feel a shower of ice-cold water pour down on his head, his shoulders, and his whole body.

He returned home as wet as a rag, freezing, and tired out from weariness and hunger. As he was too weak to stand, he sat down on a little stool and put his feet on the stove to dry them.

There he fell asleep. While he slept his wooden feet began to burn. Slowly, very slowly, they blackened and turned to ash.

Pinocchio slept so soundly that he was unaware of his feet. At dawn he opened his eyes just as a loud knocking sounded at the door. “Who is it?” he called, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“It is I,” answered a voice. It was the voice of Geppetto, who had finally been released from the police station.

The poor puppet, who was still half asleep, had not yet discovered that his feet were burned and gone. As soon as he heard his father’s voice, he jumped up from his seat to open the door. But as he did so, he staggered and fell flat on the floor.

“Open the door for me!” Geppetto shouted from the street.

“Father, I can’t,” cried the puppet, rolling on the floor.

“Why not?”

“Because someone has eaten my feet.”

“Who?”

“The cat,” answered Pinocchio, seeing that the cat was busily playing with some wood shavings in the corner of the room.

Not knowing what else to do, Geppetto gave his son an ULTIMATUM: “Open this door right now or I’ll give you a spanking when I get in!”

“Father, believe me, I can’t stand up,” moaned Pinocchio. “Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I’ll have to walk on my knees for the rest of my life!”

Geppetto, thinking that all these tears and cries were only more of the puppet’s tricks, angrily CLAMBERED up the side of the house and went in through the window.

At first he found nothing AMISS. But upon discovering Pinocchio stretched out on the floor and really without feet, he felt very sad and his anger disappeared. Picking him up, he caressed him and said to him with tears running down his cheeks: “My little Pinocchio, my dear little Pinocchio! How did you burn your feet?”

“I don’t know, Father, but believe me, the night has been a terrible one and I’ll remember it as long as I live. The thunder was so noisy and the lightning so bright. And I was hungry. And then the cricket said I was a fool and I threw the hammer at him and killed him. And I couldn’t find anything to eat and I went out. And the old man with a nightcap looked out the window and DOUSED me with FRIGID water. And I came home and put my feet on the stove to dry them, and I fell asleep. And now my feet are gone, but my hunger isn’t! Oh! Oh! Oh!” And poor Pinocchio began to scream and cry so loudly that he could be heard for blocks around.

Geppetto, who had understood nothing of all that jumbled, INCOHERENT talk—except that Pinocchio was hungry—felt sorry for him. He pulled three ripe pears out of his pocket and offered them to him, saying, “These pears were for my breakfast, but I give them to you gladly. Eat them and stop weeping.”

“If you want me to eat them, please peel them for me.”

“Peel them?” asked Geppetto, AGHAST. “I would never have thought that you were so FINICKY about your food. Bad, very bad! In this world, even as children, we must get used to eating everything, and liking it, for we never know what tomorrow may bring!”

“You may be right,” answered Pinocchio, “but I won’t eat the pears if they’re not peeled. I don’t like them.”

And kind, patient Geppetto took out a knife and began to peel the pears. Though he worked quickly around their SPHERICAL bases, the TAPERED tops proved troublesome, and he worked more slowly. Finally finished, he placed the three peeled pears before his son and put the peels in a row at the side of the table. Pinocchio ate one pear in an instant and started to throw the core away—but Geppetto held his arm.

“Oh, no, don’t throw it away! Everything in this world may be of some use!”

“Do you think I would ever eat that core?” cried Pinocchio angrily.

“Who knows?” replied Geppetto calmly.

And later the three cores were placed on the table next to the peels.

Pinocchio had eaten the three pears, or rather devoured them. Then he yawned deeply, and cried, “I’m still hungry!”

“But I have nothing more to give you.”

“Really? Nothing?”

“I have only these cores and these peels.”

“The fruit was sweet and SUCCULENT,” said Pinocchio, “but these cores and peels are dry and bitter.” Then, feeling a sharp pang of hunger, he said, “Oh, very well. If there’s nothing else, I’ll eat them.”

At first he made a face, but, one after another, the peels and the cores disappeared. “Ah! Now I feel fine!” he said after eating the last one.

“You see,” observed Geppetto, “that I was right when I told you that one must not be too fussy about food. We never know what life may have in store for us!”

Chapter 4 “New Feet and a New Schoolbook”

As soon as his hunger was satisfied, Pinocchio started to grumble and cry that he wanted a new pair of feet. But Geppetto, in order to punish him for his mischief, let him alone the whole morning. In the afternoon, too, Geppetto ignored his son’s RELENTLESS BADGERING. Then, after dinner, he said to him, “Why should I make your feet over again? To see you run away from home again?”

“I promise you,” answered the puppet, sobbing, “that from now on I’ll be good.”

“Boys always promise that when they want something,” said Geppetto.

“I promise to go to school every day and to study hard.”

“Those sound like NOBLE ASPIRATIONS, but boys always say that when they want their own way.”

“But I’m not like other boys! I’m better than all of them, and I always tell the truth. I promise you, Father, that I’ll learn a trade, and I’ll take care of you in your old age.”

Geppetto, though trying to look STERN, felt his eyes fill with tears and his heart soften. He said no more, but, taking his tools and two pieces of wood, he set to work.

In less than an hour the feet were finished—two slender, NIMBLE little feet, strong and quick, modeled as if by an artist’s hands.

“Now close your eyes and sleep!” Geppetto said.

Pinocchio didn’t feel the least bit sleepy, but he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep while Geppetto attached the two feet with a bit of glue, doing his work so well that the seams between the legs and the APPENDED EXTREMITIES could hardly be seen.

As soon as Pinocchio felt his new feet, he gave one leap from the table and started to skip and jump around, mad with joy. Finally he stopped and said, “To show you how grateful I am to you, Father, I’ll go to school now. But to go to school I’ll need a suit of clothes.”

Geppetto did not have a penny in his pocket, so he made his son a little suit out of paper with pictures of flowers on it, a pair of shoes from the bark of a tree, and a tiny hat from a piece of bread.

Pinocchio ran to look at his reflection in a bowl of water, and he felt so happy that he said proudly, “Now I look like a gentleman.”

“Indeed,” answered Geppetto. “But remember that fine clothes do not make a gentleman unless they are neat and clean.”

“Very true,” answered Pinocchio, “But in order to go to school, I still need something very important.”

“What?”

“A schoolbook.”

“To be sure! But how will we get it?”

“That’s easy. We’ll go to the bookstore and buy it,” explained the puppet.

“And the money?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Neither have I,” said the old man sadly.

Pinocchio became DOWNCAST at these words, for when poverty shows itself, it destroys all joy—even in children.

“Wait here!” cried Geppetto all at once, as he jumped up from his chair. Putting on his old coat, full of holes and patches, he ran out of the house without another word.

After a while he returned. In his hands he had a brand-new schoolbook for his son, but the old coat was gone. The poor fellow was in his shirtsleeves, and it was snowing outside.

“Where’s your coat, Father?”

“I sold it.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because it made me too warm.”

Pinocchio understood the IMPORT of the white lie instantly, and, unable to restrain his tears, he jumped on his father’s neck and kissed him over and over.

Chapter 5 “The Puppet Theater”

When it stopped snowing, Pinocchio hurried off to school with his new book under his arm. As he walked along, he busily planned his AGENDA. He thought: “In school, today I’ll learn to read, tomorrow to write, and the day after to do arithmetic. Then, clever as I am, I can earn a lot of money. With the very first pennies I make, I’ll buy Father a brand-new cloth coat. Cloth, did I say? No, it’ll be of gold and silver with diamond buttons. That poor man certainly deserves it. After all, isn’t he in his shirtsleeves because he was kind enough to buy a book for me? On this cold day, too! Fathers are indeed good to their children!”

While dwelling on these VISIONARY desires, he thought he heard beautiful music coming from somewhere in the distance—but because it was faint, the direction it came from was difficult to DISCERN. He stopped to listen more carefully, tilting his head this way and that. Finally, he determined that it was coming from a little street that led to a small village along the shore.

“What can that music be?” he wondered. ENRAPTURED by its charm, he stood listening, forgetting about everything else. Then, suddenly coming to his senses, he thought: “What a pity that I have to go to school today! Otherwise—”

There he stopped, very much puzzled. He felt he had to make up his mind for either one thing or another. Should he go to school, or should he follow the music?

“Today I’ll follow the music, and tomorrow I’ll go to school,” he decided ARBITRARILY. “There’s always plenty of time to go to school.”

He started running down the street. Soon he was close enough to hear the SUBTLE NUANCES of the various instruments, and the music sounded even more beautiful than before. He ran as fast as his little wooden legs would carry him.

Suddenly he found himself in a large square, full of people standing in front of a wooden building painted in VIBRANT colors. He stared at the building for a few moments while he caught his breath, then asked a little boy near him, “What’s that?”

“Read the sign and you’ll know,” answered the boy.

“I’d like to read it, but somehow I can’t today.”

“Why not?”

“Um…I can’t DECIPHER the handwriting.”

“Oh, really? Then I’ll read it to you. It says ‘Great Puppet Theater. Marionette Show Today.’”

“When did the show start?”

“It’s starting right now.”

“And how much does it cost to get in?”

“Five cents.”

Pinocchio, who was wild with curiosity to know what was going on inside, lost all his pride and said to the boy shamelessly, “Will you lend me five cents until tomorrow?”

“I’d like to lend it to you,” answered the other, poking fun at him, “but somehow I can’t today.”

“Then will you buy my coat of flowered paper for five cents?”

“For kids our age a floral pattern is PASSÉ; it’s been SUPERSEDED by solid colors or stripes. Besides, if it rains, what could I do with a coat of paper? It would be ruined.”

“Do you want to buy my shoes?”

“Shoes of bark? They’re only good for lighting a fire.”

“What about my hat?”

“Some bargain! A cap made out of bread! Is that supposed to be AESTHETICALLY pleasing?”

“Well—” said Pinocchio, who was too NAÏVE to understand that the boy was INTIMATING that the cap looked ugly.

“Look,” the boy interrupted, “I don’t know you, but let me give you some advice about clothes. At the least you should try to CONFORM to the way your PEERS dress—because if you DEVIATE from the NORM, you’ll be laughed at. But better still, look to see what the best-dressed boys wear—then try to EMULATE them. Anyway, I don’t want to buy anything from you.”

Pinocchio, still without the five cents he needed, was almost in tears. He was just about to make one last offer, but didn’t have the nerve. He hesitated for a long time, unable to make up his mind. At last he said, “Will you give me five cents for my brand-new schoolbook?”

“I’m a boy, so I don’t buy things from other boys,” said the little fellow CRYPTICALLY.

“Sorry to INTRUDE,” said a CANNY used book salesman who happened to be standing nearby and EAVESDROPPING, “but I might give you five cents for your book. But first I have to make sure that the price you’re asking isn’t too high. You see, there’s a GLUT of schoolbooks in the marketplace right now, so even though it has some educational value, it has very little MONETARY value. Here, let me see it.”

Pinocchio handed over the book and the salesman made a show of APPRAISING it. Then, acting as if he were doing Pinocchio a tremendous favor, he agreed to the price. Taking a nickel from his pocket he handed it to Pinocchio, then disappeared into the crowd.

And to think that poor old Geppetto sat at home shivering in his shirtsleeves because he had to sell his coat to buy that schoolbook for his son!

Chapter 6 “Fire-Eater”

Quick as a flash, Pinocchio disappeared into the puppet theater. It was full of people, who were enjoying the show and laughing till they nearly cried at the ZANY physical antics of the marionettes and the savage TOPICAL references in their jokes and songs.

Pinocchio sat MESMERIZED in the last row. Then suddenly, without any warning, the leading puppet stopped acting, pointed to the rear of the theater, and yelled wildly, “Look, look! Am I dreaming? Or do I really see Pinocchio there?”

“It is Pinocchio! It is Pinocchio!” yelled all the marionettes. “Pinocchio, come up to us! Come to the arms of your wooden brothers!”

At such a loving invitation, Pinocchio stood up, and with one leap found himself in one of the middle rows. With another leap, he was on the orchestra leader’s PODIUM. With a third, he landed on the stage.

It’s impossible to describe the shrieks of joy, the warm embraces, and the EXUBERANT greetings with which that strange company of wooden actors and actresses received Pinocchio.

It was a touching sight, but the audience, seeing that the play had stopped, became angry and began to clamor for the play to continue.

The yelling was of no use, for the marionettes, instead of going on with their act, made twice as much noise as before, and, lifting Pinocchio on their shoulders, carried him around the stage in triumph.

CONCURRENT with this JUBILANT celebration was the sudden arrival onstage of the theater’s owner. His name was Fire-Eater, and he was INFAMOUS for his frightful appearance and RUTHLESS cruelty. He was large and BURLY, with teeth like yellow fangs and eyes like glowing red coals. But his most PROMINENT feature was his tangled black beard that hung all the way down to his feet! In his huge, hairy hands he held a long whip made of green snakes and black cats’ tails twisted together, which he constantly swished through the air in a threatening manner.

At his unexpected appearance, the FUROR in the theater abruptly ended. The audience was speechless; no one dared even to breathe. The poor marionettes, one and all, cowered in fear.

“Why have you brought such PANDEMONIUM to my theater?” the huge fellow screamed at Pinocchio.

The puppet didn’t wish to ATTRIBUTE blame to himself or to anyone else in particular. With shaking knees he answered EVASIVELY, “Believe me, sir, it’s not my fault.”

“Enough! Be quiet! I’ll deal with you later.”

As soon as the play was over, Fire-Eater went to the kitchen, where a big lamb chop was slowly turning over the fire. More wood was needed to finish cooking it. He called in a couple of the wooden actors and said to them, “Bring Pinocchio to me! He looks as if he’s made of well-seasoned wood. He’ll make a fine fire for cooking.”

At first the marionettes hesitated. Then, frightened by a SINISTER stare from their master, they hurriedly left the kitchen to obey him. A few minutes later they returned, carrying poor Pinocchio, who was squirming like a fish out of water and crying pitifully, “Father, save me! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!”

Chapter 7 “Fire-Eater Sneezes”

Though Fire-Eater looked ugly and heartless, his DISPOSITION was not nearly as nasty as most people imagined. Proof of this is that, when he saw poor Pinocchio being brought to him, struggling with fear and crying, he felt sorry for him and began to weaken. Finally, he could control himself no longer and gave a loud sneeze.

At that sneeze, one of the wooden actors, who until then had looked miserably sad, smiled happily and, leaning toward Pinocchio, whispered to him, “Good news, my brother! Fire-Eater has sneezed, and that’s a sign that he feels sorry for you. You’re saved!”

Strangely, whereas most people cry when they feel sorry for someone, Fire-Eater had the strange QUIRK of sneezing each time he was moved to pity.

But after sneezing, Fire-Eater, mean as ever, shouted at Pinocchio, “Stop crying! It gives me a funny feeling down here in my stomach and…Achoo! Achoo!” Two loud sneezes finished his speech.

“Are your father and mother still living?” asked Fire-Eater.

“My father, yes. My mother I have never known.”

“You never knew your mother? Then who raised and NURTURED you?”

“My kind, loving father. He’s like a father and mother to me.”

“Your father must be a very good man. I think he would suffer terribly if I were to use you as firewood. Poor old man! I feel sorry for him! Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!” Three more sneezes sounded, louder than ever. “However, I should be sorry for myself, too, right now. My fine dinner is spoiled. I have no more wood for the fire, and the lamb chop is only half cooked. Never mind. In your place I’ll burn some other puppet. Guards!”

At the call, two security guards AFFILIATED with the theater appeared. They were tall and wore helmets on their heads. In their hands they carried very large swords—the type favored by MEDIEVAL knights.

Fire-Eater said to them, “Some of our bit part players are not true THESPIANS. For them acting is merely an AVOCATION. Take one of them and bring him here to throw on the fire. I want my lamb chop well done!”

With unthinking SUBSERVIENCE, the guards carried out the order. As they approached the fire, the new victim was so frightened that his legs doubled up under him and he fell to the floor. Pinocchio, at that heartbreaking sight, threw himself at the feet of Fire-Eater and, weeping bitterly, asked in a pitiful voice that could scarcely be heard, “Have pity on my wooden brother, I beg of you, sir!”

“There are no sirs here!”

“Have pity, Your Excellency!”

On hearing himself addressed as Your Excellency, Fire-Eater sat up very straight in his chair, stroked his long beard, and, becoming suddenly calm, smiled and said to Pinocchio, “What would you like me to do?”

“I beg for mercy for my poor brother, who has never done the least harm in his life.”

“There’s no mercy here, Pinocchio. Even though you’ve WREAKED HAVOC in my theater, I’ve spared you. But I can go only so far. I’m hungry and my dinner must be cooked, so this puppet must burn in your place.”

“In that case,” declared Pinocchio, HEEDLESS of the consequences, “my duty is clear. Guards, tie me up and throw me on those flames. It’s not fair for someone else to die in my place!”

These brave words, said in a piercing voice, made all the other marionettes cry. Even the guards cried like babies.

Fire-Eater at first remained hard and cold. He said, “So what if it’s not fair? Life is filled with INEQUITIES. In war some soldiers die while others are merely wounded. Why? Because life isn’t fair!” But then, little by little, he softened and began to sneeze. After about a dozen sneezes, he opened his arms wide and said to Pinocchio, “You’re a brave boy! Come to my arms and kiss me!”

Pinocchio ran to him and, scurrying like a squirrel up the long black beard, gave Fire-Eater a loving kiss on the tip of his nose.

“You’re all pardoned!” announced Fire-Eater. Then, sighing and sadly shaking his head, he added, “Tonight I’ll have to eat my lamb chop only half cooked. But watch out next time, marionettes.”

At the news that pardon had been granted, all the puppets ran to the stage and, turning on the lights, they danced and sang till dawn.

Chapter 8 “The Fox and Cat”

The next day Fire-Eater called Pinocchio aside and asked him, “What’s your father’s name?”

“Geppetto.”

“That’s a nice name. You know, my name, “Fire-Eater,” is really a MISNOMER. I don’t actually eat fire; I only looked as if I might, or so I’m told. Now tell me, what does your father do for a living?”

“He’s a wood carver.”

“Does he earn much?”

“A mere PITTANCE; in fact, his earnings are so MEAGER that in order to buy me a schoolbook, he had to sell the only coat he owned—a coat full of patches.”

“Poor fellow! I feel sorry for him. Here, take these five gold pieces. Give them to him with my kindest regards.”

Pinocchio thanked him over and over. He kissed each marionette in turn, then even kissed the guards, and, beside himself with joy, set out on his homeward journey.

He had gone barely half a mile when he met a crippled fox and a blind cat walking together like two good friends. The fox leaned on the able-bodied cat for support, and the cat let the sharp-eyed fox lead him along.

“Good morning, Pinocchio,” said the fox, greeting him courteously.

“How do you know my name?” asked the puppet.

“I know your father well.”

“Where have you seen him?”

“I saw him yesterday standing at the door of his house.”

“What was he doing?”

“He was in his shirtsleeves trembling with cold.”

“Poor Father! But after today he’ll never suffer again.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve become rich.”

“You, rich?” said the fox, and he began to laugh out loud. The cat was laughing also, but tried to hide his MIRTH by stroking his long whiskers.

“There’s nothing to laugh at,” cried Pinocchio angrily. “These, as you know, are five new gold pieces.” And he pulled out the gold pieces that Fire-Eater had given him.

At the cheerful tinkle of the coins, the fox unconsciously held out his paw that was supposed to be crippled, and the cat widely opened his eyes—but closed them again so quickly that Pinocchio didn’t notice.

“And may I ask,” inquired the fox, “what you’re going to do with all that money?”

“First of all,” answered the puppet, “I want to buy a fine new coat for my father, a coat of gold and silver with diamond buttons. After that, I’ll buy a new schoolbook for myself so that I can go to school and study hard.”

“Look at me,” said the fox. “For the silly reason of wanting to study, I’ve lost a paw.”

“Look at me,” said the cat. “For the same foolish reason, I’ve lost the sight of both eyes.”

At that moment, a blackbird, perched on the fence along the road, called out sharp and clear, “Pinocchio, don’t listen to bad advice. If you do, you’ll be sorry!”

Poor little blackbird! If he had only kept his words to himself! In a flash the cat leaped on him and ate him, feathers and all. Then the cat cleaned his whiskers, closed his eyes, and became blind once more.

“Poor blackbird!” said Pinocchio to the cat. “Why did you kill him?”

“I killed him to teach him a lesson. He’s too MEDDLESOME. Next time he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

Suddenly the fox turned to the puppet and said, “Do you want to double your gold pieces?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want a hundred, a thousand, two thousand gold pieces for your measly five?”

“Yes, but how?”

“It’s very easy. Instead of returning home, come with us.”

“Where?”

“To Dupeland.”

Pinocchio thought awhile and then said firmly, “No, I don’t want to go. Home is near, and I’m going where my father’s waiting for me. How worried he must be that I haven’t returned yet! I’ve been a bad son, and the cricket was right when he said that a disobedient boy can’t be happy. I’ve learned this the hard way.”

“Well, then,” said the fox, “if you really want to go home, go ahead, but you’ll be sorry.”

“You’ll be sorry,” repeated the cat.

“Think about it, Pinocchio,” said the fox. “You’re turning your back on a WINDFALL! Tomorrow your five gold pieces will become two thousand!”

“Two thousand!” repeated the cat.

“But how can they possibly become so many?” asked Pinocchio wonderingly.

“I’ll explain,” said the fox. “Just outside Dupeland, there’s a field called the Field of Wonders, whose soil happens to contain an unusually high CONCENTRATION of microorganisms. What’s a microorganism, you ask. That’s a GENERIC term that ENCOMPASSES all the INFINITESIMAL forms of life—bacteria, for example—that are impossible to see with the naked eye. Now, as you know, bacteria are usually DETRIMENTAL to animal life. But in soil they cause organic wastes to DECOMPOSE into essential growth nutrients! You know, of course, that if you were to plant an apple seed in FERTILE soil, it would grow into an apple tree with hundreds of LUSCIOUS apples hanging from its branches. Well, it’s the same thing with the gold piece you’re going to plant. What you do is, you go to the Field of Wonders and you dig a hole. In that hole you bury a gold piece. After covering up the hole with dirt, you sprinkle it with water and then go to bed. During the night, the water and nutrients slowly seep through the POROUS outer layer of the coin. Now, as anyone with even a RUDIMENTARY knowledge of science knows, when molecules pass through metal—or through a metal’s magnetic field—they INDUCE a high-voltage electric current. This strong current—combined with THERMAL vibrations, of course—is what actually starts the growth process. The coin blossoms and grows, and the next morning you find a beautiful tree that’s loaded with shiny gold pieces.”

“Wow! So if I were to bury my five gold pieces,” cried Pinocchio, failing to see the flaw in the fox’s apple tree ANALOGY, “the next morning I would find…how many?”

“It’s not hard to calculate your AGGREGATE wealth,” answered the fox. “Say that each piece gives you five hundred. What you do is, you take five and, in your head, multiply that by five hundred. I know that sounds awfully CEREBRAL, but the long and short of it is that the next morning you would find twenty-five hundred new, sparkling gold pieces.” The fox hesitated a moment, then added, “But I want to be completely honest with you because I like you. Some of the coins may not look as if they sparkle right away.”

“How come?”

“Since they grow out of the earth, you might find a slight RESIDUE of soil on some of them. That can hide their bright metallic LUSTER. But if that happens, just wipe off the EXTRANEOUS dirt with your fingers—then you’ll see them sparkle. Also, I don’t want you to have INFLATED expectations about the number of coins you’ll find. The actual number really could range anywhere from about two thousand to three thousand. Of course, you’re asking yourself, Why the DISPARITY? You see, nature is in a constant state of FLUX—and we can’t even begin to FATHOM its deep mysteries. But we do know this much: For anything that grows from the ground, including gold, the actual results depend on three VARIABLES. The first is temperature. Low temperature can INHIBIT growth—but it’s warm today, so that won’t be a problem. The second is the amount of sunlight, which FLUCTUATES from day to day.” He looked up and declared, “Ah, not a cloud in the sky.” Then he continued, “And the third—the one whose role is perhaps most INSTRUMENTAL of all—is the actual number of growth nutrients in the soil. Now, this number is not STATIC, but changes from day to day. It depends on such factors as the rate of decay of fallen leaves and the activity of earthworms and various other TERRESTRIAL and SUBTERRANEAN creatures. Do you understand?” Without waiting for the puppet to respond, he went on, “In the Field of Wonders, we do know that the number of nutrients is extremely high, but, like anywhere else, it’s INDETERMINATE. But rest assured that one way or another, you’ll end up with a few thousand coins—a BOUNTIFUL supply, guaranteed to make you wealthy beyond your wildest dreams!”

“Wonderful!” cried Pinocchio, dancing about with joy. “And as soon as I have them, I’ll give some of them to you—to show my appreciation.”

“A gift for us?” cried the fox, pretending to be insulted. “Absolutely not!”

“Absolutely not!” repeated the cat.

“We don’t work for ourselves,” explained the fox. “As CHAMPIONS of the poor, we’re here only to help others.”

“To help others,” repeated the cat.

“And we do that only out of a love of giving—never for the credit. That’s why we make all of our charitable donations ANONYMOUSLY. And that’s why we’re always on the lookout for GULLIBLE people—so that we can teach them how to avoid being BILKED out of their hard-earned money. Call us CYNICS if you like, but there are a lot of selfish, dishonest people in this world who would like nothing better than to cheat you out of your money.”

“Really? Gee, I’ve never heard of anyone as kind and generous as the two of you!”

“Not at all,” answered the fox with pretended modesty.

When Pinocchio didn’t respond right away, he added, “We’re merely two tiny COGS in the great big wheel of human kindness.”

“What fine people!” thought Pinocchio to himself. And forgetting his father, the new coat, the schoolbook, and all his good resolutions, he said to the fox and cat, “I’ll go with you. Let’s hurry.”

Chapter 9 “The Red Lobster Inn”

The cat, fox, and puppet walked and walked. As they traveled, the fox described to Pinocchio—for the puppet’s own good, he explained—how swindlers operate. He EMBELLISHED the account with many real-life ANECDOTES. One concerned a real estate MOGUL who sold people nonexistent plots of land! Another concerned a street VENDOR who repeatedly jumped in front of passing horse-drawn carriages so that when he was knocked to the ground he could sue the driver for NEGLIGENCE. Still another concerned a FRAUDULENT MEDIUM who charged people an EXORBITANT fee to contact the spirits of their DECEASED pets. The fox finished by saying, “Anyway, I’ve seen the whole GAMUT of human dishonesty, from counterfeiting to EMBEZZLEMENT to FORGERY to IMPOSTURE.”

“But why would these people risk going to jail?” asked the puppet.

“For one thing, the work is actually rather easy and quite LUCRATIVE. But the main thing is that they believe they’re not really JEOPARDIZING their freedom because, in point of fact, swindlers are rarely FOILED by police. If people stop to figure out the odds—of not getting caught, I mean—then there’s a very high INCENTIVE to cheat because they see that the risk is really NEGLIGIBLE.”

“But if the police can’t catch them, how can they be stopped?” asked Pinocchio.

“Well, it’s really up to the decent, honest members of the POPULACE—people like us—to stop them.”

“How?”

“Well, usually—especially at the beginning of a deception—you won’t have any actual proof of dishonesty. But your INTUITION will tell you that something smells funny, so to speak, and you’ll grow WARY. Once that happens, because you’ll be on the alert, you’ll be able to recognize swindlers for what they are and it’ll be easy to FRUSTRATE their DEVIOUS schemes.”

“Schemes,” repeated the cat.

“But,” continued the fox, “while it may not be difficult for would-be victims to recognize and stop individual con artists, stopping shady businesses is nearly impossible. Why? Because their TRANSGRESSIONS—making exaggerated advertising claims or artificially raising prices, for example—aren’t technically illegal; they’re merely UNETHICAL. So even if they are caught, no PUNITIVE action will be taken.”

“Will be taken,” repeated the cat.

“Then you have city government, where CORRUPTION is RAMPANT. You know, without coming right out and admitting it, our government actually SANCTIONS all sorts of underhanded practices—bribery, NEPOTISM, ticket-fixing…you name it.”

Pinocchio nodded his head to show that he understood, then shook his head to show that he disapproved.

At last, toward evening, dead tired, they found themselves before a small tavern called the Red Lobster Inn.

“This has been quite a TREK,” said the fox. “Let’s stop here to eat something and rest awhile. At midnight we’ll start out again, for at daybreak tomorrow we must be at the Field of Wonders.”

They went into the inn and all three sat down at a round dining table. However, not one of them seemed very hungry.

The poor cat said that he was too tired to eat, but, because he didn’t want to become MALNOURISHED, would try. He was able to swallow only thirty-five pieces of fish GARNISHED with lemon slices.

The fox, claiming that he, also, was too exhausted to eat, tried his best to force something down. His doctor, he explained, had put him on a special diet that stressed ABSTINENCE from rich foods. As such, he was trying to WEAN himself from butter, sugar, and eggs. He had to be satisfied with only a small rabbit surrounded by a dozen young, tender chickens. That was all. Soothingly patting his DISTENDED stomach, he said that he felt ill and couldn’t eat another bite.

Pinocchio ate least of all. He asked for a little buttered toast but then hardly touched it. With his mind on the Field of Wonders, he was too excited to eat. A waiter who HOVERED nearby suggested sprinkling a bit of cinnamon on the toast to IMPART flavor—but the puppet DECLINED.

Because the fox and cat had been so busy stuffing themselves, very little conversation TRANSPIRED during the meal. But after they’d finally put down their knives and forks, the fox RECAPITULATED some of what he’d said earlier, then added, “But anywhere you look in the broad SPECTRUM of criminal behavior, one thing remains the same. All people who commit crimes suffer from an emotional disorder. What I mean is that because of a certain psychological PREDISPOSITION, they really can’t help their ABERRANT behavior. That’s why it’s important for lawbreakers to be PURGED from society once and for all. It’s the only way to make the world safe for the rest of us.”

“The rest of us,” repeated the cat.

“And I’m not talking about SEGREGATING them from the rest of society by sending them to jail,” the fox went on. “I’m actually opposed to that—ADAMANTLY opposed. Why? Because prisons, instead of REHABILITATING offenders, generally make them even worse than they already were! I say that all criminals should be sent to a deserted island someplace, where they’d have only each other to hurt.”

“Each other to hurt,” repeated the cat.

Pinocchio nodded his agreement.

With dinner over, the fox said to the innkeeper, “Give us two good rooms upstairs—one for Pinocchio and the other for my friend and me. Before starting out, we’ll take a little nap. Remember to call us at midnight sharp, for we must continue on our journey.”

The innkeeper, who seemed to know exactly what the fox and cat were up to, indicated his TACIT approval by winking and smiling at them.

On the way upstairs, the fox said to Pinocchio, “We’ll RENDEZVOUS at midnight just outside the front door. Don’t be late.” As the puppet started to enter his bedroom, the fox added, “Have a pleasant nap!”

In his room, Pinocchio got into bed and fell into a FITFUL, uneasy sleep. But after a while he began to sleep more deeply and he started to dream. He dreamt that he was SAUNTERING through a beautiful field filled with trees. From their branches hung a PROFUSION of shiny gold coins that twinkled TANTALIZINGLY in the DAPPLED sunlight. They seemed to say: “Let whoever wants us take us!” Just as he pulled down a long, SUPPLE branch to gather a handful of coins, he was awakened by three loud knocks at the door. It was the innkeeper who had come to tell him that midnight had struck.

“Are my friends ready?” the puppet asked.

“Indeed, yes! They left two hours ago.”

“Left? Why in such a hurry?”

“Unfortunately, the cat received a telegram saying that his neighbor’s pet goldfish had died. Understandably, he became greatly PERTURBED—that’s why he rushed home without saying good-bye to you.”

“I see. Did they pay for our dinner and rooms?”

“How could they do such a thing? Being gentlemen of great refinement, they didn’t want to offend you by not allowing you the honor of paying the bill.”

Pinocchio scratched his head thoughtfully, then asked, “Where did they say they’d meet me?”

“At the Field of Wonders, at sunrise.”

Pinocchio paid a gold piece for the dinners and rooms and started on his way toward the field that was to make him rich.

He walked on, not knowing where he was going, for the quiet countryside was dark—so dark that not a thing was visible. Every now and again a VAGRANT leaf, blown by the wind, brushed against his nose and scared him half to death. Once or twice he shouted, “Who goes there?” and the far-away hills echoed back to him, “Who goes there? Who goes there?”

As he walked, Pinocchio noticed a tiny insect glimmering on the trunk of a tree—a small being that glowed with a pale, soft light.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m the ghost of the cricket you killed,” answered the little being in a faint voice that sounded as if it came from another world.

“What do you want?” asked the puppet.

“I want to give you some advice. Return home and give the four gold pieces you have left to your poor old father, who’s weeping because he hasn’t seen you for many days.”

“You sound just like your earthly COUNTERPART—the one I killed with a hammer. Why are you always HARPING on the idea of my remaining at home? Don’t you realize that because I’ve gone out into the world, tomorrow my father will be a very rich man? You see, these four gold pieces will become thousands!”

“Pinocchio, don’t listen to people who promise you wealth overnight. As a rule they’re either fools or cheats! Listen to me and go home.”

“Well, I’m sorry to CURTAIL our visit so soon, but I must continue on my way.”

“Wait! It’s late. Walking alone at night is HAZARDOUS; the darkness is FRAUGHT with danger. What if something unexpected happens? This area is so SPARSELY populated that even if you call out for help, no one will hear you.”

“I don’t care. I have to go.”

“Remember that boys who insist on having their own way will be sorry sooner or later.”

“Nothing you can say will DISSUADE me. Nothing. Now good-bye.”

“Goodnight, Pinocchio, and may you be safe from killers.”

There was silence for a moment, and then the cricket’s PHOSPHORESCENT light disappeared suddenly, just as if someone had blown out a candle. The road was even darker than before.

Chapter 10 “Killers”

“Dear, oh, dear! Come to think of it,” said the puppet to himself, as he once more set out on his journey, “we boys are really very unlucky. Everybody tells us what to do and then REPRIMANDS us if we don’t do it! Everyone wants to be a SURROGATE father or mother to us, just so they can boss us around; everyone, even that cricket. It wasn’t enough for him to stick his nose into my business when he was alive; no, now he wants to INTERVENE POSTHUMOUSLY! Killers indeed! At least I’ve never believed in them, nor ever will. Aren’t they merely FICTITIOUS characters CONCOCTED by fathers and mothers just to frighten children who want to run away at night? I’ll bet that scientists completely DISCOUNT the existence of bogeymen and other such DERANGED monsters. After all, their existence has never been VERIFIED by any scientific procedure. But even if killers were real and I did meet some on the road, what difference would it make? I’d just run up to them and say, ‘What do you want? Run along and mind your business.’ I can almost see those poor fellows running like the wind. But in case they didn’t run away, I could always run myself, and that would be the end of it.”

Pinocchio became so ENGROSSED in his thoughts that at first he didn’t hear the rustling of leaves behind him. But as the sound continued he finally turned, and there in the otherwise UNIFORM darkness he saw the barely PERCEPTIBLE outline of a slightly different GRADATION of black. All at once, two figures, wrapped from head to toe in black sacks, slid toward him as softly as if they were ghosts.

“Here they come!” Pinocchio said to himself, and, not knowing where to hide the gold pieces, he stuck all four of them under his tongue.

He tried to run away, but before he could take a step he felt his arms grasped and heard two horrible, deep voices say to him, “Your money or your life!”

Unable to speak without revealing that the gold pieces were in his mouth, Pinocchio tried with his head, hands, and body to show, as best he could, that he was only a poor puppet without a penny in his pocket.

“Come, come, stop your nonsense and out with your money!” cried the muggers in threatening voices.

Once more, with his head and hands, Pinocchio PANTOMIMED, “I haven’t a penny.”

“Out with that money or you’re a dead man,” said the taller of the two black figures.

“Dead man,” repeated the other.

“And after having killed you, we’ll kill your father, too.”

“Your father, too!”

“No, no, no, not my father!” cried Pinocchio, wild with terror. As he screamed, the gold pieces tinkled together in his mouth.

“Aha! So that’s the game! You have the money hidden under your tongue. Out with it!”

But Pinocchio, as stubborn as ever, refused to RELINQUISH the coins.

“Are you deaf? Then we’ll make you spit it out!”

One of them grabbed the puppet by the nose and the other by the chin, and they pulled him unmercifully from side to side to make him open his mouth. But it was no use. The puppet’s lips were as tightly closed as if they had been nailed together.

In desperation the smaller of the two figures pulled out a long knife from his pocket and tried to pry Pinocchio’s mouth open with it. Quick as a flash, the puppet sank his teeth deep into the brute’s hand, bit it off, and spit it out. When he looked down he was amazed to see that it wasn’t a hand, but a cat’s paw!

Encouraged by this first victory, he violently WRENCHED himself free from the claws of his ASSAILANTS and, leaping over the bushes that lined the road, ran swiftly across the fields. The robbers were after him at once, like hounds after a fox.

After running several miles, Pinocchio was exhausted and lost. He climbed to the top of a tall pine tree and sat there to rest and think. The sack-covered figures arrived soon after. They tried to climb also, but slipped and fell.

Far from giving up the chase, this only spurred them on. They quickly gathered leaves, twigs, and whatever other COMBUSTIBLE material they could find. They piled it all at the foot of the tree and set fire to it. In an instant the tree began to burn. Pinocchio saw the flames climb higher and higher. Not wanting to end his life like a roasted duck, he jumped quickly to the ground and ran off. The muggers followed close behind.

Dawn was breaking when, without any warning, Pinocchio found his path blocked by a deep pool of STAGNANT water covered with green slime. It was about five feet in length, and its BREADTH was equal to the width of the path. What was there to do? With a “One, two, three!” he jumped clear across it. The robbers jumped also, but, not having judged the distance properly, fell right into the middle of the pool. Pinocchio, who heard the splash and felt it, too, cried out, laughing, but never stopping in his race, “Have a nice bath!”

He thought they must surely be drowned and turned his head to see. But two SOMBER figures were still following him, though their black sacks were drenched and dripping with slimy water.

Chapter 11 “The Blue-Haired Fairy”

As he ran, Pinocchio felt more and more certain that he would have to give himself up into the hands of his attackers. Suddenly he saw a little cottage gleaming white as the snow among the trees of the forest.

“If I have enough breath left to reach that little house, I may be saved,” he said to himself. Not waiting another moment, he darted swiftly through the woods, with the robbers still after him.

After a hard race of almost an hour, tired and out of breath, Pinocchio finally reached the door of the cottage and knocked. No one answered.

He knocked again, harder than before, for behind him he heard the steps and the labored breathing of his PERSECUTORS. The same silence followed.

As knocking was of no use, Pinocchio began to kick and bang against the door, as if he wanted to break it. At the noise, a window opened and a lovely young girl appeared. She had blue hair and a face as white as wax. Her eyes were softly closed and her hands were gently crossed before her chest. The CHASTE simplicity of her pure white dress ENHANCED her air of peacefulness. With a voice so weak that it hardly could be heard, she whispered, “No one lives in this house. Everyone is dead.”

“Won’t you at least open the door for me?” cried Pinocchio in a pleading voice.

“I also am dead,” whispered the girl PARADOXICALLY.

“Dead? What are you doing at the window, then?”

“I’m waiting for the coffin to come and take me away.”

After these words, the little girl disappeared and the window closed without a sound.

“Oh, beautiful blue-haired child,” cried Pinocchio, “open, I beg of you. Take pity on a poor boy who’s being chased by two kill—”

He didn’t finish, for two powerful hands grasped him by the neck and the same two horrible voices growled threateningly, “Now we have you!”

The puppet, sensing that death was near, trembled so hard that the joints of his legs rattled and the gold coins tinkled in his mouth.

“Well,” the bandits asked, “will you open your mouth now or not?”

With the clanking coins restricting the MOBILITY of his tongue, Pinocchio said nothing.

“Ah! You don’t answer? Very well, this time we’ll make you open it.”

Taking out two long, sharp knives, they struck two heavy blows on the puppet’s back.

Luckily for him, Pinocchio was made of very hard wood and the knives broke into a thousand pieces. In shocked disbelief the muggers stared down at the REMNANTS of the shattered knives. Then they looked at each other in DISMAY.

“I think,” said one of them to the other, “that there’s nothing left to do now but hang him.”

“Hang him,” repeated the other.

Through closed lips the terrified puppet screamed, “Don’t hang me!” But with the gold coins stuck under his tongue, the words came out as a muffled “oh-ay-ee.”

“What’s that you say?” asked the bandits. “We can’t understand you. You must learn to ENUNCIATE!”

They tied Pinocchio’s hands behind his shoulders and slipped a noose around his neck. Throwing a rope over the GNARLED top branch of a tall oak tree, they pulled till the poor puppet hung far up in space.

Satisfied with their work, they sat on the grass waiting for Pinocchio to give his last gasp. But after three hours the puppet’s eyes were still open and his mouth was still shut. And his legs kicked harder than ever.

Tired of waiting, the killers stood up and called to him mockingly, “We’ll be back tomorrow morning. During the night, please be so kind as to drop dead—with your mouth wide open.” With these words they turned and left.

A few minutes went by and then a cold, stormy wind began to blow. As it shrieked and moaned, the poor little puppet was blown violently back and forth. The rocking made him sick, and the noose, becoming tighter and tighter, choked him. A thick film of tears covered his eyes.

Death was creeping nearer and nearer, and the puppet still hoped for some good soul to come to his rescue, but no one appeared. As he was about to die, he thought of his poor old father, and, hardly conscious of what he was saying, murmured to himself: “Oh, Father, if you were only here!”

These were his last words. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, stretched out his legs, and hung there, lifeless.

Chapter 12 “The Doctors”

If the poor puppet had dangled there much longer, all hope would have been lost. Luckily for him, the pretty girl with blue hair once again looked out her window. Filled with pity at the sight of the poor little fellow being knocked helplessly about by the wind, she clapped her hands sharply together three times.

At this signal, a loud rustling of wings was heard and a large bird came and settled itself on the window ledge.

“What do you command, beautiful fairy?” asked the bird, bending his beak in HOMAGE (for the child with blue hair was none other than a very kind fairy who had lived, for more than a thousand years, in that forest).

“Do you see that puppet hanging from the limb of that big oak tree?”

“I see him.”

“Very well. Fly immediately to him. With your strong beak, break the knot that holds him, take him down, and lay him softly on the grass at the foot of the tree.”

The bird flew away and after two minutes returned, saying, “I’ve done what you’ve commanded.”

“How did you find him? Alive or dead?”

“Looking at him, I thought he was dead. But that assumption proved ERRONEOUS, for as soon as I loosened the knot around his neck, he EXPELLED a long sigh, then mumbled, ‘Thank you. Now I feel better!’”

The fairy clapped her hands twice. A magnificent poodle in an IMMACULATE coachman’s uniform appeared. He walked on his hind legs, just like a man.

“Come,” said the fairy to him. “Get my best coach ready and set out toward the forest. On reaching the oak tree, you’ll find a poor, half-dead puppet stretched out on the grass. Lift him up tenderly, place him on the silken cushions of the coach, and bring him here to me.”

The dog, to show that he fully understood the fairy’s EXPLICIT instructions, wagged his tail two or three times, then set off at a quick pace.

In a few minutes, a lovely little coach pulled out of the stable. It was drawn by a hundred pairs of white mice, and the poodle sat on the coachman’s seat and snapped his whip gaily in the air, as if he were a real coachman in a hurry to get to his destination.

In fifteen minutes the coach was back. The fairy, who was waiting at the door of the house, lifted the poor little puppet in her arms, took him to a small room, put him to bed, and sent immediately for the best doctors of the neighborhood.

One after another the doctors came: a crow, an owl, and a glowing cricket. They gathered around Pinocchio’s bed.

“I’d like to CANVASS your expert opinions, gentlemen,” said the fairy, turning to the three doctors. “Is this poor puppet dead or alive? And if he’s alive, what’s wrong with him?”

The crow stepped out and felt Pinocchio’s pulse. Then he SOLEMNLY pronounced the following words: “To my mind he’s dead and gone. But if by any chance he’s not, then that would be a sure sign that he’s still alive!”

“At the risk of ALIENATING my good friend the crow,” said the owl, in a cool, DETACHED manner, “I must say that I can’t ENDORSE his opinion. As you know, the traditional CRITERIA for determining death are…how can I put this without using any medical JARGON or scientific NOMENCLATURE?…well, you know that a person’s dead if his heart and lungs stop working. But because we’re dealing with a puppet, not a human, those factors might not be RELEVANT—so it’s difficult to make an accurate DIAGNOSIS. To my mind he’s alive. But if by any chance he’s not, then that would be a sure sign that he’s dead!”

Hoping to AUTHENTICATE the puppet’s condition one way or the other, the fairy asked the cricket, “And what’s your opinion?”

“Puppet medicine is not my area of EXPERTISE; in fact, I’m barely CONVERSANT with it. What little I do know I GLEANED from a few short articles I read years ago as a medical student. So, because, as I say, my knowledge of it is SUPERFICIAL and SCANTY, I can’t give you any DEFINITIVE answers. Whatever I might say would be nothing more than a purely SUBJECTIVE interpretation. But I do know one thing: that good doctors, when they don’t know something, rather than make AMBIGUOUS remarks, should know enough to keep quiet. Actually, this puppet here is no stranger to me. I’ve known him for a long time; in fact, I’m something of a CONFIDANT of his.”

Pinocchio, who until then had been very quiet, shuddered so hard that the bed shook.

“That wooden boy,” continued the cricket, “has had a CHECKERED past—some good, but mostly bad. I could CITE many instances of UNCONSCIONABLE behavior—but let’s just say that he’s a rascal of the worst sort.”

Pinocchio opened his eyes and closed them again.

“He’s REBELLIOUS and lazy. He’s a runaway.”

Pinocchio hid his face under the sheets.

“He’s a disobedient boy who’s breaking his father’s heart!”

Long, shuddering sobs were heard. When they lifted the sheets a little, they discovered Pinocchio was crying uncontrollably, like a baby!

“If a rascal cries like a baby,” said the cricket thoughtfully, “that can be CONSTRUED to mean that he’s learned his lesson the hard way and that he’s taken his first step on the road to becoming a good boy.”

Chapter 13 “Medicine”

As soon as the three doctors had left the room, the fairy went to Pinocchio’s bed and felt his pulse for herself. It was racing, and the fairy, knowing that a quick pulse often DENOTES fever, touched his forehead. It was burning up.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“I feel hot, weak, and achy,” he mumbled.

She filled a glass with TEPID water and then poured some yellow powder into it. Then she stirred it with a spoon, creating a HOMOGENEOUS mixture. Holding it to his lips, she said lovingly, “Drink this, and soon you’ll be up and well.”

Pinocchio looked at the glass, made a face, and asked in a whining voice, “Is it sweet or sour?”

“It’s sour, but it’s good for you.”

“If it’s sour, I don’t want it.”

“The powder I put in is only a small COMPONENT of the medicine. It’s mostly just water. Drink it!”

“But it’s sour. I don’t like anything sour.”

“Drink it and I’ll give you a lump of sugar to take the sour taste from your mouth.”

“Where’s the sugar?”

“Here it is,” said the fairy, taking a lump from a golden bowl.

“I want the sugar first, then I’ll drink it.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes.”

The fairy gave him the sugar and Pinocchio, after chewing and swallowing it in a second, said, smacking his lips, “If only sugar were medicine! I would take it every day.”

“Now keep your promise and drink this. It’ll be good for you.”

Pinocchio took the glass in both hands and stuck his long nose into it. He WINCED and said, “It’s too sour, much too sour! I can’t drink it.”

“How do you know, when you haven’t even tasted it?”

“I can tell. I can smell it. It’s REPULSIVE. It smells like rotten lemons and stale vinegar mixed together. It REEKS!” Then, ASTUTE negotiator that he was, Pinocchio said, “I want another lump of sugar, then I’ll drink it.”

The fairy, with all the patience of a good mother, gave him more sugar.

“I still can’t drink it,” Pinocchio said, making more faces.

“Why?”

“Because the pillow near my feet is lying on an angle.”

The fairy straightened the pillow.

“It’s no use. I can’t drink it even now.”

“What’s the matter now?”

“I don’t like the way the door looks. It’s half open.”

The fairy closed the door.

“I won’t drink it,” cried Pinocchio, bursting out crying. “I won’t drink this awful stuff. I won’t, I won’t! No, no, no, no!”

“But you’re sick. Very, very sick.”

“If I drink that, I’ll probably get even sicker. Anything that smells that bad is bound to have an ADVERSE effect.”

“That’s not true. Now listen to me. I’m not giving you this medicine simply to relieve your aches and MALAISE. You need it to stay alive! I didn’t want to tell you this because I didn’t want to frighten you, but you have a TERMINAL illness. In a few hours it will take you far away to another world.”

“I don’t care,” answered the puppet NONCHALANTLY.

“That’s an awfully BLASÉ attitude. Aren’t you afraid of the unknown, of eternity?”

“No. Those are just ABSTRACT ideas. A sour taste is real. I’d rather die than drink that awful medicine.”

At that moment, the door of the room flew open and in came four black rabbits.

“What do you want?” asked Pinocchio.

“We’ve come for your body,” said the largest rabbit GRAVELY.

“But I’m not dead yet!”

“No, not yet. But a sickness has invaded you, and the invading cells REPLICATE themselves very quickly. Since you’ve refused to take the medicine that would have made you well, you’ll be dead in no time. Once you’re dead…how can I put this without being too GRAPHIC?…well, once you’re dead we’ll take your corpse to the puppet medical school, where your DISMEMBERED body parts will be DISSECTED for study.”

Pinocchio, envisioning that GRISLY scene, cried out in horror, “Oh, fairy, my fairy…give me that glass! Quick, please! I don’t want to die! No, no, not yet…not yet!”

Holding the glass in both hands, and still seeing in his mind’s eye the GRUESOME image of his CADAVER being horribly MUTILATED, he swallowed the medicine in one gulp.

“Well,” said the four rabbits, “this time we’ve made the trip for nothing.” And turning on their heels, they marched out of the room, muttering and grumbling between their teeth.

In a moment, Pinocchio felt fine. With one leap he was out of bed and into his clothes.

The fairy, seeing him run and jump around the room, said to him, “The medicine was good for you, after all, wasn’t it?”

“Yes! It’s given me new life.”

“Why, then, did I have to beg you so hard to make you drink it?”

“I’m a boy, you see, and all boys find medicine even more REPELLENT than sickness.”

“What a shame! Boys ought to know, after all, that medicine, taken in time, can save them from pain and even from death. I admit the medicine tasted sour, but if you think about it, the momentary unpleasantness is TRIVIAL when looked at in a larger CONTEXT.”

“You’re right. Next time I won’t have to be begged so hard. I’ll remember those black rabbits—and the PHOBIC reaction I had to what would have happened to me at the puppet medical school—and I’ll take the medicine at once!”

“Good. Now, even though you feel fine, it’s not a good idea for you to be running around so much. You need time to RECUPERATE after such a serious illness. Come sit here beside me and tell me how it came about that you found yourself in the hands of killers.”

“Well, it’s a long story,” said Pinocchio, sitting down, “but I’ll try to make it as CONCISE as I can. Anyway, here’s what happened: Fire-Eater gave me five gold pieces to give to my father, but on the way home I met a fox and a cat, who asked me, ‘Do you want the five pieces to become two thousand?’ And I said, ‘Yes.’ And they said, ‘Come with us to the Field of Wonders.’ And I said, ‘Let’s go.’ Then they said, ‘Let’s stop at the Red Lobster Inn to rest, and after midnight we’ll set out again.’ We ate and went to sleep. When I woke up they were gone and I started out in the darkness all alone. On the road I met two killers dressed in black sacks, who said to me, ‘Your money or your life.’ I said, ‘I haven’t any money’—for, you see, I had put the money under my tongue. One of them tried to put his hand in my mouth, but I bit it off and spit it out. But it wasn’t a hand; it was a cat’s paw. And they ran after me and I ran and ran, till at last they caught me and tied my neck with a rope and hung me from a tree branch. They said they’d come back the next morning to find me dead with my mouth—”

Here the fairy interrupted the MONOLOGUE to ask, “Where are the gold pieces now?”

“I lost them,” answered Pinocchio. But he was lying, for he had them in his pocket.

As he spoke, his nose, long as it was, became at least two inches longer.

“Where did you lose them?”

“In the nearby woods,” the puppet answered, with a slight upward INFLECTION.

At this second lie, his nose grew a few more inches.

“If you lost them in the nearby woods,” said the fairy, “we’ll look for them and find them, for everything that’s lost there is always found.”

“No, wait! That’s not it. I must have had AMNESIA for a second. Now I remember. I didn’t lose the gold pieces. I swallowed them when I drank the medicine.”

At this third lie, his nose became so long that he couldn’t even move in any direction. If he turned to the right, he’d knock it against the bed or into the windowpane; if he turned to the left, he’d strike the wall or door; and if he raised his head a bit, he’d risk poking out the fairy’s eyes.

Then, instead of further trying to ELICIT the truth from him, the fairy sat staring at him, laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” the puppet asked.

“I’m laughing at your lies.”

“How do you know I’m lying?”

“For a long time,” she said with a serious expression, “doctors have SPECULATED that, where puppets are concerned, there’s a direct CORRELATION between the telling of lies and sudden nose growth. Now, through EXTENSIVE experimentation and the use of highly SOPHISTICATED scientific equipment, their theories have been SUBSTANTIATED. They’ve discovered that when a puppet tells a lie, the part of its brain that controls nose growth becomes HYPERACTIVE; that is, it produces an ABUNDANCE of chemicals that INCITE swelling. And they’ve DISSEMINATED the results of their PAINSTAKING research to fairies all around the world. That’s how I know.”

Pinocchio didn’t know whether or not the fairy was kidding with him. But mostly, he didn’t know where to hide his shame. He tried to escape from the room, but his nose had grown so long that he couldn’t get through the door!

Chapter 14 “The Field of Wonders”

Crying as if his heart would break, Pinocchio MOURNED for hours over the length of his nose. No matter how he tried, it wouldn’t go through the door. The fairy showed no pity toward him, for she was trying to teach him a lesson that would put an end to his HABITUAL lying once and for all. But when she saw him pale with fright and with his eyes half out of his head from terror, she weakened. Perhaps the circumstances didn’t WARRANT such drastic measures after all. Feeling sorry for him, she clapped her hands together and a thousand woodpeckers flew in through the window and settled themselves on Pinocchio’s nose. They pecked and pecked so hard at his nose that in a few moments it was the same size as before.

“How good you are, my fairy,” said Pinocchio, drying his eyes, “and how much I love you!”

“I love you, too,” answered the fairy, “and if you wish to stay with me, you may be my brother and I’ll be your good sister.”

“I would like to stay…but what about my poor father?”

“I’ve thought of everything. Your father has been sent for, and before nightfall he’ll be here.”

“Really?” cried Pinocchio joyfully. “Then, my good sister, if you’re willing, I’d like to go to meet him. I can’t wait to kiss that dear old man, who has suffered so much for my sake.”

“How do you feel?”

“I feel fine. More than fine. Really.”

“Okay, go ahead. But be careful not to lose your way—and don’t run! Take the path through the woods and you’ll surely meet him.”

Pinocchio set out and soon found himself in the woods. When he reached the tall oak tree he stopped, for he thought he heard a rustle in the bushes. He was right. There stood the fox and the cat, the two traveling companions with whom he’d eaten at the Red Lobster Inn.

“Here comes our dear Pinocchio!” cried the fox, hugging and kissing him. “What are you doing here?”

“Doing here?” repeated the cat.

“It’s a long story,” said the puppet. “The other night, when you left me alone at the inn, I met killers on the road.”

“Killers? Oh, you poor thing! How TRAUMATIC for you! What did they want?”

“They wanted my gold pieces.”

“Scoundrels!” said the fox.

“The worst sort of scoundrels!” added the cat.

“But I began to run,” continued the puppet, “and they followed after me, until they overtook me and hung me to the branch of that oak tree.” Pinocchio pointed to the tall oak nearby.

“Could anything be worse?” said the fox. “What an awful world to live in! Where can gentlemen like us find a safe place?”

As the fox talked, Pinocchio noticed that the cat carried his right paw in a sling.

“What happened to your paw?” he asked.

The cat began to answer, but his stammering explanation became so GARBLED that the fox jumped in to help him out.

“Please excuse my friend’s DISJOINTED NARRATIVE, but the truth is, he’s much too UNASSUMING to ARTICULATE what really happened. What he tried to say—if I may PARAPHRASE—is that about an hour ago we met an old wolf on the road. He was starving and begged for help. Having nothing to give him, my good friend here, out of the kindness of his heart, bit off his own front paw and gave it to the poor beast, so that he might have something to eat.”

As he spoke, the fox wiped away a tear.

Pinocchio, almost in tears himself, whispered into the cat’s ear, “If all cats were like you, how lucky mice would be!”

“What are you doing now?” the fox asked.

“I’m waiting for my good father, who’ll be here any minute.”

“And your gold pieces?”

“I still have them in my pocket, except one that I spent at the Red Lobster Inn.”

“To think,” said the fox, “that those four gold pieces might become about two thousand tomorrow. Why don’t you listen to me? Why don’t you SOW them in the Field of Wonders? Do that and you’ll be living on easy street.”

“Where’s that?”

“Ha, ha! No, it’s not a real street. “Easy street” is a just a COLLOQUIALISM. When I used that phrase I meant to IMPLY that you’ll be rich and you’ll have a life of ease!”

“Oh. Well, today it’s impossible. I’ll go with you some other time.”

“But another day will be too late,” said the fox.

“Why?”

“Because the field has been sold. You know, of course, that the government keeps a list of fields that are open to the public. Tomorrow, sad to say, the Field of Wonders will be DELETED from the ROSTER.”

“Well, how far is this Field of Wonders?”

“Only two miles away. Will you come with us? We’ll be there in half an hour. You can plant the money, and, after a few minutes, you’ll REAP your two thousand coins and return home rich. Are you coming?”

Pinocchio was still RELUCTANT, for he remembered the good fairy, old Geppetto, and the advice of the cricket. If he was aware that today the fox claimed that it takes only a few minutes for gold coins to blossom, whereas earlier he’d said that it takes all night, he didn’t mention the DISCREPANCY.

“Have you ever heard the expression ‘He who hesitates is lost’?” asked the fox.

“I think so. What does it mean?”

“It means that if you spend too much time DELIBERATING about what to do, you lose the chance to act altogether.”

“Yes, but—”

“Do you mean” interrupted the fox, “to stand there and tell me that you’re content with being poor, that you don’t care about enjoying the niceties of civilized life—fine dining, stylish clothes, silk sheets?”

“Well, I—”

“And what about your education? You don’t want to SKIMP on that, do you? Once you become rich, you’ll be able to attend one of those PRESTIGIOUS private schools out in the country.”

“Yes, but—”

Just then the fox turned to the cat and, loudly enough so that the puppet would overhear, and with a slight space between each word for dramatic effect, mock-whispered into his ear, “This DEMENTED LUNATIC actually likes being poor!” Then the fox and cat both burst out laughing.

And Pinocchio ended up doing what most boys do when they don’t have much inner strength or common sense. He shrugged his shoulders and said to the fox and cat, “Let’s go!”

And they went.

They walked and walked for at least half a day and at last they came to a place called Fool’s Trap. As soon as they entered the town, Pinocchio saw that all the houses were DILAPIDATED and all the stores were closed. Peering through the grimy window of one store he noticed that everything inside was dusty and in DISARRAY. Looking into another he saw nothing but piles of RUBBLE.

In the streets he saw MANGY dogs whose mouths were wide open from hunger. He saw large butterflies who couldn’t fly because they’d had to sell their colorful wings. He saw peacocks who were ashamed to be seen because they’d had to sell their beautiful tails.

The fox lightly elbowed Pinocchio in the ribs, cocked his chin toward these poor souls, and whispered, “The DREGS of society.”

Through this crowd of PAUPERS, a LAVISHLY decorated coach passed now and then. Within each one sat an ELEGANTLY dressed fox or hawk.

“Where is the Field of Wonders?” asked Pinocchio, growing tired of waiting.

“Be patient. It’s only a few more steps away.”

They passed through the city and its little, RAMSHACKLE homes, and Pinocchio wondered how people could live in such HOVELS.

“Why don’t these people fix their broken-down homes?” the puppet asked the fox.

“You know, when these SORDID little houses were brand-new, they really looked rather pretty. But because they were made of SHODDY materials, they quickly fell into disrepair. Of course, the owners would like to fix them up, but they just don’t have the money for the RENOVATIONS.” Then, shaking his head: “It’s a curse to be poor. A curse!”

“Can’t they get money by planting coins in the Field of Wonders?”

“They’re not as lucky as you. They earn a bare SUBSISTENCE and no more. They have no coins to plant—not even a penny.”

“Not even a penny,” repeated the cat.

Just outside the walls of the town, they stepped into a BLEAK field that looked pretty much like any other field.

“Here we are!” exclaimed the fox. He pointed down at a spot near the center of the field and said to the puppet, “Dig a hole right there and put the gold pieces into it.”

The puppet eagerly obeyed. He dug the hole, put the four gold pieces into it, and covered them up very carefully. In his excitement he forgot all about the unfortunate INHABITANTS of Fool’s Trap.

“Now,” said the fox, “go to that brook that runs ADJACENT to the field, bring back a pail full of water, and sprinkle it over the spot.”

Pinocchio followed the directions closely, but, as he had no pail, he was forced to IMPROVISE. He pulled off a shoe and filled it with water. Then, carefully carrying the shoe so that no water would spill, he returned to the spot where the coins were buried and sprinkled the ground. “Anything else?” he asked.

“Nothing else,” answered the fox. He scanned the skies and then stuck out his paw as if to feel the air temperature. “With today’s OPTIMAL weather conditions, the tree should sprout in no time. Now go for a walk, but return here in twenty minutes. By then the tree will have grown and its branches will be loaded with gold coins!”

Pinocchio, beside himself with joy, thanked the fox and the cat many times as they all began to walk from the field. Finally, he promised them each a beautiful gift.

“As we’ve said before, we don’t want any gifts,” answered the fox. “Even to take a single coin as a mere MEMENTO would be unthinkable. We’re here only to help others, and it’s more than enough for us to have shown you how to become rich with little or no trouble. For this we are as happy as can be.”

“Happy as can be,” repeated the cat.

They said good-bye to Pinocchio and, wishing him luck, went on their way.

Chapter 15 “Pinocchio Goes to Jail”

If Pinocchio had been told to wait a day instead of twenty minutes, the time could not have seemed longer to him. He walked some distance from the field, then impatiently paced back and forth for about ten minutes. Finally he turned his nose back toward the Field of Wonders.

As he walked with hurried steps, his heart pounded and his busy brain kept thinking: “What if, instead of two thousand, I find five thousand—or one hundred thousand? First I’ll buy myself a PALATIAL mansion. Then I’ll dress myself from head to toe in REGAL splendor. Then I’ll buy hundreds of ponies to play with, and then I’ll fill my kitchen with lollipops, ice cream, and candy.”

He amused himself with this FANCIFUL REVERIE until he arrived back at the edge of the field. There he stopped to see if, by any chance, a tree filled with gold coins was in sight. When he saw nothing, his daydreams of SUMPTUOUS living came to an abrupt halt. He took a few steps forward but still saw nothing! He ran to the place where he had dug the hole and buried the gold pieces. He stared down at the ground. Again nothing! He got down on his hands and knees and SCRUTINIZED the earth inch by inch. Again nothing. Pinocchio became very thoughtful and scratched his head.

As he did so, he heard a hearty burst of laughter. He stood and turned sharply, and there on the branch of a tree sat a large parrot, busily grooming his feathers.

“What are you laughing at?” Pinocchio asked PEEVISHLY.

“I’m laughing because, while I was cleaning myself, I tickled myself under my wing.”

The puppet didn’t answer. He walked to the brook, filled his shoe with water, and once more sprinkled the ground that covered the gold pieces.

Another burst of laughter, even louder than the first, was heard in the quiet field.

“Well,” cried the puppet, angrily this time, “will you tell me what’s so funny?”

“I’m laughing at those fools who believe everything they hear and allow themselves to be DELUDED.”

“Are you INSINUATING, perhaps, that I’m one of those fools?”

“I certainly am, poor Pinocchio. The notion that gold coins can be HARVESTED from a field is FALLACIOUS—and you’re a fool to believe it. I, too, once believed that it’s possible to AMASS a great fortune without doing any work, and today I’m very sorry for it. I’ve discovered, but too late, one of the CARDINAL rules of life: that in order to get money honestly, you must work for it—with your hands or brain.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the puppet, who was beginning to tremble with fear.

“Have you ever noticed that in fables and PARABLES foxes are always portrayed as clever, CRAFTY creatures whose motives are always SUSPECT? That’s because usually they really do have ULTERIOR motives.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’ve been HOODWINKED! I mean that you’re the victim of a carefully calculated HOAX! Let me spell it out for you. First the fox and his ACCOMPLICE—that DESPICABLE little PARASITE—BEGUILED you with fantastic stories of overnight wealth. Then, while you were taking a walk, they returned here in a great hurry. They took the four gold pieces you’d buried and ABSCONDED.”

Pinocchio’s mouth opened wide. He refused to believe what the parrot said and began to claw MANIACALLY at the earth. But if he really expected to find sprouting gold coins buried in the soil, he was soon DISABUSED of that notion. He dug and dug until the hole was as big as he was, but no coins were found.

In desperation, he ran to the city and went straight to the courthouse to report the theft. But he had to wait thirty minutes on a hard bench before he could see the judge. He found a law book that someone had neglected to put away sitting on the bench next to him, and he busied himself by thumbing through it. But he couldn’t make sense of its CONVOLUTED legal language. He finally found himself standing before the judge, who had a flowing white beard and wore gold-rimmed glasses.

Pinocchio RECOUNTED the deception PERPETRATED against him without leaving out a single detail. For a while the judge listened with great patience and seemed very interested in the strange SAGA. Every so often he stroked his beard or removed his glasses. Then suddenly he put his glasses back on and said loudly and stiffly, “Don’t ELABORATE so much; just present those facts that are PERTINENT to the actual crime.”

Pinocchio, flustered by the judge’s harsh tone, quickly finished by mumbling, “The fox and the cat were the thieves.”

“ALLEGED thieves,” answered the judge BRUSQUELY, reaching out and ringing a bell.

At the sound, two large work dogs appeared, dressed like policemen. Pointing to Pinocchio, the judge said, “The GIST of this puppet’s story is that a fox and cat robbed him of four gold pieces—or so he claims. While there’s no legal PRECEDENT for a case concerning a victimized puppet, I do know that a case like this—where there’s no PREPONDERANCE of evidence for either side—can be tied up in LITIGATION for years. We don’t want that, do we? Luckily, as an officer of the court, it’s my PREROGATIVE to settle this case here and now—and that’s what I intend to do.” He scratched his head thoughtfully for a few moments, then continued, “This fellow here has made a number of SCANDALOUS accusations. The way I see it is that while we don’t know if he’s actually PERJURED himself, we do know that he’s DEFAMED some worthy citizens and is guilty of SLANDER. Take him, therefore, and throw him in jail.”

The puppet, on hearing this sentence passed upon him, was flabbergasted. “But the parrot will CORROBORATE my story!” he screamed in desperation. “Ask him!” But the CANINE officers clapped their paws over his mouth and carried him off to jail.

Pinocchio had to remain in jail for four long, weary months. In the beginning, he spent all his time pacing his cell and thinking about how he might EXTRICATE himself from this crazy mess. But he didn’t merely want to be released from jail; he also wanted his honor VINDICATED. At first he considered asking to speak to the judge again in order to REITERATE his innocence and to point out that an OBJECTIVE analysis of the facts would prove that the fox and cat were indeed guilty. Failing that, he’d ask the judge to EXTRADITE him back to his home town, where he knew he’d be able to convince any reasonable-minded authority of his innocence. But he was afraid to approach the judge for fear of an even worse punishment. After METHODICALLY examining every FACET of the entire situation, he decided that the best idea would be to present his case to a higher authority here in Fool’s Trap—an authority of unquestioned INTEGRITY, of course—who had the power to COUNTERMAND the judge’s EDICT.

He began thinking about what he would say. He worked on his presentation OBSESSIVELY until it was perfectly formed in his mind. First he’d point out that a judge is seen by the public as a BULWARK against injustice and as such is expected to ensure the EQUITABLE treatment of all citizens within his JURISDICTION by making fair, DISINTERESTED decisions. Then he’d say that in this particular case, this judge demonstrated a FLAGRANT disregard for the truth. Next he’d claim that the judge is BIGOTED against puppets and that his attitude, as evidenced by the unfair prison sentence, promotes a philosophy suggesting that DISCRIMINATION is acceptable. Then he’d try to further DISCREDIT the judge by pointing out that he’d completely ignored every known legal DOCTRINE, such as the right of the accused to speak to an attorney and to be given a trial before an IMPARTIAL jury. After that he’d claim that, with his PERVERSE CONCEPTION of justice, the judge had actually DEFILED the SANCTITY of the entire justice system and, to pay for this SACRILEGE, should permanently remove himself from the bench. He’d finish by suggesting that if, in case, the judge failed to RENOUNCE his judgeship, he should be forced to cooperate with an official INQUISITION into all his past rulings—and then be IMPEACHED for any wrongful punishments the PROBE might uncover.

And if, Pinocchio decided, when he voiced these many RECRIMINATIONS he sounded like an annoying, DISPUTATIOUS lawyer, too bad. And if he sounded like some MILITANT political ACTIVIST, all the better—because, after all, serious wrongs had been committed and they needed to be RECTIFIED as soon as possible.

But Pinocchio soon learned that he’d be unable to present his case to anyone. According to the jailer, the court of appeals, the only body EMPOWERED to INVALIDATE a judge’s decision, was DEFUNCT. And since Fool’s Trap was an AUTONOMOUS region, there was no RECOURSE outside the area either.

Poor Pinocchio probably would have remained INCARCERATED indefinitely had it not happened that, by a narrow margin, the mayor of Fool’s Trap had just been elected to a second term. After the losing candidate GRUDGINGLY CONCEDED, the mayor quietly GLOATED for a few days. Then he suddenly CONVENED a special government meeting to announce that, in order to celebrate the extension of his REGIME, he was ordering fireworks displays and granting AMNESTY to all rascals.

On learning the news, Pinocchio immediately said to the jailer, “Let me out, please.”

Although the jailer had the authority to IMPLEMENT the mayor’s order, he wasn’t sure if Pinocchio really fell under the category of rascal. He said, “But you’re not a rascal, you’re a pup—”

“I beg your pardon,” interrupted Pinocchio, “but I am a rascal.”

“Do you have any written evidence to DOCUMENT that?”

“No, but I’ve always been a very bad—”

“Just a minute. Let me think.”

As a low-level BUREAUCRAT, the jailer was expected to rigidly followed the letter of the law. But he’d often longed for some LEEWAY to exercise independent judgment, however FALLIBLE that judgment might prove. Finally he answered, “Well, thank you for APPRISING me of your true status. Far be it from me to deny the rights of a rascal.” Then he added, “But I have to warn you: Leaving here won’t be easy. Once you’re out, you’ll have to live with the STIGMA of having served jail time. You’ll be treated like a second-class citizen.”

“I don’t care.”

“All right, then. Now sign this legal document that states that you’re a BONA FIDE rascal, and I’ll stamp it with the official seal. Then you can go.”

At this JUNCTURE Pinocchio hesitated.

“Don’t worry. It’s just a FORMALITY,” explained the jailer. “Go ahead and sign.”

Pinocchio signed his name, and the jailer, after stamping the document, took off his cap, bowed low, and opened the door of the prison. Pinocchio ran out and away, with never a look back.

Chapter 16 “The Snake”

Without losing a moment, Pinocchio fled from the city and set out on the road that led back to the house of the lovely fairy.

It had been raining on and off for a FORTNIGHT, and the road was now so muddy that, at times, Pinocchio sank down almost to his knees. He was so eager to see his father and blue-haired fairy sister that he ran and jumped like a dog, and mud splashed all over him.

“How unhappy I’ve been,” he said to himself. “And yet I deserve everything, for I’m certainly very stubborn and stupid! I always have to have my own way. I won’t listen to those who love me and who have more sense than I do. But from now on, I’ll be different and I’ll try to be good. I’ve found out, beyond any doubt, that bad boys are far from happy, and that, in the long run, they wind up as UNEQUIVOCAL failures. I wonder if Father is waiting for me. Will I find him at the fairy’s house? It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, and I do so want his love and his kisses. And will the fairy ever forgive me for all I’ve done? She who’s been so good to me and to whom I owe my life! Can there be a worse or more heartless son than—”

In the middle of thus BERATING himself, he stopped suddenly, frozen with terror. A huge snake lay stretched across the road. It had green skin, fiery eyes, and a pointed tail that smoked like a chimney.

Knowing that snake bites were POTENTIALLY deadly, Pinocchio ran back wildly, then settled himself on a pile of stones to wait for the snake to go on his way and leave the road clear for him. He waited an hour; two hours; three hours; but the snake was always there. He occupied himself by occasionally scraping off splotches of dried mud that had ADHERED to his clothes and then dropping them into the CREVICES that lay between the stones he sat upon.

Finally, trying to feel very brave, he walked toward the snake. Standing at a safe distance, he said in a sweet, soothing voice, “I beg your pardon. Would you be so kind as to step aside to let me pass?”

But he might as well have been talking to a wall. The snake never moved.

Once more, in the same sweet voice, he said, “I’m going home where my father is waiting for me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him! Would you mind very much if I passed?”

He waited for some sign of an answer, but none came. On the contrary, the snake, who had seemed, until then, wide awake and full of life, became suddenly very quiet and still. His eyes closed and his tail stopped smoking.

“Is he asleep, I wonder?” thought Pinocchio. “Maybe I can jump over him.”

Tingling with APPREHENSION, the puppet slowly inched forward until he was PRECARIOUSLY close to the QUIESCENT green form. Just as he bent his knees to give IMPETUS to the jump, the snake, sensing the puppet’s PROXIMITY, suddenly shot up like a spring. RECOILING in terror, Pinocchio tumbled backwards, head over heels. He fell so awkwardly that his head stuck in the mud, and there he remained with his legs straight up in the air.

At the sight of the puppet kicking and squirming, the snake laughed so hard that he burst a blood vessel. All at once his body began to jerk SPASMODICALLY. When the CONVULSIVE motions finally SUBSIDED, he was dead.

Pinocchio, having freed himself from his awkward position, once more began to run so as to reach the fairy’s house before dark. But as he ran, pangs of hunger grew so strong that, unable to withstand them, he jumped into a field that ABUTTED a farmhouse to pick some grapes.

But getting up close, Pinocchio noticed that the grapes were WITHERING on the vine. As he was trying to decide whether or not to eat them, he heard a loud cracking sound and his legs were caught in an iron trap. It had been placed there by a farmer to catch some weasels who’d been attacking his chickens.

Chapter 17 “The Watchdog”

Pinocchio began to scream and weep and beg. But all was of no use, for no houses were in sight and not a soul passed by on the road.

Night came.

Partly because of the sharp pain in his legs, and partly because he was afraid to be alone in the dark, the puppet was about to faint. But just then he saw a tiny firefly flickering by. He called to it, “Dear little firefly, will you set me free?”

“Poor little fellow!” replied the firefly, stopping to look at him with pity. “How did you get caught in that trap?”

“I was hungry so I stepped into this field to take a few grapes and—”

“Are the grapes yours?”

“No.”

“Who taught you to take things that aren’t yours?”

“But I was hungry.”

“Hunger doesn’t excuse stealing.”

“That’s true, that’s true!” cried Pinocchio in tears. “I won’t do it again.”

Just then, the conversation was interrupted by approaching footsteps. It was the farmer, who was walking on tiptoes to see if, by chance, he’d caught one of the weasels who’d been eating his chickens.

He was greatly surprised when, on holding up his lantern, he saw that, instead of a weasel, he’d caught a boy!

“Ah, you little thief!” said the farmer in an angry voice. “So you’re the one who steals my chickens!”

“No, no!” cried Pinocchio, sobbing bitterly. “I came here only to take a very few grapes.”

“Someone who steals grapes may very easily steal chickens as well. Tell me, are you aware of the laws—and penalties— concerning stealing in this town?”

“Well—”

“Take my word for it, I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”

He opened the trap, SEIZED the puppet by the neck, and carried him to his farmhouse as if he were a sack of corn. When he reached the yard in front of the house, he flung Pinocchio to the ground, put a foot on his neck, and said to him roughly, “It’s late now and it’s time for bed. First thing tomorrow we’ll settle matters. In the INTERIM, since my watchdog died today, you’ll take his place and guard my chicken coop.”

He SHACKLED Pinocchio’s neck with a thick metal dog collar. Then he TETHERED him with a long iron chain.

“If it happens to rain tonight,” said the farmer, “you can sleep in that little doghouse there. It was my old dog’s bed for three years, and it’s a fit ABODE for a lowly thief like you. And if, by chance, any weasels come around, be sure to bark!”

After this last instruction, the farmer went into his house, closed the door, and locked it.

Poor Pinocchio huddled close to the doghouse more dead than alive from cold, hunger, and fright. Now and then he pulled and tugged at the collar that nearly choked him and thought to himself: “I deserve it! Yes, I deserve it! I’ve been nothing but a TRUANT and a VAGABOND. I’ve never obeyed anyone and I’ve always done as I pleased. If I’d studied and worked and stayed with my poor old father, I wouldn’t find myself in this DEMEANING PREDICAMENT. Oh, if only I could start all over again! But what’s done can’t be undone, and I must be patient!”

After this INTROSPECTIVE little speech, which came from the very depths of his being, Pinocchio went into the doghouse, gathered the straw into a bed, and lay down.

Chapter 18 “The Weasels”

Even though a boy may be deep in the DOLDRUMS, he rarely loses sleep over his unhappiness. Pinocchio, being no exception to this rule, soon drifted off. But about midnight he was awakened by strange whisperings coming from the yard. He stuck his nose out of the doghouse, and, in the dim light provided by a CRESCENT moon, saw four small, dark, furry animals. They were weasels! One of them left his companions and, coming to the door of the doghouse, said in a sweet voice, “Good evening, Fido.”

“My name isn’t Fido,” answered Pinocchio.

“Who are you, then?”

“I’m Pinocchio.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“I’m the NAMESAKE of a very lucky family my father once knew.”

“Oh. But what are you doing here?”

“I’ve been RELEGATED to the doghouse.”

“The doghouse? But where’s Fido? Where’s the old dog who used to live here?”

“He died.”

“Died? Poor thing! He was so good! Still, judging by your face, I think you, too, are a good dog.”

“I beg your pardon, but I’m not a dog!”

“What are you, then?”

“Can’t you see? I’m a puppet.”

“Are you taking the place of the watchdog?”

“I’m sorry to say that I am. I’m being punished.”

“That’s a strange punishment.”

“The farmer IMPOSED it on me as a PENANCE for something I did wrong.”

“Well, this might be your lucky night…I think your father was right to give you that lucky name! You see, I’ll make the same deal with you that we made with Fido. I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear it.”

“What is it?”

“We’ll come once in a while, as in the past, to pay a visit to this chicken coop, and we’ll take away eight chickens. Of these, seven are for us, and one for you, provided, of course, that you’ll make believe you’re sleeping and won’t bark for the farmer.”

“Did Fido really agree to that?” asked Pinocchio.

“Indeed he did! And because of that we were the best of friends. Now, sleep away peacefully, and remember that before we go we’ll leave you a nice fat chicken all ready for your breakfast in the morning. In fact, because this is your first time, I’ll AMEND the deal this once and leave you two chickens. Understood?”

“Only too well,” answered Pinocchio. And shaking his head in a threatening manner, he seemed to say, “We’ll see about that.”

As soon as the weasels had talked things over, they went straight to the chicken coop, which stood close to the doghouse. Digging busily with teeth and claws, they opened the little door and slipped in. But they were no sooner in than they heard the door close with a sharp bang.

The one who had shut it was Pinocchio, who, not satisfied with that, dragged a heavy stone in front of it. That done, he started to bark. And he barked as if he were a real watchdog: “Bow-wow! Bow-wow-wow!”

The farmer heard the loud barks and jumped out of bed. Taking his gun, he leaped to the window and shouted, “What’s the matter?”

“The thieves are here,” called Pinocchio.

“Where are they?”

“In the chicken coop.”

“I’m coming.”

And, in fact, the farmer was down in the yard in an instant and running toward the chicken coop.

He opened the door, pulled out the weasels one by one, and, after tying them in a bag, said to them, “I’ve got you at last! I could kill you right now, but instead I’ll give you a REPRIEVE. Why? Because I have a LENIENT spirit. I’ll let you stay safe in this bag all night. Tomorrow morning I’ll take you to the inn, where you’ll make a fine meal for some hungry soul. It’s really too great an honor for you, one you don’t deserve. But, you see, I’m very kind and forgiving—so I’m going to do this for you!”

Then he went up to Pinocchio and began to pet him.

“How did you ever find them out so quickly? And to think that my dear Fido, my faithful Fido, never saw them in all these years!”

The puppet could have told him, then and there, all he knew about the IGNOBLE COLLABORATION between the dog and the weasels, but thinking of the dead dog, he said to himself: “Why DESECRATE the dead? They can’t defend themselves, so the best thing to do is to leave them in peace!”

“Were you awake or asleep when they came?” continued the farmer.

“I was asleep,” answered Pinocchio, “but they woke me with their whisperings. One of them even came to the door of the doghouse and tried to talk me into making a secret PACT with them. He said, ‘If you promise not to bark, we’ll promise to give you one of the chickens for your breakfast.’ Can you believe that? Those DEPRAVED criminals had the nerve to make that proposition to me! I may be full of faults, but I do know that what they asked me to do—to accept a share of stolen property—is EQUIVALENT to out-and-out stealing!”

“Fine boy!” cried the farmer, slapping him on the shoulder in a friendly way. “You ought to be proud of yourself. And to show you what I think of you, I’m setting you free!”

And he removed the dog collar from his neck.

Chapter 19 “The Pigeon”

As soon as he no longer felt the OPPRESSIVE weight of the thick metal collar, the EMANCIPATED puppet started to run across fields and meadows. And he never stopped till he came to the path that led to the fairy’s house.

When he reached it, he looked into a valley far below him, and there he saw the woods where he’d unluckily met the fox and the cat, and the tall oak tree where he’d been hung. But though he searched far and near, he couldn’t see the house where the blue-haired fairy lived.

He became terribly frightened and, running as fast as he could, he finally came to the spot where the house had once stood. It was no longer there. In its place lay a small marble slab, which bore this sad INSCRIPTION: “Here lies the beautiful fairy who died of grief when abandoned by her brother, Pinocchio.”

The poor puppet was overcome with anguish at reading those words. He fell to the ground and, covering the cold marble with kisses, burst into bitter tears. He cried all night, and dawn found him still there, though his tears had dried and only hard, dry sobs shook his wooden frame. But these were so loud that they echoed from the faraway hills.

As he sobbed he said to himself: “Oh, my fairy, my dear, dear fairy, why did you die? They say that our existence on earth is FINITE, that no one is IMMORTAL. But as a magical fairy you had the ability to MANIPULATE the course of nature by calling upon forces that exist beyond the REALM of the MATERIAL world. You could have INVOKED the OCCULT. You weren’t supposed to die. Oh, why didn’t I die instead of you, when I am so bad and you are so good? And my father—where can he be? Please, dear fairy, tell me where he is and I’ll never, never leave him again! You’re not really dead, are you? If you love me, you’ll come back, alive as before. Don’t you feel sorry for me? I’m so lonely. What will I do alone in the world? Will I have to spend the rest of my life roaming the streets like a poor WAIF? Where will I eat? Where will I sleep? Who will make my clothes?”

Poor Pinocchio! All these VEXING concerns swirled around in his mind until he could no longer stand it. Losing all control, he tried to tear out his hair, but as it was only painted on his wooden head, he couldn’t even pull it.

Just then a pigeon flew far above him. Seeing the puppet, he called to him, “Tell me, little boy, what are you doing there?”

“Can’t you see? I’m crying,” sobbed Pinocchio, lifting his head toward the voice and rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. “My lovely sister has died.”

“My deepest CONDOLENCES,” said the pigeon respectfully. Then, to try to soften the puppet’s grief—but being careful to avoid such unpleasant words as death and dying—he added EUPHEMISTICALLY, “It’s especially difficult when a SIBLING passes, but take SOLACE in knowing that she sleeps in peace.”

“Thank you,” muttered Pinocchio, still weeping.

“Tell me, do you by chance know of a boy named Pinocchio?”

“Pinocchio! Did you say Pinocchio?” replied the puppet, jumping to his feet. “Why, I’m Pinocchio!”

At this answer, the pigeon flew swiftly to the ground.

“Then you know Geppetto also?”

“Do I know him? He’s my father, my poor, dear father! Has he, perhaps, spoken to you of me? Will you take me to him? Is he still alive? Answer me, please! Is he still alive?”

“I can’t AFFIRM that. All I know is that I saw him three days ago on the seacoast.”

“What was he doing?”

“He was building a little boat and studying NAUTICAL charts. For the past four months, that poor man has been looking for you. Not having found you after an EXHAUSTIVE search, he’s made up his mind to EMBARK on a sea voyage to look for you in distant lands.”

“How far is it from here to the shore?” asked Pinocchio anxiously.

“About fifty miles.”

“Fifty miles? Oh, dear pigeon, how I wish I had your wings!”

“If you want to come, I’ll take you with me,” said the pigeon, who was ATYPICALLY large.

“How?”

“On my back. Are you very heavy?”

“Heavy? Not at all. I’m as light as a feather.”

“Okay, then.”

Saying nothing more, Pinocchio jumped on the pigeon’s back. He was delighted to discover that its PLUMAGE was comfortably soft and thick.

The bird began its flight, and in a few minutes they’d reached the clouds. The puppet looked down to enjoy the scenic PANORAMA just as they happened to be angling over a deep, rocky CHASM. Suddenly losing his EQUILIBRIUM, he clutched wildly at the pigeon’s neck to keep himself from fall-ing.

They flew all day without any further MISHAPS. Toward evening the pigeon said, “I’m very thirsty!”

“And I’m very hungry!” answered Pinocchio.

“Let’s stop a few minutes at that big birdhouse down there. Then we can go on and be at the seashore in the morning.”

They flew down to the birdhouse, where they found nothing but a bowl of water and a small basket filled with sesame seeds.

Pinocchio had always hated sesame seeds. According to him, their PUNGENT flavor made him sick. But that night he ate them eagerly. As he finished them, he turned to the pigeon and said, “I’d never have thought that sesame seeds could taste so good!”

“You must remember,” answered the pigeon, “that hunger is the ULTIMATE sauce!”

After resting a few more minutes, they set out again. As they flew it became darker and darker until they could see nothing but blackness on the ground below. But by doing what MIGRATORY birds do—that is, relying on OLFACTORY cues and noting LUNAR and STELLAR positions—the pigeon was able to stay firmly on course. Early the next morning they arrived safely at the seashore.

Pinocchio jumped off the pigeon’s back, and the pigeon, not wanting any thanks for a kind deed, flew away swiftly and disappeared.

The shore was full of people who were shrieking and tearing their hair as they looked toward the sea.

“What’s happened?” Pinocchio asked a little old woman.

“A poor old father lost his only son some time ago and today he built a tiny boat for himself to go in search of him across the sea. Considering the IMMENSITY of the ocean, I don’t think he’ll ever make it across. Right now the water’s very rough and we’re afraid the boat will turn over and he’ll drown.”

“Where’s the boat?”

“There. Straight out there,” answered the little old woman, pointing to a tiny boat floating on the sea.

Pinocchio looked closely for a few seconds. At first the misty waves OBSCURED his view and he saw nothing. Then suddenly he gave a sharp cry: “It’s my father! It’s my father!”

The little boat, which from the shore looked no bigger than a nutshell, was tossed about by the angry waters. It alternately appeared and disappeared in the waves. Pinocchio, standing on a high rock, waved toward the boat with hand and cap.

It looked as if Geppetto, though far away from shore, recognized his son, for he took off his cap and waved also. He seemed to be trying to make everyone understand that he would come back if he were able, but the sea was so heavy that he couldn’t control the CAREENING craft. Suddenly a huge wave came and the boat disappeared.

They waited and waited for it to reappear, but it was gone.

“Poor man!” said a fishermen on the shore, as they turned to go home.

Just then they heard a desperate cry and, looking back, they saw Pinocchio dive into the sea and heard him cry out, “I’ll save him! I’ll save my father!”

The puppet, being made of wood, floated easily and swam like a fish in the rough water. Now and again he disappeared only to reappear once more. In an instant, he was far away from land. At last he was completely lost to view.

Chapter 20 “The Land of the Busy Bees”

Hoping to find his father in time to save him, Pinocchio swam all night.

And what a horrible night it was! It poured rain, it hailed, it thundered, and the lightning was so bright that it turned the night into day.

At dawn, he saw, not far away, a long stretch of sand. It was an island in the middle of the sea.

Pinocchio tried his best to get there, but he couldn’t. The waves tossed him about as if he were a twig or a bit of straw. At last, luckily, a tremendous wave tossed him directly onto the shore. The blow from the wave was so strong that, as he fell to the ground, his joints rattled and almost broke. Nevertheless, he jumped to his feet and cried, “Once more I’ve escaped with my life!”

Little by little the sky cleared. The sun came out in full splendor and the sea became as SEDATE as a country pond.

The puppet took off his clothes and laid them on the sand to dry. He looked out over the water to see if he could see a little boat with a man in it. He searched and searched, but he saw nothing except sea and sky.

The idea of finding himself in so lonesome a spot made him so sad that he was about to cry, but just then he saw a dolphin swimming nearby, with his head far out of the water.

Not knowing what to call him, the puppet shouted, “Hey there, may I have a word with you?”

“Certainly,” answered the dolphin, who happened to be very friendly.

“Will you please tell me if, on this island, there are places where one can eat without fear of being eaten?”

“Yes, there are,” answered the dolphin. “In fact, you’ll find one not far from this spot.”

“Is it ACCESSIBLE on foot?”

“Certainly. Take that path right there. When it DIVERGES, stay to your left and then follow your nose. You can’t go wrong.”

“Tell me another thing. You travel day and night through the sea. Did you see, perhaps, a little boat with my father in it?”

“Who’s your father?”

“He’s the best father in the world, even though I’m the worst son.”

“Last night’s storm didn’t BODE well for small craft,” answered the dolphin. “The little boat must have sunk.”

“And my father?”

“For the last few days a COLOSSALLY large shark has been DOMINATING the depths around here. Like other sharks, he attacks without PROVOCATION. He eats everything in sight—swimmers, fish, ships. Your father may have been one of the CASUALTIES.”

“Exactly how big is this shark?” asked Pinocchio, who was beginning to tremble with fright.

“How big?” replied the dolphin. “Just to give you an INKLING, I can tell you that he’s as big as a mountain and that he has a mouth so wide that he could easily swallow an entire railroad train.”

“Good gracious!” cried the puppet, scared to death.

By this time, the sun’s TORRID rays had completely dried Pinocchio’s clothes. Dressing himself as fast as he could, he turned to the dolphin and said, “Good-bye, and thank you.”

This said, he took the path at so swift a pace that he seemed to fly, and at every small sound he heard, he turned in fear to see whether the shark was following him.

After walking a half hour, he came to a small country called the Land of the Busy Bees. The streets were filled with people running back and forth, on business. Everyone worked; no one was IDLE.

“I understand,” said Pinocchio to himself wearily, “that this is no place for me! I was not born for work.”

But in the meantime, he began to feel hungry, for it had been a full day since he’d last eaten. What could he do? He knew that there were only two ways of AVERTING hunger. He’d have to either work or beg.

He was ashamed to beg, because his good father had INDOCTRINATED him with certain principles, one of which was that begging should be done only by the sick or the old. He had said that the IMPOVERISHED in this world deserve our pity and help only if, through either sickness or SENILITY, they’ve become INCAPACITATED. All others should work, and if they didn’t, and went hungry, too bad for them.

Just then a man passed by. He was worn out and wet with perspiration. He was pulling, with great difficulty, two heavy carts filled with coal. Pinocchio looked at him and, judging him by his looks to be a kind man, said with shame-filled eyes, “Will you be so good as to give me a penny, for I’m faint from hunger?”

“Not only one penny,” answered the man. “I’ll give you four if you’ll help me pull these two wagons.”

“I’m surprised!” answered the puppet, very much offended. “I’d like you to know that I’ve never been a donkey, nor have I ever pulled a wagon.”

“Good for you!” answered the man. “Then, my boy, if you’re really faint from hunger, eat two pieces of your pride. And I hope they don’t give you a tummy ache.”

A few minutes after, a bricklayer passed by, carrying a pail full of plaster on his shoulders.

“Good man, will you be kind enough to give a penny to a poor boy who’s starving?”

“Gladly,” answered the bricklayer. “Come with me and carry some plaster, and instead of one penny, I’ll give you five.”

“But plaster’s heavy,” answered Pinocchio, “and the work is too hard for me.”

“If the work is too hard for you, my boy, enjoy your hunger, and may it bring you luck!”

In less than a half hour, at least twenty people passed and Pinocchio begged of each one. But they all answered, “Aren’t you ashamed to beg? Don’t you realize that by DINT of hard work and PERSEVERANCE you can earn your own bread?”

In spite of all his failures thus far, Pinocchio refused to allow himself to become DISHEARTENED. Finally, there passed before him a little woman ENCUMBERED with two heavy water buckets.

“Good woman,” said the puppet, whose wooden tongue was suddenly PARCHED by thirst, “will you allow me to have a drink from one of your buckets?”

“With pleasure, my boy!” she answered, setting the two buckets on the ground before him.

Pinocchio could hardly believe his good fortune. When he had had his fill, he wiped his mouth and said, “My thirst is gone. Now if I could only get rid of my hunger!”

On hearing these words, the good little woman said, “If you help me carry one of these buckets home, I’ll give you a slice of bread.”

Pinocchio looked at the buckets and said neither yes nor no.

“And with the bread, I’ll give you a bowl of soup.”

Pinocchio gave the buckets another look but continued to BALK at the idea of having to carry one.

“And after the soup, some cookies.”

At this last ENTICEMENT, Pinocchio could no longer resist and said firmly, “Very well. I’ll carry one home for you.”

The bucket was very heavy, and the puppet, not being strong enough to carry it with his hands, had to put it on his head.

When they arrived at the woman’s house, she sat Pinocchio down at a small table and placed before him the bread, the soup, and the cookies, all of which Pinocchio ate with GUSTO.

His hunger finally satisfied, he raised his head to thank his kind BENEFACTRESS. But he hadn’t looked at her long when he gave a cry of surprise and sat there with his eyes and mouth wide open.

“Why all the surprise?” asked the good woman, laughing.

“Because,” answered Pinocchio, stammering and stuttering, “because…you look like…you remind me of…yes, yes, the same voice, the same eyes, the same hair…yes, yes, yes, you also have the same blue hair she had. Oh, my little fairy, my little fairy! Tell me that it’s you! Don’t make me cry any longer! If you only knew! I have cried so much, I have suffered so!”

And Pinocchio threw himself onto the floor and clasped the knees of the mysterious little woman and began to cry.

Chapter 21 “Pinocchio’s Mother”

Afraid that Pinocchio might melt away if he cried much longer, the woman finally ACKNOWLEDGED that she was indeed the little fairy with blue hair.

“You rascal! How did you know it was I?” she asked, laughing.

“My love for you told me who you were.”

“Do you remember? You left me when I was a little girl and now you find me a grown woman. I’m so old, I could be your mother!”

“For a long time I’ve wanted a mother, just like other boys. But how did you grow so quickly?”

“That’s a secret!”

“Tell it to me.”

“It’s a secret only fairies are permitted to know. I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to DISCLOSE it.”

“But I also want to grow a little. Look at me! I’ve never grown taller than three feet.”

“But you can’t grow,” answered the fairy.

“Why? What’s wrong with me? Did I suffer some kind of NATAL injury? Did the part of my brain that controls growth MALFUNCTION? Did—”

“No, no. Of course not. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just that puppets never grow. They’re born puppets, they live as puppets, and they die as puppets.”

“But I’m tired of always being a little puppet!” cried Pinocchio disgustedly. “People speak of the BREVITY of childhood—but for me it feels INTERMINABLE. It’s time for me to grow up and become a man, as everyone else does.”

“There’s another secret that all adults know, and this one I can DIVULGE.”

“What is it?”

“Every child thinks that when he grows up, he’ll become a different person. But the child-adult DICHOTOMY is a false one. After children grow up, they find that their thoughts and feelings are pretty much the same as they always were.”

“Well, then what I want is to change from a puppet into a real boy—and then grow up.”

“And you will if you deserve it.”

“Really? Will I be TRANSFORMED INSTANTANEOUSLY? Or will it be a gradual TRANSITION?”

“You’re not going to EVOLVE little by little through a series of INCREMENTAL steps, if that’s what you mean. Rather, the change will happen all at once—but not until you deserve it.”

“What can I do to deserve it?”

“It’s very simple. Just behave like a good boy.”

“Don’t you think I do?”

The fairy thought for a moment and then said, “How can I say this TACTFULLY? Let’s just say that you can do better. For example, good boys do as they’re told. You, on the other hand—”

“And I never obey.”

“Good boys do their homework, but you—”

“And I use any PRETEXT to get out of it.”

“Good boys do their chores.”

“And I PROCRASTINATE or don’t do them at all.”

“Good boys always tell the truth.”

“And I’m a CHRONIC liar.”

“Good boys go to school.”

“And I get sick if I go to school. But from now on I’ll be different.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise. I want to be a good boy and to be a comfort to my father. Where’s my poor father now?”

“I don’t know.”

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

“I think so. Indeed, I’m sure of it.”

At this answer, Pinocchio became very happy. He grasped the fairy’s hands and kissed them. Then, lifting his face, he looked at her lovingly and asked, “Tell me, it isn’t true that you’re dead, is it?”

“It doesn’t seem so,” answered the fairy, smiling.

“If you only knew how I suffered and how I wept when I read ‘Here lies—’”

“I know it, and for that I’ve forgiven you. The depth of your sorrow made me see that you have a kind heart. There’s always hope for boys with hearts such as yours. Do you know why I’ve come so far to look for you? It’s because of my CONVICTION that there’s a good boy somewhere deep down inside of you. That’s why. And from now on, I’m going to be your mother.”

“Oh, how lovely!” cried Pinocchio, jumping with joy.

“You will obey me always and do as I wish?”

“Gladly, very gladly; more than gladly!”

“Beginning tomorrow,” said the fairy, “you’ll go to school every day.”

Pinocchio’s face fell a little.

“Then you’ll choose the trade or profession you like best.”

Pinocchio became more serious.

“What are you mumbling to yourself?” asked the fairy.

“I was just saying,” whined the puppet, “that it seems too late for me to go to school now.”

“No, my child. Remember that it’s never too late to learn.”

“But I don’t want to learn a trade or profession.”

“Why?”

“Because work tires me out!”

“My dear son,” said the fairy, “laziness is a serious illness, and it must be eliminated in early childhood, while it’s still in an EMBRYONIC stage; otherwise, it will destroy you. On the other hand, a love of work promotes well being and LONGEVITY. No one can find happiness without it.”

These words touched Pinocchio’s heart. He lifted his eyes to his mother and said seriously, “I’ll work; I’ll study; I’ll do everything you say. After all, the life of a puppet has grown very tiresome to me and I want to become a real boy, no matter how hard it is. You promise that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I promise. And now it’s all up to you.”

Chapter 22 “Pinocchio Goes to School”

Bright and early the next morning, Pinocchio started for school.

When the other children saw a puppet enter the classroom, they laughed until they cried. All the boys played tricks on him. One pulled his hat off, another tugged at his coat, and a third tried to paint a mustache under his nose. One even tried to tie strings to his hands and feet to make him dance. The teacher finally put an end to the MAYHEM by ordering the children to their seats.

For a while, by sitting very still and forcing himself to wear a DEADPAN expression, Pinocchio managed to maintain his COMPOSURE. But behind him he could hear the other boys whispering to each other about him and quietly laughing. Any remark that wasn’t BLATANTLY cruel was filled with INNUENDO. At first he ignored their insults; but as they continued, he found it harder and harder to remain IMPASSIVE. Then, when they started trading JOCULAR remarks—“Is that a nose or a flagpole?” for example—he lost his patience and, turning around, said threateningly, “Careful, boys; I haven’t come here to be HARASSED or made fun of. I’ll respect you and I want you to respect me.”

“Good for you!” JEERED the boys, bursting with laughter.

Just then, the teacher, who’d been writing on the blackboard, spun around and said sharply, “What’s going on here?”

“Sorry, sir,” said the boy who’d made the flagpole remark. “Just trying to inject a moment of LEVITY to make our new classmate feel more comfortable. We were just kidding with him—all in fun, of course—and he MISCONSTRUED our innocent jokes for insults. But we won’t do it again.” Then the boy lowered his head, as if in shame.

“Very well,” said the teacher. “But don’t let it happen again. I won’t TOLERATE that kind of behavior. Does everyone understand that?”

“Yes, sir,” all the children chanted in UNISON.

But none of this caused the boys to DESIST from their shenanigans. As soon as the teacher’s back was turned, the boy across from Pinocchio put out his hand and pulled the puppet’s nose. This time Pinocchio RETALIATED. In one DEFT motion, he extended his leg under the desk and kicked the boy hard on the shin.

“Oh, what hard feet!” cried the boy, rubbing the spot where the puppet had kicked him.

“And what elbows! They’re even harder than the feet!” shouted another one, who’d thrown a spitball and received a blow in the ribs in REPRISAL.

With that kick and that blow Pinocchio won everybody’s respect. Everyone admired him and wanted to be his friend.

As the days passed into weeks, even the teacher praised him, for he had an ACQUISITIVE mind and a RETENTIVE memory. He was always the first to arrive in the morning and the last to leave when school was over.

If Pinocchio had any fault, it was that, because he was now near the top of the school’s social HIERARCHY, he had too many friends. Among these were the members of a NOTORIOUS CLIQUE of ROWDY troublemakers who cared not a bit for study or for success. In Pinocchio’s mind their naughty behavior was DEPLORABLE, but at the same time it added to their ALLURE. The teacher, noticing that Pinocchio tended to GRAVITATE toward these boys, one day warned him, “Be careful, Pinocchio! Good boys who associate with RUFFIANS will sooner or later lose their love for study. Some day they’ll be led astray.”

“That’s just a GENERALITY,” answered the puppet, shaking his head. “There’s no danger of that happening to me because I’m too wise and my moral CALIBER is too high. I’d never allow their bad values to IMPINGE upon my good ones.”

But it happened that one day, as he was walking to school, one of these boys ran up to him and said, “Have you heard the news?”

“No!”

“A shark as big as a mountain has been seen near the shore.”

The SIMILE struck a chord deep within the puppet and he felt his wooden heart skip a beat. He gazed thoughtfully at the boy, then mumbled MEDITATIVELY, “Hmm…I wonder if it could be the same shark I heard about when my father was drowned.”

“I’m going to see it. Are you coming?”

“I can’t. I have to go to school.”

“So go to school tomorrow. What difference does one lesson more or less make?” the boy RATIONALIZED.

“But I thought that attending class every day was OBLIGATORY. What will our teacher say?”

“Let him say whatever he wants. He’s paid to complain all day.”

“And my mother?”

“Mothers don’t know everything.”

“Do you know what I’ll do?” said Pinocchio. “For certain reasons of my own, I, too, want to see that shark. But I’ll go after school. I can see him then as well as now.”

“You fool!” cried the boy. “Do you think that a fish of that MAGNITUDE will stand there waiting for you?”

The puppet was in a QUANDARY. On the one hand, he knew he should go to school. On the other, he couldn’t pass up an opportunity to find his father.

“How long does it take to get from here to the shore?” he asked.

“An hour there and back.”

“All right, then. Let’s see who gets there first!” cried Pinocchio.

Chapter 23 “The Fight”

Running like the wind, Pinocchio reached the shore in a very short time. He put down his schoolbooks and then glanced all around. But there was no sign of a shark. The sea was as smooth as glass.

“Hey, where’s that shark?” he asked, turning to his schoolmate.

“He may have gone for breakfast,” he answered, putting down his books. “Or perhaps he went to bed for a little nap.”

From the silly BANTER, Pinocchio knew that the boy had played a trick on him.

“What’s the idea?” he said angrily to him. “What’s the joke?”

“Oh, the joke’s on you!” cried the rascal, dancing about.

“And that is—?”

“That I’ve made you stay out of school to come with me! Ha, ha!”

“But—”

“Don’t you know that everyone thinks you’ve officially DEFECTED from our fun-loving, mischief-making gang? Tell me, why don’t you join us anymore when we go on our afternoon ESCAPADES—it’s to study, isn’t it? You should be ashamed of yourself for being such a goody-goody. If you spent half as much time and energy on having fun as you now EXPEND on studying, you’d be much happier. Can’t you see that?”

“Gee, thanks for that wonderfully INCISIVE CRITIQUE,” said the puppet sarcastically.

“Look, we’ve all talked it over, and we’ve agreed UNANIMOUSLY to give you one more chance to join us again. What do you say?”

“I don’t know. Anyway, what’s it to you if I study?”

“Don’t you see? If you study and receive high marks, you establish a BENCHMARK. It makes my grades look bad to the teacher. It makes me look stupid. If I had my way, I’d ABOLISH studying entirely. Better yet, I’d DEMOLISH every schoolhouse.”

“I don’t agree. For one thing, my study habits don’t DETRACT from your academic record, which is based solely on your test scores. For another, you don’t have to remain a MEDIOCRE student. You can do what I do—spend most of your time studying instead of trying to have fun all the time.”

“And have everyone think I’m a PURITANICAL spoilsport like you? I don’t think so. I have more important things to do with my life.”

“Like what? You’re just being lazy.”

“Lazy? Don’t call me that! Don’t ever call me that! You better take that back right now!”

“Make me!” said Pinocchio, with a DEFIANT forward thrust of his chin.

“Take it back, I said, or you’ll be sorry!”

When the puppet still refused to RETRACT the statement, the boy gave Pinocchio’s shoulder a poke. The puppet, to show that he was not the least bit INTIMIDATED by the other, immediately answered that with a shove. That was the CATALYST that triggered the beginning of an all-out fight. In a few moments, it raged hot and heavy.

Pinocchio was so DEXTEROUS with his hard wooden hands and feet that his opponent was forced to RECEDE. Wherever on the other boy those hands and feet landed, they left a painful mark. The most VULNERABLE part of his body proved to be his shins, which had already been kicked several times, causing him to howl.

Because he was unable to get close to Pinocchio without being kicked, the boy picked up his schoolbooks and starting hurling them at the puppet. A BARRAGE of reading books, history books, and science books flew threw the air. But the ONSLAUGHT accomplished nothing. With his sharp eyes and AGILE movements, Pinocchio was able to predict their TRAJECTORIES and then jump to the side or duck to avoid being struck.

Now the boy looked around for new ammunition. Seeing Pinocchio’s bundle of books lying nearby, he ran to it and snatched it up.

One of the books, a COMPILATION of hundreds of mathematical tables, was very large and heavily bound in leather. Of all his books, Pinocchio loved that one best, for he had an unusual APTITUDE for mathematics.

Thinking it would make a fine weapon, the boy took hold of it and threw it at the puppet with all his strength. But Pinocchio ducked and the PROJECTILE struck the head of another classmate who’d just run up to watch the excitement. The thrower then screamed a BELATED “Watch out!” and the victim, pale as a ghost, cried out, “Help! I’m dying!” and fell senseless to the ground. Pinocchio heard his head crack against the hard dirt.

At the sight of that pale little body, the boy who’d thrown the book suddenly became so DISTRAUGHT that he turned and ran. In a few moments he was gone.

Although scared to death by the GHASTLY accident, Pinocchio ran to the sea and SATURATED his handkerchief with cool ocean water. Then he ran back and gently patted the forehead of his poor little schoolmate with it. Sobbing bitterly, he said to him, “Open your eyes and look at me! Why don’t you answer? I wasn’t the one who hit you, you know. Open your eyes. If you keep them shut, then I’ll die, too.”

Then the puppet thought to himself: “Oh dear, how will I ever go home now? How will I ever face my mother again? What will happen to me? Where will I go? Where will I hide?

Oh, how much better it would have been, a thousand times better, if only I’d gone to school! Why did I listen to that boy? He was a bad influence! And to think that the teacher had told me—and my mother, too!—‘Beware of bad company!’ That’s what they said. But I’m stubborn and selfish. I listen, but I always do as I please. And then I pay. I’ve never had a moment’s peace since I’ve been born! Oh, dear! What will become of me? What will become of me?”

Pinocchio went on crying and moaning. Then he said to the lifeless body of his little friend, “You came here to try to MEDIATE a truce between me and that other boy, didn’t you? You did nothing wrong. You don’t deserve to die. Open your eyes. Please open your—” Suddenly he heard heavy steps approaching.

He looked up and saw two tall police officers near him.

“What are you doing on the ground?” they asked Pinocchio.

“I’m helping this schoolmate of mine.”

“Is anything wrong with him?”

“I think so,” answered Pinocchio weakly.

One of the officers bent down for a closer look. Right away he noticed the boy’s shallow breathing and pale, moist skin. When he pulled up the child’s drooping eyelids he found that the eyes were GLAZED and the pupils were DILATED. Then, seeing angry bruises and COAGULATED blood above the boy’s ear, he said, “His temple’s been LACERATED and he’s in shock.” Then to Pinocchio: “All right, what happened? Who did this?”

“Not I,” stammered the puppet, who had hardly a breath left in his whole body.

“Come now. Would you have us believe that he was MAULED by a wild animal? Or that he fell off a roof? Now tell the truth. Who did it.”

“Not I,” he repeated.

“What was he wounded with?”

“With this book,” answered the puppet, holding up the math book to show it to the officer.

“Whose book is it?” asked the officer, noticing a bit of CONGEALED blood on the book’s corner.

“Mine.”

“I see. Then how do you RECONCILE your claim of innocence with the fact that your book has this poor boy’s blood on it and you’re the only one here?”

Pinocchio could have told the officers all about the troublemaker who’d INSTIGATED the fight, but he was no tattletale. At the risk of being made the SCAPEGOAT for a crime he didn’t commit, he said nothing.

“Okay, that’s enough.” said the officer, taking the book. “Come along with us.”

“But I—”

“Come with us!”

“But I’m innocent.”

“Innocent? The INCRIMINATING evidence is right here!” shouted the officer, thrusting the book an inch in front of Pinocchio’s nose. “There’s no question that you’ll be INDICTED for this crime. And if the judge UNEARTHS any evidence that shows that your attack was PREMEDITATED, you’ll serve jail time. Now come with us!”

Before starting out, the officer called out to several fishermen passing by in a boat, “Fishermen! Hey! This is an emergency! I hereby appoint you temporary, AUXILIARY police officers. Do your best to RESUSCITATE this injured little boy. Take him home with you, put him to bed, and treat his wounds. Tomorrow we’ll come back for him.”

The two officers took hold of Pinocchio and put him between them. Then one said to him in a GRUFF voice, “Now march! And go quickly, or it’ll be even worse for you!”

They didn’t have to say it again. Pinocchio silently allowed himself to be escorted between the officers along the road to the village. But the poor puppet was in a daze. He felt like he was in a horrible dream. Everything looked DISTORTED. He felt QUEASY and feverish. His legs trembled and his tongue was dry. And his throat felt so CONSTRICTED that, try as he might, he couldn’t utter a single word. Yet, in spite of this DELIRIUM, one thought continually tormented him—the thought of passing under the window of the good fairy’s house. What would she say on seeing him EMBROILED in legal difficulties? What would she say on hearing the GORY details of what had just happened to his schoolmate’s head? What would she say on thinking he’d BLUNDERED yet again? Then another thought entered his head. What would his teacher say on learning that his math book had been CONFISCATED as evidence?

They had just reached the village when a sudden gust of wind sent Pinocchio’s cap sailing far down the street.

“Would you allow me,” the puppet asked the officers, “to run after my cap?”

“Very well, but hurry.”

After a few seconds the puppet had reached his cap and picked it up—but instead of putting it on his head, he stuck it between his teeth and then, looking like a bullet shot from a gun, raced toward the sea.

The officers judged from his INITIAL VELOCITY and rate of ACCELERATION that it would be impossible to catch him. One of them pulled from his pocket a long, silver whistle and blew on it. Although its super-high pitch was INAUDIBLE to humans and puppets, dogs responded to it. In a moment a large police dog, one that had won first prize in all the dog races, came running up. The officers sent him after the wooden FUGITIVE.

Chapter 24 “The Fisherman”

Pinocchio heard, close behind him, the heavy panting of the beast who was fast on his trail, and now and then even felt his hot breath on him. But luckily, by this time the shore was only a few short steps away.

As soon as he set foot on the beach, Pinocchio gave a leap and fell into the water. The dog tried to stop, but as he was running very fast, couldn’t, and he, too, landed in the sea. Strange though it may seem, the dog couldn’t swim. He beat the water with his paws to hold himself up, but the harder he tried, the deeper he sank. As he stuck his head out once more, his eyes were bulging and he barked out wildly, “I’m drowning! I’m drowning!”

“Then drown!” answered Pinocchio from afar, happy at his escape.

“Please help me! Save me! Oh! Oh!”

At those FRENZIED cries of suffering, the puppet, who, after all, had a HUMANE spirit, was moved to compassion. He turned toward the poor animal and said to him, “If I save you, do you promise not to bother me again or run after me?”

“I promise! I promise! Only hurry, for if you wait any longer, I’ll be dead and gone!”

Pinocchio hesitated still another moment. Then, remembering how his father had often told him that no one ever loses by doing a kind deed, he swam to the dog and, catching hold of his tail, dragged him to shore.

The poor dog was so weak that he couldn’t stand up. He had swallowed, in spite of himself, so much water that he was as BLOATED as a balloon. Pinocchio, however, still not trusting the dog, jumped once again into the sea. As he swam away, he called out, “Good-bye, and I wish you well.”

“Good-bye and thank you,” answered the dog. “I’ll always be BEHOLDEN to you for saving my life. If the chance ever comes, I’d like to RECIPROCATE by doing something for you.”

Pinocchio waved good-bye, then went on swimming close to shore. At last he thought he’d reached a safe place. Glancing up and down the beach from the water, he saw a long column of smoke coming from an ORIFICE in the rocks.

“That must be a cave,” he said to himself. “And in that cave there must be a fire. I’ll dry my clothes and warm myself, and then…well, then we’ll see.”

His mind made up, Pinocchio swam to the shore. But as he started to climb the rocks, he felt something under him lifting him up higher and higher. He tried to escape, but it was too late. To his great surprise, he found himself in a large net, among a huge number of fish of all kinds and sizes, who were fighting and struggling desperately to free themselves.

At the same time, he saw a fisherman come out of the cave—a fisherman so GROTESQUE that Pinocchio thought he was a monster. His head was covered by a DISHEVELED growth of stringy, wet, green seaweed. His body and eyes were also green, as was the long, tangled beard that reached down to his feet. He looked like a gigantic slimy lizard with legs and arms.

When the fisherman pulled the net out of the sea, he cried out joyfully, “Wonderful! Once more I’ll have a fine meal of fish!”

“It’s lucky I’m not a fish!” said Pinocchio to himself, trying with these words to find a little courage.

The fisherman took the net to the cave—a dark, DANK, smoky place. In the middle of it, a pan full of oil and AROMATIC herbs sizzled over a fire.

“Now, let’s see what kind of fish I’ve caught today,” said the fisherman. He put a hand as big as a shovel into the net and pulled out a handful of tuna.

“Fine fish, these tuna!” he said, after looking at them and smelling them with pleasure. After that, he threw them into a large, empty tub.

Many times he repeated this operation. As he pulled each fish out of the net, his mouth watered with the thought of the DELECTABLE dinner to come.

“Fine fish, these bass!”

“Very tasty, these mackerel!”

“Delicious flounders, these!”

“What splendid cod!”

“And look at this BEVY of cute, little sardines! They’ll COMPLEMENT the larger fish beautifully!”

The bass, mackerel, flounders, cod, and sardines all went together into the tub to keep the tuna company. The last to come out of the net was Pinocchio.

Just as the fisherman was about to add him to the POTPOURRI, his green eyes opened wide with surprise and he cried out, “What kind of fish is this? I don’t remember ever eating anything like it.”

He looked at it closely and, after turning it over and over, said at last, “It must be a crab!”

Pinocchio, hurt at being mistaken for a crab, said angrily, “What nonsense! A crab indeed! I’ll have you know that I’m a puppet!”

“A puppet?” asked the fisherman. “I must admit that a puppet fish is, for me, a completely new experience. All the better. I’ll SAVOR every mouthful.”

“But can’t you see that I’m not a fish? Can’t you hear that I speak and think as you do?”

“That’s true,” answered the fisherman. “And now, seeing that you can speak and think, I’ll treat you with special consideration.”

“And that is—”

“That, as a sign of my ESTEEM, I’ll allow you to choose the manner in which you’ll be cooked. Do you want to be fried in a pan, or do you prefer to be boiled in water?”

“If I must choose,” answered Pinocchio, “I’d rather go free so I can return home!”

“You must be joking! Do you think that I, with my DISCRIMINATING taste in food, would want to lose the opportunity to sample such a SUBLIME piece of fish? A puppet fish doesn’t come to these waters very often. I may never get another chance. Leave it to me. I’ll fry you in the pan with the others. I know you’ll like it. It’s always a comfort to be in good company.”

The unlucky puppet, hearing this, began to cry and wail and beg. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he said, “How much better it would have been if I had gone to school! I didn’t do the right thing, and now I’m paying for it! Oh! Oh! Oh!”

And because Pinocchio wriggled like an eel to escape from him, the fisherman took a long cord, tied him up, and threw him into the bottom of the tub with all the others.

Then he took a wooden bowl full of flour and started to roll the fish into it, one by one. When they were white with it, he threw them into the pan. Pinocchio’s turn came last. The fisherman, without even looking at him, turned him over and over in the flour until he looked like a puppet made of chalk.

Chapter 25 “The Snail”

Suddenly, a large dog came running into the cave. “Get out!” cried the fisherman threateningly, still holding onto the puppet, who was covered with flour.

But the poor dog was starving, and he howled, “Give me a bite of fish and I’ll go in peace.”

“Get out, I say!” repeated the fisherman. And he drew back his foot to give the dog a kick.

Then the dog, who was far too hungry to care about being kicked, turned in a rage toward the fisherman and bared his terrible fangs. Pinocchio, terrified though he was, recognized the dog as the one he’d saved from drowning. In a pitiful little voice the puppet called out, “Save me! Save me!”

The dog immediately recognized Pinocchio’s voice and was amazed to see that it came from the little flour-covered bundle that the fisherman held in his hand. With one great leap, the dog grasped that bundle in his mouth and, holding it carefully between his teeth, raced through the door.

The fisherman, angry at seeing his precious meal snatched from under his nose, ran after the dog, but a bad fit of coughing made him stop and turn back.

Meanwhile, the dog, as soon as he’d found the road that led to the village, stopped and dropped Pinocchio softly to the ground.

“How can I thank you, “ asked the puppet.

“It’s not necessary,” answered the dog. “You saved me once, and what’s given is always returned. We all must help each other in this world.”

“But how did you get in that cave?”

“I was lying here on the sand more dead than alive, when the aroma of sizzling oil and fresh fish came to me and WHETTED my appetite. I followed it into the cave. Oh, if I had come a moment later!”

“Don’t speak of it,” wailed Pinocchio, still trembling with fright. “Don’t say a word. If you’d come a moment later, I would have been fried and eaten. It makes me shiver just to think of it.”

The dog held out his paw to the puppet, who shook it heartily, feeling that now he and the dog were good friends. Then they said good-bye and the dog went home.

Pinocchio, left alone, now looked around and saw a little cabin built of logs and roofed with CORRUGATED metal. An old man sat at the door sunning himself. Walking up to him, the puppet said, “Excuse me, sir, but have you heard anything of a poor schoolboy with a wounded temple?”

“Yes, the boy was brought to this cabin and now—”

“Now he’s dead?” Pinocchio interrupted sorrowfully.

“No, he’s alive and he’s already returned home. He’s fine.”

“Really? Really?” cried the puppet, jumping with joy. “Then the ABRASIONS weren’t really serious?”

“But they might have been,” answered the old man, “for a heavy book was thrown at his head.”

“Who threw it?”

“A schoolmate of his named Pinocchio.”

“And who is this Pinocchio?” asked the puppet, pretending ignorance.

“They say that he’s a mischief-maker. And they say that he has no QUALMS about telling lies.”

“That’s not true!”

“Do you know this Pinocchio?”

“Only by sight!” answered the puppet.

“And what do you think of him?” asked the old man.

“I think he’s a very good boy, eager to study, kind to his father, and respectful of his mother.”

As he was telling these lies about himself, Pinocchio touched his nose and found it twice as long as it should be. Scared out of his wits, he cried out, “Don’t listen to me! All the wonderful things I’ve just said are FABRICATIONS. I know Pinocchio well and he’s a very bad boy who, instead of going to school, runs away with his friends to have a good time.”

At this speech, his nose returned to its normal size.

“Why are you so white?” the old man asked.

“I accidentally rubbed myself against a newly painted wall,” he said, ashamed to admit that he’d been covered with flour for the frying pan.

“What have you done with your coat and your hat and your pants?”

“I met bandits on the road and they robbed me. Tell me, my good man, do you have, perhaps, a little suit to give me, so that I can go home?”

“My boy, as for clothes, I have only a bag that I keep beans in. If you want it, take it. There it is.”

Pinocchio didn’t wait for him to repeat his words. He took the bag, which happened to be empty, and after cutting a big hole at the top and two at the sides, he slipped into it as if it were an oversized shirt. Strangely dressed as he was, he started out toward the village.

Along the way he felt very uneasy and he said to himself: “How will I ever face my good fairy? What will she say when she sees me? Will she forgive this last mischief of mine? I’m sure she won’t. Oh, no, she won’t. And I deserve it, as usual! For I’m a wicked boy—always making promises I don’t keep!”

He came to the village late at night. It was dark and raining heavily, and he could see nothing. He went straight to the fairy’s house and knocked on the door.

He waited and waited. Finally, after a full thirty minutes, the fourth-floor window opened and Pinocchio saw a snail look down. A tiny light glowed on top of its head. “Who knocks at this late hour?” it called.

“Is the fairy home?” asked the puppet.

“The fairy’s asleep and doesn’t wish to be disturbed. Who are you?”

“It’s Pinocchio.”

“Who is Pinocchio?”

“The puppet; the one who lives in the fairy’s house.”

“Oh, I understand,” said the snail. “Wait for me there. I’ll come down to open the door for you.”

“Hurry, I beg of you, for I’m dying of cold.”

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

An hour passed; then two hours; the door was still closed. Pinocchio, who was trembling with fear and shivering from the cold rain on his back, knocked a second time, this time louder than before.

At that second knock, a window on the third floor opened and the same snail looked out.

“Dear little snail,” cried Pinocchio, “I’ve been waiting two hours for you! And two hours on a dreadful night like this is as long as two years. Hurry, please!”

“My boy,” answered the snail in a calm, peaceful voice, “I am a snail, and snails never hurry.” And the window closed.

A few minutes later midnight struck; then one o’clock; then two o’clock; the door still remained closed!

The many hours of discomfort and fear finally CULMINATED in Pinocchio losing all control. SEETHING with frustration, he drew back his leg and gave a violent kick against the door. He kicked so hard that his foot went straight through the wood and his leg followed almost to the knee. No matter how he pulled and yanked, he couldn’t get it out. There he stayed as if nailed to the door.

Poor Pinocchio! The rest of the night he had to spend with one foot through the door and the other on the ground.

As dawn was breaking, the door finally opened. That little snail had taken exactly nine hours to go from the fourth floor to the first!

“What are you doing with your foot through the door?” it asked the puppet.

“It was an accident. Won’t you try to free me from this torture?”

“My boy, this is a job for a carpenter.”

“Ask the fairy to help me!”

“The fairy’s asleep and doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”

“Bring me something to eat, at least, for I’m faint from hunger.”

“Right away!” said the snail.

In fact, after three and a half hours, Pinocchio saw him return with a tray of bread, roast chicken, and fruit.

“Here’s the breakfast the fairy sends you,” said the snail.

At the sight of all these good things, the puppet felt much better.

But upon tasting the food, he was disgusted to find that the bread was made of chalk, the chicken of cardboard, and the fruit of plaster!

He wanted to cry; he wanted to throw away the tray and all that was on it. Instead, from pain and weakness, he fainted.

When he regained his senses, he found himself stretched out on a sofa and the good fairy was seated near him.

“This time also I forgive you,” said the fairy to him. “But be careful not to get into trouble again.”

Receiving the fairy’s forgiveness so easily made Pinocchio feel very guilty. But while his guilt troubled him deeply, it also had the effect of REKINDLING his sense of purpose. He suddenly sat up straight and with eyes gleaming vowed to study hard and to behave himself. And he kept his word for the rest of that year!

The most CLIMACTIC event of the school year was the announcement of the Student of the Year award, which was based on both scholastic achievement and conduct. Pinocchio had scored highest in every one of his final examinations! With that remarkable feat and his excellent behavior, he easily won the award. As the RECIPIENT, he was given five gold stars and was the subject of a flattering speech by his teacher. In spite of himself, Pinocchio BASKED in the high praise BESTOWED on him—especially when it was announced that on the mathematics exam, he’d successfully solved a difficult problem that had STYMIED every other student in the class.

The next day the fairy said to him lovingly, “It GRATIFIES me to see that you’ve worked so hard and behaved so well. Tomorrow your wish will be granted.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you see? Your bad record has been ANNULLED by your hard work and good behavior. Tomorrow you will CEASE to be a puppet and will become a real live boy.”

Pinocchio was beside himself with joy. All his friends and schoolmates were to help him celebrate the MOMENTOUS occasion the next day! The fairy promised that the party would include a chocolate cake and FESTIVE decorations in many bright colors.

Chapter 26 “Lampwick”

Late that afternoon Pinocchio asked for permission to hand out the invitations.

“Indeed, you may go and invite your friends to tomorrow’s party. But once you’ve handed out all the invitations, don’t DAWDLE; come right home. You must be back before dark. Do you promise?”

“Yes. I’ll be back in an hour without fail.”

“Be careful, Pinocchio! Boys make promises very easily, but they just as easily DEFAULT on them. Can I trust you?”

“Yes, IMPLICITLY. You see, I’m not like other boys—when I give my word, I keep it.”

“We’ll see. But in case you do disobey, you’ll be the one who suffers—not anyone else.”

“Why?”

“Because boys who don’t listen to their parents and teachers are always sorry in the end.”

“But I’ve learned my lesson,” said Pinocchio.

“And what lesson is that?”

Pinocchio thought for a moment, then said, “It’s hard to VERBALIZE what it is exactly…but I guess the CRUX of it is that children who lie or steal or who are lazy always end up unhappy. From now on I’ll be good.”

“We’ll see if that’s true. I hope it is.”

Without adding another word, the puppet said good-bye to his mother, and, singing and dancing, left the house.

In a little more than an hour, all his friends were invited. Some had accepted quickly and gladly. Others had to be COAXED with the promise of chocolate cake.

Among his schoolmates, Pinocchio had one whom he liked best of all—the tall, thin, bright one whose nickname, fittingly, was “Lampwick.” As the laziest boy in the school and the biggest troublemaker, his values were the ANTITHESIS of Pinocchio’s. Nevertheless, an AFFINITY existed between them.

That day, Pinocchio went straight to his friend’s house to invite him to the party, but Lampwick wasn’t home. He went a second time, and again a third, but still without luck.

Where could he be? Pinocchio searched everywhere and finally found him standing near a farmer’s wagon.

“What are you doing here?” asked Pinocchio, running up to him.

“I’m waiting for midnight to strike to go—”

“Where?”

“Far, far away!”

“And I’ve gone to your house three times looking for you!”

“What did you want?”

“Haven’t you heard? Don’t you know about my good luck?”

“What?”

“Tomorrow I end my days as a puppet and become a real boy—like you and all my other friends.”

“That’s great!”

“Will you come to my party tomorrow?”

“But I’m telling you that I’m going away tonight.”

“What time?”

“Midnight.”

“Where are you going?”

“To another country—the best in the world—a wonderful place!”

“What is it?”

“It’s called Playland. Why don’t you come with me?”

“Me? Oh, no!”

“You’re making a big mistake, Pinocchio. Believe me, if you don’t come, you’ll be sorry. Where can you find a place that’s better? No schools, no teachers, no books! And no homework either! You find homework as IRKSOME as I do, right? Well, in that heavenly place there’s no such thing as homework! And here, it’s only on weekends that we have no school. In Playland, every day is like the weekend. Vacation begins on the first day of January and ends on the last day of December. Oh, that’s the place for me! All countries should be like it! We’ll be so happy there!”

“But how do you spend your time in Playland?”

“That’s the best part. Here, we have to suffer the MONOTONY of our daily school routine. There, you play all day long. At night you go to bed, and the next morning, the fun begins all over again. What do you think of that?”

“Hmm…” said Pinocchio, nodding his wooden head as if to say, “That sounds pretty good.”

“Do you want to go with me, then? Yes or no?”

“But what if something bad happens?”

“Don’t be such a PESSIMIST. Nothing is going to happen. So is it yes or no? Make up your mind.”

“No, no, and again no! I’ve promised my kind fairy to be a good boy and to be home before dark. Anything else would be a BREACH of trust. Look, the sun’s already setting and the moon’s beginning to rise. I must leave right now.”

“Wait two more minutes,” replied Lampwick, not bothering to check the progress of the CELESTIAL spheres.

“It’s too late!”

“Only two minutes!”

“Don’t you understand? My mother was good enough to allow me some LATITUDE with my schedule today—so that I could hand out my party invitations. But her letting me out of the house was CONTINGENT on my promise to return home before dark! What if she scolds me?”

“Scolds you? What are you, a sissy? She won’t scold you. She’ll overlook anything you do by reminding herself that boys will…I mean…puppets will be puppets,” explained Lampwick, ALLUDING to the old ADAGE. “And even if she does scold you, let her. So what? Are you afraid it will injure your fragile EGO?”

Ignoring the question, Pinocchio asked, “Are you going alone or with friends?”

“Alone? Are you kidding? There will be more than a hundred of us!”

Pinocchio thought for a moment, then said, “Let me ask you a HYPOTHETICAL question: If, by chance, I did decide to go with you—and I don’t want you to INFER from this question that I have any intention of going—how would we get there?”

“At midnight a wagon passes here that takes us there.”

“Listen, Lampwick,” said the puppet, “are you really sure that there are no schools in Playland?”

“Not even the shadow of one.”

“Not even one teacher?”

“Not one.”

“And you don’t have to study?”

“Never, never, never!”

“What a great land!” said Pinocchio. “Of course, I’ve never been there, but I can imagine what it would be like.”

“Why don’t you come, too?”

“I told you I promised my good fairy that I’d behave myself, and I’m going to keep my word—and that’s that.” When Lampwick didn’t answer right away, Pinocchio added, “Listen, I’m a puppet, so I’m not SUSCEPTIBLE to human FRAILTIES like you are. It’s useless for you to even try to tempt me.”

“Have it your way. I hope you enjoy your HUMDRUM existence. And send my regards to all the schoolhouses and teachers you meet along your way.”

“Good-bye, Lampwick. Have a good time.”

With these words, Pinocchio started on his way home. Turning once more to his friend, he asked, “But are you sure that in that country each day is like the weekend?”

“Very sure!”

“And that vacation begins on the first of January and ends on the thirty-first of December?”

“Very, very sure!”

“What a great country!” repeated Pinocchio, indecisively.

Then, in sudden determination, the puppet said hurriedly, “Good-bye for the last time, and good luck.”

“Have it your way, then. Good-bye.”

“How soon will you go?”

“In about two hours.”

“What a pity! If it were only one hour, I might wait with you.”

“And the fairy?”

“By this time I’m late, and one hour more or less wouldn’t make any difference.”

“And if the fairy yells at you?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not as if she’s some kind of SHREW or something. She’s the nicest mother in the world! The worst she’ll do is lecture me a little about how I should always do the right thing. I can handle it.”

In the meantime, the night became darker and darker, and one by one the stars came out. While the flickering ASTRAL lights looked down upon the two boys, all at once, far down the road, another light flickered and a bell tinkled.

“There it is!” cried Lampwick, jumping to his feet.

“What?” whispered Pinocchio.

“The wagon that’s coming to take me to Playland. For the last time, are you coming or not?”

“But is it really true that in that country boys never have to study?”

“Never, never, never!”

“What a wonderful, beautiful, marvelous country! Oh! Oh!”

Chapter 27 “Playland”

Finally the wagon arrived. It made no noise, for its wheels were covered with straw and rags. It was drawn by twelve pairs of donkeys, all of the same size, but of different colors. Some were gray, others white, and still others a mixture of brown and black. But what was most BIZARRE was that all the donkeys, instead of iron horseshoes, wore laced shoes made of leather, just like ones boys wear.

The wagon was so closely packed with boys of all ages that it looked like a can of sardines. They were uncomfortably piled one on top of another and could hardly breathe, yet no one complained. The thought that in a few hours they’d reach a country where there were no schools, no books, and no teachers made the boys so happy that they felt no discomfort.

No sooner had the wagon stopped than the driver—a short, OBESE fellow with greasy hair and small eyes—turned to Lampwick. With a handshake and smile, he asked, “Tell me, my fine boy, do you also want to come to my wonderful country?”

“Indeed, I do.”

“But I must tell you that there’s no more room in the wagon. It’s full.”

“Never mind,” answered Lampwick. “If there’s no room inside, I can sit on the top of the coach.” And with one leap, he perched himself there.

Then the man turned to Pinocchio and, in an overly polite, SERVILE manner, bowed and asked, “And what about you, my handsome young lad? Will you also come with us to my glorious country?”

“I’ll stay here,” answered Pinocchio. “I want to return home. I’m going to study and succeed in life.”

“Pinocchio!” Lampwick called out. “Listen to me. I know you think that good study habits are CONDUCIVE to success, but ask yourself—is it really worth it? Come with us and we’ll always be happy.”

“No, I can’t!”

“Come with us and we’ll always be happy,” cried four other voices from the wagon.

“Come with us and we’ll always be happy,” shouted the more than one hundred boys in the wagon, all together.

“And if I go with you, what will my good fairy say?” asked the puppet, who was beginning to weaken in his good intentions.

“Don’t worry about that so much. You’re such a baby!” Then Lampwick shouted down to the other boys, “Isn’t he a baby?” Then, using a tactic that almost never fails, he called to Pinocchio, “Do you know what? On second thought, go back home to your mother. We shouldn’t twist your arm if you’re really too afraid to come with us.” Then to the other boys: “We shouldn’t twist his arm if he’s really too afraid, should we?”

Pinocchio didn’t answer. He sighed deeply once; a second time; a third time. Finally, he said, “Okay, make room for me! I’m coming, too!”

“The seats are all filled,” answered the little man, “but to show you how much I think of you, you can take my place as coachman.”

“And what about you?”

“I’ll walk.”

“No, I couldn’t permit such a thing. I’d much rather ride on one of these donkeys,” cried Pinocchio.

So saying, he approached the first donkey and tried to mount it. But the little animal turned suddenly and gave him such a terrible kick in the stomach that Pinocchio was thrown to the ground and fell with his legs in the air.

At this unexpected sight, the whole company of runaway boys erupted in RAUCOUS laughter. But the little man didn’t laugh. He went up to the UNRULY animal, and, still smiling, bent over him lovingly and pretended to give him a kiss but actually bit off half his right ear!

In the meantime, Pinocchio lifted himself from the ground, and, with one leap, landed on the donkey’s back. The leap was so well EXECUTED that all the boys shouted, “Hurrah for Pinocchio!” and clapped their hands in hearty applause.

Suddenly the little donkey gave a kick with his two hind legs and, at this sudden move, the poor puppet found himself sprawled in the middle of the road. Again the boys howled with laughter. But the little man, instead of laughing, became so loving toward the little animal that, with another kiss, he bit off half of his other ear.

“You can mount now, my boy,” he then said to Pinocchio. “Have no fear. That donkey was AGITATED about something, but I’ve spoken to him and now he seems quiet and reasonable.”

Pinocchio mounted and the wagon started on its way. While the donkeys trotted along the road, the puppet heard a very quiet voice whisper to him, “You poor thing! You’ve done as you wished, but you’re going to be very sorry before long.”

The puppet, greatly frightened, looked around to see where the words had come from, but he saw no one. The donkeys trotted, the wagon rolled smoothly on, the boys slept, and the fat, little driver whistled between his teeth.

After a mile or so, Pinocchio again heard the same faint voice whispering, “Remember, you fool, boys who play and never study regret it sooner or later. Oh, how well I can ATTEST to that! A day will come when you’ll cry bitterly, as I’m crying now—but it will be too late!”

At these whispered words, the puppet grew more and more frightened. He jumped to the ground, ran around to the face of the donkey on whose back he’d been riding, and taking the donkey’s nose in his hands, looked at him. Imagine his surprise when he saw that the donkey was crying—just like a boy!

“Driver!” cried the puppet. “Did you hear that? This donkey was talking, and now he’s crying!”

“That’s LUDICROUS. You must be HALLUCINATING.”

“But he really spoke.”

“It’s just a FIGMENT of your imagination, I tell you. Or maybe what you heard was braying. Sometimes that sounds a little like talking.”

“But he spoke FLUENTLY, like a person does.”

“Perhaps he learned to mumble a few words when he lived for three years with a flock of trained parrots. That might explain it. Now, don’t lose time over a crying donkey. Mount quickly and let’s go. The night is chilly and the road is long.”

Pinocchio obeyed without another word. The wagon started again. They rode all night, and Pinocchio was filled with anticipation. He loved the name of their destination. For him the word “Playland” held CONNOTATIONS of ecstasy and delight. Toward dawn they finally reached the much-longed-for country.

From the standpoint of government, this great land was completely UNIQUE. Whereas CONVENTIONAL countries had CODIFIED laws, Playland had no laws or rules at all. The normal state of affairs there was ANARCHY and CHAOS.

In physical appearance the population of Playland—which was composed entirely of boys who ranged in age from eight to fourteen—was quite DIVERSE. Some boys were short, others tall. Some were fat, others thin. Some had fair skin, others had RUDDY complexions. Some had freckles. Some had buck teeth.

In the street there was such merriment and shouting that it was deafening. Everywhere you looked, THRONGS of FROLICSOME boys had CONGREGATED. Some played marbles or hopscotch. Others rode on bicycles or painted wagons. Some played hide-and-seek, others tag.

As soon as they’d set foot in that land, Pinocchio, Lampwick, and all the other boys who’d traveled with them began to explore. They wandered everywhere, and they looked into every nook and corner. They became everybody’s friend. They couldn’t have been happier.

“Oh, what a beautiful life this is!” said Pinocchio when, by chance, he met his friend Lampwick.

“Was I right or wrong?” answered Lampwick. “And to think that you didn’t want to come! To think that even yesterday you were ready to return home to see your mother and to start studying again! If today you’re free from pencils and books, you owe it all to me. Do you admit it? Only real friends would show such kindness.”

“It’s true, Lampwick, it’s true. If today I’m a really happy boy, it’s all because of you. And to think that our teacher, when speaking to me of you, used to say, ‘Don’t associate with that CRASS, loud BOOR! His UNSEEMLY behavior will only lead you into trouble.’”

“Poor teacher! Of course he, with his HYPERCRITICAL nature and GENTEEL manners, would say something like that,” answered the other. “I never could act in ACCORD with his ARCHAIC rules. Do you remember that time he suddenly made a rule that anyone who spoke without raising his hand first would have to sit in the corner and wear a dunce cap? Then he made the rule RETROACTIVE by a day just so he could punish me for having called out the day before!” Pinocchio smiled knowingly, and then Lampwick continued, “He was awfully old-fashioned, too, wasn’t he? The fact that he forced us to learn an OBSOLETE language like Latin is proof of that. We didn’t even COMPREHEND what we were reading! Do you remember how we would memorize a string of meaningless syllables by ROTE, just so we could spit them back SEQUENTIALLY when called upon in class?” The puppet nodded, then Lampwick went on, “And he was so petty—always QUIBBLING about minor points of grammar. He made me want to scream!” Pinocchio slowly shook his head back and forth as if in disbelief. “You know,” continued Lampwick, “it’s old fuddy-duddies like him that contribute to the popular STEREOTYPE of schoolteachers as humorless bores. Do you agree? Anyway, I know that he DESPISED me, and that’s why he always MINIMIZED my accomplishments and tried to BELITTLE me in front of the others. But that was okay. Really. I never let his tactics ERODE my MORALE. And today I feel no ANTAGONISM toward him whatsoever. Why? Because I have a MAGNANIMOUS nature and I forgive him.”

“What a guy!” said Pinocchio, fondly embracing his friend.

Five months passed and the boys continued playing and enjoying themselves from morning till night. Pinocchio RELISHED every bit of it—the toys, the games, the candy, and, perhaps most of all, the cheerful CAMARADERIE. But there came a morning when he awoke to find a great surprise waiting for him.

Chapter 28 “Donkeys”

On awakening, Pinocchio put his hand to his head and there he found that, during the night, his ears had grown at least ten full inches! He went in search of a mirror, but not finding any, he filled a wash bowl with water and looked at himself in it. His ears had become donkey ears!

He began to cry, to scream. But the more he shrieked, the longer and the more hairy his ears grew.

Hearing those loud cries, a squirrel who lived upstairs came into the room. Seeing Pinocchio so grief-stricken, he asked him, “What’s the matter?”

“I’m sick, very, very sick—and from such an awful disease! Do you know how to check for fever?”

“I think so.”

“Feel my forehead, then, and tell me if my temperature is ELEVATED.”

The squirrel placed his paw on Pinocchio’s forehead and, after a few seconds, looked at him compassionately and said, “My friend, I’m sorry, but I must give you some very bad news.”

“What is it?”

“You have donkey fever.”

“I never heard of it,” said the puppet, who still hadn’t quite ASSIMILATED the RAMIFICATIONS of what was happening.

“Then I’ll tell you about it,” said the squirrel. “It’s an illness that’s PREVALENT among lazy boys, especially lazy boys who live in Playland. It MANIFESTS itself in a very strange way. It changes you into a donkey. Right now you’re in LIMBO; you’re a HYBRID creature—part boy and part donkey. But within a few hours the change will be complete and you’ll be all donkey, just like the ones that pull the carts.”

“Oh, what have I done? What have I done?” screamed Pinocchio, grasping his two long ears in his hands and pulling and tugging at them angrily, as if they belonged to someone else.

“My boy,” said the squirrel, to BOLSTER the puppet’s spirits, “you shouldn’t FRET about it. What’s done can’t be undone, you know.” Then he added, “Besides, as far as donkey ears go, they are rather nice ones.”

Ignoring the squirrel’s DIPLOMATIC remark, the puppet shrieked, “But how could I have caught this awful disease?” Then more quietly he asked, “Do you think it’s from eating food CONTAMINATED with TOXIC substances?”

“No, that’s not what causes it.”

“Then did I catch some rare, EXOTIC infection? Should I be QUARANTINED?”

“That’s not it,” answered the squirrel. “And the disease doesn’t spread through contact, so you don’t have to isolate yourself.”

“Then what causes it?”

“You see, all boys who are lazy or who FRITTER away their time playing with toys and playing games sooner or later turn into donkeys.”

“Are you sure?” asked the puppet, sobbing bitterly.

“I’m sorry to say that I am. And tears of REMORSE are useless now. You should have thought of all this before.”

“But it’s not my fault. Believe me, it’s Lampwick’s fault—Lampwick and his ASININE ideas!” explained the puppet, in an attempt to DEFLECT the blame.

“Who is this Lampwick?”

“A classmate of mine. I wanted to return home. I wanted to be good. I wanted to be a CONSCIENTIOUS student and to succeed in school, but Lampwick said to me”—and here Pinocchio MODULATED his tone to mockingly MIMIC Lampwick’s voice—“‘Why do you want to waste your time studying? Why do you want to go to school? Come with me to Playland. There we’ll never study again. There we can enjoy ourselves and be happy from morning till night.’”

But the squirrel didn’t laugh at the puppet’s PARODY. Instead, he asked, “Why did you follow his advice?”

“He has a FLAIR for the art of persuasion. And I’m not IMMUNE to temptation. I really did have MISGIVINGS about the whole affair, but I became so ENTRANCED by images of endless fun and games that I couldn’t think straight! Oh! If I’d only had a bit of sense, a single IOTA of FORESIGHT, I would never have abandoned the good fairy who loved me so much and who has been so kind to me! And by this time I would no longer be a puppet. I would have become a real boy, like all my friends! Oh, if I see that Lampwick I’m going to tell him exactly what I think of him! We used to be more than COMPATIBLE, but now I think he’s nothing but a dirty, low-down—” But here, thanks to his sense of good manners, Pinocchio CENSORED himself.

After abruptly ending his little speech, Pinocchio walked to the door of the room. But when he reached it, remembering his donkey ears, he felt ashamed to show them in public and turned back. To give himself some SEMBLANCE of normality, he took a large bag from a shelf, put it on his head, and pulled it all the way down to his nose.

He went to Lampwick’s house and knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” called Lampwick from within.

“Pinocchio!”

“Wait a minute.”

After a few minutes the door opened. Another surprise awaited Pinocchio! There in the room stood his friend, with a large bag on his head, pulled all the way down to his nose.

At the sight of that bag, Pinocchio felt slightly happier and thought to himself: “My friend must be suffering from the same thing I am! I’ll bet he has donkey ears, too.”

But pretending he’d seen nothing unusual, he asked with a BENIGN smile, “How are you, my dear Lampwick?”

“Fine.”

“Is that really true?”

“Why should I lie to you?”

“Then why are you wearing that bag over your ears?”

“The doctor ordered it because one of my knees hurts,” Lampwick explained. “And you—why are you wearing a bag down to your nose?”

“The doctor ordered it because I hurt my foot.”

“Oh, poor Pinocchio!”

“Oh, poor Lampwick!”

An embarrassingly long silence followed these words, during which the two friends looked at each other in a knowing way.

Finally, changing the subject, the puppet asked, “Tell me, Lampwick, now that the NOVELTY of this place has worn off, do you feel that it was a mistake to come here? I mean, do you ever have NOSTALGIC feelings for our old neighborhood or YEARN for your family?”

“No, of course not. Why? Do you?”

“Um…I guess not. But now let me ask you something else. Have you ever suffered from an earache?”

“An earache? Never! And you?”

“Never. Except that this morning my ear has been hurting a little.”

“What a strange COINCIDENCE. Mine has been hurting, too.”

“Really? Which ear is it?” asked Pinocchio.

“Both of them. And yours?”

“Both of them, too. I wonder if it could be the same sickness.”

“I’m afraid it must be.”

“Will you do me a favor, Lampwick?”

“Gladly!”

“Will you let me see your ears?”

“Okay. But before I show you mine, I want to see yours.”

“No. Show yours first.”

“No, yours first, then mine.”

“No, yours.”

“No, yours.”

For a while longer they continued trading these words back and forth, VYING against each other for an advantage. Finally, seeing that they were at an IMPASSE, the puppet said, “Let’s stop BICKERING; it’s babyish. I have an idea. We’re stuck in a STALEMATE, right? So let’s compromise by taking off our bags at the same time? What do you say?”

“All right,” answered Lampwick, who seemed glad that the DEADLOCK had finally been broken.

“Ready then!” said Pinocchio. He began to count: “One! Two! Three!”

At the word “Three!” the two boys pulled off the bags and threw them high in the air.

When they saw that they were both suffering from the same AILMENT, instead of feeling sad and ashamed, they tried to wiggle their long ears.

Then they began to laugh at each other. They laughed and laughed until they nearly burst.

But all of a sudden the HILARITY ended. Lampwick, pale as a ghost, turned to Pinocchio and shouted, “Help, help, Pinocchio!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh, help me! I can’t stand up straight.”

“I can’t either!” answered Pinocchio, who began to stumble about helplessly.

They had hardly finished speaking when both of them fell on all fours and began running and jumping around the room.

But that was only a PRELUDE to the horrors to come. As they ran, their hands and feet turned into hoofs, their faces lengthened, and their backs became covered with long gray hairs. The most horrible moment of all was when the two miserable boys felt their tails appear. Overcome with shame and grief, they began to cry. But instead of moans and wails, they brayed like donkeys: “Haw! Haw! Haw!”

Meanwhile, a loud knock sounded at the door and a voice called, “Open the door! It’s the driver of the wagon that brought you here. Open, I say, or it’ll be the worse for you!”

Chapter 29 “The Circus”

When the boys didn’t open the door, the little man gave it a violent kick and it flew open. “Fine work, boys!” he said. “You’ve brayed so well that I recognized your voices immediately, and here I am.”

On hearing this, the two donkeys bowed their heads in shame, dropped their ears, and put their tails between their legs.

At first, the little man petted them and smoothed their hairy coats. Then he took out a comb and groomed them. Satisfied with the looks of the two little animals, he bridled them and took them to a marketplace, far away from Playland, in the hope of selling them for a good price.

In fact, he didn’t have to wait very long for an offer. Lampwick was bought by a farmer whose donkey had died the day before, and Pinocchio went to a circus owner, who wanted to teach him to perform tricks.

When Pinocchio was led into the circus’s stable, his new master, who was tall and had dark hair, filled his feeding bowl with straw. But after tasting one mouthful, Pinocchio spit it out.

Then the man filled another bowl with hay. But Pinocchio didn’t like that much better.

“Ah, you don’t like hay either?” the man cried angrily. “Wait, I’ll teach you not to be so fussy.”

He took a whip and gave the donkey a violent blow across the legs.

Pinocchio, WRITHING in pain, brayed, “Haw! Haw! Haw! I can’t stand the taste of straw!”

“If you find the straw so REVOLTING,” answered his master, who understood the donkey perfectly, “then eat the hay!”

“Haw! Haw! Haw! Hay gives me a stomachache!”

“Are you telling me that I should feed you meat? Or maybe you have a yen for apple pie. Is that it? Maybe you’d also like to tell me how I should prepare your food. Let’s see, do you prefer Spanish CUISINE or French?” Then, angrier than ever, he gave poor Pinocchio another lashing.

After that second beating, the man ordered Pinocchio to keep quiet, and the donkey, lowering his head, PASSIVELY obeyed. The door of the stable was closed and he was left alone. But since it had been many hours since he’d eaten, he started to ache from hunger.

He tasted the hay again. He chewed it well, closed his eyes, and swallowed it. “This hay isn’t too bad,” he said to himself. “But how much happier I’d be if I’d studied! Now, instead of eating hay, I’d be eating a good meal.”

Next morning when he awoke, Pinocchio was hungry again. The bowl of straw still sat on the floor beside him, but the thought of it filled him with REVULSION. He looked for more hay, but it was all gone. He’d eaten it all during the night. He wished that the circus owner would come into the stable to REPLENISH his bowl.

“Do you think” shouted his master just then, as he actually did come into the stable, “that I’ve brought you here only to feed you? Oh, no! You’re going to help me make some money, do you hear? Come along, now. I’m going to teach you to play dead, to dance, and to jump through a hoop.”

Poor Pinocchio, whether he liked it or not, was forced to learn all these things. After three long months of RIGOROUS training—and many, many lashings—he was finally ready for his first performance.

Large posters in SENSUOUS colors were placed all around the town. On them were printed the words “Tonight! First Appearance of the Famous Little Donkey Pinocchio, Star of the Dance!” Below these words was DEPICTED, in realistic detail, a smiling donkey in a dance costume.

That night the circus tent was full one hour before the show was scheduled to start. The seats around the ring were packed with boys and girls of all ages, impatient to see the famous little dancing donkey.

When the first part of the show was over, the circus owner, doubling as ringmaster, presented himself to the audience and said in a loud, clear voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I now introduce to you a very special donkey. His DYNAMIC dancing—which has been described by some experts as a cross between a slow mambo and a VIVACIOUS Irish jig, and by others as REMINISCENT of primitive dance in its freedom of expression—has received worldwide critical ACCLAIM! His creation of an IDIOM that owes nothing to classical traditional and everything to an original, IDIOSYNCRATIC approach to personal style has guaranteed him a significant place in the ANNALS of CONTEMPORARY CHOREOGRAPHY! Now witness for yourselves the EPOCH-making routines of the donkey whose PHENOMENAL footwork ECLIPSES that of all rivals, the donkey who has come to symbolize the very ESSENCE of modern dance—the one and only Pinocchio!”

This ELOQUENT introduction was greeted by VIGOROUS applause. And the applause grew to a deafening roar when Pinocchio, the famous donkey, appeared in the circus ring. He was magnificently dressed. He wore a GLOSSY new leather bridle with brass buckles. White roses were tied to his ears and red silk ribbons ADORNED his mane and tail. A pink TUTU was fastened around his waist. Ballet slippers covered his hoofs. He was a lovely donkey indeed!

The ringmaster, smiling inwardly at the audience’s RESPONSIVENESS, bowed FLAMBOYANTLY and then turned to Pinocchio and said: “Before starting your performance, salute your audience!”

Pinocchio bent his knees to the ground and remained kneeling until the ringmaster, with the crack of the whip, cried sharply, “Walk!”

Pinocchio lifted himself on his four feet and walked around the ring. A few minutes passed and the ringmaster called, “Trot!” and Pinocchio changed his step.

“Gallop!” and Pinocchio galloped.

“Run!” and Pinocchio ran as fast as he could. As he ran the ringmaster raised his arm and a pistol shot rang in the air.

At the shot, the little donkey fell to the ground as if he were really dead.

A shower of applause greeted Pinocchio as he rose to his feet. Cries and shouts were heard all around. Pinocchio lifted his head and raised his eyes. There, in front of him, in one of the boxes, sat a beautiful woman. Around her neck she wore a long golden chain at the end of which hung a tiny wooden figure that bore an UNCANNY resemblance to Pinocchio. The letter P was SUPERIMPOSED on its TORSO.

“That’s a REPLICA of me! That beautiful lady is my fairy!” said Pinocchio to himself, recognizing her. He felt so happy that he tried his best to cry out, “Oh, my fairy! My dear fairy!”

But instead of words, a loud, DISCORDANT braying was heard in the theater. Then, through some ACOUSTICAL oddity of the room, the strange, DISSONANT sound REVERBERATED so loudly that all the spectators—men, women, and children, but especially the children—burst out laughing. Pinocchio lowered his head in shame.

“Stop that braying if you know what’s good for you!” the ringmaster hissed into the donkey’s ear. “What’s the matter with you?” Then, in order to teach him that it was UNCOUTH to bray loudly in public, the ringmaster smacked him hard on the nose a few times with the handle of his whip. After that a strange smile appeared on the ringmaster’s face. But whether it was to win favor with the audience or to unconsciously express a SADISTIC pleasure in watching the donkey suffer was impossible to tell.

To ALLEVIATE the pain, the poor little donkey stuck out his tongue and licked his nose for a long time. When he finally looked again toward the seats, he saw that the fairy had disappeared!

He felt faint, his eyes filled with tears, and he wept bitterly. But no one could tell, least of all the ringmaster, who, cracking his whip, cried out, “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, because Pinocchio is a classically trained dancer, he often INCORPORATES steps from the ballet vocabulary into his otherwise UNORTHODOX routines. Right now this MONUMENTAL talent, this vision of VIRTUOSITY, will perform—with all the ease and PRECISION of a human ballerina—a selection from his vast REPERTOIRE: an ABRIDGED RENDITION of the classic ballet Swan Lake. He’ll begin with a high leap with his front legs extended forward and his hind legs backward. Watch for yourselves how, as he extends his legs in both directions, he at the same time extends the very PARAMETERS of classical ballet itself! Pinocchio! Swan Lake! Leap like a ballerina! Leap!”

The ringmaster sharply PRODDED Pinocchio with the hard handle of his whip, and the donkey jumped a couple of inches off the ground. If he tried to extend his legs while in the air, it wasn’t noticeable from the seats.

“And Pinocchio can perform tricks! Pinocchio! Show us how you can jump through the hoop!”

Pinocchio tried twice to jump through a hoop that was held by a female assistant, but each time he came near it, he found it easier to run around it than to jump through it. The third time he started far back to give himself time to gain MOMENTUM. As he raced toward the hoop, all the boys and girls held their breath expectantly. But the attempt proved ANTICLIMACTIC when at the last second he VEERED to the right and ran around it.

Immediately after this last ABORTIVE effort, the ringmaster tightened his grip on the whip and gave Pinocchio a menacing look that seemed to say: “If you CIRCUMVENT the hoop one more time you’ll get a lashing you’ll never forget!” On his next try, the defeated donkey, with a DISPIRITED and RESIGNED expression on his face, forced himself to leap through it. But as he did so his hind legs got caught. He fell clumsily to the hard floor with a RESOUNDING thump.

The ringmaster, ignoring the fallen donkey, suddenly announced to the audience, “In his SUBSEQUENT performances, Pinocchio will perform more amazing tricks for your pleasure! So be sure to come back tomorrow night—and bring your friends!”

When he got up, the little donkey was hurt and could hardly limp as far as the stable.

“Pinocchio! We want Pinocchio! We want the little donkey!” cried the children.

But no one saw him again that evening. He spent the night in lonely SECLUSION in the locked stable with nothing to keep him company but his pain.

The next morning the VETERINARIAN found a FISSURE in the side of the donkey’s hoof.

“What’s the PROGNOSIS?” asked the circus owner.

“It’s not good. In fact, this donkey will be crippled for the rest of his life.”

“What do I need with a crippled donkey?” said the circus owner to the stable boy. “Take him back to the marketplace and sell him. And remember, I’ve INCURRED a lot of expense feeding and training him, so try to get a good price for him.”

The trip to the nearby marketplace took over an hour, for Pinocchio’s AFFLICTION greatly IMPEDED his movement. When they arrived, a buyer was soon found. “How much do you want for that crippled donkey?” he asked.

“Five dollars,” answered the stable boy.

“I’ll give you five cents. Don’t think I’m buying him to use for work. I just want his skin. It looks very tough, and I can use it to make a drum for our village band.”

After HAGGLING over the price for a few seconds, they agreed on ten cents and the donkey changed hands.

His new owner took him to a high, steep cliff overlooking the sea, put a heavy stone around his neck, and tied a rope to one of his hind legs. Then he pushed him over the PRECIPICE into the water. Pinocchio sank immediately. His new master sat on the cliff waiting for him to drown, so that he could skin him.

Chapter 30 “The Shark”

After the little donkey had been underwater for about a half hour, the man on the cliff said to himself: “By this time that donkey must be drowned. I’ll pull him up, and then I can begin work on my drum.”

He pulled on the rope that he’d tied to Pinocchio’s leg. He pulled and pulled and pulled. All at once the TAUT rope SLACKENED and he saw gently bobbing on the surface of the water, instead of a dead donkey, a very-much-alive puppet!

Seeing it, the poor man thought he was dreaming and sat there with his mouth wide open and his eyes popping out of his head. Finally gathering his wits, he pulled the rope, with the puppet still tied to it, all the way up.

“What happened to that donkey I threw into the sea?”

“I am that donkey,” answered the puppet.

“You? That’s PREPOSTEROUS! Are you pulling my leg?”

“Your leg? No, but you pulled me up by my leg.”

“No, I was speaking FIGURATIVELY. I meant, are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m serious.”

“But how is that possible?”

“Well, do you want to hear my whole story? Untie my leg and I can tell it to you better.”

The old fellow, curious to know the puppet’s story, immediately untied him.

“You see,” said Pinocchio, “I was once a wooden puppet, just as I am today. One day I was about to become a boy—a real boy. But because of my laziness and my hatred of books, and because I listened to bad friends, I ran away from home. One morning, I awoke to find myself changed into a donkey—with long ears, a gray coat, and a tail. I was taken to the marketplace and sold to a circus owner. At the circus, before the entire audience, I suffered the INDIGNITY not only of being a donkey, but of being made into a BUFFOON—I was forced to wear girlish ribbons, perform dainty ballet steps, and jump through hoops! I was so ashamed. As it turned out, I was a DISMAL failure as a ballerina and I was completely INEPT at jumping through a hoop. Anyway, the UPSHOT of the matter was that one night, during a BUNGLED performance, I fell while trying to jump through the hoop. My hoof was MAIMED, and I became crippled. Not knowing what to do with a physically IMPAIRED donkey, the circus owner sent me back to the marketplace, and you bought me.”

“I know! And I paid ten cents for you. Now, who will give me my money back?”

“But why did you buy me? You bought me to make a drum from my skin! A drum!

“Yes, I did! And now where will I find another skin?”

“Don’t worry. There are many other donkeys in the world.”

“Is that the end of your story?”

“One more thing,” answered the puppet. After buying me, you brought me here to kill me. But feeling sorry for me, you tied a stone to my neck and threw me to the bottom of the sea. That was very good of you to want me to suffer as little as possible, and I’ll always be grateful. And now my fairy will take care of me, even if you—”

“Your fairy? Who is she?”

“She’s my mother. And like all CLAIRVOYANT fairies—and mothers who love their children—she never loses sight of me. And today this good fairy of mine, this fairy filled with MATERNAL love, as soon as she saw me in danger of drowning, sent a thousand CARNIVOROUS fish to me. They thought I was really a dead donkey and began to eat me. Some ate my ears, others my nose, and others my neck, my mane, my legs, my back, and my tail.” When they finished eating my hide and muscle, they came to my bones—or rather, to the wood. After the first few bites, they found that the wood was too hard to eat. They turned and swam away. And that’s my whole story.”

“Enough of your story!” cried the man angrily. “I wasted ten cents on you, and I want RESTITUTION!” He thought for a moment and then continued, “I know what I’ll do. I’ll take you back to the marketplace and sell you as firewood.”

“Then sell me. I don’t mind,” said Pinocchio. But as he spoke, he gave a quick leap and dove into the sea. Swimming away as fast as he could, he cried out, laughing, “Good-bye. If you ever need a skin for your drum, remember me.”

He swam on and on. In a little while he had gone so far that he could hardly be seen. All that could be seen of him on the SHIMMERING blue surface of the water was a swiftly moving black dot—a tiny black dot that now and then lifted a leg or an arm into the air.

After swimming for a long time, Pinocchio saw a large rock in the middle of the sea. High on the rock stood a little goat who was signaling to the puppet to come to her.

There was something very strange about that little goat. Her coat was not white or black or brown like that of any other goat, but blue—a deep, brilliant blue like that of the hair of the good fairy!

Pinocchio’s heart beat fast, and then even faster, until he could feel the blood PULSATING through his wooden veins. He swam as hard as he could toward the rock. He was halfway there when he saw, HURTLING towards him in the water, a huge shark with an enormous head. It’s MAMMOTH mouth, wide open, showed three rows of razor-sharp teeth.

Poor Pinocchio! The sight of that TITANIC creature frightened him half to death! He tried to swim away from it, to change his path, to escape, but that gigantic, gaping mouth kept coming nearer and nearer.

“Hurry, Pinocchio, I beg you!” called the little goat on the high rock.

And Pinocchio swam desperately with his arms, his body, his legs, his feet.

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

Pinocchio swam faster and faster, and harder and harder.

“Faster, Pinocchio! The monster will get you! There he is! There he is! Quick, quick, or you’re finished!”

Pinocchio swam through the water like a shot—faster and faster. He came very close to the rock. The goat leaned over and held out one of her hoofs to help him up out of the water. Another hoof she waved frantically as a DECOY to DIVERT the attention of the attacker.

But it was too late. Pinocchio found himself between the rows of teeth. The shark took a deep breath and, as he breathed, he sucked the puppet in. Then he swallowed so fast that Pinocchio, falling down into the body of the fish, lay unconscious for a half hour.

When he recovered his senses the puppet’s mind was HAZY and he couldn’t remember where he was. All around him everything was dark. He listened for a few moments and heard nothing. Once in a while a soft wind blew on his face. At first he couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but after a while he remembered what had happened and DEDUCED that it was coming from the monster’s lungs.

Pinocchio at first tried to be brave, but as soon as he became convinced that he was really and truly in the shark’s body, he burst into tears. “Help! Help!” he sobbed. “Oh, poor me! Won’t someone help me?”

“Who is there to help you?” said a voice from the darkness.

“Who are you?” asked Pinocchio, frozen with terror.

“I’m a tuna who was swallowed at the same time as you. And what kind of fish are you?”

“I’m not a fish; I’m a puppet. But what are we going to do?”

“Wait here until the shark has digested us, I suppose.”

“But I don’t want to be digested,” shouted Pinocchio, starting to sob. “I want to get out of here. I want to escape.”

“Go, then, if you can!”

“How big is this shark?” asked the puppet.

“He’s almost a mile long.”

While talking in the darkness, Pinocchio thought he saw a faint light in the distance.

“What’s that light?” he said to the tuna.

“It’s just an ILLUSION. There are no lights in here.”

“But I tell you I see it!”

“The fish looked where the puppet was looking and said, “Now I see it, too. But it must be some kind of MIRAGE.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then it’s probably some other poor fish, waiting, as we are, to be digested.”

“I want to talk to him. He may be an old fish and may know of some way out.”

“I hope so.”

“Good-bye, then. When will I see you again?”

“Who knows?” answered the tuna. “It’s better to not even think about it.”

Chapter 31 “The Reunion”

Pinocchio, slowly feeling his way through the MURKY darkness began to walk toward the faint light that glowed in the distance. The farther he went, the brighter and clearer grew the tiny light. On and on he walked until finally he found, amazingly, a little table set for dinner and lighted by a candle stuck in a glass bottle. Near the table sat a little old man.

At this sight, the poor puppet was filled with such happiness that he nearly fainted. He wanted to laugh, to cry, to say a thousand things; but instead, all he could do was stand still and stutter some meaningless words. At last he managed to utter a cry of joy and, opening his arms wide, he threw them around the old man’s neck.

“Oh, Father, dear Father! Have I found you at last? I’ll never, never leave you again!”

“Are my eyes deceiving me?” answered the old man, rubbing them with both hands. “Are you really my dear Pinocchio?”

“Yes, yes, yes! It is I! Look at me! And you’ve forgiven me, haven’t you? Oh, my dear Father, how good you are! And to think that I…Oh, but if you only knew all that has happened to me! If you only knew of the ATROCITIES I’ve been subjected to! The day you sold your old coat to buy me my schoolbook, I ran away to a marionette theater, and the owner caught me and wanted to make a fire of me to cook his lamb chop! He was the one who gave me five gold pieces for you, but I met the fox and the cat, who took me to the Red Lobster Inn. There they ate like pigs and I left the inn alone and I met the killers in the woods. I ran and they ran after me. They caught me and hung me from the branch of a giant oak tree. Then the blue-haired fairy sent the coach to rescue me, and the doctors, after looking at me, said, ‘If he’s not dead, then he’s surely alive,’ and then I told a lie and my nose began to grow. It grew and grew until I couldn’t get it through the door of the room. And then I went with the fox and the cat to the Field of Wonders to bury the gold pieces. The parrot laughed at me and, instead of two thousand gold pieces, I found none. When the judge heard my story, he SUMMARILY sent me to jail. And when I left the prison I saw a bunch of grapes hanging on a vine. The trap caught me and the farmer put a collar on me and forced me to be his watchdog. But I caught the weasels and he let me go. The snake with the smoking tail started to laugh and burst a blood vessel, so I went back to the fairy’s house. She was dead, and the pigeon, seeing me crying, told me that you were going to TRAVERSE the seas so that you could look for me in distant lands. And I said to him, ‘Oh, if I only had wings!’ And he said to me, ‘Do you want to go to your father?’ And I said, ‘Yes, but how?’ And he said, ‘Get on my back; I’ll take you there.’ We flew all night, and the next morning the fishermen were looking toward the sea, crying, ‘There’s a poor little man drowning,’ and I knew it was you, because my heart told me so and I waved to you from the shore—”

“I knew it was you, too,” interrupted Geppetto, “and I wanted to go to you. But how could I? The sea was rough and the high waves overturned my boat. Then a terrible shark came up out of the sea, swam quickly toward me, and swallowed me.”

“How long have you been here?”

“From that day to this, about two years—two long, weary years that have felt more like two centuries.”

“But how have you survived? Where did you find the candle? And the matches to light it with? Where did you get them?”

“In the storm that overturned my boat, a large ship was also overturned. The sailors, who wore lifejackets, were all safe, but they were unable to SALVAGE the ship, which PLUMMETED to the bottom of the sea. There, the same terrible shark that swallowed me, swallowed it.”

“What! It swallowed a ship?” asked Pinocchio in astonishment.

“In one mouthful. Luckily for me, that ship was loaded with SUNDRIES: meat, crackers, bread, raisins, cheese, coffee, sugar, candles, and boxes of matches. With all these supplies, I’ve been able to live for two years. But the food supply has been gradually DWINDLING, and now it’s nearly DEPLETED. And this candle is the last one.”

“And then?”

“And then, my child, we’ll find ourselves hungry, and in darkness.”

“Then, my dear Father,” said Pinocchio, “there’s no time to lose. We must try to escape immediately.”

“Escape? But how?”

“We can run out of the shark’s mouth and dive into the sea.”

“That would be a good idea, except for two things—I not a very PROFICIENT swimmer, and I don’t have much STAMINA. I’d never make it to shore.”

“That doesn’t matter. Swimming is my FORTE! Remember, because I’m made of wood, I can’t sink. If you climb on my back, I’ll carry you to shore.”

“It won’t work,” answered Geppetto, shaking his head sadly. “Do you think it’s possible for a puppet who’s only three feet tall to have enough strength to carry me on his back all the way to shore?”

“Can you think of a VIABLE alternative?”

“No.”

“Then let’s try it and see!”

Without another word, Pinocchio took the candle in his hand and, leading the way, said to his father, “Follow me and don’t be afraid.”

They walked a long distance through the body of the shark. When they reached the throat, Pinocchio turned to his father and whispered, “The shark’s sleeping with his mouth open. I can see through it that the sea is very TRANQUIL. Follow me closely, Father, and soon we’ll be free.”

They climbed up the shark’s throat into the POSTERIOR portion of his gigantic mouth. Just then the monster suddenly sneezed, jolting them so violently that they fell back once again to where they’d started.

To make matters worse, the candle went out and the father and son were left in total darkness.

“Now what will we do?” asked Pinocchio.

“Now we’re finished.”

“Why? Give me your hand, dear Father, and be careful not to slip!”

“Where are we going?”

“We have to try again. Come with me and don’t be afraid.”

With these words Pinocchio took his father by the hand and they climbed up the monster’s throat for a second time. They then crossed the tongue and climbed over the three rows of teeth. But before jumping into the sea, the puppet whispered to his father, “Climb on my back and hold on tightly to my neck. I’ll do the rest.”

As soon as Geppetto was comfortably seated on his back, Pinocchio jumped into the water and started to swim.

Chapter 32 “A Real Live Boy”

“Father, we’re free!” cried the puppet. “All we have to do now is get to shore, and that’s easy.”

As he swam he suddenly noticed that Geppetto was trembling with fright.

“Have courage, Father! In a few minutes we’ll be safe on land.”

“But where’s the land?” asked the little old man, growing more and more worried. “I’m looking everywhere, and I see nothing but water.”

“I think I see land,” said the puppet. For his father’s sake, Pinocchio pretended to be peaceful and cheerful—but he was actually far from that. He was beginning to feel discouraged, and his strength was leaving him. Breathing was becoming more and more difficult. He felt that he couldn’t go on much longer.

He swam a few more strokes, then turned to Geppetto and cried out weakly, “Help me, Father! I’m dying!”

Father and son were about to drown when they heard a voice call from the sea, “What’s the matter?”

“We can’t go on!”

“I know that voice. You’re Pinocchio.”

“Yes. And who are you?”

“I’m the tuna who was inside the shark with you.”

“How did you escape?”

“I copied what you did. You showed the way and I followed.”

“You’ve arrived just in time. I beg you! Help us or we’re finished!”

“Of course. Climb onto my back, both of you. In a moment you’ll be safe on land.”

As soon as they reached the shore, Pinocchio jumped to the ground to help his old father. Then he turned to the fish and said, “You’ve saved my father and me from CATASTROPHE, and I can’t find the words to thank you. May I give you a kiss as an expression of my gratitude?”

The tuna stuck his nose out of the water and Pinocchio knelt on the sand and kissed him affectionately on his cheek. At this sign of love, the poor tuna, who was not used to such things, wept like a baby. Then, ashamed to be seen in such a state, he turned quickly, plunged into the water, and disappeared.

But the ordeal had DEBILITATED Geppetto completely, and he could barely stand. Pinocchio offered his arm to him and said, “Lean on my arm, Father, and let’s go. We’ll walk very, very slowly, and if we feel tired we can stop and rest.”

“Where are we going?” asked Geppetto weakly.

“To look for a house or a hut where we can ask for some bread to eat and some straw to sleep on.”

They’d walked barely a hundred feet when they saw two beggars LOITERING by the roadside.

It was the fox and the cat, but they looked so miserable and sickly that they were hardly recognizable. The cat, after maintaining a FAÇADE of blindness for so many years, had really lost his sight. And the fox, whose muscles had ATROPHIED, looked old and EMACIATED.

“Oh, Pinocchio,” he cried in a tearful, high-pitched voice. “Give us something, we beg of you! We’re old, tired, and sick.”

“Tired and sick!” wailed the cat.

Looking directly into the fox’s GAUNT face, the puppet answered, “I’m wise to your tricks. You fooled me once with your SUAVE style and smooth talk, but you’ll never fool me again. And if now you think that you can evoke sympathy with your PATHETIC whining, forget it. You’re INCORRIGIBLE thieves and you deserve whatever you get. Good-bye.”

Pinocchio and Geppetto calmly went on their way. After a few more steps, they saw, at the end of a long path, a tiny cottage built of straw.

“That little cottage,” said Pinocchio, “has a RUSTIC charm and simplicity. I like it. Someone kind must live there. Let’s go see.”

They went and knocked at the door.

“Who is it?” said a little voice from within.

“A poor father and his poor son, with no food and no home,” answered the puppet.

“Turn the key and the door will open,” said the same little voice.

Pinocchio turned the key and the door opened. As soon as they went in, they looked all around but saw no one.

“Where are you?” cried Pinocchio, BAFFLED.

“Here I am, up here!”

Father and son looked up to the ceiling, and there on a beam sat a glowing cricket.

“Oh, my dear cricket,” said Pinocchio, bowing politely.

“Oh, now you call me your dear cricket, but do you remember when you threw a hammer at me?”

“You’re right. Throw a hammer at me now. I deserve it! But please spare my poor old father.”

“I’m going to spare both of you. I only wanted to remind you of what you once did to me. It may teach you that you should always remember the MAXIM that says you should treat everyone with kindness if you wish to be treated with kindness in return. For your own good, you should repeat that over and over until it’s INDELIBLY imprinted on your mind.”

“You’re right, little cricket. But I don’t need to repeat it over and over, for I’ve already learned that lesson well. Now, tell me, how did you come to own this pretty little cottage?”

“It was given to me yesterday by a little goat with blue hair.”

“Where did the goat go?” asked Pinocchio, suddenly excited.

“I don’t know.”

“When will she be back?”

“She’ll never come back. Yesterday she went away saying, ‘Poor Pinocchio, I shall never see him again. The shark must have eaten him by now.’”

“Were those her actual words? Tell me what she said VERBATIM.”

“That’s exactly what she said.”

“Then it was she, my dear little fairy!” cried Pinocchio, sobbing bitterly. After he had cried for a long time, he wiped his eyes and then made a bed of straw for Geppetto. Finally, he said to the cricket, “Tell me, where can I find a glass of milk for my poor father?”

“A farmer lives three fields away from here. He has some cows. Go there and he’ll give you what you want.”

Pinocchio went out into the yard, and, peering into the distance, saw a PASTORAL landscape at the center of which was a little farmhouse.

With great determination, Pinocchio darted across the three fields until, out of breath, he arrived at the farmer’s house. He knocked on the door, which was soon opened by the farmer himself.

“Yes?” the farmer asked.

“May I please have some milk for my poor father?”

“How much milk do you want?”

“One cupful.”

“A cup of milk costs a penny. First give me the penny.”

“I don’t have one,” answered Pinocchio, sad and ashamed.

“That’s too bad,” answered the farmer, “If you don’t have a penny, I can’t sell you any milk.”

“Never mind, then,” said Pinocchio with a SULLEN expression. He turned around and started to go.

“Wait a minute,” said the farmer. “Maybe we can work something out. Do you know how to draw water from a well?”

“I can try.”

“Then go to that well over there and draw a hundred buckets of water. After you’ve finished, I’ll give you a cup of milk.”

“All right.”

The farmer took the puppet to the well and showed him how to turn the handle. Pinocchio set to work as best he could, but in a short time he was exhausted and dripping with sweat. He’d never worked so hard in his life.

“Until today,” said the farmer, “my donkey has drawn water for me, but now that poor animal is dying.”

“May I see him?” said Pinocchio.

“Certainly.”

As soon as Pinocchio went into the stable, he saw a little donkey lying on a bed of straw. He was dying from hunger and a life of DRUDGERY. After looking at him a long time, the puppet said to himself: “I think I know that donkey! I’ve seen him before.” Bending low over him, he asked, “Who are you?”

The dying donkey opened weary eyes and answered, “I’m Lampwick.”

Then he closed his eyes and died.

“Oh, my poor Lampwick,” said Pinocchio in a faint voice, as he wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“Why should you feel so sorry about a little donkey that cost you nothing?” asked the farmer. “What about me, who paid good money for him?”

“But, you see, he was my friend.”

“Your friend?”

“Yes. He was one of those hearty, EXTROVERTED types with an INVINCIBLE OPTIMISM and a PERPETUAL smile. You couldn’t help but like him. He was WITTY and PERSONABLE, too. And on top of all that, he was an outstanding, VERSATILE athlete! You see, he was a classmate of mine who—”

“What? A classmate?” shouted the farmer, interrupting Pinocchio’s EXTEMPORANEOUS little EULOGY. “You had donkeys in your school?” Then he added sarcastically, “Some lessons you must have had there!”

The puppet, ashamed and hurt by these words, didn’t answer. He took his milk and returned to his father.

That day was the ADVENT of a new era for Pinocchio. For the next five months, he got up every morning just as dawn was breaking and went to the farm to draw water. And every day he was given a cup of milk for his poor old father.

But that was not all. Using a simple basket he found around the house as a PROTOTYPE, he taught himself to weave baskets of his own. In a short time he became quite ADEPT at it. Then he learned some advanced basket making techniques. For example, he learned how to create intricate design patterns within the weave and he learned to use a needle and thread to attach colorful glass beads to the outsides of the baskets. He INTEGRATED each new technique he learned into his overall style. Soon he was producing the most artistic yet FUNCTIONAL baskets anyone had ever seen. A typical basket, for example, might contain diamonds and other geometrical shapes within the weave, and SYMMETRICAL rows of alternating transparent and OPAQUE red beads on either side, toward the top. He sold his masterpieces at the marketplace, and with the money he received, he and his father were able to pay for all their needs.

With some of the money he’d ALLOCATED for school supplies, he bought himself some used schoolbooks. In the evening he studied by lamplight at the kitchen table.

Little by little his efforts were rewarded. He succeeded, not only in his studies, but also in his work. One day he found that he had ACCRUED fifty cents. With it he wanted to buy himself some new clothes.

He said to his father, “I’m going to the marketplace to buy myself a coat, a cap, and a pair of shoes. When I come back I’ll be so dressed up, you’ll think I’m a rich man.”

He ran out of the house and up the road to the village. Suddenly he heard his name called, and looking around to see where the voice came from, he noticed a snail crawling out of some bushes.

“Don’t you recognize me?” said the snail.

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you remember the snail that lived with the blue-haired fairy? Do you remember how I opened the door for you after you kicked your foot through it?”

“Yes, VIVIDLY. Nothing could ever EFFACE my mental picture of that dreadful night,” said Pinocchio. “Answer me quickly. Where have you left my fairy? What’s she doing? Has she forgiven me? Does she remember me? Does she still love me? Is she very far away from here? May I see her?”

At all these questions, tumbling out one after another, the snail answered calmly, “My dear Pinocchio, the fairy is sick in a hospital.”

“In a hospital?”

“I’m afraid so. She’s had many problems.

“What kind of problems?”

“Problems with her health—her physical health, I mean. Luckily, so far, her mental FACULTIES haven’t DETERIORATED. But she’s been BESET by financial problems, too. Her recovery has been HAMPERED by a lack of funds. You see, she doesn’t even have enough money to buy the medicine that would make her well.”

“Oh, how sorry I am! My poor, dear little fairy! If I had a million dollars I would run to her with it! But I have only fifty cents. Here it is. I was just going to buy some clothes. Here, take it to the hospital, little snail. I AUTHORIZE you to spend it on her medical care in any way you see fit.”

“What about your new clothes?”

“What does that matter? I’d like to sell these things I have on to help her more. Until today I’ve earned only enough money to take care of my poor old father. Now I’ll have to AUGMENT my income so that I can take care of my dear mother, too.” Pinocchio thought for a moment and then said, “Will you do me a favor, little snail? From now on, I’d like you to serve as my LIAISON with the hospital. You’ll take money to my fairy, and you’ll bring news of her condition back to me. Will you do it?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Now hurry to my fairy. And remember, I expect you back in two days. By then I should have some more pennies! Oh…one more thing. If fifty cents isn’t enough to pay for the medicine, try to borrow the difference from anyone you can. The main thing is that you have to get that medicine one way or another. Just tell whoever lends you the extra money that I promise to REIMBURSE him as soon as I can. Now hurry!”

The little spiral-shelled COURIER, ENERGIZED by the urgency of his task, began to run!

When Pinocchio returned home, his father asked him, “Where are your new clothes?”

“I couldn’t find any that fit. I’ll have to look again some other day.”

That night, Pinocchio, instead of working until nine o’clock, worked until midnight, and instead of making four baskets, made eight. If the increased workload INFRINGED on his free time, he didn’t complain.

After that he neatly put away all his basketry PARAPHERNALIA and went to bed.

As he slept, he dreamt of his fairy, beautiful, smiling, and happy, who kissed him and said, “My dear Pinocchio! In reward for your EXEMPLARY conduct and CONSPICUOUS VALOR, I ABSOLVE you of all your misdeeds. Children who love their parents and take good care of them when they’re old and sick are worthy of praise and love. Continue to be good, and you will be happy.”

At that moment Pinocchio awoke, full of amazement. He was astonished to find, on looking himself over, that he was no longer a puppet, but a real live boy! He flexed his arm a few times and watched in wonder as his muscles CONTRACTED and relaxed. Then he looked around, and instead of the usual walls of straw, he found himself in a beautifully decorated little room, the prettiest he’d ever seen. In an instant, he jumped down from his bed to look on the chair. There he found a new suit, a new hat, and a new pair of shoes.

As soon as he was dressed, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a change purse. On it was written: “The fairy with blue hair returns fifty cents to her dear Pinocchio with many thanks for his kind heart.” He opened the purse to find the money, but instead of finding fifty cents, he found fifty gold coins!

Pinocchio ran to the mirror. He hardly recognized himself. The bright face of a tall boy with dark brown hair looked at him with alert blue eyes and happy, smiling lips.

With all these miracles, Pinocchio could scarcely APPREHEND what was taking place. He rubbed his eyes two or three times and pinched himself to make sure that these CATACLYSMIC changes weren’t only a dream. But he knew he was awake.

“Where’s Father?” he cried suddenly. He ran into the next room, and there stood a REJUVENATED Geppetto, neat and trim in his new clothes. He was once again a happy wood carver, hard at work on a lovely picture frame.

“Father, Father, what’s happened?” cried Pinocchio, as he ran and hugged his father’s neck.

“These changes are all your doing, my dear Pinocchio.”

“What did I have to do with it?”

“Everything. Your FIDELITY to your parents, your sense of right and wrong, your love of study, your willingness to endure hard work—they’ve all COALESCED into a brand-new, living, breathing you. And I and our house have changed because it always follows that when bad children become good, they bring happiness to their home and to their whole family.”

“And the old wooden Pinocchio, where is he?”

“There he is,” answered Geppetto. And he pointed to a puppet leaning against a chair, head turned to one side, arms hanging loosely, and legs twisted under him.

After a long, long look, Pinocchio said to himself with great contentment: “How ridiculous I was as a puppet! And how happy I am to be a real live boy!”