The Pinocchio Megapack: 4 Classic Puppet Tales

by Carlo Collodi

  “Certainly, but he meant the fire of the battery, not that of the stove. Don’t you know that we are expecting an attack?”

  “Who says so? There’s no need to wait for it. You can wait if you want to, but I’m off. I don’t know anything about war and don’t know how to shoot. When there are necks to wring or beasts to butcher I’m ready, because they are hens or lambs or such like beasts, but Christians I can’t, and toward the enemy I have the respect ordered by our superiors. Listen, youngster, if two bullets hit me in the rear I’ll take them and won’t protest, but I don’t stay here at the front unless they tie me.”

  He was just getting away when Scotimondo, who had an eye on him, turned hurriedly and poked a revolver at his back.

  “Oh, very well! There are certain arguments you can’t dispute. I’ll remain, but I’ll find me a hole where I can be safe, because if I die the Manual of War Cookerywon’t be written,” and he threw himself down on a big stone, signaling to the “youngster” to follow him.

  A voice outside was calling for help, only a few feet away from the trench.

  “Stay where you are, all of you. I’ll go,” commanded Scotimondo, and, wriggling like a serpent, with his revolver in his hand, he set off and was lost in the darkness. Shortly after he returned, dragging in Draghetta.

  “What’s the matter? Are you wounded?”

  “No, not exactly wounded, but I can’t stand up. I’m afraid my feet are frozen.”

  “Let’s have a look,” and he made him sit down and began to free him from his woolen puttees, his hobnailed boots, his waterproof stockings, and to rub his red, swollen feet with snow, all the time continuing to question him.

  “Was it you who fired that shot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is the enemy in sight?”

  “They tried to leave their trenches—two little groups—one of their usual nasty little ways to draw us out, and as my superiors did not see them, I thought it my duty to give the alarm signal.”

  “You were right.”

  “But I wasn’t able to get back because my legs gave way, so I had to try to crawl on my hands and knees until I had only breath enough left to call for help, certain and sure that…”

  “Heavens! Swine!” Scotimondo swore and stopped rubbing.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing, nothing; take your place at the machine-gun; I’ll take mine in the trench.”

  “Why?”

  “You have need of rest,” and he went off, growling, “poor Draghetta! He tried to warn the rest of us and couldn’t get away himself.”

  He again left the trench to reconnoiter. Half an hour later he returned, assembled his men, and told them that the foe had retreated to their trenches, but that as soon as it was lighter they would have to make themselves heard, so as to keep the enemy from attempting an attack, which would undoubtedly be fatal to the little garrison. They would have to make a lot of noise, but must not waste ammunition, because when Captain Teschisso’s company came into action they would probably have to support it.

  “And I impress upon you the importance of not exposing yourselves. The first who does so I’ll send to the devil myself. I have need of every one of you, and it’s too much that out of ten one should be without feet, one a cook, and one who isn’t even a man.”

  “Did you hear that, youngster?” Ciampanella asked Pinocchio, when the laugh which followed Scotimondo’s words had died down. “Did you hear? They want to send you to the firing-line. What do you think of that?”

  But Pinocchio didn’t reply. His wooden leg just then seemed to have nervous twinges and rattled like a rusty key in a lock. The sun had scarcely begun to rise above the horizon and the snow to glisten in its rays when from the trench cut out of the slope narrow as a knife-blade came a sound of firing that was truly infernal. The machine-gun was smoking, but poor Draghetta didn’t let it rest a minute. The others kept up a tremendous fire and an accurate one, because they could see that the parapet of the enemy’s trench was marked by little red clouds. Every now and then above the crackle of the musketry resounded the humming of larger projectiles that had their own special tone. The Austrian commanders were evidently laying plans for the whole day because there was not even the shadow of an enemy to be seen. They contented themselves with replying with an occasional shell. But what would they have done if they had known that opposite them were only seven men, and one of them disabled, and that the formidable ta-pum, ta-pum, ta-pumwhich rose above the whine of the musketry came from—the mouths of Pinocchio and Ciampanella?

  The coming of the twilight cast a veil of melancholy over the little garrison, wearied by the fatigues imposed by its continual vigilance and the continual answer to the firing of the foe.

  They were all expecting every moment to see Captain Teschisso’s company come into action, the Austrians swept from their trenches with the bayonets at their backs and thrown on the mined zone where they would all be blown up. Yet nothing of the sort was taking place. The enemy had never appeared more quiet and as sure of himself as to-day. What had happened to the company? It wasn’t possible that it had been captured by superior forces. The Alpine troops would have fought like lions; the noise of their battle would have reached the trench, and some one would certainly have returned to bring the news of the disaster. It was more likely that Captain Teschisso, knowing that he would have to engage a superior force, had decided to attack at night. The surprise and the impossibility of judging the number of the assaulting force would certainly keep the enemy from resisting. But Corporal Scotimondo was not altogether satisfied with his captain’s tactics.

  “I’m not a Napoleon,” he grumbled, in his patois, striding with long steps through the narrow passageway of the trenches, every now and then making a right-about face. “I’m not a Napoleon. It’s easy to say ‘hold fast at all costs,’ but in order to hold fast you have to have men. My men are not made of iron; I am not made of iron; they need rest and yet even to let them rest I can’t allow the trench to be without sentinels all night. If I change sentries every half-hour, nobody sleeps; if I make them stay at the posts for two hours according to regulations, they’ll come back to me with their feet frozen like Draghetta, and then we couldn’t hold fast. Plague take it! This is certainly a situation to upset a corporal. If…”

  He stopped suddenly because Pinocchio barred his way. He looked at him for a minute in amazement, gestured with his head for him to move to one side, but, seeing that he stood there as firmly as if he had taken root, he grunted, I don’t know whether with anger or surprise.

  “Skip, boy, skip. Don’t you understand anything? Don’t you understand I want you to get from under my feet?”

  “Just a question, corporal.”

  “What is it?”

  “You need a sentinel for tonight.”

  “Yes, a new one every half-hour.”

  “I have come to volunteer.”

  “Why not? I like the idea…you, too, will take your half-hour’s turn, but this doesn’t help me solve my problem of…”

  “But I have come to volunteer for the whole night.”

  “Really? Are you in earnest?”

  “Yes, indeed. You see, Corporal Squassamondo, I should have liked to remind you this morning early that I have a wooden leg, but I prefer to tell you now. Wood doesn’t freeze and so I can stand guard for ten hours even without any danger, if you only give me enough to cover myself with and plenty to eat.”

  “And the other leg?”

  “Ciampanella has told me that storks sleep all night standing on one leg and don’t fall over. I am a man ‘that’s not a man,’ but if I were no more good than a stork I shouldn’t have got a wooden leg on the battle-field.”

  The little lesson had sunk in and Scotimondo felt it like a pinch on the shins. He tried to be furious, bu
t didn’t succeed. He let out a terrible “Good Heavens!” then was overcome with emotion, caught Pinocchio in his arms, pressed him to himself, and kissed him again and again.

  It was a night blacker than a German conscience. Two shadows glided over the snow and stopped in the shelter of a rock which dominated all the narrow slope, the enemy’s trenches, the awful mass of peaks and jagged ridges. At the side of the adversary’s position the snow was marked with an enormous black streak which was lost in the depth of the mountains. It was the abyss, a frightful wedge-shaped crack which looked like an enormous interrogation point drawn with charcoal on an immense white sheet.

  “You feel all right?”

  “Fine as possible.”

  “Did they give you a good supper?”

  “I’m so full that I can’t draw a long breath with all this stuff I’ve got on me. I certainly sha’n’t feel cold.”

  “In your right pocket you’ll find a thermos bottle of hot coffee; in the other, chocolate.”

  “Splendid.”

  “Do you want a gun?”

  “What should I do with it? In case of alarm I’ll keep sounding ‘ta-pum’ like this morning.”

  “Then you understand. You must keep a lookout down there all the time, there where the white of the snow meets the black of the sky. If you see anything white on black or black on white which moves give the alarm; if not, keep still. Take good care not to fall asleep, because if I should go the rounds and find you asleep I should be compelled to kill you at your post.”

  “In that case wake me up…five minutes beforehand.”

  “Well, I’m off.”

  “Good luck.”

  “I want to impress it on you—no racket now.”

  “Good-by, Scrollamondo. Don’t worry.”

  Pinocchio had the courage of a lion that night, and if the Austrians had attempted an attack he would have felt equal to them all by himself. As soon as he was alone he took out from the pockets of his cloak, so full of food that they seemed a military depot, a thin rope a couple of yards long, knotted one end of it, stuck his head through, bending his good leg, put his foot on the rope, which he swung in front of him at the height of his knee, and, leaning against the rock, stood there still, resting on his wooden leg.

  “And now I am ready,” he muttered, contentedly; “now let them come on. I’m not afraid of any one, not even of the snow. There’s no denying it—my idea was magnificent. If that simpleton Toni Salandra had had one as good he would have saved the Ministry. Two feet of rope and the trench is saved. With two soldi’s worth of soap he could have saved the finest Parliament our poor country has ever seen.… It’s queer that I haven’t the slightest sensation of fear.… It’s dark, but I seem to see as well as by day. It must be that a sentinel’s duty clears the sight. I could swear that I could see a flea a mile away. Besides, my duty is simple: I am to stay here and do nothing; I am not to get my feet frozen, and as far as that is concerned there’s no danger; and I am to look out for white moving on black or black on white. Then, ta-pum, ta-pum, ta-pum, like this morning, then throw myself on the ground and creep back to the trench like a cat.… What a fire we kept up this morning, I and Ciampanella! He fired so often and so vigorously that he ended by falling over with fright.… If he hadn’t had to sleep off his fatigue I couldn’t have done the fine deed I’m doing. I am sure he wouldn’t have let me get cold like this…because…I didn’t feel it at first, but now I feel chills creeping up my spine!”

  When Pinocchio stuck his hand into his pocket it touched the rounded form of the thermos bottle. He took it out, put it to his lips, and drank a mouthful. Five minutes later the boy felt the heat mounting to his brain as if he were at the mouth of a furnace.

  “Ah-ha! That’s good! When I am a general like Win-the-War I’ll heat the railway compartment with coffee instead of with a radiator. I wish they’d ‘murder’ the garments I got on, as Ciampanella says: When I think that he made me run the risk of having eight bullets in my stomach I don’t know what to do. But before I would have him burned up, it would be nice to sleep here under this upholstered seat, with the lullaby of the train that sounds as if my nurse were singing it. If he found me now I should like to drop into one of those dozes from which even Ciampanella’s ta-pum wouldn’t wake me.… If I go to sleep I’ll be cold. That tyrant of a Scotimondo would just as lief wake me up with a revolver at my head.… I’d like to know what’s the fun of keeping a poor sentinel out in the cold where there’s nothing to watch, because I bet a soldo against a lira that the Austrians are sleeping soundly tonight—I seem to hear them snoring like so many suckling pigs.… No, I said I wouldn’t go to sleep, and to keep my word I won’t go to sleep, but I can allow myself a nod, just a little nod. There’s no black on white, or white on black; it seems to me to be getting more cloudy…so that…Scotimondo? But what is it? I am no Napoleon…he said it. But even Napoleon when he found a sleeping sentinel took his gun and waited till he waked up. He would do the same…with the difference that I haven’t any gun…so that…not so much noise…Scotimon…? but where is Scotmona…Scoti…mon…do…”

  Just at this moment the snow began to fall gently, so gently, and as dry as flour just from the mill. The corporal, who was about to set out on his usual tour of inspection, glanced at the sky, then growled, as he rubbed his hands: “The Austrians won’t come out in such weather. It will be a foot thick in less than an hour. I’ll go and sleep, myself.”

  Pinocchio woke up with a start. It was dawn!… He found himself buried in the snow up to his chest. He looked about and could no longer see the enemy’s trench; he looked behind him and couldn’t recognize the Italian post. What under the heavens had happened? He was on the point of becoming despondent and ready to give the alarm when on the side of the enemy’s position in the wide wedge-sloped cleft, which looked like an exclamation point drawn with charcoal on an immense white sheet, he thought he saw a curious movement like many ants. He fixed his eyes on it, and while his heart beat so loudly that he thought he would suffocate, he concentrated all his attention, all his mind, on the point there below. He saw the jagged rock swarming with Alpine troops, saw little clusters of men suspended over the abyss, and ropes hanging in space slowly lifting up soldiers; and at the sight of this miracle of daring and dexterity he naturally forgot the fear of his wakening. Anxiously he followed the maneuvers of these brave sons of Italy, saw them suddenly disappear.… Then a cry of terror rose from the enemy’s trench, a rattle of guns and almost at the same moment two or three hundred Austrians were in flight and flinging themselves on the slope, pursued by a steady fire. It was time to give the alarm. Pinocchio wanted to let out one of his extraordinary ta-pums, but just then a terrible explosion shook the earth and clouded the sky.… A horrible yell, a cry from hundreds of throats struck him to the marrow…then there was silence.

  Captain Teschisso, returning victorious from his expedition, found Pinocchio there, and tenderly gave him first aid, but, seeing that he didn’t come to, he intrusted him to four soldiers, saying:

  “Take him to the first ambulance, with Draghetta and the other wounded, and tell the surgeon to care for him as my best friend. Poor youngster, who will have to have another wooden leg! But we have avenged him and given those dogs what they deserved. Heavens, what a fight!”

  CHAPTER X

  Many Deeds and Few Words

  My dear little friends, I won’t stop to show you Pinocchio in the sad surroundings of a hospital. I will tell you only that he stayed there for more than two months, and that he left it with his two wooden legs, new and well oiled, and that Fatina, by a curious coincidence, was his careful and affectionate nurse, and that Ciampanella, playing the part of a good friend, did not fail to make him frequent visits, bringing with him certain samples of camp cookery which enraptured Pinocchio. His surgeon was a most polite Piedmontese, always bowing and salaaming, who an
nounced to him with all formality the misfortune which had again overtaken him and asked his permission two days in advance to amputate his frozen leg.

  “All right,” exclaimed Pinocchio, “go ahead. I’ve got accustomed to such trifles now. But you must do me a favor.”

  “Let me hear it.”

  “When you give me my new wooden leg I want it to be longer than usual and that naturally you change the other one, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’d feel as if I were on stilts and it would amuse me to death to take steps longer than any one else.”

  He was satisfied and left the hospital with such long legs that he was almost as tall as Ciampanella, who took Pinocchio’s arm in his as if he were his sweetheart.

  “Heh, youngster, but you have grown! And then they say that we non-combatants never do anything! I haven’t done anything, but if I were the one I have in mind I would bestow on you the medal for bravery because your legs have won it. I tell you, I, who know what I am talking about.”

  “Even if they don’t give me anything, I am satisfied all the same. All I ask is for them to leave me here and not send me home.”

  “Come with me and I’ll appoint you first adjutant of the mess kitchen, and when I have taught you how and put the ladle in your hand we will live on the fat of the landand will make meat-balls with our leavings for the general, and when we don’t know what else to do we’ll write the Manual of War Cookery, which I won’t risk now because I haven’t a writing hand, as the saying is.”

  “Listen, Ciampanella, I am as grateful as if you had offered to lend me a hundred lire without interest, but just now I can’t accept.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it requires a special constitution to be a cook. I’d be all right as far as eating the best morsels was concerned, but it would be dangerous for me to stay near the stove. I am half wooden and run the risk of catching on fire. I should have to decide to take out insurance against fire. Moreover, let’s consider. Today I have other views. Fatina here has given me a letter for my friend Bersaglierino, who is at headquarters as the war correspondent of an important newspaper. We’ll see what he advises me to do.”