“Chicken in the Roman style with potato puffs…”
“Just look at Stolz. He’s licking his greased whiskers as if the potatoes were cooking under his nose.”
“Look at Franz gaping.”
“They have a dog’s hunger, and in order to make them sing…”
“You want me to cook a little supper such as I can cook if I set myself to it, stick it under their noses, and… Youngster, that’s a magnificent idea! When I write my Manual of War Cookery I’ll put you on the frontispiece as the first of kitchen strategians. Leave things to me and in half an hour I’ll hand you out a couple of stews that would raise up the dead better even than Garibaldi’s Hymn!”
Pinocchio heaved a sigh. He had won such a battle that, if he had been a German, would have caused the people to hammer I don’t know how many nails into his statue. While Ciampanella was bustling about on all sides, plucking two young fowls, peeling potatoes, frying lard and onions, melting butter in a saucepan, preparing a stew in another, Pinocchio was striding up and down the kitchen, long and narrow as a corridor, eying stealthily the two prisoners, who were beginning to show signs of a growing restlessness. They had been fasting for more than twenty-four hours and their last food had been such a mess that it might have been requisitioned from the poultry-yard and the stable.
Ciampanella seemed eager to surpass himself. He hovered over his pots without paying any attention to Pinocchio, but talking in a loud voice as if he wished to impart a lesson in cookery to half the world.
“Listen, youngster, when you want to eat two savory young fowls you must cook them in the Roman fashion according to Ciampanella’s recipe, which, when it is written down, will not have its equal in Urbis et Orbis. I call it the Roman fashion, but it might also truly be called the Ostrogothic fashion…but that’s the way. Take two young fowls and cut them into pieces, put a good-sized lump of butter into a saucepan and a little onion and fry it a little; dredge the fowls with flour, and put them to simmer in the butter; when they are browned put in some tomato paste, salt and pepper, and let them cook down, later a grain of nutmeg, cover it and let it cook.… Do you smell that odor, youngster? And just think how it will taste! You’ll lick your napkin like that dirty Croat who… Ho! ho! look at his tongue hanging out.… Ho! ho! ho!”
The air was filled with a fragrance so entrancing that it would have given an appetite to the mouth of a letter-box; so imagine how the miserable two felt, who, after all, were men of flesh and blood and had no other defect than of having been born under the Executioner’s scepter. Stolz with his mouth wide open breathed in the air in deep breaths, tasting it hungrily as if he could really taste the odor that tickled his nostrils. Ciampanella stepped in front of him, and spouted out one of his special speeches, gesticulating with his fork.
“Well, Mr. Croat? How do you think we do it? Franz Joe is worse off than the least of our Alpine troops, because we are not reduced to gnawing bones like you who make war in order to fish, as the proverb says, in troubled waters. What a delicious odor, isn’t it? But don’t stand there with your mouth open or I’ll fill it with dish-water. Here’s some!”
“’Talian pig!” howled Stolz, half strangled with nausea and disgust, spitting all around.
“If you call me an Italian pig again, I’ll break your head in spite of the respect they teach us is due the enemy, because in this world it is tit for tat.”
“Listen, Ciampanella,” Pinocchio interrupted at the right moment, “if the chickens are done we could sit down at the table and offer a bite to Stolz.”
“That’s a good idea, youngster.”
While the boy was setting the table and the chef was dishing up the stew, from the distance came several tremendous rumblings, which brought a smile to the faces of the prisoners, who exchanged significant glances. The sound came from our six-inch guns that had been dragged with such effort to the altitude of nine thousand feet and arrived the day before by way of the filovia, which were now opening fire on the enemy’s trenches. If Franz and Stolz had had even the faintest suspicion of this they would have changed their expressions.
“Dear Ciampanella, as a cook you should be put on the pedestal of a monument. This chicken is a masterpiece. If that imbecile of a Stolz, instead of standing there like a dog with his tongue hanging out, a foot away from the tail of a hare, could give a lick to this drumstick, I wager he would desert his emperor and demand Italian citizenship.”
“For my part, I’d rather give him the chicken than the citizenship.”
“I would as lief have it,” Stolz risked saying, passing his tongue over his whiskers.
“I guess so.”
“And I’ll give you not only a drumstick, but half a chicken with gravy and a loaf of bread to go with it, if you’ll tell me…”
“We can’t talk; don’t want to betray our country.”
“Dear Stolz, you’re a fine fellow, but if you can’t talk I can’t give you anything to eat and we are quits. But I haven’t asked you to betray either Croatia, or even Hungary, if you are afraid of Franz’s hearing you.”
“Oh, he speaks only Magyar.”
“All the better; then you can tell me how many Bohemians, Slovaks, Carinthians, Poles, Germans, and Styrians are intrenched on Mount X opposite our men.… We’ll leave out the Croats, your countrymen…and, moreover, I’ll wager five soldi of Victor Emanuel against a crown of your emperor that if they were here and smelled this odor they wouldn’t make such a to-do about it or talk like lawyers. But smell this” …and while he spoke the rascal of a Pinocchio took in both his hands the dish with the stew and held it close to Stolz’s nose, who shut his eyes and heaved a sigh as if he were giving up his soul to the god of all the Croats.
“You ’Talian scoundrel, if you give me and Franz all we can eat and drink I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“May the saints in Paradise reward you! If you sing and sing well, look what delicate morsels I’ll give you,” cried Ciampanella, jumping about with delight. He hastened to fill two plates with delicious food and two loaves of fresh bread and half of a sharp old sheep’s cheese which would have brought a dead man to life.
“And now there’s nothing more to do except to untie your hands and to give you chairs to sit on.”
“We have three lines of trenches, fifteen hundred men…two batteries placed on the Donkey’s Saddle…but you have Alpine troops and we can’t get the better of you. So our colonel had marvelous plan—he had huge mine dug and thought to blow up Alpines to bust them all up. This morning we attacked on purpose. When Alpines came face to us, we go all back to retreat, but they not come to mined spot and didn’t all bust up. But when Alpines enter first trench which we leave…bum! ’Talian pigs all dead and Austrian soldiers shout hurrah for emperor. Did you hear little while ago lots of noise? I knows…I knows what it was…big mine blow up.”
“And ’Talian pigs all killed, aren’t they?” yelled the enraged Ciampanella. “And you think I am going to give you food? Not by a long shot. See what game I’m going to play with you. In the mean time pray to the god of all the Croats that what you have said may not be true, because if, instead of making war as real soldiers do, your side has committed such a despicable deed, you two shall pay for it, and as truly as my name is Ciampanella, chef of the mess, you’ll pay for it dearly enough.”
And shaking his lion head and jumping up in the air, waving his arms about violently, he took up a piece of rope and bound the prisoners tightly to a pole which supported the roof of the dugout.
“And now if you can eat these good gifts of God which I leave under your nose, you’ll do well, I assure you.… Come, Pinocchio, we must take this news to the officer commanding our company, because I don’t believe anything wrong has happened yet.”
“And the prisoners?”
“They won’t escape, I, Ciampanella,
assure you. They are tied up like two pork sausages, and, besides, you know what we’ll do? When the door is shut we’ll put up against it one of the bombs that they make which go off almost without touching them. I know where some of them are hidden away. If they should succeed in loosening the rope and should try to get away they’ll take a ride in the air. And now we’ll wish the gentlemen good appetite and be off on our own affairs.”
Five minutes later Ciampanella and Pinocchio were running across the snow through the dusk.
CHAPTER IX
How Pinocchio Complained Because He Was No Longer a Wooden Puppet
It was no easy matter for Ciampanella and Pinocchio to reach their company, which was intrenched about three miles away, on a declivity as sharp as a knife-blade, bordered by jagged precipices. They could not have held out against artillery up there, but the position was well chosen from which to hammer the enemy’s first trench that was built on a little slope two hundred yards lower down and less than two miles away. Farther along there opened up a pass of great strategic importance which the Austrians apparently were intending to defend at all costs. Yet it had seemed strange to Teschisso that the foe with its numerous exits should try to attack his Alpine troops in force, all the more that his first line of defense might be considered as irretrievably lost. For this reason he had restrained the impulse of his brave soldiers to fight and decided to intrench them on the difficult slope to await a favorable moment for decisive action. In the mean time he had been able to hammer the enemy’s position with four large pieces of artillery which he had placed on a summit above his intrenchment. When Pinocchio related to him how, with the aid of the mess-cook, he had made Franz and Stolz sing, and repeated the few words which he had heard from their mouths, he had no longer any doubt regarding the foe’s strange behavior.
“Heavens! Those scoundrels wanted to blow us up! Luckily I was prudent, but you’ll see what a joke I’ll invent to play on those dogs! Call Corporal Scotimondo.”
The most important duties were usually intrusted to this soldier with a face like a cab-driver’s, with a large blond beard and full, ruddy cheeks, who at first sight looked so good-natured. But he was a man of exceptional energy and extraordinary courage. Calm and quiet when danger raged, he could inspire in his comrades a boundless confidence.
“Corporal, from information received I have learned that we have opposite us fifteen hundred men.”
“All the better.”
“And a mined zone.”
“That’s not so good, not good at all.”
“I have determined to attack the foe from the rear and force him on to the mined zone. I shall set off with the whole company, leaving only eight men in the trench, which they must hold at all costs and keep up a devilish fire to make the enemy think we are all here. Do you understand?”
“Certainly, certainly.”
“You will command the squad.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
“I will leave you also Pinocchio and Ciampanella, so that there will be ten of you. Choose the other eight quickly, because I am going to give immediate orders to depart.”
“Draghetta, Senzaterra, Pulin, Cattaruzza, and the four Scagnol brothers.”
“All right! Go and tell them. Remember that I trust you. I am attempting a big coup, but if I succeed, Heavens, what a stroke!… They’ll fly up like birds.”
A little later Pinocchio was witness of a marvelous and fantastic scene. The narrow trench was alive with a mass of black figures that moved noiselessly. The Alpine troops armed themselves with rope and hatchets, filled up their canteens, and replenished their cartridge-belts, whispering quick, concise sentences, interrupted with laughs, quickly smothered as the rattle of an officer’s sword was heard. All these shadows grouped themselves in the depth of the trench against a heap of huge stones and merged into the profound darkness. For a time still there was to be heard coming from down below a subdued rustle, then a profound silence. Pinocchio was strangely affected and was eager to find out what had happened. He ran to the end of the trench—there was not a soul there. Where had his Alpine troops gone? Had they perhaps been swallowed up by the abyss which yawned a few feet away? He was so terrified that he began to yell desperately.
“Captain! Captain Teschis…”
He didn’t get the chance to finish; he felt two rough, heavy hands grab him by the ears and lift him up three feet from the ground.
“Less racket here. Don’t be such an idiot. Don’t you know that in the trenches you’ve got to be as quiet as in church, and…here I’m in command, and when I command anything I’ve got to be obeyed.”
“I’ll obey,” Pinocchio grumbled, keeping back a cry of pain.
Corporal Scotimondo put him down gently on the ground, face to face with himself, and then asked, sharply:
“What did you want with Captain Teschisso?”
“I? Nothing.”
“Why did you call him, then?”
“I thought perhaps…something terrible had happened.… He’s gone…they’re all gone.”
“Gone? How gone? They haven’t disappeared; they’ve only gone down…”
“Where?”
“The precipice, and then they’ll climb up again on the other side, will reach the first trench, will get the better of the enemy and drive them on the mined zone. Then we’ll see a fine sight. But until this minute comes we’ve got to keep quiet and not make a racket. Do you understand? Now go to sleep because you have been mobilized and will have to stand sentry also, and, besides, to-morrow there’ll be things to do. Now march!”
Scotimondo emphasized this command with a kick which made Pinocchio take the first steps and showed him the direction he was to go. The unexpected disappearance of the Alpine troops still seemed miraculous in spite of the simple explanation Scotimondo had given him, and Pinocchio had a profound respect for everything that smacked of magic.
“Yes, gone down,” he grumbled to himself while he was nearing the other end of the trench. “That’s quickly said, but I’d just like to know how it is possible for men of skin and bones to do such a thing. The precipice is so deep and so steep that if Ciampanella had not pulled me by the collar I should never have got here. And how will they manage to get down it? Hum! I am almost beginning to believe that these Alpine soldiers are in league with the devil. I saw two of them yesterday with some kind of shoes a couple of yards long which flew over the snow like airplanes. I wanted to ask the mess-cook to explain it to me, but from fear he would make fun of me I kept quiet. But from now on I must keep my eyes more on those men. If I discover they really have any dealings with the devil I’ll take myself off on the first occasion.”
He stumbled and fell face downward into a soft warm mass from which came a dull grunt. Overcome with terror, he was about to take flight when he felt himself held fast by a leg as firmly as if by a trap.
“I wish you’d get killed. Couldn’t you let me sleep a minute? You must be either a creditor or that tyrant of a picket officer going his rounds.… If you are a creditor come back six months after peace is declared, because now I won’t pay you a soldo even if I had one. If you are the picket officer I tell you that when I have put out the fires I have a right to take my ease…and now let me sleep… May you be…”
“Oh, Ciampanella, let me go. Don’t you recognize me? I am Pinocchio.”
“Oh, it’s you, youngster, is it? Did you intend to make me sing like Spizzete Spazzete? I have nothing to tell you, but if you insist upon my singing something for you at all costs, I will sing for you to get up off me.”
Pinocchio, seeing that the mess-cook was in one of his “moments,” thought it prudent to leave him in peace, so he lay down on a heap of straw that was close by, intending to go to sleep.
But his sleep didn’t last long. About four o’clock in the morning, when dawn was peeping
over the horizon, he heard a shot that seemed to come from a spot not far from the trench.
“Get your guns, boys!” yelled Scotimondo, rushing to a machine-gun, while the others, guns in hand, took their places before the loopholes. “It was Draghetta who saw the enemy. Boys, I count on you. We’ve got to make a racket, lots of noise as if all the company were here, and don’t expose yourselves…let them have a continuous and intense fire.”
His glance took in Pinocchio, who was gazing at him, his eyes wide open with terror, and Ciampanella tranquilly dozing. With a bound he caught up a gun and put it into the boy’s hands.
“Ho, lad, stop standing there doing nothing or I’ll break your neck! I’ll smash your head before the potato-eaters knock it in.”
With another spring he was on top of the cook, who was calmly dreaming a culinary dream, and gave him such a kick that he jumped up like a jack-in-the-box.
“I hope they’ll eat you.”
“Ready to fire! Fire! for Heaven’s sake!” Scotimondo screamed at him and ran to take his post, grumbling, “but why doesn’t the sentinel come back? What’s that scoundrel of a Draghetta doing?”
Ciampanella rubbed his eyes and discovered Pinocchio, who stood there turning his gun round and round without having yet discovered what exactly it was that he held.
“May the dogs eat you! Instead of standing there fiddling with your weapon that you know as much about as I know about training fleas, you would do better to give a look at the saucepan that it doesn’t burn instead of making me get that kick from the corporal.”
“But what saucepan? Are you still asleep?”
“Didn’t you hear what he yelled at me when he kicked me? ‘Fire! Fire!’”
The Pinocchio Megapack: 4 Classic Puppet Tales Page 29
