Читать книгу Pinocchio - Carlo Collodi - Страница 19

Pinocchio does not listen to the good advice of the talking cricket, and meets the assassins

‘Really,’ said Pinocchio to himself, as he continued his journey, ‘how unfortunate we poor boys are! Everybody scolds us, everybody warns us, everybody advises us. When they talk you would think they are all our fathers, or our school-masters – all of them: even the talking cricket. Just imagine – because I would not listen to that tiresome talking cricket, who knows, according to him, how many misfortunes will befall me? I shall even meet some assassins! Fortunately I don’t believe, and never have believed, in assassins. I am sure that assassins have been invented by fathers to frighten us, so that we should not dare to go out at night. But supposing I should meet them, on the road, would I be afraid of them? Certainly not! I should walk straight up to them and say, “Mr Assassins, what do you want from me? Just remember that there’s no joking with me. You had better be quiet, and go about your business!” If those wretched assassins heard me talking like that, I can just see them running away like the wind. But if, by chance, they didn’t run away, I would and that would be the end of it.’

Pinocchio would have continued his musings, but at that moment he thought he heard a rustling of leaves behind him.

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.