I’ll dry my clothes and warm myself, and then—well—”
His mind made up, Pinocchio swam to the rocks, but as he started to climb, he felt something under him lifting him up higher and higher.
He tried to escape, but he was too late. To his great surprise, he found himself in a huge net, amid a crowd of fish of all kinds and sizes, who were fighting and struggling desperately to free themselves.
At the same time, he saw a Fisherman come out of the cave, a Fisherman so ugly that Pinocchio thought he was a sea monster.
In place of hair, his head was covered by a thick bush of green grass. Green was the skin of his body, green were his eyes, green was the long, long beard that reached down to his feet.
He looked like a giant lizard with legs and arms.
When the Fisherman pulled the net out of the sea, he cried out joyfully:
“Blessed Providence!
Once more I’ll have a fine meal of fish!”
“Thank Heaven, I’m not a fish!” said Pinocchio to himself, trying with these words to find a little courage.
The Fisherman took the net and the fish to the cave, a dark, gloomy, smoky place. In the middle of it, a pan full of oil sizzled over a smoky fire, sending out a repelling odor of tallow that took away one’s breath.
“Now, let’s see what kind of fish we have caught today,” said the Green Fisherman.
He put a hand as big as a spade into the net and pulled out a handful of mullets.
“Fine mullets, these!” he said, after looking at them and smelling them with pleasure.
After that, he threw them into a large, empty tub.
Many times he repeated this performance.
As he pulled each fish out of the net, his mouth watered with the thought of the good dinner coming, and he said:
“Fine fish, these bass!”
“Very tasty, these whitefish!”
“Delicious flounders, these!”
“What splendid crabs!” “And these dear little anchovies, with their heads still on!”
As you can well imagine, the bass, the flounders, the whitefish, and even the little anchovies all went together into the tub to keep the mullets company.
The last to come out of the net was Pinocchio.
As soon as the Fisherman pulled him out, his green eyes opened wide with surprise, and he cried out in fear:
“What kind of fish is this?
I don’t remember ever eating anything like it.”
He looked at him closely and after turning him over and over, he said at last:
“I understand.
He must be a crab!”
Pinocchio, mortified at being taken for a crab, said resentfully:
“What nonsense! A crab indeed! I am no such thing.
Beware how you deal with me!
I am a Marionette, I want you to know.”
“A Marionette?” asked the Fisherman.
“I must admit that a Marionette fish is, for me, an entirely new kind of fish.
So much the better. I’ll eat you with greater relish.”
“Eat me?
But can’t you understand that I’m not a fish?
Can’t you hear that I speak and think as you do?”
“It’s true,” answered the Fisherman; “but since I see that you are a fish, well able to talk and think as I do, I’ll treat you with all due respect.”
“And that is—”
“That, as a sign of my particular esteem, I’ll leave to you the choice of the manner in which you are to be cooked.
Do you wish to be fried in a pan, or do you prefer to be cooked with tomato sauce?”
“To tell you the truth,” answered Pinocchio, “if I must choose, I should much rather go free so I may return home!”
“Are you fooling?
Do you think that I want to lose the opportunity to taste such a rare fish?
A Marionette fish does not come very often to these seas.
Leave it to me. I’ll fry you in the pan with the others. I know you’ll like it.
It’s always a comfort to find oneself in good company.”
The unlucky Marionette, hearing this, began to cry and wail and beg.