Pinocchio

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Turning quickly, he saw two frightful black figures wrapped in charcoal sacks leaping towards him on tiptoe, like two spectres.

‘There they are, for sure!’ he said to himself and, not knowing where to hide his gold pieces, he put them in his mouth, under his tongue.

Then he tried to run away; but before he could take the first step, he felt himself seized by his arms, and heard two horrible, cavernous voices cry, ‘Your money, or your life!’

Pinocchio not being able to speak, since the money was in his mouth, made a thousand bows and gestures to show those masked fellows, whose eyes were visible only through holes in the sacks, that he was a poor puppet, and hadn’t even a counterfeit farthing in his pocket.

‘Come, come! Less nonsense, and hand over your money!’ the two brigands cried menacingly.

But the puppet made signs with his hands, as if to say, ‘I haven’t any!’

‘Hand over your money, or you are dead!’ said the taller of the assassins.

‘Dead!’ repeated the other.

‘And after we have killed you, we shall kill your father, too!’

‘Your father, too!’ repeated the other.

‘No, no, no, not my poor father!’ cried Pinocchio in despair. But as he spoke, the gold pieces clinked in his mouth.

‘Ah, ha, you rascal! So you hid your money under your tongue! Spit it out, at once!’

Pinocchio did not obey.

‘Oh, so you cannot hear what we say? Wait a moment, we’ll make you spit it out!’

And one of them seized the puppet by the end of his nose, and the other by his chin, and they pulled without mercy, one up, the other down, to make him open his mouth; but it was no use. Pinocchio’s mouth was as tightly closed as if it had been nailed and riveted.

Then the smaller assassin drew a horrid knife, and tried to force it between his lips, like a chisel, but Pinocchio, quick as lightning, bit off his hand and spat it out. Imagine his astonishment when he saw that it was a cat’s paw he spat to the ground!

Encouraged by this first victory, using his nails he freed himself from the assassins and, jumping over the hedge by the roadside, fled across the country. The assassins ran after him, like dogs after a hare. The smaller one, who had lost a paw, ran on one leg, though goodness knows how he did it.

After they had run miles and miles, Pinocchio was completely exhausted. Seeing himself lost, he climbed a very tall pine-tree, and seated himself on its highest branch. The assassins tried to climb after him, but half-way up they slipped and fell to the ground, hurting their hands and feet.

Yet they did not give up. They gathered a heap of dry sticks at the foot of the tree, and set fire to it. In less than no time the pine started to burn, and blazed like a candle in the wind. Pinocchio, seeing that the flames were mounting fast, and not wanting to end his life like a roasted pigeon, leaped down from the tree-top, and ran again across the fields and vineyards. The assassins followed him, running close without seeming a bit tired.

It was nearly daybreak, and they were still running, when suddenly Pinocchio found the way barred by a wide, deep ditch full of dirty, coffee-coloured water. What was he to do?

‘One, two, three!’ cried the puppet and, dashing forward, he jumped over it. The assassins jumped, too; but they had not judged the distance properly, and – Swash! Splash! – they fell right in the middle of the ditch.

Pinocchio heard the splashing of water and, running, he laughed, and shouted, ‘A good bath to you, Mr Assassins!’

He was sure that they were drowned, when, turning to look, he saw them both running after him, still wrapped in their sacks, from which the water was dripping as if they were two leaky baskets.

CHAPTER 15 (#ulink_d1bb542b-22be-5203-8ad6-dbdf66b52414)

The assassins follow Pinocchio and, having caught him, hang him on a branch of the big oak tree

This time, the puppet thought that the end was near. He was ready to fall to the ground and surrender when he noticed a little house, as white as snow, far away among the dark green trees.

‘If I had enough breath to get to that house, perhaps I’d be safe,’ he told himself.

Wasting no time, he ran through the wood, with the assassins on his track.

After a desperate race of nearly two hours, he arrived at last, worn out, at the door of the little house.

He knocked, but no one answered.

He knocked again, louder, for he heard the footsteps of the assassins; but all was silent as before.

Seeing that it was useless to knock, he began kicking the door, and beating it with his head. At that, a lovely child opened the window. Her hair was blue, and her face as white as wax; her eyes were closed, and her hands were crossed on her breast.

Without moving her lips she said in a very low voice that seemed to come from another world, ‘There is nobody in this house. They are all dead.’

‘But at least you should open the door and let me in,’ cried Pinocchio, weeping, and entreating her.

‘I am dead, too.’

‘Dead? Then what are you doing at the window?’

‘I am waiting for the bier to come, and take me away.’

As she said this she disappeared, and the window closed itself, silently.

‘Oh, beautiful blue-haired child,’ cried Pinocchio, ‘open the door, for pity’s sake! Have mercy on a poor boy pursued by assass –’

But before he could finish, he felt himself seized by the neck, and heard those cruel threatening voices, ‘This time you won’t escape!’

The puppet, feeling that his end was near, began to tremble, so violently that the joints of his wooden legs creaked, and the gold pieces under his tongue clinked together.

‘Now, then,’ demanded the assassins, ‘will you open your mouth, or will you not? You won’t answer, eh? Well, leave it to us. We’ll open it for you this time!’

And, drawing two great knives as sharp as razors – Slash! they stabbed him savagely.

Luckily the puppet was made of the hardest wood, and the knives broke into a thousand pieces. Only the handles remained in the assassins’ hands, who stood staring at each other.

‘Now I see,’ said one of them, ‘he must be hung. Let us hang him!’

‘Let us hang him!’ repeated the other.

No sooner said than done. They bound his arms behind his back and, putting a running noose around his throat, they tied him to a branch of a big oak tree.

Then they sat down on the grass, and waited for his last kick; but after three hours, the puppet’s eyes were still wide open, and he was kicking stronger than ever.

Losing their patience, and tired of waiting, they turned to Pinocchio, and said with a sneering voice, ‘Good-bye, until tomorrow, when we shall be back. And let’s hope you’ll be so polite as to see that we find you very dead, and your mouth wide open!’ Then they left.

Meanwhile, a stormy north wind had begun to blow, and it raged, and whistled, and blew the poor puppet back and forth as fast as a bell-clapper on a wedding-day. It hurt him dreadfully, and the running noose tightened around his throat so that he could not breathe.

Little by little his eyes grew dim, and, although he felt that death was near, still he hoped that some kind person might come and save him. He waited and waited, but nobody came – absolutely nobody.