After The Rain Goes, There Are Rainbows...

One rather long (but still semi-entertaining) narrative later, and Pinocchio pretty much fully understood *just WHY* he had been laughed at and made fun of by the other children when he had said his name that turned out to correspond to his Father's own.
He wished that he *HADN'T been*, though; so what if his name was the same as a fictional character's, and he was rather different -sort of; he and Father were of the opinion that his namesake actually did have a good heart deep down, just not really *good MANNERS* at first and for a while; basically a 'diamond in the rough'- and for HEAVEN'S SAKE, he was *only* *a CHILD* when all was said and done, wooden or not!!- from that aforementioned person?? It *DIDN'T matter*, and it SHOULDN'T really *ever* matter-!

But through 'Signor' Collodi's narration and his own personal experiences, 'Little Wooden-Head' now knew all too *VERY well* just how cruel people can be to those who are different in any way; there were *kind* people in the world, of course ...but also one or two (or five) mean and nasty men/boys and women/girls for every nice one.
So when Father told him that in a couple of days he would be going to school, a once-again excited and nervous Pinocchio promised himself that he would go nowhere near any of the kids who had bullied and laughed at him: he would simply keep out of their way and listen/pay attention to the teacher, concentrating on his own work. If they wanted NOTHING to do with him, then Pinocchio would leave them be; simple as that-!

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So were his thoughts as he climbed up onto Figaro's back (he would take him to school, go back home for a while, and then pick him up when it was time for school to let out) that bright and sunny morning, having just bid and kissed Father goodbye at the threshold of their house.
Quite a lot of people STARED at the sight of the *LITTLE-little* dark-haired boy wearing vibrantly-shaded clothes riding on the back of Geppetto's kitten Figaro the way one would a horse as he apparently headed to school with the other children, but unlike their children and friend's children, *the ADULTS* mostly smiled and cooed at the sight of the sweet-looking lad with such big and bright blue eyes; and had Pinocchio stopped to briefly chat with them, they would have cooed further from his natural kind nature and good manners.

-Signorina Constantina wasn't really a cooer, but she *DID think* that Signor Geppetto's newly-acquired son by the name of 'Pinocchio' (HOW *ironic*!!) seemed like a rather nice boy when he came up to the schoolhouse via Figaro, and didn't much care for how the rest of her pupils snickered at him once he took a seat on an empty desk. But the tall thin not-really-pretty-but-not-exactly-plain-either woman with long brown hair pinned up in braids wrapped around her head, blue eyes behind small oval spectacles, and wearing a brown-and-red dress and purple shawl did her best to be her professional self as she started the lessons with a review on math once roll call had commenced. "Two times four is...?"

"*Eight*!" said most of the children in the room (including her newest student).

"Two times NINE is....?"

"Eighteen!"

"-Two times *ten* is...?"

"Twenty!"

"'*Eccellente*' (*Excellent*)!" said Signorina Constantina happily, clapping her hands. "'Hai praticato' (You've been practicing)!
"Pretty soon, you'll be able to do *ANY multiplication* whether it's two times seven ...or, *thirteen* times THREE-HUNDRED SEVENTY-NINE-!"

"-Four thousand nine-hundred and twenty-seven."

All went quiet for a little bit before the teacher spoke in the dead silence. "...'Perdonare' (Pardon), Pinocchio? What was that?"

Pinocchio swallowed hard as all attention was turned on him once again before he said just as softly as before while fiddling with his white-gloved fingers, "-I think that's the answer, Signorina Constantina: thirteen times three hundred and seventy-nine= ...four thousand nine hundred and twenty-seven."

Signorina Constantina did the sum on a piece of paper, then STARED at it when she found that the result she had ended up with was the same one that Pinocchio had told her that it was. She swallowed hard herself and polished her glasses before looking over at Pinocchio and saying faintly, "...'*Lo e*' (*It IS*)."

None of the other kids uttered a '*WOW*', not impressed that the little goody-two-shoes was also apparently a smarty-pants.

"-Pinocchio, do you know how to multiply big numbers?"

"'Si' (Yes), Signorina Constantina; I do."

"You don't find it very hard?"

"Well, -sometimes. But if you simply carry the numbers while adding or subtracting, wouldn't you say that it's easy enough?"

"For some people, yes. ...Well, now; that's enough of multiplication! Let's move on to spelling. Eduardo, can you spell the word 'camoflauge'?"

Pinocchio, it turned out, could also spell long words rather well, which Signorina Constantina put to the test when she placed a book of poetry before him and picked out a poem at random before asking him to please read it aloud, which he did (if a little nervously):

"...'An epicure dining at Crewe
Found a rather large mouse in his stew-
Cried the waiter, "DON'T *shout* and wave it about,
Or the rest will be wanting one, too!'"

Several kids heard the funny side of the poem and laughed; Pinocchio did, too, -but he also understood what type of poem it was (a limerick) even though he admitted that he *DIDN'T know* what an 'epicure' was; it turned out to be defined as 'someone who is dainty with his eating'.
Signorina Constantina saw how he had enjoyed reading the limerick aloud and couldn't help but ask, "-'Ti piace leggere' (Do you like to read), Pinocchio?"

'Little Wooden-Head's large azure-blue eyes sparkled like stars and a beaming smile flowered in his doll-like face in response. "Oh, 'adoro leggere' (I *LOVE* to read), Signorina Constantina! I also *REALLY like* it when Father reads to me aloud."

"'E a voi due piace leggere insieme' (And what do the two of you like to read together)?"

"Fairy-tales, mostly; but we're starting to read some what he says are 'classics', as well. -I think that I'll like those, too."

The kids were BEYOND *disgusted* with how Pinocchio was turning out to be a 'teacher's pet'; *OH*, they'd *SHOW him* once lunch and recess came around as they would have the day that Geppetto's spring line of toys were released if said man hadn't interrupted their fun, yes they would...!!

Lunch was eaten at one's desk, so Pinocchio was at least able to eat in peace since the teacher (whom when upon realizing just *HOW smart* he was for his age and that he would easily get bored while the other children did third-grade work, told him in a whisper that she would give him a book of history, arithmetic, literature, geography, or the like for him to study, and she would give him that kind of homework; when he thanked her profusely, she thought about what a nice well-mannered child he turned out to be -and not one bit stuck-up in spite of his brilliance!-; surely Signor Geppetto must be VERY *proud*...!) was in the room ...but TROUBLE began anew when everyone gathered outside to play before the lessons resumed, and it started when he was suddenly roughly scooped up by a boy's rather grimy hand (*ugh*-!!) and carried over to the rest of the children before he was dumped onto a stump, now surrounded by boys and girls with smirks and sneers on their faces as he had been two days before.

Pinocchio gulped and shook- but once he opened his mouth to ask what they were all doing, he was suddenly FLICKED *hard* by someone's fingertips, cutting off what he had been going to say. "'*Ahi*' (*Ouch*)!!"

Then he was *pinched* with the same amount of force while he was once again mocked and taunted for not being a 'bad boy' as his namesake now alongside what they considered kissing up to the teacher.
Any time that Pinocchio could force enough breath into his lungs to speak, all that came out besides 'ow/ouch' and '*lasciami IN PACE* (*leave me ALONE*)' were 'NO', '*FERMASI* (*STOP*)', '*non*' (*don't*), and/or '*PER FAVORE*' (*PLEASE*) as he was repeatedly flicked about, swatted (lightly to them, but *to PINOCCHIO* it HURT like he had been smacked into a brick wall!!), batted, and pinched *HARD* while their mean taunts and cruel laughter rang in his ears.

Signorina Constantina, when she saw what was happening, started over there immediately and demanded that the children STOP and '*spezzalo*' (*break it UP*), but half of the ones not hurting their newest schoolmate formed a wall around her that she tried her hardest to break through, but couldn't-!

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Geppetto had not slept well the night before due to unexpected nightmares of *HIS sweet little Pinocchio* being hurt the same ways as his book-counterpart had been the night before, so he began sawing wood in another sense once Pinocchio had gotten safely off to school and had been for a good while when he was suddenly awoken by the sound of his front door slamming open, two sets of pounding feet, and a couple of shrill little voices crying, "*Mr. Geppetto*!! MR. GEPPETTO!"

The aforementioned toymaker immediately sat up from his armchair and adjusted his spectacles while blinking his eyes. "What? What is it? What's wrong?"

"Signor Geppetto, there's *a BIG* FIGHT at the school; you need to come *right away*!"

"PINOCCHIO'S *in TROUBLE*!"

Any remains of tiredness instantly fled his body as Geppetto stood up and walked quickly over to the door where a boy and girl were waiting, his only thoughts for his own little boy. '*In TROUBLE*'??! Was he hurt?! Was he *part of* the big fight at the school?? Both!? "Alright- *let's go*!"

So he was led to the schoolhouse ...whereupon arriving he was greeted with a scene born straight from a bad dream: he could *JUST see* Pinocchio, clothes not exactly tattered or torn but definitely dirty along with his face, legs, and arms, just *barely* standing as he was flicked/batted about, swatted, and pinched hard as hard; he was *crying* and PLEADING for them to "S-St- *STOP*, p-PLEASE-!!" as he tried to fight back against his tormentors but was unable to.
Bruises bloomed from his alabastrine skin- *blood* welled from various scratches and cuts made *by FINGERNAILS* and from landing hard on the stump where he was trapped. Nothing from this view seemed BROKEN or *twisted/sprained*, but eventually Pinocchio dropped down onto the tree stump and curled up on his side as tight into a tiny ball as possible- not that it stopped his being hurt any.

The sight of his poor, bruised, bleeding sweet little woodenhead caused Geppetto to FREEZE in horror like a block of ice- but the ice *snapped* and *SHATTERED* when he heard and saw the *lighting of ~a MATCH~* being held to the tips of Pinocchio's feet- *a NOOSE* made from a piece of thin string held over his neck *as well as* a makeshift *DOG COLLAR complete with chain*- the obvious smacking and licking of lips as someone muttered just HOW *good* a 'puppet-fish' must taste- someone else cracking an improviso *WHIP* at him while calling him a silly, stupid little donkey and commanding him to dance for his audience...!!!
He STORMED over with soft brown eyes *gone HARD* and flashing from behind his spectacles, quickly but gently plucking a curled-up Pinocchio from his prison and murmuring softly and lovingly to the tiny boy's frightened whimper, "Shhh- *shhh*... Pinocchio; Pinocchio, my little woodenhead- 'va benne, va tutto benne. -E solo Padre' (*it's ALRIGHT*, it's okay. -It's just Father)."

Pinocchio's usually-sparkling bright blue orbs for eyes, now swollen/puffy, dimmed/darkened, and filled with tears that spilled down to stain his cheeks, only just barely peered through his soft black bangs of hair as he slightly lifted his head the littlest bit, as though fearing that it was another nasty trick.
"F-Fa- ...*Father*??" he sobbed out, shaking like a leaf.

"'Si- si. Sono qui; *il Padre e' qui*' (Yes- yes. I'm here; *Father's here*)," Geppetto crooned, gently stroking at his Tyrolean-capped head with a fingertip.

The children who had ran to get Geppetto's jaws dropped before they protested, "*Signor Geppetto*- it was PINOCCHIO who was fighting with someone! Why aren't you mad at him for *EMBARRASSING* you like that??"

Signor Geppetto's eyes narrowed at them. "Oh- '*davvero*' (*really*)?" he near-snapped. "Because the only fighting *I* see is *AGAINST my son*, and if he tried his hardest to fight back it was *CLEARLY* in SELF-DEFENSE. '*Non sono nato ieri, sai*' (I *WASN'T born* *yesterday*, you know)-!"

"But... But- 'E *SEMPRE* colpa sua quando qualcosa va storto- perche sta *FACENDO qualcosa di sbagliato* (It's *ALWAYS* his fault when something goes wrong- because he's *DOING something wrong*)!"

Geppetto had heard *MORE THAN enough*, and wasn't going to stay around to listen to any more of this NONSENSE directed toward his precious child. "...Come on, 'figlio mio'; we're going home now."

Pinocchio didn't speak from where he was still curled up into a ball on his side in his father's warm clean palms- he only miserably nodded his head.

A *VERY angry* Signorina Constantina had finally broken through the wall of children trying to keep them from 'having their fun' and scolded them SOUNDLY before she turned to Geppetto and said sorrowfully, "'*Mi dispiace MOLTO*' (I am SO *VERY* sorry) about what has just happened, Signor Geppetto; *bullying* is *NOT allowed* in this school any more than fighting! ...Unfortunately, I do not think that it would be at all safe for your son to come back here -which is QUITE *a SHAME* as he is a very smart and bright boy.
"-I told him that I would bring him various schoolbooks to study while the others worked in their own grade," she added softly to the woodcarver, "so that he would not be bored. Would it be alright if I brought over these books from time to time for him?"

"*Yes*, OF COURSE! 'Grazie' (Thank you)," Geppetto smiled briefly before it faded into a frown again as he walked away with his precious treasure bruised, bleeding, tear-stained, and dirt-smudged in tow back to their cottage.