Chapter FourAs retold for Aaron
The story of Pinocchio and the Talking Cricket.
Geppetto carted off to jail, the entertainment over with, the crowd quickly forgot about the little Marionette lying on the street and dispersed.
"I better get home," Pinocchio said, hopping up.
Pinocchio
must have led Geppetto on his chase quite a long way through the town,
for the little Marionette, taking one short cut after another on his way
back to the craftsman's home, had a grand time for himself running
wildly across field and meadow. He leaped over brambles and bushes. He
jumped across brooks and ponds. Had he been a goat or a rabbit one might
have thought he was being chased by hounds; but Pinocchio was only a
little puppet having fun with his new-found mobility and a little
bit of what was becoming a bigger and bigger world. "Isn't it all grand and wonderful," Pinocchio thought to
himself as he ran along, amazed and delighted by everything he saw--and
there were many new things to see as everything was new to Pinocchio.
Imagine you have sat down to dinner at a table filled with exotic foods
you've never heard of. After some bites of this and that, you might long
for something familiar. This is how Pinocchio felt after a while, and
was glad when he rounded a street corner to see what was for him home,
the little apartment where he'd taken
his first steps. The door was open, for Geppetto had neglected to shut it when he had taken off after the run-away puppet, which was a good thing
too as Pinocchio didn't have a key. Trotting in, exhausted
with his whirlwind tour, Pinocchio immediately threw himself on
the floor.
The
little Marionette had rested for only a few moments when he heard
someone say, "Cri-cri-cri!"
"Who's
that?" Pinocchio cried out, greatly
frightened. He was only a little Marionette, and felt much like any
little boy would upon finding himself at home without his parents for the first time.
"Who's
calling you? I'm calling you!" the voice said.
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Pinocchio
turned in the direction he thought the voice had come from, but saw only
a large cricket crawling slowly up the wall. He didn't know whether to
be alarmed by or curious about such a peculiar thing, for Pinocchio had
never seen a cricket before, much less a talking cricket. "What
kind of new thing are you?" Pinocchio asked the cricket. "Did
Geppetto make you, too?"
"I've
lived in this room for more than one hundred years," the Cricket
replied. "I'm not the new one here, you are."
"Maybe
so," Pinocchio retorted, sounding as brave as he could, "but I
know this apartment belongs to my father, Geppetto."
"Does
it, now?" the cricket answered. "Geppetto pays for the
privilege of living here. I don't. If he didn't pay he'd be thrown out quick
as rancid milk."
"How
awful. But if that's the way things work
around here, if you have to pay for the privilege of living somewhere, then I'll thank you to leave immediately, and don't turn
around even once as you go. This room is mine now."
"If that's how you want it, but I refuse to leave this spot until I've told you a great truth,"
the cricket said.
"A tiny cricket like you, what great truth can you tell me?"
"That is a very narrow view."
"How so?"
"Truth and wisdom can be found in the most unexpected of places to open ears and eyes."
"Tell it then, but be fast about it," Pinocchio replied.
"Woe to boys who refuse to heed the advice of their elders and run away from home! They will never be happy in this world, and when they are older they will be very sorry for it," the cricket answered.
"Ho! So you're my elder now?" Pinocchio scoffed. "A lot you know. I'm at home safe and sound or else how would I be talking to you. I didn't run away. Is that all?"
"You have a great deal to learn," the cricket answered.
"Oh,
no, not me!" Pinocchio retorted. "Tomorrow, at dawn, I will leave this place forever rather than go to
school. While I was out I heard some children talking about what a horrible thing school and learning was. I think, rather than study,
I would have more fun chasing butterflies, climbing trees, and stealing
birds' nests."
The
Cricket reared up his legs and creaked, "You are a poor little silly
if you don't know you'll grow into a perfect
donkey and be the laughingstock of everyone!"
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"How
are you going to keep me from running away?" Pinocchio retorted. "Are
you going to hit me? Keep still, you ugly cricket with your ugly eyes. I
won't listen to you!"
The
cricket, who was actually a very sage cricket, settled back on the wall
and thought a moment rather than being offended at Pinocchio's
impudence. "You are right; there are better ways of
disciplining than by brute force," he replied. "It's my
bound-and-duty to tell you however, that if all you do is eat, drink,
sleep, play and wander around from morning till night, it is a trade
that will only take you to hospital or jail."
Pinocchio
brooded, "Geppetto's in jail. Maybe you should have had your talk
with him, because I guess he didn't learn from his elders when he was a
boy."
The
cricket began to speak, but Pinocchio interrupted him. "Be careful what you say, cricket! Dont make me angry!"
"Why? What do you intend to do? Strike me?"
"I told you, cricket! Don't get me angry!" Pinocchio again boasted.
"Pinocchio, I feel sorry for you," the cricket sighed.
"Why?"
"Because you're a puppet."
"So? You're a cricket."
"Yes, but you're the one with the wooden head!"
At
this, Pinocchio jumped up in a fury, took one of Geppetto's hammers from
the bench, and threw it at the Talking Cricket.
Perhaps
the Marionette did not think the hammer would strike the Cricket. But, sad
to relate, it did, straight on its little Cricket head. With a last
weak, "Cri-cri-cri", the poor Cricket fell from the wall, dead.
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