Someone Somewhere; Soon, It Won't Be Just Be Pretend.../Empty Heart (But Not For Long)
Much later that night, Pinocchio sat curled up in his father's large lap facing their big storybook (Figaro lying down on one of the arms of the chair)- clean and safe again but still sadly bruised on his body and in his heart even if the scratches/scrapes and cuts had been cleaned, disinfected, and carefully bandaged as was possible for such a tiny little boy. -And it was his hurt heart that caused him to ask his beloved Father something that he had never asked before. "Father, are there- are there a-any stories about ...about *LITTLE people* like- like *me*?"
Geppetto knew that he really *SHOULDN'T be*, but was still slightly taken-aback by this question. But he didn't show it, so as not to hurt his sweet child's feelings; only softly smiled and said while flipping through the pages, "Well, as a matter of fact, Pinocchio, *there ARE*; 'guardare' (look)-!"
As he said that last, he stopped on the page which showed the illustration of a tiny young boy with black hair and soft dark eyes dressed in blue surrounded by other big little boys in front of a cottage; but unlike the boys (and girls) from the last couple of days, *THESE lads* weren't tormenting/teasing or hurting the *LITTLE-little* boy at all- in fact, they seemed scared/frightened and sad while the miniature blue-clad 'ragazzo' (boy) in contrast seemed BRAVE and *determined* (his face still appeared sweet and friendly, though).
Pinocchio smiled happily and clapped his white-gloved hands in delight while Figaro mewed questioningly and looked from the small boy in the book to the one curled up on his elder 'pet's' lap as though wondering if this was a photograph that someone had taken or a portrait painted of Geppetto's 'gattino' (kitten) when no one was looking. "*Oh*! He *IS little*, just like me!! Who is he, Father?"
"This is the story of 'Hop 'o My Thumb', my little woodenhead; like you, he's a very smart, sweet, and brave boy- so brave, in fact, that he manages to save his six other brothers not only from starvation and death in the forest, but also from a terrible wicked ogre who would have had them all for luncheon with his just-as-terrible friends the next day- and not just once, *but TWICE*!"
"-*Wow*! Could- Could we please read this one tonight, Father?"
"'*Ma ovviamente*' (*But OF COURSE*), my son!" replied Geppetto lovingly, smiling further at feeling Pinocchio snuggle down in anticipation for the promised narrative as Figaro did the same. "Now, then: Once upon a time, there was a poor woodcutter who had seven children, all boys; the eldest was ten, the youngest only seven. This youngest was a tiny chap- indeed, he was the *SMALLEST person* EVER seen: when he was born, he was *no bigger* than HIS FATHER'S THUMB, so everybody called him 'Hop o' My Thumb'..."
And from there, the tale continued sort of like a blend of 'Hansel and Gretel' and 'Jack and the Beanstalk' but with seven brothers, *the FATHER* rather than the *mother* who urged his spouse to leave the children in the woods to fend for themselves when there was no more food in the house, an evil ogre who had a downtrodden but still kind wife and seven little daughters besides as opposed to a wicked witch or bloodthirsty giant (with a nearly just-as-awful wife), and a pair of seven-league boots being the treasure rather than bags of gold coins, a hen that lay gold eggs, or a magic singing harp that had belonged to the father...
As Geppetto finished the story, Pinocchio's eyes happened to glance over at a framed picture from across the room of a tall handsome dark-haired and brown-eyed man with tan skin wearing a blue suit who was smiling happily and had his arms tenderly wrapped around a slightly smaller beautiful woman with fair skin, rosy lips and cheeks, golden-blonde hair, and sparkling blue eyes wearing a long fancy-yet-simple pretty white dress and long white veil, the fair-haired lady hugging the man just as tightly (though gently) and smiling just as much.
"...Father? Who are the people in the picture over there?" he asked softly, pointing over in the direction where he was looking. "-The man has your eye color, and my *HAIR color*- and the lady has pinkish-red cheeks, pale skin, and blue eyes like *I* do...!"
The woodcarver/toymaker smiled sadly but lovingly as he gave a soft sigh before replying in the same tone of voice, "Those are my parents, 'Nonno' Stephen and 'Nonna' Donna, Pinocchio ...your *GRAND-parents*. It's why he has my eye color, you his dark hair, and you and she the same skin-tone/complexion and beautiful blue eyes.
"That's a picture of them on their wedding day; you remember what I told you a wedding is, 'si'?"
"Yes, Father!" Pinocchio nodded with a small smile. "You said that it's a ceremony usually held in a church, and it's used to join together two people who love each other VERY *much*. 'Nonno' and 'Nonna' got married?"
"That's right- and then they had me later."
"-So you all lived 'happily ever after'?"
Tears glistened in Geppetto's soft brown eyes behind his glasses at this, but all he said in response was a fond quiet, "...More or less, 'tesorino' (sweetheart)."
Then he saw his son's previously happy and curious bright eyes slightly dim and darken as a faint shadow seemed to pass over his face and his thin shoulders slumped along with the rest of his tiny form. "-'Cosa c'e che non va, figlio mio' (What's wrong, my son)? Why do you look so sad?"
Pinocchio's teeth ran over his bottom lip as he shrugged and clasped his hands behind his back while gently rocking back-and-forth on his heels while he answered softly in a sad, curious tone of voice, "I- I just suppose that- that *it's BEST* if- if two people are the same ...the same size for- ...for things to work out ro-romantically; yes? I-Isn't it?"
Now Geppetto was stunned and saddened all over again (mainly because he had *NOT expected* *this kind* of question to be asked of him by his son so early into his life!!
But then again, Pinocchio WAS rather smart for only eight years old; perhaps he *SHOULD have* seen it coming-!), but he tried to reply as kindly as possible without sounding too blithe about the matter, "Well, yes, of course, 'piccolino' (little-little one). But you're only eight- a bit *TOO young* yet to be worrying about such things right now, outside of stories...!" CRUSHES could and *did* *start YOUNG*, of course, but still...
His heart BROKE and soul *hurt* when in response Pinocchio swallowed as if to keep down/dissolve a lump in his throat, gave a soft sigh that was almost a cross between a sob and a sniffle through his trembling lips, and wiped at his now-wet eyes while he murmured despondently, "Well- ...well, that's NOT *fair*. I- I must be *the ONLY* little person in the whole world out- outside of- outside of fairytales. I wish ...I wish *I* were big-!"
Figaro purred sweetly and gently rubbed his soft cheek against Pinocchio's little face in comfort as he had earlier, and Geppetto's heart broke further. "*Oh, NO*, Pinocchio; *no*! My little woodenhead, please- 'Non desiderare mai di essere mient'altro che cio che sei' (DON'T EVER wish to be anything but *what you are*): my wonderful, caring/loving, smart, kind and sweet boy, small or not!" he said firmly yet begged out of love.
"-'Si, Padre' (Yes, Father). I'm sorry," Pinocchio tearfully responded in more of a tiny voice than before, shrinking back a little.
Geppetto gave him a kiss to the top of his head to let him know that all was forgiven, then said softly as he gently wiped his son's cheeks with the tips of his fingers, "...Bedtime, 'il mio tesoro' (my treasure). It's been a long day."
"-Mm-hmm..." was all Pinocchio said just as softly in response as he stepped onto his father's open palm while Figaro leaped up onto Geppetto's shoulders, only half-listening to Father's lullaby for the night as he was carried to his now-made doll-sized bed with a tiny quilt, small blue sheets, and soft white pillows and tucked into it tenderly as always with a kiss to his forehead or cheek.
~"They can take my favorite chair;
They can take it- I don't care!
There's no possession I can't spare
Since I gave my heart away...
If I had a bank account,
They could have *the WHOLE AMOUNT*;
*Things and riches*, what are they
Since I gave my heart away...?
'Til I felt like this,
I could not have understood:
Until you *give your heart* to SOMEONE ELSE,
-You might as well *be MADE OF WOOD*...
So they can take *my HOME*
(Look- here's the key)
And all of value they might see;
But if they *take this love* from me,
THAT'S a price I *can-NOT* pay
Since I *gave MY HEART AWAY*...!
-You see, *I love you*;
*You're MY SON*,
And if my life with you is done,
Then He/She/They must FINISH OFF
What they'd *begun*
(Make me wood, or stone, or clay)
Since they *took MY HEART AWAY*...!
There's *a LESSON* LEARNED-
Some learn it *late*, but no regrets:
The MORE OF *your HEART*
You *give to someone else*,
*The FULLER* that it gets...
-So, TAKE *my HOME*
(Look, here's the key)
And *ALL* *of value* you might see;
But *NEVER* take *this LOVE* from me:
THAT'S a price I *can-NOT* pay,
-Since I *gave MY HEART- AWAY*..."~
......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
For the very first time in his life, Pinocchio feigned sleep until he heard Father fall deep into slumber himself with Figaro curled up beside him upstairs -then he slowly got out of bed with a soft green scrap of a blanket wrapped around him in lieu of a bathrobe (Father hadn't yet gotten around to making the rest of his wardrobe as he had his bed yet, so for now he was still sleeping in his clothes), swallowing hard again while tears pricked his eyes as he looked out at the quaint little town sound asleep under the starry sky through the window that was currently open a crack to let in some fresh air.
-It WASN'T *fair*; it just *wasn't FAIR*...! Why was he laughed at, made fun of, and *hurt* by other children his own age and older for things that he couldn't help (his name, his size, his being kind and smart as opposed to mean and stupid; or at least on the very latter, *NOT ENJOYING school/to read*)?? Why couldn't he have *at LEAST* made ONE friend, that day in Father's store-? And when he was 'old enough', would he EVER find someone who was *HIS size* -a *little* person- that he could 'live happily ever after' with ...or would *ANY hope* of friendship and/or love *ALWAYS* *be JUST PRETEND*-?
-And just then, as if in kind caring answer from 'Dio' (God) himself to his question/prayer/wish, from outside his 'bedroom' window Pinocchio heard a soft mellow melodic voice singing quietly yet just loud enough to be heard ...a soothing and kind-sounding voice belonging to a *LITTLE person* *like himself*!!
(He sounded older, though; NOT older *like FATHER*, but *certainly* older than Pinocchio's age- he couldn't really guess by how much, however...)
~"Drop everything, and turn on
The old music box;
Old memories return on
The old music box...
-Let's laugh and get away
From the cares of the day:
Turn on the old music box...!
Take a hold of your little partner's hand-
The time is right, the rhythm's grand-!
It's *better than* *a GREAT BIG BAND*,
Although it's just a '*tinkle-tinkle*'...!
Turn on a little music
-Some old-fashioned thing-:
Play *ANY tune* with
An *old-fashioned swing*;
Let's have a little song
We can join in and sing-
Turn on the old music box...!
ALL ALONE *by itself* way up on *a SHELF*
Sits the dear old music box-
Let's take it down and gather around,
And sing while the little thing plays:
Sing 'la-dee-ay'! Sing 'la-dee-oh'!
If you can't sing that thing, then *whatever* you know-!
Sing 'la-dee-ay'! -Sing 'la-dee-um'!
If you *DON'T know* the words, just hum...!
Turn on a little music
-Some old-fashioned thing-:
Play *ANY tune* with
An *old-fashioned swing*;
Let's have a little song
We can join in and sing-
Turn on the old music box...!
Take a hold of your little partner's hand-
The time is right, the music's grand-!
It's BETTER than *a GREAT BIG BAND*,
Although it's just a '*tinkle-tinkle*'...
Drop everything, and turn on
The old music box;
Old memories return on
The old music box:
Let's laugh and get away
From the cares of the day-
-Turn on the old music box...!"~
The seraphic male voice was a soothing sweet balm over Pinocchio's hurting heart and soul, and for some reason he couldn't help but think that the small-as-him (well, actually he looked taller by a good couple of inches still, but that didn't bother/upset Pinocchio; he WAS *eight years old* -*a CHILD*-, after all!) person was rather handsome, though not in the same way as he'd seen the charming princes/noble kings and dashing knights-in-shining-armor accompanied by beautiful princesses/lovely queens and fair maidens in the storybook pictures. For one thing, not one of those other winsome men had EVER had *GREEN skin*, or looked like they were part *cricket*...!
Neither of these things frightened or disgusted Pinocchio, though; how could they, when aforementioned 'quasi-cricket' male with emerald-shaded flesh had such a wonderful, warm, charming voice that seemed to match not only his large soft purplish-brown eyes, rounded-oval face, and friendly smile, but appeared to suffuse *his WHOLE BEING* clad in a dapper suit consisting a dark blue tailcoat with a matching top hat (Pinocchio only just able to make out straight fine-ish strands of dark brownish-blond hair under/beneath the brim), a white shirt, a yellow cravat-tie, a reddish-orange vest, light beige breeches, white socks and white gloves, shiny black shoes, and a red umbrella that seemed to stand in for a cane...?
-And was it JUST *Pinocchio's imagination*, or did the enchanting singer also happen to have lighter green *WINGS* like a cross between an insect's and *a FAIRY'S* on his back??
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pinocchio didn't think that he'd made any kind of noise -only quietly smiled large yet soft-, but he must have sighed happily or something, because the charming stranger known as 'Jiminy H. (Hadrian) Cricket' suddenly whirled all the way around with a startled '*Chirp*!!' -actually, he *HOPPED all the way around*-, and his jaw dropped and already-large dark eyes widened further while his slight lean body fell slack from shock at the sight of the TINIER *than TINY* young boy with a slenderly-thin build, thick soft black hair, literally-doll-like features including rosy cheeks and an elongated button nose, skin as pale as snow, a sweet-lipped and flower-soft mouth, and the largest and sweetest pair of bright blue eyes clothed in red dungarees embroidered on the sides in blue-and-gold, a white-collared pale yellow shirt, a black/brown vest hemmed with silver, brown leather shoes, a blue bowtie, white gloves, and a yellow/blue/red Tyrolean cap standing at the window who'd apparently been listening to Jiminy singing to himself ...a BRUISED and sort of *banged-up* tinier-than-tiny young boy who was smiling sweetly with matching happy eyes now, but still had *TEAR-STAINS* on his soft cheeks!!
"JUMPIN' JEEPERS, *holy moley*, *AND* *SHUT my mouth*!!" he gasped from surprise and worry/concern in a timbre as melodic as his singing voice. "WHO *HURT you*, kiddo??! NOBODY *in this household*, I'd hope!"
"Oh- *oh, NO*, 'signor'!" the rather cute little fella hurriedly assured the dapperly-clothed quasi-cricket, rushing over to the crack in the window in order to be closer to him (though STILL *respecting boundaries*, of course!) "FATHER would *NEVER* hurt me; he *LOVES me* just as much as I love him!"
"Well, THAT'S a relief and a half!" muttered Jiminy Cricket as he wiped his forehead- then inquired semi-sternly with a slight shake of his umbrella and a flicker of his wings, "-But then *who* was the one that gave you all those bruises and cuts ...and *made you CRY*, while I'm at it?"
He felt like he could KICK himself when he saw the sweet-seeming boy only about seven or eight years old's azure orbs for eyes glimmer sadly as his smile dropped and he suddenly looked down and rubbed one thin arm while shifting back-and-forth on his feet a little. "I ...I -um, well, it's kinda sorta a long story, 'signor'; don't- don't know if you'd have the time to hear it- or if you'd r-really *WANT to*," he mumbled.
Jiminy felt *SO bad* for upsetting the poor boy again that he gave him an extra-kind (but still genuine) smile as he walked over to his side, sat down on the windowsill, and then gently patted it in invitation. "Oh, please don't worry yourself over that, 'dolce ragazzo' (sweet boy); I've got all the time in the world, and then some! I'd very much like to hear your story.
"-What's your name? I can't keep calling you 'kiddo' or something...!"
His heart warmed at the dark-haired and blue-eyed boy's soft giggle as he sat down beside Jiminy and said sweetly, "My name's 'Pinocchio'! -What's yours, 'Signor'?"
"Well, how-do, Pinocchio?" Jiminy chirped with a tip of his hat. "And a *VERY nice* name you have!
"-Cricket's the name: 'Jiminy Cricket', to be precise! No need to call me 'mister', though; just please call me 'Jiminy'."
Another stone-over-water giggle again before, "Okay, Jiminy!"
"-Now, then: you were saying something about a 'long story' earlier?"
"Well, ...I guess it's not so *VERY long*, really; just FEELS long to me because I've only been alive for about six days..."
"-*Come again*??"
And from there, Jiminy H. (Hadrian) Cricket readily listened to one of the most fascinating, mind-boggling, heart-warming, and *heart-BREAKING* humdingers of a tale that he'd *EVER heard* in his own fifteen years of life (*UN-like* his scumbag/slimeball of an uncle, though, he was rather mature for his young age; he *had to* be, to survive around HIM and his just-as-sleazy friends!): how the kind but lonely woodcarver/toymaker Mastro Geppetto was granted the wish made from the deepest depths of his heart -a child of his own- by a good witch, and how she'd given him a tiny white pine seed to be planted, watered, and left be overnight in a flowerpot on his workbench that in the morning had grown into a little pine tree that had revealed Geppetto's dream come true when he'd gently kissed it- how he and Geppetto (and their kitten Figaro) had quickly bonded to and grown fond of each other, and how they had spent a wonderful time together the rest of the day far into the night ...how unfortunately upon the next day when Geppetto's spring line of toys was to be sold and Pinocchio would be 'introduced into society' (so to speak), rather than fast making friends his own age the younger male had *been LAUGHED AT* and bullied because he was flesh-and-blood rather than made of *wood* and a 'goody-two-shoes' unlike his fictional namesake; how a couple of days later, he'd done well enough on his first day of school to the teacher's delight but *his SCHOOLMATES'* DISGUST, and he was actually *beaten up* and verbally/emotionally abused by the latter with added allusions to what had happened to his fictive counterpart until his father had saved him and once more reamed out those who would have been Pinocchio's classmates...!
Oh, HOW *BEYOND disgusted/horrified* Jiminy was when it came to why exactly Pinocchio was so bruised up and covered with strips of bandage (not to the point where he looked like *a MUMMY* or something, though) and had been crying until he'd heard the quasi-cricket singing to himself!
*The NERVE*- the SHEER nerve of those awful brats, not only flicking/batting around/swatting at and pinching a kid *much smaller* *by FAR* than they were, but *lighting a match NEAR HIS FEET*- dangling an improviso NOOSE and *dog collar* over his head and neck- licking/smacking their lips as they happily muttered 'how good a puppet-fish must taste', and CRACKING a *makeshift WHIP* at him while calling him a 'silly stupid little donkey' and commanded him to *dance* for *his AUDIENCE*...!! It all made the verdant-skinned teen feel sick to his stomach, ...though the bad heart-wrenching parts certainly made up for it because it was paired with Geppetto's genuine unconditional love for his son, and how they happily spent time together (with Figaro too, of course!).
"I'm *AWFUL sorry* that you had to go through all that, Pinoke," he said softly once Pinocchio had finished talking, adding with a gentle pat to his leg, "but you and your Pops sure are *lucky to have each other*, and that you love each other so much! Most kids these days don't really listen to or appreciate *their CONSCIENCE*, let alone their folks-!"
"'*Con Shuns*'??" Pinocchio queried with a confused wrinkle of his brow and head-tilt. "Who are they??"
Jiminy chuckled at the cute little fella's innocent confusion. He'd ONLY been alive *six days* counting this one, never mind apparently being eight years old; of course he'd have *NO idea* what a 'conscience' was. "No, no- *'conscience'*, Pinoke: abstract- noun- singular. A 'conscience' is that still small voice warning you of danger or untrustworthy people/situations that SEEM *safe* but *really AREN'T*, telling you the difference between RIGHT *and WRONG* that most people unfortunately *REFUSE* to listen to; *tsk*!! And THAT is just basically the *ENTIRE problem* with the world today, it seems...!"
"-Are YOU *MY conscience*, Jiminy??"
This flustered (and admittedly flattered) the quasi-cricket. "Who, ME?? Oh, nah, Pinokes-!" he chortled warmly, feeling his cheeks flush slightly.
"Gotta say that's mighty nice of you to think so, and maybe in another time or place I *might have been* until such a time as you eventually grew your own if you *WERE a little pinewood puppet*- but y' see, a conscience is ALREADY *inside of* you right from the start," he concluded with a gentle rub to Pinocchio's shoulder. "-I'd say that just bein' friends is still pretty fine and dandy all by itself, though; wouldn't you?"
Jiminy hoped that it *DIDN'T sound like* he was pressuring or manipulating the sweet innocent little guy when he said that last; but his fears were unfounded.
"-Yeah; okay, Jiminy! FRIENDS- '*JUST friends*'! ...*Best* friends, even- maybe?" Pinocchio added a little shyly and timidly with a hopeful shine in his bright blue eyes as he took a hold of Jiminy's white-gloved hand in his own.
The latter's heart melted; well, how could he POSSIBLY say 'no' to *THAT request* from such a sweet and kind but *ACHINGLY* *lonely* boy?? *He COULDN'T*, that's how; *no sirree*!!
"Sure- why not, Pinoke? *BEST friends* it is...!" he said with a beaming smile and optic sparkle that now matched Pinocchio's own as he softly squeezed the slightly more tiny hand in his own larger one while they happily looked out/up at the night sky, stars shining like diamonds high above the roofs of sleepy old Villagio.