"There it is," muttered Luca, "The Great Oak, they call it."
"What's so great about it?" asked on of his sons, dragging an axe behind him.
The Great Oak sat in green for centuries. Never did its leaves whither in the fall or its branches left bare in the unforgiving snow of the winter. When the frost melted, the Great Oak only drank it in defiance of the cold, cruel nights. At least that is what Luca's grandmother, Constance, told him.
"Such was a beautiful and lively tree," she told him, "that it attracted many worshippers. Once a village had sprouted around it. Mother's fed their children under it as their older siblings played around it. Justice was served under it, as court proceedings went on under its shade in blazing hot summer days. Even lovers were wed under it's green and benevolent branches. They say a fairy living within the bark is what gives it its splendor!"
But the day war came, Luca knew, the tree died with the villagers that hung from it's ancient and strong branches. The mercenaries raided the settlement saw the leaves turn scarlet and amber as if autumn had descended on them in the spring, dry up, and fall to the bloody soil. The corpses of the men, women, and children swung in a sudden violent breeze that came from the north, and the mercenaries felt afraid of the ones they had killed. They scattered at once and left the villagers to rot.
"Do you think the tree is, haunted, father?" asked his youngest, shivering after he told him the day the tree died, "will something bad happen if we cut it?"
Luca mussed up his hair and laughed.
"Oh, Francesco," he said smiling, "they are just stories. It is just a tree, my boy."
Luca and the other woodsman began to cut down the great tree. When they were done, they found it provided more wood than they were willing to carry. They returned to their village, taking what they could.
Upon their return, the woodcarver, Geppetto, quite suddenly approached him, like a cat on a mouse.
"Ah, Geppetto," Luca said, startled. "You look well," he lied, "how is your wife, Donnina."
"She will get better," Geppetto said coldly, "though her heart is weak. She wants to join our son."
The poor man, thought Luca, look at him, his hair like a rat's nest and his eyes sore and red. Luca held no contempt for the man, however, for he knew he would be the same if something happened to Francesco or his other three sons.
Luca looked to the other woodsman. They looked away, silently glad the woodcarver gave Luca his full attention.
"Is there something you need, Geppetto?" Luca said, smiling warmly.
"Some wood," Geppetto said becoming aware of his sorry state and wiping the tears from his cheeks, "I can pay."
"That won't be necessary, old friend," said Luca quickly as Geppetto dug his hands into a nearly empty bag of cloth, "You can have as much as you need. We have so much." He saw the old man make a face of embarrassment, realizing the pity pouring upon him. "But! But, you must repair my chair and my door, of course," said Luca hoping to save the woodcarver's pride.
"Of course!" Geppetto accepted with new vigor, "I will. I will make them stronger than before."
Luca let the old man pick from the pile of wood, and Luca helped him carry some to his yard. His sons help too, though the elder, Flavio was reluctant, put off by Geppetto's behavior. "He's gone mad! He frightens me. Father, his wailings keep me from sleep," Flavio had complained. Luca clouted him in the back of the head for saying that and he obeyed, rubbing his scalp as he lifted the pieces of wood.
"Blessings onto you! Bless you!" mumbled Geppetto, "Please come in, I have cooked far too much. He eyed Luca's sons. "Growing boys need to eat as well," he said to them.
Flavio is not wholly wrong, thought Luca as he noticed how longingly the woodcarver stared at his boys as if he meant to take them and raise them as his own. Francesco tugged his sleeve, making his discomfort known to him.
"Perhaps tomorrow night, Geppetto," said Luca, "Cia is prickly if we don't eat her cooking."
The brightness from Geppetto's eyes faded, and he was once again sorrowful. He bid them a good night and sleep, turned, walked into his house and shut the door.
Within the dim light of the little house, Geppetto saw that Donnina had drank not a drop of her broth, now cold to the touch.
"What is wrong, my love?" muttered Geppetto as he brought the full spoon to her shriveled lips. Geppetto did not understand his wife's odd behavior: she had slept all day and the day before that. Her filth released from her bowels under the sheets stung Geppetto's nostrils. "I know you miss our boy," he said as he tilted the spoon to have the broth drip down her gums and drizzle from her unbreathing mouth, "but you must eat to keep your strength."
Geppetto clasped his hands together.
"I have something to show you my sweet Don," he said to her.
the corpse uttered no reply.
"You wait right here," Geppetto said as he hurried off to his workshop, a shoddy lean-to against the outside of his house.
When he came back inside, he showed her his masterpiece: a wood-carved head of pine, it's visage that of their late son. Its face was of shockingly fine detail. A tiny stain of blood had landed in its left eye from when Geppetto cut his finger when he became careless and tired from lack of sleep.
"Isn't he beautiful," Geppetto said as he stroked its nose, "I will complete him tonight, I purchased wood from that kind man Luca."
The woodcarver kissed his wife's pallid forehead, waved at the flies that seemed to nest in her mouth, wished her a good night, and took himself to his workshop to finish his work.
He worked tirelessly until the sun came up. Usually, the villagers would gather around outside his house to watch him work, marveling at his beautiful works, but this morning, everyone passed him by, hoping to not meet his eyes if he ever took them off his craft.
Oh my boy, Geppetto thought as he whittled, Oh my sweet boy, you have come back to us. Your mother and I have missed you so much.
"... She has slept all day. I am almost angry with her," Geppetto whispered into a wooden ear.
By noon, Geppetto had completed the oaken body and attached the head to it. He leaped for joy, much to the fear of his fellow villagers.
Geppetto saw a woman walking by with her two daughters, hopped over his low fence, and greeted them with the wooden image of his son.
"Look at him," he said too loudly, "isn't he a gift from God himself?"
The woman wrapped her arms around her daughters, one giggling at the woodcarver and the other turning away to bury her face in her mother's hip. She sped off towards the village guards.
He saw and approached Flavio, turning wide to avoid him. Geppetto grabbed him by the wrist and brought his hand to his son as if to force them to shake hands.
"You will grow to be fine young men and great friends, yes?" said Geppetto, full of joy.
Flavio sucked in air through his teeth as a splinter jabbed into his thumb.
"Get off me, you witless bastard," shouted Flavio, snapping his hand out of Geppetto's, "touch me again, old man, and I'll beat you."
At this, Geppetto looked around, confused, muttering incoherently.
"Pinocchio!" Geppetto began to weep and scream as he clutched his doll, "Pinocchio! Pinocchio!"
He fell to his knees in the middle of the road and continued to wail and call out to his dead son, as villagers gathered around to stare at him, wondering what should be done with him.
"Flavio!" his father bellowed at him as he came closer, "What have you done?" He clouted him on the back of the head.
"He put his hands on me," he said, showing him his bloody finger, "his toy cut my finger. They all saw it." Flavio swept his finger at the surrounding villagers.
The blacksmith, Antonio confirmed this, and soon it seemed everyone in the village was talking about Geppetto and his madness. When the village guards approached him, Geppetto barked something rotten at them. He got up, shouldered passed them, and went back into his house. In his heart, Flavio did feel some pity for the man and guilt for calling him a witless bastard. God, forgive me, he said in his heart.
"Flavio," his father said to him in apologetic tones, "forgive me for striking you."
"It didn't even hurt," said Flavio as he rubbed the back of his head, "but I do feel like I've wounded a sick man."
That night, the village had eased back into its normal routine.
"Pleasant dreams," his mother wished him as she blew out the candles.
Yet Flavio could not even keep his eyes shut. That damn old man, he thought with annoyance, keeping me up all night. He felt he owed the man an apology, and rest would not come until he delivered it. Flavio threw on his clothes and snuck out of the room, careful not to wake his little brothers. The old man is restless, Flavio knew, he should still be awake.
Flavio made his way to Geppetto's little house, but he was not at his workbench. He approached, thinking he will just have to knock on his door and ask for his forgiveness from there.
The night's guards' loud voices were coming closer. To keep from being caught, Flavio threw himself over the little fence and hid under a table in the workshop. The guards continued on their patrol, the light of their torches dying it in the distance.
"... man's near frenzy," one of the guards said to the other, "may be a danger to us soon, that one."
With his back up against the wall, from the loose shutters of the window, Flavio could hear the old woodcarver talking to someone. Through the sliver between the shutters, Flavio could see inside.
Geppetto was on his knees, singing his praises to a figure before him: it was a tall woman in a gown as black as night and a violet rope fastened around her slim waist. She was floating, her bare feet not touching the hard-packed earth. Her eyes were covered by a strip of dark purple silk wrapped around her head. Sprouting, upside down from her back, were a pair of moth wings. The grey pattern that decorated it seemed to move as they fluttered. There were the images of eyes in the wings, but when Flavio saw them blink and roll, he knew they were living as they looked down upon Geppetto.
"Yes," Geppetto said as he prostrated himself before the dark fairy, "I offer to you wholly, my heart and soul."
My God, what devil is he speaking to? mused Flavio. Something within stank, and behind a thin curtain a candle was lit, revealing something beset by a swarm of clegs. Flavio could even hear them madly buzzing.
"You say you submit yourself to me twice," said the dark fairy in the soft tone like that of a mother's, her raven hair flowing, though there was no gust in the night air. Outside, crows and wolves howled in the distance. Beetles crawled on Flavio's toes, so he flicked his feet to get them off. There were a lot of them crawling on the floor in the house.
Geppetto sprung at her and embraced her knees and cried.
"Yes, yes, yes, my Lady of the Great Oak," said Gepetto, "I've lost my son. I have lost my wife. I see that now." He kissed her feet, saying, "Therefore I surrender to you, heart and soul!"
"But, sadly, I have no use for you," said the fairy.509Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡc06XdjYbDF
Violet flames engulfed the black fairy's hands and they spread over the puppet's surface. She brought its face up to her lips and, with her mouth to its, she appeared to breathe into it.
Flavio moved his leg, accidentally kicking over a stack of the woodcarver's tools.
The wings stopped fluttering, their eyes shooting to meet Flavio's through the opening in the shutters. Even the puppet turned its head at the noise.
Flavio bolted, not caring if the night's guards saw him. He slipped back into bed.
"Flavio," said Francesco rubbing his eyes, "is that you?"
"Go to sleep," Flavio said brusquely, covering his head, pretending what he saw in Geppetto's house was just a dream.
"Come now boys," called Luca to his sons, "the other woodsmen are ready to leave. Don't make them wait."
The boys followed their father, their eyes still groggy from sleep. I told them to sleep early, thought Luca, this is what they get. Luca thought he heard them shifting and talking late in the night. Instead of scolding them, he let their drowsiness be their punishment.
It was almost time to return to the village when Francesco tugged on his sleeve with wild excitement in his eyes.
"Father," he shouted, "look what I found!"
"What is it, my boy," said Luca.
Francesco guided him by his sleeve into the darker parts of the wood. They came upon a fox and a cat.
"I brought my father," Francesco said to the beasts, "as you asked."
"Good," said the fox with the voice of a human.
"Did you just speak?" asked Luca, amazed, "how is this possible?"
"We are under a curse by the Black Fairy," responded the fox, "our shape was altered. We once were human."
"Yes," said the cat, nodding, "mercenaries we were. Men. But not now."
"Were you the lot that fell the Great Oak?" asked the fox.
"We were," said Luca carefully, "what of it?"
"I see," said the fox.
"We see," repeated the cat tilting its head.
"What have you called me here for?" said Luca.
"Only to offer you a warning," responded the fox, "you have slighted the Black Fairy. Beware for her wrath is great."
"We're telling you," said the cat, "yes, angry the Black Fairy is! Feel it our little bones, we do. Run while you still can."
The creatures sprinted into the greenery, leaving Luca and Francesco alone. They returned back to the other woodsmen and headed home with as much as they could carry.
Antonio was hard at work, sweating near his forge when he heard his wife scream.
"Clarice!" he shouted as he ran into the house, his hammer in his hand, "why are you screaming?"
On the floor, his son's lifeblood pooled out of his open throat.
Antonio screamed for help, and the village guards flew in. There were six in total. One of them knelt by the boy, examining his fatal wound.509Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7Srcmg9UoQ
"Look," one of the guards said, bending over to pick something up, "this is ... a whittling knife? There's sawdust still on the handle."
Two of them listened to what Clarice had to say. She was too distraught to answer. My poor boy ... who would do such a thing? thought Antonio as he swooned.
The village was in chaos when the woodsmen returned. Outside Geppetto's house, a crowd had gathered, and an even smaller crowd was gathered around Antonio's house. Luca asked a man outside Gepetto's house what had happened.
"The old carver's dead, Luca," he said, "hanged himself, he did."
The man pointed, and the guards carried out a covered corpse on a cot. When the house of the door opened, a thin cloud of flies eased out, and Luca could smell the rotten flesh. The crowd dispersed as the guards brought out another body, flies swarming around it.
"Father!" shouted his son, Niccolo, returning from the blacksmith's house, "Jaco is dead!"
Antonio's son? This is madness, thought Luca.
Cia, seeing that Luca had returned, went to him and embraced him.
"They are saying Geppetto killed Jacopo in a frenzy," said Cia.
The village went quiet and everyone went home to sleep. Jaco was Niccolo's closest friend, and it was near impossible to calm him. Luca, remembering the fox's warning, remembered to lock his door for the night.
Flavio awoke to something sharp and cold against his throat. The light of the full moon outside filled the room from a window wide open.509Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCQNzXvZrIx
"Say not a word," the voice of a young man ordered, "get up and get dressed. Quietly now, or else I will do to them, as I did to loud little Jacopo." He pointed his little whittling knife at his little brothers.509Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYTVJ2rH84i
Flavio obeyed, shakily putting his tunic and trousers on.509Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjnbUQTrZx8
"Who are you?" Flavio asked.509Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡupkXAWRxG9
"Just you meet me outside," was all the young man said.509Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9C93oOHe1n
He walked ahead of him and jumped out the window, his whole body covered with a horse blanket.
As silently as he could, he climbed up and out of the window, and shut it from the outside, just in case the light woke Francesco, who slept facing the window.
The covered boy grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him into the woods. After a few miles, they came upon the hill; the hill where the stump of the Great Oak stood. On the rings were the cut-up carcasses of a fox and a cat. Little Jacopo's body was also there, his blood seeping into the stump.
Sitting on the stump, the young man, throwing aside the horse blanket, revealed he was not a man at all, but the puppet made in the image of Geppetto's dead son, Pinocchio.
Flavio would have screamed, but he knew what the wicked wood was capable of. Sensing that he would scream, the puppet put the bloody blade to his lips and shushed him.
"Now," Pinocchio began, "you, your father, and the other woodsmen have destroyed my mother's home. You saw her in all her glory. The Black Fairy."
"I'm sorry," said Flavio, fearing for his life, "we did not know."
"It is too late for that," said the wooden boy, "for the season for love and forgiveness is long gone. The men of war taught her that long ago."
The boy ran his wooden fingers around a branch that had a single leaf growing from it.
"Mother says that when the Great Oak has grown again," said Pinocchio, "I will be given flesh."
He pointed his knife at Flavio.
"You will help me," said the wicked wood, "the Great Oak also needs flesh and blood."
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