Читать книгу Pinocchio - Carlo Collodi - Страница 6

How it happened that Mr Cherry, the carpenter, found a piece of wood that laughed and cried like a child

There was once upon a time …

‘A king!’ my little readers will shout together.

No, children, you make a mistake. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood.

It was not the best, but just a common piece of wood, such as is used in stoves and fireplaces to kindle the fire and warm the rooms in winter.

How it happened I cannot tell, but the fact is that one fine day this piece of wood just happened to be there in the shop of an old carpenter whose real name was Mr Antonio, but everyone called him Mr Cherry, because the tip of his nose was always as red and shiny as a ripe cherry.

As soon as Mr Cherry noticed this piece of wood, he was delighted. He rubbed his hands together joyfully and said, ‘This has come at exactly the right moment. It is just what I need to make a leg for my little table.’

Then, without hesitating a moment, he took his sharp axe to strip off the bark and the rough part of the wood. But just as he raised the axe for the first blow, he stopped with his arm in the air, for he heard a very tiny voice, begging him gently, ‘Don’t strike me too hard!’

You can imagine old Mr Cherry’s surprise.

He looked round the room to see where the tiny voice had come from, but he saw nobody. He looked under the bench – nobody. He looked in the cupboard which was always shut; but there was nobody. He looked in the basket of chips and sawdust – no one. He opened the door and looked out into the street – no one! What was to be done?

‘I see,’ he said at last, laughing and scratching his wig, ‘I must have imagined that tiny voice. Now let’s to work!’

He raised his axe again, and down it went on the piece of wood.

‘Oh, you hurt me!’ complained the same tiny voice.

This time Mr Cherry was struck all of a heap. His eyes stood out of his head, his mouth was wide open, and his tongue hung out over his chin, as you see on some fountain masks.

As soon as he could speak he said, trembling and stuttering with fright, ‘But where did that tiny voice come from that cried “Oh”? There’s not a living soul here. Is it possible that this piece of wood has learnt to cry and complain like a baby? I can’t believe it. This piece of wood – just look at it! It’s nothing but a piece of firewood, like all the others; when you put it on the fire it will make a kettle boil. Well, then? Is someone hidden inside it? If there is, so much the worse for him. I’ll attend to him!’

And he took the poor piece of wood in both hands and, without mercy, started to beat it against the wall.

Then he stopped and listened to hear if any tiny voice were complaining this time. He waited two minutes – nothing; five minutes – nothing; ten minutes – and still nothing!

‘Now I understand!’ he exclaimed, laughing and pulling his wig. ‘I must have imagined that tiny voice that said “Oh!” I’d better do my work.’ And, because he was very frightened, he began singing to encourage himself.

Meanwhile he put the axe down and, taking his plane, began planing and shaping the piece of wood.

But while the plane went to and fro, he again heard that tiny voice which said, laughing, ‘Stop! you’re tickling me!’

This time, poor Mr Cherry dropped as if struck by lightning.

When he opened his eyes, he was sitting on the floor. He was so changed you could hardly have recognized him. Even the end of his nose, which was always red, had turned blue with fright.