Lies are such finicky things. The smallest and most innocent can grow and fester into horrible monsters. We lie to those we fear, we lie to those we love, and worst of all, we lie to ourselves. Those are the most dangerous lies because they can consume our hearts until there is nothing left.
There once lived a young woodcutter named Pinocchio who had a heart for adventure but not the skill, for he learned his trade from his father. All his life, he looked out to the sea with longing and desire to sail its endless expanse, but Pinocchio was quite poor. And so, slowly over time, he collected the leftover bits of wood and tar and created himself a small boat.
It was not a grand boat by any means, but it was his and it was his proudest creation.
He set it out on the water and it only leaked a small bit and Pinocchio saw that it was good enough and pushed it out into the waves. It jostled as he climbed in and he feared that his small boat was not going to hold him. He looked to the shore, the early morning sun waking the town slowly. Soon, he would be seen and he would be scolded until he relented and gave up.
But the young woodcutter’s heart was yearning and he could no longer ignore it.
Using a long, flat piece of wood he’d cut down into an oar, he rowed out into the open sea. Though, he did go in circles for many minutes before finally guiding himself straight.
Pinocchio was quite proud of himself, for he made it beyond the choppy waves and out into the smooth waters. But the woodcutter was not taught in the ways of the sea and his pride was short lived.
What was a small leak quickly filled the boat. He paused to scoop the water with his cap.
The shoreline was still within sight and so he carried on, determined to venture off into the unknown. But the leak continued and he once more had to stop to empty out the water.
The sun was high overhead, sweltering Pinocchio. His cap was soaked through which cooled his sweating brow but dripped stinging saltwater into his eyes. He blinked and blinked but the horizon was just a blur.
Panic was creeping into his mind but he told himself a lie that everything would be fine. He wasn’t that far out.
But the sea is cruel to those not familiar with her ways. Winds howled and waves lifted Pinocchio in his small boat, nearly tipping him into the dark waters below. For he had not understood that the clouds that once looked so very distant were now upon him, ready to release their torrential rains.
Desperately, he looked for shore but the rising and falling waves made it impossible to find. Desperately, he unloaded water before rain filled his boat even more. Desperately, he lied once more to himself that it was but a small storm.
As big of a lie it was, the storm was even greater. The young woodcutter clung to the sides of his boat as he was tossed and thrown about. Many times, he found himself nearly knocked into the waves themselves where he feared he would never rise again.
And then, as suddenly as it had come, the storm was gone, off to terrorize another unsuspecting boat.
Pinocchio rocked in the now gentle waves, drenched through and his shoes sunk in ankle-deep water. No matter which way he looked, how hard he squinted, how much he prayed, he could not see the shoreline in any direction. He was alive but he was hopelessly lost.
He unrolled his small portion of bread and cheese he’d sneaked away with that morning. It was meant to be a mid-morning snack just before he satisfied his wanderlust heart but now it seemed to be his only way to stave off starvation. He allowed himself a small bite of each then once more emptied the boat of water.
For three days and three nights, Pinocchio drifted. He rowed. He emptied the leak. He took smaller bites of his dwindling food.
At night, he tried to follow the stars, recalling anything he could remember the young sailor once taught him. But those memories were tainted and only made him more resentful of the predicament he’d found himself in.
And still, he lied to himself. For the truth that he may never again see his father or the town he so desperately longed to sail away from was too much to bear.
He was nearly at the point of resigning himself to his fate, sprawled out across the bottom of the boat, water seeping through his clothes stiff from saltwater and heat, when something knocked into his boat. It tipped violently and Pinocchio scrambled to his knees. He peered over the edge but saw nothing in the dark water.
Fearing another storm, he looked to the sky, but dark clouds were not sneaking on him. The wind was calm. The air was hot. It was not a storm.
Another shadow passed beneath, this time nearly tipping the boat completely. Pinocchio grabbed his oar and began to paddle quickly. He didn’t know where to go but he knew that to stay there would be his doom.
Over the horizon came a sight Pinocchio had longed for. White sails rose from the waters and Pinocchio leapt to his feet. Flailing his arms and waving his oar high into the air, he shouted for help. He could only hope that the wind carried his voice and that sharp eyes would spot his tiny boat.
Once more, his boat was knocked and he nearly fell into the water. He dropped his oar, losing it to the dark depths below. Pinocchio jumped higher, screamed louder.
He did not know if his pleas were heard. And even if they were, he did not think they would make it in time. For the creature finally emerged.
A beast as big as one of the king’s magnificent ships rose from the waves. Its dark and evil eye looked at Pinocchio, the lone woodcutter who thought he could be a sailor. There were many cruel things about the sea, from her violent waves to her turbulent winds, but those that lived within her mysterious abyss were far crueler. For the sea could be learned, could be understand, but the monsters within kept their secrets and could not be tamed.
Pinocchio had no oar to save him. He had no weapons to fight.
The beast opened its mouth wide as a cavern and the woodcutter’s boat was sucked forward. The sky went dark as the ship sank into the monster’s mouth and all light went out as it snapped shut. Pinocchio’s boat fell into the beast’s stomach, all in darkness.
***
For the first time, Pinocchio told himself a truth. He was not going to be alright. He was not going to escape this. He was going to die. The truth should’ve felt lighter than the heavy lies he had been telling himself over the days but it only made his fate more assured.
He thought back to his poor father and the last words he’d said to him. That he was going to go out early in the morning to get more wood for them. A lie, but that was nothing new. Pinocchio only knew how to tell lies, ever since the day he fell in love.
It was a love twofold that captured his heart and had since left him in constant longing.
Pinocchio lived right in the seams of two different worlds. At his back were the lush forests, teeming with beautiful, strong trees whose wood he crafted into beautiful things from trinkets to decorative beams to marionette dolls that danced on strings. And to his front, the lovely, sparkling sea that brought lovely ships and men to the town from faraway places, from the kingdom’s capital to the neighboring lands to the mysterious world of the east.
Pinocchio was always destined to be a woodcutter. He apprenticed under his father, who apprenticed under his father and so on and so forth for as long as anyone could remember. And he was quite good at it. One became skilled when taught by the best. But Pinocchio was drawn to the other side of his world. Though, he didn’t fall properly in love with the sea until he met the young apprentice sailor.
But that also became the moment he learned he must live with lies and never the truth.
Pinocchio wallowed like this for a long time but the utter darkness stole any form of timekeeping. It could’ve been minutes or hours or even a day when suddenly, a seam tore overhead, revealing the bright sunlight once more. Pinocchio blinked his watery eyes, staring though he knew it was dangerous to look into the sun, but he did not understand how the light came from overhead.
Then a face appeared, haloed by that glorious sunlight he thought he’d never see again.
“Thought I’d be too late!” the young sailor called down to the woodcutter. He reached into the belly of the monster through the cut and Pinocchio was free from certain death. “Saw that great beast eating you and we hurried to catch it. Lucky we got to it before it dove into the abyss.”
The beast was harpooned to the side of the massive and grand ship Pinocchio had tried calling to. The sailor helped him up the ladder and onto the deck. Lavish riches and heaps of gold were piled high, riches gained in their voyages.
Pinocchio looked at the sailor who saved his life. His skin was a deep tan, his bare arms coated in sweat and the guts of the monster he slayed. A beautiful red scarf was wrapped around his head and he wore strange shoes with upward facing points.
His crew dressed the same as the sailor, many men and women of rich color. Pinocchio had seen only few like them as they passed through his town and every time, he’d stolen away to the taverns where they told their stories to eager listeners. He suddenly wanted to know every story this sailor had to tell.
“I don’t think your boat can be saved,” the sailor lamented. “But let us take you where you need to go.”
Pinocchio nodded, only telling him that he was trying to return to his town by the sea, afraid to tell these skilled sailors about his foolish endeavor. “You are very kind, sir.”
The sailor smiled a wide smile. A dark beard lined his jaw and framed his lips. Pinocchio felt a flutter in his heart he had felt before but had quelled long ago. It crept on him once more and he had to try to smother the flame before it became an inferno.
“May I have the name of the man that rescued me so that I may repay him? I’m afraid that I’m just a poor woodcutter and so I cannot offer much.”
“Sinbad. But my only repayment will be the beast. It will feed my sailors and light our candles for many voyages.”
“Kind sir, please accept something for my gratitude.”
“Alright, I’ll take your name as payment.”
The young woodcutter felt the blood rush to his cheeks. “My name is Pinocchio.”
The sailor repeated the name, letting it roll of his tongue as he tested it. It made Pinocchio’s heart pick up speed and the embers were igniting.
“And what was a young woodcutter doing out in the sea?”
“I was on an errand for my father,” Pinocchio lied.
“That boat of yours looked quite unfit for the sea. She has no mercy on men.”
“It was all we could afford,” he lied once more.
Sinbad ushered Pinocchio into the shelter of the boat’s cabins. His skin was red from the sun and his tongue parched from the heat. He stared in awe of everything he saw: the strong masts holding the billowing sails, the sacks piled high with jewels, Sinbad’s bare arms gesturing as he spoke.
Pinocchio had only felt this way once before and he too was a sailor. This was when they were both mere apprentices in their crafts, still boys and still unsure of the rules of this world. There were few things they knew for certain but they did know that their hearts were telling them the same thing.
It was under the stars that they kissed. The sailor had taken Pinocchio out on a small boat, showing him how to tie knots, how to read the constellations, how to row parallel to the shore. He taught him how to fit his lips to his, how to feel his pulse against his own chest, how to feel all at once exhilarated and unsure. This, Pinocchio knew, was what love felt like. He wanted nothing more than to row to the edges of the world with the sailor, sharing tender and passionate kisses. Sharing a life together.
But it wasn’t to be, for they learned that what their hearts wanted was not what it could have.
The sailor came to Pinocchio the next day and his heart fluttered when his hands touched his chest like they had the night before. To his dismay, the sailor shoved him to the ground.
“You corrupt me,” he spat. “If you ever tell anyone what we did, I’ll burn every piece of wood in that shop of yours. If you ruin my life, I’ll ruin yours.”
That was the day that Pinocchio realized something about himself; that he must lie and say he was someone he was not.
And now he met Sinbad, another sailor who made his heart want the thing it was not supposed to. He brought Pinocchio into his own private quarters. As captain of the ship, he had the largest of rooms, though still not quite large enough for the two of them to maneuver without constantly brushing some part of themselves against the other.
“A bath is the first thing you need,” Sinbad said, waving his hand over his nose. Pinocchio knew he smelled quite awful and it brought heat to his cheeks to be so near someone so handsome and be so unbecoming. “We’re two days from your home so I will give you clothes. Those you’re wearing belong at the bottom of the ocean.”
Pinocchio pinched at his stiff shirt, stinking of saltwater and fish guts.
A fresh set of clothes were placed into his hands and he was left alone in the room. To say he was tempted to search through the room was an understatement. To say that he didn’t peek was a lie. To say that he was intrigued by what he found was the truth.
Pinocchio found a basin with a contraption that allowed water out a pipe. He scrubbed himself with the richly scented soap that smelled like Sinbad. His burnt skin stung from the water and the soap and it felt tender as he wiped himself dry.
Sinbad returned to find a shirtless Pinocchio struggling with the belt. Pinocchio would’ve flushed if his skin wasn’t already redder than the scarf wrapped around Sinbad’s hair.
“I brought something for the pain,” he explained, showing the bottle. “We sailors become well acquainted with the sun but you appear to have been burnt by him.”
He uncapped the bottle and scooped the cream onto his finger. Gently, he took Pinocchio’s stinging arm and smeared it over the blistering skin. The cooling sensation it bought was masked by Pinocchio’s fluttering pulse. He wanted to tell himself he was foolish, that Sinbad was merely a kind rescuer taking care of someone he’d found in trouble.
But any assurances he tried to tell himself dissipated when Sinbad’s darkly brown eyes flitted up to meet his own. The room was so very small, his skin so very hot, and Sinbad so very near to him. And he still didn’t have his shirt on.
He yanked his arm away, snuffing out the embers in his heart. He was not that person.
Sinbad’s disappointment was impossible to miss. But Pinocchio knew it was for the best. The last time he’d kissed a sailor, he’d almost ruined his life.
“Here,” Sinbad whispered, taking the ends of his belt. He showed him how to properly tie it and how his shirt tucked in. “Now food. You must be starving.”
He was starving. For so much.
The food was fragrant and colorful. Bowls were filled with rice topped with meats cooked in spices that had never met Pinocchio’s tongue before. Sinbad himself prepared a bowl for him, placing a piece of flat bread on top of it.
They sat side by side and Pinocchio’s wonder of the food was replaced by wonder of the sailor next to him.
Sinbad told him about his voyages thus far. About the horrible birds that ate men in a land of diamonds. How he’d found a whale with an entire forest on its back. And most recently, about the giant with sharp teeth that roasted men on a skewer. He told the tale of how he blinded the monster and escaped with even more riches than before.
Pinocchio was enamored by the tale, struck by Sinbad’s bravery. After the man-eating birds, Pinocchio would’ve never set foot on a boat again. Even after today’s endeavor, he wasn’t sure if he could ever be a sailor. But if Sinbad had given up after the first voyage, he never would have found the beautiful forest on a whale’s back.
That was how it always went. Sailors told their stories, transfixing the land-bound men like Pinocchio who wished they could be as daring. But he was a poor woodcutter, not a sailor, and he would have to be satisfied with that.
He tried – he tried ever so hard – not to let himself fall in love with Sinbad but no matter how much he lied to himself, he could not stop looking at Sinbad. And Sinbad noticed.
***
Two days he remained with Sinbad and his crew. The closer they drew to the shore, the more Pinocchio wished he could stay.
He spent every moment learning from the sailors. The knots he relearned how to tie, the stars he reacquainted himself with, the way to catch the wind in the sails. His deft fingers used to carving images and faces into wood now guided the boat through the ocean that had mercy for these men and women.
It was easy to imagine him staying forever. It was even easy to imagine being with Sinbad. Until they docked and Pinocchio saw his father frantically searching for him.
He ducked out of sight, ashamed that he had caused so much worry over something so foolish.
Sinbad chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Am I right in assuming that’s your father?” He nodded. “Well, I’m sure he’d love to hear your great adventure! His son surviving being eaten by a sea monster. He’d be rightly proud.”
Pinocchio could’ve told the truth but then the sailor would know that he was just a foolish dreamer, not fit for sea. Not fit for him.
“He’ll be mad about our boat,” he lied instead.
“Ah, yes. It wasn’t a great boat but it is a loss.” He rubbed at his beard, thinking. Then he reached into one of the many sacks of jewels and gave Pinocchio a diamond larger than his fist. “This is enough for a much grander boat than the one you lost.”
Pinocchio’s eyes went nearly as big as the diamond. It was more riches than he’d ever seen in his life or ever hoped to see. “Sir, you are far too kind. I am the one indebted to you.”
Sinbad took Pinocchio’s hands and placed them around the diamond. “Please take it. The sea is unkind, yes, but she is also a damning temptress. Even I can’t resist her call.”
Pinocchio breathed a shallow breath as Sinbad didn’t draw his hands away. Sailors moved about, not paying them any mind. Sinbad pressed his forehead to Pinocchio’s.
“Or,” he whispered, “You can join my crew. One as brave as you would fit right in.”
But Pinocchio was far from brave. He couldn’t even bring himself to admit the truth. Not even as Sinbad’s lips nearly brushed along his.
“Pinocchio!” his father shouted from the docks.
Pinocchio jerked away from Sinbad, stuffing the diamond into his pocket.
“Don’t worry, sir, he’s safe and sound!” Sinbad greeted, waving at the frenzied man. “Found the lad in a spot of trouble and thought we’d help him along his way.”
Pinocchio hung his head as he hurried to his father. Everyone knew the young woodcutter and his silly fantasies of being a sailor and they snickered at his humiliation.
The old woodcutter looked over his son, as angry as he was relieved. “You foolish boy,” he scolded. “Sir, what can we do to repay you?” he asked Sinbad.
Pinocchio hadn’t realized he’d followed him and he bit down on his knuckle.
Sinbad smiled that wonderful smile of his and Pinocchio stamped down even harder on those damned embers in his heart. They would not catch fire. He would not let his heart be foolish.
“Perhaps a piece of woodcraft? Something for my ship. Yes, a figurehead.” He beckoned to the bare bow of the ship.
“Yes, of course,” the old woodcutter agreed. “We will make anything you like.”
“I’d like it if Pinocchio decided. He has an eye for the sea and I trust he’ll make something wonderful.”
Pinocchio flushed as he stared at Sinbad. He truly wanted nothing more than to join him on his magnificent ship, facing monsters and beasts. He wanted to return Sinbad’s embraces. He wanted to kiss again, to feel like he did before he knew what he wanted was so very wrong.
“I’ll return in a month’s time,” Sinbad promised, stealing one final lingering touch to Pinocchio’s hands.
***
Pinocchio watched the beautiful ship sail away that night. He stared until its last light vanished in the horizon. One month and Sinbad would return for his new figurehead. Pinocchio had no idea what to make for him and anytime he tried to think about it, his thoughts just drifted back to Sinbad.
No. That is not who you are. Not sailor, nor…
He returned home, diamond heavy in his pocket and heart aching with desire.
His father scolded him over dinner, calling him the things he already knew about himself. Foolish, reckless. It was time he stopped dreaming and accepted who he was. And so, Pinocchio went to bed with the diamond hidden away.
***
The next morning was a strange one, for Pinocchio found that his fingers had turned into wood. They flexed and bent like normal fingers but they were very much made of wood. Panic swelled in him and he thought to run to his father but after the events of yesterday, he worried to do so.
“Strange magic, that is,” came a tiny voice, startling Pinocchio.
He was alone in the room.
Or so he thought.
“Down here!” the voice chirped.
Pinocchio spotted a large cricket on his bedside table. He leaned down, bringing his eye to the tiny bug. “Did you just speak?”
“No, silly. I did.” A tiny fairy sat on the back of the cricket, a small saddle strapped around its torso. She was no bigger than a thumb and her fluttering wings coated the table in sparkling blue dust.
“What are you?” Pinocchio asked.
“I’m a fairy, silly. Haven’t you ever seen a fairy before?”
He shook his head. “No one has seen a fairy in many years.”
She smiled and jumped from the cricket’s back. “Then you are lucky indeed! A little bit of magic and you’ll be feeling right better.”
Pinocchio looked at his wooden fingers. “Isn’t magic what put me in this predicament?”
“Well yes, but it’s a nasty magic. I have good magic.”
There was one other absolute truth that Pinocchio knew: Magic was a dangerous thing. It was so easily misused and as much good it brought, it brought despair tenfold. Pinocchio had determined last night that he wanted nothing to do with Sinbad and had determined long ago that he wanted nothing to do with magic.
“Well fix me then,” he urged, thrusting his fingers at the fairy.
“Downright rude, you are,” she quipped, fluttering away from him.
“Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“So what if it is? You can still ask nicely.”
Pinocchio groaned. He only had a month to make Sinbad’s figurehead and wooden fingers would slow him down. “Please, fairy?”
She smiled and landed on his hand. It felt strange, as if his fingers were numb. Pinocchio felt the fairy on his hands but as if he were remembering the feeling. She sprinkled more dust as she fluttered around, touching his fingers one by one.
“Strange indeed,” she said with a firm nod. “A liar you must be.”
“I am not,” Pinocchio snapped. As he did. His palms suddenly turned to wood. His face paled and stomach twisted itself into a knot.
“Yes, quite the liar. Although it takes a big lie to bring such magic as this. But! This means that all it takes is the truth to reverse the magic. Simple as that.”
“Simple?” Pinocchio cried.
“Yes, because you don’t need me to reverse the magic. So, tell me. What is the truth?”
Pinocchio averted his eyes. There was no lie. The truth was that he didn’t want to be a sailor and he didn’t want to run away with Sinbad.
His eyes widened and he looked down at his wriggling wooden toes.
The little fairy sighed. “You’re scared to go to the sailor. You know, sailors aren’t all that bad. In fact, I know a pirate captain who’s got quite the meanest face one ever did see but truth be told, he loved his mother far more than treasure and the sea itself. Saved us fairies from a horrible boy, he did.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Pinocchio asked.
“Because I thought maybe telling you a truth would help you tell one.”
“That wasn’t your truth.”
The fairy tapped her chin. “Quite right you are. Let’s see, a truth about me.” She fluttered into the air and buzzed around, thinking. “My truth is, I miss our little island. It was dangerous, yes, but it was small. There are too many people here and it’s so very loud. You know us fairies can hear wishes? Yes, we hear all wishes and that’s why I’ve come to you. Your heart is so very sad because it longs for both the sea and the sailor.”
“My heart is not sad.”
He winced. His feet were now blocks of wood that clopped against the floor.
The fairy landed on his shoulder and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “You must stop lying!” she urged. “If you don’t, your entire body will become wood, even your heart. And when your heart is wood, you’ll no longer be you. You’ll be nothing more than a puppet, shaped like a man.”
Pinocchio looked at his hands. It was jarring to see where flesh suddenly stopped at the joint and wood connected to it. Perhaps it would be best if his heart turned to wood. For it was an absolute truth. He was a woodcutter’s son and sons did not kiss other sons.
“My truth is not one that this world accepts,” he admitted to the little fairy. “I must lie so that I may be accepted.”
The fairy knelt on his palm and traced the lines that were once the creases of his skin. “That is not a truth of this world.”
“Even so, it is the truth that the world has chosen.”
The fairy sighed and shook her wings fiercely. “I’m sorry, Pinocchio, but only by being true can you reverse the magic.”
Pinocchio gave her a smile that wouldn’t convince her, even if she couldn’t see the sadness in his heart. “I can wear gloves and thick socks. No one will ever know our little secret.”
But it was summer and the old woodcutter looked at his son with raised brows when he ate breakfast with his gloves on. Pinocchio was quite relieved when his father didn’t ask him about it. The next lie would probably turn his entire arms wooden. Instead, the old woodcutter just shrugged at his son’s continued odd behavior and sent him off to get the wood for Sinbad’s figurehead.
“Why do you want to be a sailor?” the little fairy asked as Pinocchio chopped the large tree. “I saw the things you made. You’re quite good at it.”
Pinocchio wiped the sweat from his brow. “Because I don’t love it. Not like my father loves it.”
“And you love sailing?”
He stopped mid-swing. Those two days with Sinbad’s crew had been the best days of his life. Despite the pain from his blistered skin, the heavy labor that ached his muscles, the inescapable odor of fish, he loved it like he never loved woodcutting. He loved the men and women, fearless and kind, even to a woodcutter who knew nothing of the sea. And he loved Sin̶
He buried the ax in the tree, had to wriggle it to get it free, and swung once more.
The little fairy fluttered up to a thin branch and walked its length with her arms out to either side to keep balance. “What if you give all of this up and you find that you hate sailing? What then?”
Pinocchio swung the ax into the tree. “Aren’t you supposed to be guiding me to my heart’s desire? Not discouraging me?”
She dropped down and hooked her knees over the branch so that she swung down. “I thought you couldn’t have what your heart desired?”
He hit the tree with more oomph, nearly knocking her down. She yelped and grabbed the branch.
“That wasn’t the part I was talking about.”
“Ah, it’s the sailor.”
His cheeks turned red but he kept swinging. He said neither yes or no, aloud or in his heart.
“Does he love you back?”
“I only met him three days ago,” Pinocchio answered. A roundabout answer to avoid a lie.
“So? Haven’t you ever heard of love at first sight? It ensnares plenty of young men.”
Of course Pinocchio had heard of it but it was the thing of stories. Of princes and princesses not the sons of woodcutters. He wasn’t meant for such a story.
Before he could continue, someone called out his name. Old schoolmates, young men he hadn’t seen since they each began their apprenticeships, strolled up to him.
“Quite the show you put on yesterday, woodcutter,” the leader taunted. “It seems you’ve found a new sailor to kiss.”
This caused Pinocchio to freeze for he had kept his promise and never told another soul about his first kiss. The only ones to know were him and the sailor.
“I’ve never kissed a sailor,” he lied and his arms turned to wood beneath his sleeves. The little fairy gave a tiny gasp that was mistaken for the rustling of leaves.
The old schoolmates shared a laugh with one another, a laugh that one shares with friends when they know something the outsider does not.
“He told us. That old sailor friend of yours, he told us all about how the woodcutter liked to kiss boys and how he tricked him into getting him alone in a boat to kiss him. Pretend you’re interested in sailing then you get what you’re really after? Is that how you do it?”
“That’s not what happened,” Pinocchio said, his grip tight on the ax in his hand. Hot tears made his eyes blurry and his heart raced in painful constrictions. He had kept their secret. He had promised not to ruin the sailor’s life. He had done all he could to tame his wild heart.
“Pinocchio the liar,” the young man taunted. “Lying to dear old dad, lying to sailors to get them to kiss you. All you do is lie.” With each accusation, he stepped closer and closer until Pinocchio was pressed against the half-cut tree. He pressed his fingers into Pinocchio’s chest. “Tell me, liar, do you want to kiss me?”
No, Pinocchio never wanted to kiss him. He never even wanted to see him again after this moment. But he was a liar and he had no answer that would satisfy.
The young man laughed, this time a laugh one does boastfully, proudly after he’s beaten down the person they’re laughing at. A laugh that rubbed in the humiliation just a little bit more.
Then that laugh turned into the bray of a donkey. He clapped his palm over his mouth. Or he would have if he still had a hand, for now he had the hoof of a donkey, brown fur sprouting down the length of an arm that was now a leg.
“What have you d-“
His words cut short into another bray, this one of panic and fear.
Helplessly, Pinocchio and the other young men watched as the transformation continued. He screamed fewer and fewer words and brayed more and more until he no longer had a mouth to speak with.
Before their eyes, the son of the blacksmith became a donkey. The only evidence that the beast had once been a young man were the clothes stretched and torn across his body and his eyes that held a human fear, pure and terrified.
The donkey let out a wild cry and took off for the town. His friends remained behind, looking at the woodcutter in shock, for only an enchanter could perform such magic and the town was not known to have an enchanter.
“Imp!” they cried out.
“Monster!” they screamed.
“Devil!” they accused.
The ax was yanked from his hands and a glove came off with it. Wooden fingers hid his face.
The one now wielding the ax looked at the weapon, looked at Pinocchio’s wooden appendages, then back at the ax. A rather fitting and convenient way to dispose of a dangerous enchanter, he surmised, and hefted the ax above his head.
But hooves cannot wield an ax and it fell to the ground. Pinocchio once more watched as two young men went from the son of a baker and the son of a butcher into donkeys. Terror gleamed in their eyes as they bolted for the town.
Pinocchio looked at his wooden fingers. He did not feel any magic within them. He had not wished the boys into donkeys. It had simply happened, just as he was turning into wood.
The little fairy fluttered down from the tree that had hid her from the awful young men.
“Did you do that to them?” he asked her.
She shook her head, her blue dust making a sparkling mound on the forest floor. “An ass becomes an ass. Just as one who tries to subdue his heart becomes wood.”
She pressed her tiny hands to Pinocchio’s racing heart, feeling his pulse.
“You have a strong heart, Pinocchio. Please don’t let it go still.”
Pinocchio cupped his hands, allowing the fairy to rest in his palms. “You’ve seen that it cannot be,” he lamented. His words were heavier than the tree he must finish cutting down. “This is a not a world for one like me.”
“And what of your sailor? What if his heart longs for you? Must he also lie to himself?”
“Let me tell you a story,” Pinocchio said. He set the little fairy on his shoulder and hefted the ax. As he swung steady, powerful swings into the tree, he spoke the tale.
“There were once two boys, young and innocent to this world. They both loved the sea and – they quickly learned – each other. One boy knew the sea better than the other and he taught the boy how to understand it. But the boy, as much as he loved the sea, loved the other boy even more. One night, he had both; the boy and the sea. They sailed out into the night and they shared their first – and only – kiss. The boy thought he would never be happier. But then the other boy learned what happened to sailors who kissed boys.
“Their secret rendezvous in the night did not remain secret and the boy had to deny the boy he’d taken out to the sea if he wanted to be a sailor. For a sailor spends his life with other men and a sailor who kisses men is not the type that sailors want to be around. He had to choose between the boy and the sea and so he put the blame on the boy he had kissed.”
The final blow came and the tree creaked and groaned as it fell to the ground.
“Do you think he’s turning to wood as well?” Pinocchio asked.
The fairy tugged a lock of Pinocchio’s brown hair as she stood. “I do not know his heart, only yours. Is it the same with your new sailor? Is that why you can’t be with him?”
Pinocchio thought of Sinbad, the beloved captain of the ship. His crew looked at him like a dear friend, someone they would follow to the ends of the earth. Would they change their love for him if they knew he had let Pinocchio lay in his bed, a bed too small for them to keep their distance from one another? Would they think differently of their captain whose beard had scratched Pinocchio’s neck as his lips fought their urge to kiss him?
“Just tell me no,” he breathed as Pinocchio lay next to him, his eyes studying every inch of Sinbad’s handsome face. “Tell me no, Pinocchio.”
Pinocchio did not say no. He did not say yes. He said nothing and so Sinbad did not kiss him. Instead, he just stared back at Pinocchio, running his eyes over the freckles dotting his cheeks and nose.
“I see the constellations on you. It puts the night sky to shame.”
Perhaps they already knew this was who their captain was. Perhaps they came from a land that let one have their heart’s desire. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…
One as brave as you would fit right in.
But Pinocchio was not brave. He was nothing but a liar.
***
Pinocchio returned that day with his wood to create Sinbad’s figurehead. Three new donkeys leered at him and three fathers searched for their sons long into the night. Pinocchio did not tell the truth, for he feared being thought an enchanter, and when one of the fathers asked if he knew what happened to his son, his legs turned to wood.
Having wooden fingers did indeed make carving difficult for Pinocchio. Often, he found his hands slipping and making the wrong cut, forcing him to change the image or adjust the shape of it. Though, his true hindrance was not knowing what he wanted to make for Sinbad.
The little fairy remained at his side, trying with all her might to inspire him to create the perfect thing for Sinbad. She told him about a princess who left the land to marry a mermaid and thought he should make the figure in her image. But no, Pinocchio did not want to, for it felt as if revealing his heart.
She thought he should make the image of the great beast that had brought them together but Pinocchio was still quite distraught from the whole ordeal and did not think he could stomach the task.
In the end, he consented to make a simple maiden, a woman with all the beauty a son should look for in a wife. The fairy did not like this but Pinocchio was satisfied.
The time came when Sinbad was to return for the figurehead, but Pinocchio did not see those magnificent sails on the horizon. He waited all day and long into the night, but he did not come. Pinocchio returned home, reassuring himself that the sea truly was cruel and would often delay a ship for many days.
The next day, he told himself that Sinbad was off gathering more riches.
The following day, he told himself Sinbad was facing a monster.
The day after, he told himself that Sinbad never planned to return for him.
He told himself he was glad he didn’t come back. His torso became wood.
The little fairy fretted, feeling for his heart. It was still there, beating and breaking. But it was weak.
He was nearly ready to give up his sailor and his dreams.
That night, a horrible storm blew in, bringing with it a ship of the king’s command. A ship that had taken away the first and only sailor Pinocchio had ever kissed. And with them, they brought a tale.
Pinocchio, still with a beating heart that loved the sea, listened to their tale.
The storm was ravaging the sea. Turbulent winds blew ships off course, waves swallowed ships whole, and clouds obscured the guiding stars. And in the center of this storm, there was a ship.
It fought to stay afloat, the men and women battling the sea with fierce desperation. A captain in a brilliant red scarf was seen leading the fight.
Pinocchio’s heart came alive.
“Has anyone gone to help them?” he asked. It was the first time he ever spoke up among the sailors, for he preferred to lurk in the dark corners of the tavern, a listener, never a speaker.
Now, every eye was on him, including the sailor he had once kissed.
“No one is foolish enough to fight that storm,” came an answer. “No, you won’t find a single boat on the sea tonight, save for those poor souls.”
Agreement ran through the tavern. A prayer was all the aid that would go to Sinbad and his crew.
Pinocchio could not remain to listen to their laments over the souls that would be lost that night.
He still had the diamond Sinbad had given him. It was to buy a boat to replace the one lost to the beast’s belly but he did not plan to ever sail again. He was afraid that he was not cut out to be a sailor. But an even greater fear had gripped his heart. One he could not bear.
The little fairy fluttered from her tiny bed Pinocchio had crafted for her as he retrieved the diamond from its place hidden away. “Pinocchio, you can’t go out there. You’re not fit to face a monster such as this.”
“No one else is going to help,” he said, gathering what he thought he’d need. He did not have time to pack properly, nor did he have a clear head with which to think. So he flung all he could into a satchel and bid a silent farewell to his sleeping father.
The sailor he once loved waited for him at the docks. “You always had an eye for sailors.”
Pinocchio held the diamond close to his racing heart. He did not have time to tell all the truths he needed to tell the sailor. Not that he thought it would matter.
“He’s in trouble.”
“You’ll die out there.”
“Don’t pretend to care. I kept my promise, I never said a word to anyone. I would never ruin you, yet you tried to ruin me.”
The sailor’s eyes fell. Rain splattered against his face, drenching his hair that normally curled around his head. “Sailing is all I know. If that was taken from me, what would I become?”
“I became a liar for you. I’ve become this because of you.” He revealed the wooden arm of his, the rain staining it as it fell.
The sailor looked at his arm and understood the magic that had taken hold of Pinocchio. Sadness welled in him and he closed the space between them. His hands cupped Pinocchio’s still fleshy cheeks and drew him close.
“I’ve lied as well,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to, not anymore.”
But Pinocchio did not want to kiss this sailor. He wanted to save the sailor who wore a red scarf and saw the constellations in his face. He stepped from his touch.
“Then tell the truth. But not to me.”
“You can’t save him. The sea is going to take him.”
“I can’t let him die.”
And so, he exchanged the beautiful diamond for the best ship he could get that night. The little fairy huddled within his coat, clinging to his clothing so she wouldn’t get blown away. He begged her to stay behind but she refused to leave him. Instead, he made her promise something.
“If I sink, go to my father. Tell him I’m sorry for everything.”
“You will tell him yourself. We’re going to save Sinbad and bring him to your father.”
Pinocchio forced a smile. “Yes, little fairy. We’re going to come home,” he lied, turning his face into wood. His heart grew a little weaker. It would not last another lie.
***
The sea had no mercy that night. The winds were more brutal than ever before. The waves higher than mountains. But he did not give up. He fought hard though the rain weakened his wooden body. He would not last long.
A brilliant white caught his eyes, bobbing up and down in the treacherous sea. A spot of red moved about. Pinocchio’s heart picked up speed.
But between Pinocchio and Sinbad was a monster so unlike anything Pinocchio had ever seen before. Its face was in the dark clouds. Its arms were the spray of crashing waves. Its cries were the thunderous roars all around them.
Sinbad’s crew were flung into the sea. Their heads bobbed in the dark waters, reaching desperately for the safety of their ship.
Pinocchio angled his sails for more speed.
“Fairy, what can I do?” he yelled.
The little fairy shivered against his wooden neck that no longer offered the warmth of flesh. “The monster was drawn to you,” she shouted back. “It is trying to stop Sinbad from taking you to the sea. The magic turning you into wood is trying to destroy him.”
Pinocchio felt his ever-weakening heart give a shudder. He had thought that only he would be affected by his lies. He never thought how Sinbad would be hurt by it.
“No, this isn’t what I want,” he said, his voice lost to the wind. For the briefest of seconds, it seemed as if the monster had heard him and quieted. But then its fury carried on and more men tumbled over Sinbad’s ship.
“Do you hear me!” Pinocchio screamed. “This is not what I want. I don’t want you to take him!”
This was the moment the sea fought back. For it also loved Sinbad, the sailor who was forever drawn to her no matter what she threw at him. The waves that pummeled the ship now raised the fallen sailors to its solid ground. The wind that fought to keep Pinocchio at bay now carried him with speed to Sinbad.
“I do not want to be a woodcutter. I want to be a sailor. I want to see the world with him. Please, don’t take him from me.”
A truth, finally spoken on his lips, brought an end to the monster. It slunk away, leaving the sea calm once more.
Sinbad waved at the ship that had come to save him and his crew. He knew not yet who his savior to be and was ready to repay them with jewels upon jewels before hurrying to Pinocchio. For him, this month had been long, dreaming of the young woodcutter with the constellations on his cheeks and the stars in his eyes. He had hoped every day of his arduous voyages that Pinocchio would say yes this time.
It was a great surprise for him to see that it was Pinocchio upon the ship that came to his rescue. But then again, he had known a brave heart beat in the woodcutter’s chest.
It was also a great surprise to see the woodcutter made of wood.
But he could not wait another moment. Assured that his crew was safely accounted for, he leapt across the gap between their ships and clambered up the ladder. Pinocchio waited for his embrace.
His body was soddened from the rain, the wood crumbling under the strength of Sinbad’s arms.
“I feared I was too late,” Pinocchio whispered.
“Am I too late?” Sinbad asked, touching a wooden cheek.
Pinocchio looked at the fairy. She squirmed around, shaking the water from her as she did. Her body pressed against Pinocchio’s chest, listening, feeling.
“Your heart still beats, Pinocchio. You know what you must do now.”
Pinocchio gazed upon the sailor that had saved his life and whose life he had saved. The man that showed his heart how to love again. The one who could be his future.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Sinbad, yes. To everything. To sailing away with you. To spending a lifetime with you. To you.”
And he kissed Sinbad the sailor with lips that were no longer made of wood but made of flesh that had longed for this from the moment Sinbad had freed him from the belly of the beast.
For the first time, his heart’s desire was granted and he was free to allow it.
And Sinbad, a sailor who spent his life searching the world for the greatest treasure had finally found it. More than the sacks of gold or the piles of diamonds that amounted to the wealth of a king, he’d never been richer than this very moment as he held the young woodcutter who longed to be a sailor in his arms.
From that day, Pinocchio never told another lie. He told his father he would write every month – at least – and he did. He told the mourning fathers where to find the asses that were their sons. He told the storyteller his story, though he had to admit he preferred Sinbad’s tales to his own, even as they became tales they shared.
The figurehead was mounted to Sinbad’s ship, after a few changes of course. Instead of a serene maiden, the ship boasted the image of a fairy to guide them through the sea as Pinocchio’s little fairy had guided his heart to its desire. Like Pinocchio, she became quite a skilled sailor, though she had to strap herself down in heavy winds.
And so, Pinocchio was no longer a woodcutter. He was a sailor and soon after, a husband, and forever at Sinbad’s side, for every journey and every monster they faced. For he had faced the greatest monster of all and had conquered it.
Be Bold 