“From this time forth,” said his purchaser, horrified, “I swear that I will never touch fish. It would be too dreadful to open a mullet, or a fried whiting, and to find inside a donkey’s tail!”
“I agree with you,” said the puppet, laughing. “However, I must tell you that when the fish had finished eating the donkey’s hide that covered me from head to foot, they naturally reached the bone, or rather the wood, for, as you see, I am made of the hardest wood. But after giving a few bites they soon discovered that I was not a morsel for their teeth, and, disgusted with such indigestible food, they went off, some in one direction and some in another, without so much as saying ‘Thank you’ to me. And now, at last, I have told you how it was that when you pulled up the rope you found a live puppet instead of a dead donkey.”
“I laugh at your story,” cried the man in a rage. “I know only that I spent two dollars to buy you, and I will have my money back. Shall I tell you what I will do? I will take you back to the market and I will sell you by weight as seasoned wood for lighting fires.”
“Sell me if you like; I am content,” said Pinocchio.
But as he said it he made a spring and plunged into the water. Swimming gaily away from the shore, he called to his poor owner:
“Goodbye, master; if you should be in want of a skin to make a drum, remember me.”
And he laughed and went on swimming, and after a while he turned again and shouted louder:
“Goodbye, master; if you should be in want of a little well seasoned wood for lighting the fire, remember me.”
In the twinkling of an eye he had swum so far off that he was scarcely visible. All that could be seen of him was a little black speck on the surface of the sea that from time to time lifted its legs out of the water and leaped and capered like a dolphin enjoying himself.
Whilst Pinocchio was swimming, he knew not whither, he saw in the midst of the sea a rock that seemed to be made of white marble, and on the summit there stood a beautiful little goat who bleated lovingly and made signs to him to approach.
But the most singular thing was this. The little goat’s hair, instead of being white or black, or a mixture of two colors as is usual with other goats, was blue, and a very vivid blue, greatly resembling the hair of the beautiful Child.
I leave you to imagine how rapidly poor Pinocchio’s heart began to beat. He swam with redoubled strength and energy towards the white rock; and he was already halfway there when he saw, rising up out of the water and coming to meet him, the horrible head of a sea-monster. His wide-open, cavernous mouth and his three rows of enormous teeth would have been terrifying to look at even in a picture.
And do you know what this sea-monster was?
This sea-monster was neither more nor less than that gigantic Dogfish, who has been mentioned many times in this story, and who, for his slaughter and for his insatiable voracity, had been named the “Attila of Fish and Fishermen.”
Only to think of poor Pinocchio’s terror at the sight of the monster. He tried to avoid it, to change his direction; he tried to escape, but that immense, wide-open mouth came towards him with the velocity of an arrow.
“Be quick, Pinocchio, for pity’s sake!” cried the beautiful little goat, bleating.
And Pinocchio swam desperately with his arms, his chest, his legs, and his feet.
“Quick, Pinocchio, the monster is close upon you!”
And Pinocchio swam quicker than ever, and flew on with the rapidity of a ball from a gun. He had nearly reached the rock, and the little goat, leaning over towards the sea, had stretched out her forelegs to help him out of the water!
But it was too late! The monster had overtaken him and, drawing in his breath, he sucked in the poor puppet as he would have sucked a hen’s egg; and he swallowed him with such violence and avidity that Pinocchio, in falling into the Dogfish’s stomach, received such a blow that he remained unconscious for a quarter of an hour afterwards.
When he came to himself again after the shock he could not in the least imagine in what world he was. All around him it was quite dark, and the darkness was so black and so profound that it seemed to him that he had fallen head downwards into an inkstand full of ink. He listened, but he could hear no noise; only from time to time great gusts of wind blew in his face. At first he could not understand where the wind came from, but at last he discovered that it came out of the monster’s lungs. For you must know that the Dogfish suffered very much from asthma, and when he breathed it was exactly as if a north wind was blowing.
Pinocchio at first tried to keep up his courage, but when he had one proof after another that he was really shut up in the body of this sea-monster he began to cry and scream, and to sob out:
“Help! help! Oh, how unfortunate I am! Will nobody come to save me?”
“Who do you think could save you, unhappy wretch?” said a voice in the dark that sounded like a guitar out of tune.
“Who is speaking?” asked Pinocchio, frozen with terror.
“It is I! I am a poor Tunny who was swallowed by the Dogfish at the same time that you were. And what fish are you?”
“I have nothing in common with fish. I am a puppet.”
“Then, if you are not a fish, why did you let yourself be swallowed by the monster?”
“I didn’t let myself be swallowed; it was the monster swallowed me! And now,
