Читать книгу Pinocchio - Carlo Collodi - Страница 11

Pinocchio falls asleep with his feet on the brazier, and, when he wakes up in the morning, finds them burnt off

It was a windy, cold night. The thunder was fierce, and the lightning as violent as though the sky was on fire. A bitter wind whistled angrily, raising clouds of dust and making the trees tremble and groan.

Pinocchio was frightened of thunder, but he was still more hungry than frightened; so he opened the door, and ran as fast as he could to the village, which he soon reached, panting, with his tongue hanging out like a hunting dog’s.

But all was dark and quiet. The shops were closed, the doors and windows shut, and there was not even a dog in the street. It seemed a village of the dead.

However Pinocchio, driven by hunger and despair, gave a very long peal at the doorbell of one of the houses, saying to himself, ‘This will bring somebody out.’

And indeed, a little old man with a nightcap on his head came to the window, and shouted angrily, ‘What do you want at this hour?’

‘Will you be so kind as to give me some bread?’

‘Wait! I’ll be back at once!’ said the old man, believing that he had to do with one of those street urchins who amuse themselves at night by ringing doorbells, and rousing good people who are sleeping peacefully.

In half a minute the window was opened, and the same voice called Pinocchio, ‘Stand under the window, and hold out your hand!’

Pinocchio held out his hands, and a great kettle of water poured down on him, drenching him from head to foot, as if he had been a pot of dry geraniums.

He went home wet as a rag and exhausted with fatigue and hunger. He had no strength to stand, and so he sat down, and put his wet, muddy feet on the brazier full of burning coal.

Then he fell asleep, and while he was asleep his feet, which were wooden, caught fire, and slowly burned away to cinders.

Pinocchio slept and snored, as though his feet belonged to someone else. At last, at daybreak, he was awakened by someone rapping on the door.

‘Who is it?’ he called, yawning, and rubbing his eyes.

‘It is I!’ answered a voice.

And it was the voice of Geppetto.