-
[ How it happened that Mastro Cherry, carpenter,
-
found a piece of wood that wept and laughed like a child ]
-
Centuries ago there lived--
-
"A king!" my little readers will say immediately.
-
No, children, you are mistaken.
-
Once upon a time there was a piece of wood.
-
It was not an expensive piece of wood. Far from it.
-
Just a common block of firewood,
-
one of those thick, solid logs that are put on the fire in winter
-
to make cold rooms cozy and warm.
-
I do not know how this really happened, yet the fact remains that one fine day
-
this piece of wood found itself in the shop of an old carpenter.
-
His real name was Mastro Antonio,
-
but everyone called him Mastro Cherry,
-
for the tip of his nose
-
was so round and red and shiny that it looked
-
like a ripe cherry.
-
As soon as he saw that piece of wood, Mastro Cherry
-
was filled with joy.
-
Rubbing his hands together happily,
-
he mumbled half to himself:
-
"This has come in the nick of time.
-
I shall use it to make the leg of a table."
-
Said and done
-
He grasped the hatchet quickly to peel off the bark and shape the wood.
-
But as he was about to give it the first blow,
-
he stood still with arm uplifted,
-
for he had heard a wee, little voice
-
say in a beseeching tone:
-
"Please be careful! Do not hit me so hard!"
-
What a look of surprise shone on Mastro Cherry's face! His funny face became still funnier.
-
He turned frightened eyes about the room
-
to find out where that wee, little voice had come from
-
and he saw no one!
-
He looked under the bench--no one!
-
He peeped inside the closet--no one!
-
He searched among the shavings-- no one!
-
He opened the door to look up and down the street--and still no one!
-
"Oh, I see!" he then said, laughing and scratching his Wig.
-
"It can easily be seen that I only thought I heard the tiny voice say the words!
-
Well, well--to work once more."
-
and taken an ax in his hand
-
He struck a most solemn blow upon the piece of wood.
-
"Oh, oh! You hurt!"
-
cried the same far-away little voice.
-
Mastro Cherry grew dumb,
-
his eyes popped out of his head,
-
his mouth opened wide, and his tongue hung down on his chin.
-
as a mask from fontana
-
As soon as he regained the use of his senses,
-
he said, trembling and stuttering from fright:
-
"Where did that voice come from, when there is no one around?
-
when there is no one around?
-
Might it be that this piece of wood
-
has learned to weep and cry like a child?
-
I can hardly believe it.
-
Here it is-
-
-a piece of common firewood, good only to burn in the stove, the same as any other.
-
and thrown on the fire
-
is to boil a pot of beans ...
-
Or so?
-
Yet-- might someone be hidden in it?
-
If so, the worse for him. I'll fix him!"
-
Now I adjust it!
-
With these words,
-
he grabbed the log with both hands
-
and started to knock it about unmercifully. He threw it to the floor, against the walls of the room, and even up to the ceiling.
-
He listened
-
for the tiny voice to moan and cry.
-
He waited two minutes--nothing;
-
five minutes--nothing;
-
ten minutes--nothing.
-
"Oh, I see,"
-
he said, trying bravely to laugh and ruffling up his wig with his hand.
-
"It can easily be seen I only
-
imagined I heard the tiny voice!
-
Well, well--to work once more!"
-
The poor fellow was scared half to death,
-
so he tried to sing a gay song in order to gain courage.
-
He set aside the hatchet
-
and picked up the plane
-
to make the wood smooth and even,
-
but as he drew it to and fro,
-
he heard the same tiny voice. This time it giggled as it spoke:
-
"Stop it! Oh, stop it! Ha, ha, ha! You tickle my stomach."
-
This time poor Mastro Cherry fell as if shot.
-
When he opened his eyes, he found himself sitting on the floor.
-
His face had changed;
-
fright had turned even the tip of his nose
-
to purple as it was almost always
-
from red to deepest purple.
-
[Regia di Riccardo Rivarola]
