The old man looked up from his work with eyes red from strain. The sun had already set, and only the flickering light of the lamp illuminated the room. The girl sat quietly on the bench at the window and watched him, her blue hair shimmering in the light of the full moon.
"He will not do it," the old man said.
"Carry on," the girl replied. "It must be ready when he returns."
"He will not do it!" he insisted, this time more determined.
"But what if he does and you are not finished? Just imagine his disappointment. Just imagine what will be wasted. He trusts you."
The old man did not know how to reply. With a deep sigh, he continued to carve a tiny piece of pine wood. Several times he put this last piece down on the pattern to compare its shape to the outline. The smaller the pieces became, the more difficulty he had crafting them.
As he placed the finished piece on the table, the girl took it and attached thin leather straps with little pins. Then she connected it the same way to the rest of the parts.
Meanwhile, the old man fetched another candle. He stopped to look at the dead cricket on the window sill. As the girl noticed, she swiped it down, and it fell to the darkness of the floor. "Hurry now. He will be back soon."
"Is there no other way?" he asked as he handed over the last piece to her. She took it without answer.
"How can you know it will not fail?"
"How can you have any doubt? You know like no other that he can give life to it," she replied as she placed the finished item on the table.
Sixty bones carved out of pine wood formed a perfect replica of a skeletal arm complete to the smallest fingertip.
The old man looked out the window. There was some commotion down in the village. Windows were lit, and people with torches had gathered in the town center. He worried about what could be the reason for these activities, but there was no time for him to think about it.
The door opened with a familiar creak. His son had returned.
The son appeared excited, almost happy. In his hand, he carried the arm of a child, with the skin from the shoulder to the neck still attached, just like the girl had asked for.
With clanking steps, he walked over to the girl. "Is this right? Did I do it right?" he asked and presented the bloody body part to her. She took it and placed it on top of the wooden skeleton.
"It fits perfectly, dear. Your first real arm," she said and smiled. "I will skin it right away and insert the bones that your father has made," glancing at the old man.
"Get on the table and lie down, my boy," he said, and his son obeyed without question. Then the old man took a saw and cut off the boy's left arm. With a chisel and hammer, he proceeded to work a socket into his son's shoulder to make the new arm fit.
"Geppetto? When will I be a real boy?"
"Soon, Pinocchio. Very soon," he answered as his eyes filled with tears.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
