2 used to think, on account of my somewhat strange start in life, I suppose, that I was unlike everyone else. In one way I am. After all, I am now 130 years old and I think you ll find that is quite unusual, even in these days of advanced medicine. I have had a while to think on the important things in life. And one of the most important is the business of growing up: what fun it is, how difficult it is. It makes you what you are. It certainly made me what I am. 11
3 Now there s no point in pretending here I was, and still am deep down, a puppet. Everyone knows Pinocchio is a puppet Signor Carlo Collodi first told my story, which made me instantly recognisable, and then Mr Walt Disney made a fantastic film about me, with songs, for goodness sake; so I reckon I must be just about the most famous puppet the world has ever known. But the truth is I m not just a puppet, I m more than just bits of wood and string. I m me. So actually I m quite like you. I mean you re not just skin and hair and flesh and bones, are you? You re you. So, in that sense, if you think about it, we re pretty much the same, aren t we? And we re the same for another reason too. To begin with I may have been just a block of wood about to become a puppet, but you were not much better; just 12
4 a little wriggly thing, about to become a person. Then we get born, one way or another. It wasn t just the block of wood or the wriggly thing that made us what we are for better or for worse it s what we then made of our lives, what happened to us afterwards. So I thought it was about time that I, Pinocchio, told you my story in my own words, not so you can learn from it so much, but so you can see that, no matter what we are made of, we all have an exciting and difficult time growing up. Anyway, that s the boring bit over with. The rest is not at all boring, I can assure you. It will be a roller coaster of danger and disaster, mistakes and misery, hope and happiness. So here it is, the true story, the whole story with nothing left out, of all the pickles I 13
5 got myself into and out of. You won t know it yet, but when you get older your childhood will seem like a long dream; sometimes a happy dream, sometimes a bit of a nightmare, sometimes so unlikely you can hardly believe it happened. But it did. You were there, you know. My dream of childhood was just like that. But I know it happened. I was there.
8 Chapter ONE I get born o here s how I began. I was a tiny cherry-pip in a blackbird s beak. The blackbird dropped me in an orchard below a town called Naples, and I fell to earth. After a while, I grew into a fine cherry tree, blossoming wonderfully every year, until one winter s day a raging storm blew me over, and the next thing I know, I am nothing but a piece of wood, a branch in a pile of other branches, waiting to be burnt. And 17
9 that would have been that. There would have been no Pinocchio. But as luck would have it, along came an old woodcarver. He was whistling away as he searched through the pile, and talking to himself. He picked me up, turned me this way and that, peered at me, smelled me even. This will do very well, he said. Cherry-wood, the best for carving. Just what I ve been looking for. He looked about him nervously. No one s around. No one will notice, will they? He tapped me with his knuckle, knocked me against a tree. Yes, you ll carve perfectly. That was when I spoke my first words I d heard a lot of speaking in my life, so words came easily. I d just never needed them before. 18
10 Excuse me, I said, but I do wish you wouldn t keep knocking me about like that. It hurts. And carving me up, I m sure, will hurt a great deal more I don t like the sound of that one bit. He heard me. I know that because in his surprise he dropped me on his foot. When he d stopped hopping about, he began to search around, wondering where on earth the voice had come from. Anyway, you can t just steal me, I went on. All right, all right, he said, clapping his hands to his ears. I will pay. Here, look. I m leaving a coin for you on the woodpile. And with that he tucked me under his arm and legged it. All the way I kept shouting and shouting, begging him to take me back. By the time we reached his house I d been shouting so loud and for so long that 19
11 I d lost my voice completely. All around the walls of his house hung the tools of his trade: chisels, planes, hammers, drills. I was terrified. To me they were nothing but instruments of torture. But when I tried protest, nothing would come out, not a squeak, not a whisper. Then I saw the lady sitting by the fire, staring sadly into the flames. Carissima mia, said the woodcarver. See what I have for you, my darling. She turned and looked. Not another log, she sighed. How many times have you tried before? I want a real boy for a son, not a puppet. But this is the finest
12 cherry-wood, carissima mia. And when I touch it, it has life. I feel it. I smell it. I can almost hear it. You ll see, my darling. With this piece of wood, I will make you at last the son you have always longed for. Gepetto s wife shook her head, and I could see there were tears in her eyes. You are the kindest of men, Gepetto. And I love you because you never stop trying, you never stop hoping. But it is hopeless, I tell you, hopeless. We ll never have a son of our own. And again she turned her face to the fire and wept. Gepetto the woodcarver took down his tools from the wall, rolled up his sleeves, and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Then, looking down on me, he said, I will make a boy of you, block of wood. I will make
13 a son for my darling wife and me. So lie still and be good. It won t hurt. I was terrified. I tried to yell, I tried to screech, but no sound came out, so of course he heard nothing. But I need not have worried. Gepetto was right. It didn t hurt at all. It felt as if he was tickling me! My hair, my ears, my forehead as he worked on them, chiselling them into shape, they simply tickled. I wanted to giggle, to laugh out loud, but I couldn t. And when he made my eyes, I couldn t move them either, not at first. All I could do was stare at him. It s rude to stare, you know, he said. I knew a little boy once who stared, and he picked his nose too.
14 He was called Pinocchio. There we are! That shall be your name: Pinocchio! Now for your nose, which you should never pick because that is ruder even than staring, and carissima mia would not like it. Gepetto had trouble with my nose it seemed to be too long for my face. But he didn t want to risk cutting it off altogether, so, in the end, he left it too long something I often blamed him for later on. Children often blame their fathers and mothers later on, it s quite natural. The real trouble came when he made my mouth. Now I could giggle and laugh, but not out loud yet because I still had no voice, you remember but inside, and I was killing myself laughing, if you know what I mean. It tickled so much. The face was the most complicated part. That s what took the time. After that 23
15 the neck, the shoulders, the stomach, the legs, the arms, the hands, all came fairly easily. I could see how excited Gepetto was, how delighted he was with his handiwork. At last, as I lay there on the table, arms and legs outstretched, staring up at him, he stood back, hands on hips, smiling down at me. You ll do, Pinocchio, he whispered. You ll do. Then he picked me up gently in his arms and carried me over to where his wife still sat gazing into the fire, brushing her tears away. He set me on her knee, took her arms and put them round me so that I was cradled in her lap. One large tear fell on my cheek and suddenly I could move, suddenly my voice came back to me too. Mama, I cried. Papa! Pinocchio! They were both so happy. Mama held me up higher and then hugged me to 24
16 her. They took a hand each to help me walk. But after going once or twice around the room I didn t need them any more. Within moments I was walking on my own, a little wobbly maybe, but not falling over, not once. Then I was running, running all around the room, skipping with joy, jumping over the stools. I could do the splits; I could do somersaults; I could stand on my head! 25
17 Our brave little Pinocchio, Gepetto cried, catching me up and setting me on his shoulder. We have a son at last, a boy of our own. And together my new Mama and Papa took me out into the streets to show me off to the world. As word spread about the town, everyone in Naples came running to see me. He s not a boy, they shouted, pointing at me and mocking me. He s just a puppet, a puppet without any strings maybe, but a puppet nonetheless. He can t talk, they cried. He can, Gepetto told them triumphantly. Say something to them, Pinocchio. Of course I can talk, I said. I can walk with no one holding me, I said. And I did. I can dance, I said. And I did tap-dancing was easy with wooden 26
18 feet. I can do somersaults and handstands too. They were amazed, everyone was, but they didn t stop laughing at me, and, what was worse, they laughed at Mama and Papa too, who I could tell were so proud of me. Look how his wooden head wobbles when he walks! He isn t a proper boy, they said. A proper boy has a mind of his own, goes on adventures. You can t make a mind out of wood, Signor Gepetto! He s not a real boy at all. Wobble head! Clumpy feet! Big nose! That was it. I d had enough of all their insults. I took off, legged it, did a runner. And could I run! In leaps and bounds I ran, tickety-tackety tickety-tackety went my wooden feet on the cobbled streets. They tried to catch me, but I dodged and ducked. Grab him! they shouted. Catch Pinocchio! The whole town was after me. 27
19 I had almost escaped them when, ahead of me, barring my way, there was a huge, burly policeman, a Carabiniere, legs apart, arms wide open to catch me. 28
20 Go through his legs, I thought. It s the only way to get past him. But he grabbed me by my nose. Can you imagine? The indignity of it! 29
21 And then he carried me under his arm, back to Papa and Mama, who took me home at once and put me to bed. Never run away again, Pinocchio, Mama said, hugging me tight and kissing me. Then she brought me a mug of hot milk. You gave us such a fright, Gepetto said. We thought we d lost you for good. No matter what anyone says, you are our dear son, our little boy, and this is your home. Tomorrow you will go to school, like all the other boys and girls. What happens at school? I asked them. You will read books and learn to spell and to write and to add up and to take away. You will learn to have a mind of your own. But I have a mind of my own already, I said. I 30
22 don t like this school idea at all. You ll love it, they told me. You ll soon make lots of friends. But I didn t love it and I didn t make lots of friends in fact, not one. All the others did was laugh at me and tease me because I was different. And the teachers were just as bad. The moment they found me staring out of the window dreaming, which was often I wanted to be out there exploring the world, not stuck in a classroom they d put me in the corner with a dunce s cap on my head. I was standing there in the corner one day when I made up my mind. I knew it would upset Mama and Papa, and I felt bad about that because after all 31
23 they fed me and looked after me and loved me, but I couldn t stand it any longer. I would run away and see the world. I would make my fortune. I d show the world I wasn t a puppet, that I was a boy with a mind of my own. I d make Mama and Papa proud of me, but I d do it my way. All right, all right, I know now that it was stupid. But don t think too badly of me. I don t think I was that different from most of you who are reading this except of course I was made of wood. But that wasn t my fault, was it? I was a wooden-head, a puppet with very little sense. I just wanted to have a good time, do my own thing. That s natural, right?
Pinocchio_Amended.indd ed.indd dd 10 05/07/2013 0 /2013 12:40 used to think, on account of my somewhat strange start in life, I suppose, that I was unlike everyone else. In one way I am. After all, I am
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Group 1 the a is you to and we that in not for at with it on can will are of this your as but be have the a is you to and we that in not for at with it on can will are of this your as but be have the a
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