Читать книгу Pinocchio - Carlo Collodi - Страница 18

The Red Crab Inn

They walked, and walked, and walked, and finally towards evening, tired out, they arrived at the Red Crab Inn.

‘Let us stop here a little while,’ said the Fox, ‘that we may eat a bite, and rest a few hours. At midnight we must go on again, so that we can reach the Field of Miracles early tomorrow morning.’

They entered the inn, and sat down at a table, but none of them had any appetite.

The poor cat had a bad indigestion, and could eat no more than thirty-five mullet with tomato sauce, and four helpings of tripe with Parmesan cheese; and, because she thought the tripe was not well seasoned, she asked three times for the butter and grated cheese.

The fox, too, would gladly have nibbled at something, but since the doctor had put him on a strict diet, he had to be content with a hare in sweet-savoury sauce, garnished with fat spring chickens and young pullets. After the hare, he ordered a special dish composed of partridges, rabbits, frogs, lizards, and other titbits, but he would not touch anything more. He said he was so disgusted at the sight of food that he could not eat another mouthful.

The one who ate least of all was Pinocchio. He asked for some nuts and some bread, but he left them all on his plate. The poor child’s thoughts were fixed on the Field of Miracles, and he was suffering a mental indigestion of gold pieces.

When they had supped, the fox said to their host, ‘Give us two nice rooms – one for Mr Pinocchio, and the other for me and my friend. We shall take a little nap before we leave. Don’t forget that, at midnight, we must continue our journey.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied the host, winking at the fox and the cat as if to say, ‘I understand what you are up to. We know each other.’

As soon as he was in bed, Pinocchio fell asleep, and began to dream. He dreamed that he was in the middle of a field, and the field was full of small trees, the branches of which were laden with gold pieces swinging gently in the breeze, and chattering as if to say, ‘Whoever wants us, come and take us!’ But just at the most interesting moment – that is, when Pinocchio stretched out his hand to pick a handful and put them in his pocket – he was suddenly awakened by three violent knocks on the door.

It was the innkeeper, who came to tell him that it was midnight.

‘Are my companions ready?’ asked Pinocchio.

‘Ready! They left two hours ago.’

‘Why were they in such a hurry?’

‘Because the cat received a message that her eldest son was very sick with chilblains, and not expected to live.’

‘Did they pay for our supper?’

‘What an idea! They were far too well-mannered to offer such an insult to a gentleman like you.’

‘That’s too bad! Such an insult would have been a great pleasure!’ said Pinocchio, scratching his head. Then he inquired, ‘And where did those good friends of mine say they would wait for me?’

‘In the Field of Miracles, tomorrow morning, at sunrise.’

Pinocchio paid for his supper, and that of his friends, with a gold piece, and left. It was so dark that he had to grope his way, and it was impossible to see as far as his hand before his face. In the country round him, not a leaf stirred. Only a few night birds, flying across the road from one hedge to the other, brushed Pinocchio’s nose with their wings, frightening him so that he jumped back, crying, ‘Who goes there?’

An echo answered from the distant hills, ‘Who goes there? Who goes there? Who goes there?’

As he walked on he saw a little creature on the trunk of a tree, which shone with a pale faint light, like a night lamp with a china shade.

‘Who are you?’ asked Pinocchio.

‘I am the ghost of the talking cricket,’ was the reply, in a low, low voice, so faint that it seemed to come from another world.

‘What do you want from me?’ said the marionette.

‘I want to give you some advice. Go back home, and carry the four gold pieces you have left to your poor father, who is weeping and longing for you.’

‘Tomorrow my father will be a rich gentleman, for these four gold pieces will have become two thousand.’

‘My boy, never trust people who promise to make you rich in a day. They are generally crazy swindlers. Listen to me, and go back home.’

‘No, on the contrary, I am going forward.’

‘It is very late.’

‘I am going forward.’

‘The night is dark.’

‘I am going forward.’

‘It’s a dangerous road …’

‘I am going forward.’

‘Remember that children who do as they please and want to have their own way, are sorry for it sooner or later.’

‘That’s an old story. Good night, cricket!’

‘Good night, Pinocchio. May Heaven preserve you from dangers and assassins!’

With these words, the talking cricket disappeared as suddenly as when you blow out a candle; and the path was darker than before.