Written by:

MARCO FOGLIANI

FairyTales and Pranksters

Translated by: Ian J. King

©2022 - Marco Fogliani

Table of Contents

INTRODUCTION

THE TRUE STORY OF THE LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD

SERENA THE MERMAID

THE MINES OF SANTA CLAUS

SCARLETT

GEPPETTO, THE BLUE FAIRY AND THE TALKING CRICKET

THE TOY SOLDIERS AND THE BALLERINA

SALAFINO AND THE MAGIC COFFEEPOT

OSVALDO THE FISHERMAN

GINO THE POSTMAN AND THE BABY DRAGON

BALDWIN AND THE PRINCESS’ TOOTHPASTE

PAULINO AND THE DRAGON OF THE BLACK CASTLE

THE MAT THAT COULD FLY

SNOW WHITE AND THE LITTLE ORPHANS

THEODORE’S GOLDEN DANDRUFF

PINKY

THE COCKEREL AND HIS GOLDEN EGGS

THE PEN GENIE

THE STORY OF A MANNEQUIN

THE SUGAR WIZARD

THE TRUE STORY OF PRINCE FELIX

THE CYCLAMEN PRINCESS AND THE BLUEBERRY KNIGHT

INTRODUCTION

In this collection, I wanted to include all my writings that have to do with the world of fairy tales.

Among these, one can roughly distinguish three groups:

Those in which one can easily find references to specific fairy tales and of which mine, often in a joking tone, can be considered an actualisation or a personal reworking;

Those that are more original, not only in their development, but also in their subject and plot;

Those which, in reality, take their cue and inspiration from classic and well–known fairy tale themes and then follow their own path.

The first group probably includes “Rosella” (inspired by Cinderella); “The true story of The Little Red Riding Hood (and the wolf)”; “Rosetta” (inspired by The Little Red Riding Hood); “Snow White and the Orphans” (based on Snow White); “Serena the Mermaid” (The Little Mermaid); “The Toy Soldiers and the Ballerina” (The Nutcracker). Then there is “Geppetto, the Blue Fairy and the Talking Cricket”, which in modern language could be described as a small sequel to Pinocchio.

In the second group, I would probably include: “Theodore’s Golden Dandruff”; “Baldwin and the Princess’ Toothpaste”; and the dragon tales: “Gino the Postman and the Baby Dragon” and “Paulino and the Dragon of the Black Castle”.

In the last group I would insert: “Salafino and the magic coffeepot”; “The pen genie” (perhaps more novella than fairy tale, like most of the tales in this group), inspired by Aladdin’s lamp; “The mat that could fly” which takes up the theme of flying carpets; “Story of a mannequin”, which vaguely recalls Pinocchio and the tin soldier; “Osvaldo the fisherman” which takes up the theme of talking fish. And “The Mines of Santa Claus” which, although a Christmas tale, has something to do with Hansel and Gretel and with Toy Land.

THE TRUE STORY OF THE LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful little girl with red hair and pigtails. Everyone called her Little Red Riding Hood, because she loved to go around in a little red dress with a red hood, a red skirt, red shoes, red stockings, a red vest and red panties.

One day Mummy said to her, “Go to your granny’s, take this basket and keep her company. And remember, don’t stray from the path, don’t linger and don’t talk to strangers.”

In the basket there were biscuits, a tart, strawberries and cherries, all natural and genuine products for her grandmother, who was old and often ill. She lived alone on the other side of the woods.

Little Red Riding Hood set off with her basket. It was summer and there were many flowers growing. Little Red Riding Hood began to pick one, then another and then another. In a little while she had made a nice bunch, then another and then another. And as she picked them, she sang happily and carefree:

That little bunch of flowers

That comes from the grove

That little bunch of flowers

Make sure it doesn’t get wet

I want to give it away

A suspicious character was attracted by her beautiful voice: it was a very hungry wolf and it approached her.

He was so impressed by the beauty of Little Red Riding Hood that he fell in love with her, and, despite his hunger, he tried every way he could think of, to talk to her.

Oh, what a pretty basket you have,

What are you doing with it?

Oh, what a pretty basket you have,

Give it to me!

But Little Red Riding Hood answered:

No, no, no. I won’t give it to you, because mother doesn’t want me to.

No, no, no. I won’t give it to you, because mother won’t let me to.

And again, the wolf peeped into the basket and saw all the goodies:

Oh, what beautiful biscuits you have,

What are you doing with them?

Oh, what beautiful biscuits you have,

Give them to me!

But Little Red Riding Hood said:

No, no, no. I won’t give them to you, because Mummy doesn’t want me to.

No, no, no. I won’t give them to you, because mother won’t let me to.

But the wolf, albeit politely, insisted:

Oh, what a beautiful tart you have,

What are you doing with it?

Oh, what a beautiful tart you have,

what will you do with it, give it to me!

No, no. I won’t give it to you, because mother doesn’t want me to.

No, no, no. I won’t give it to you, because mother won’t let me to.

And again:

Oh what beautiful strawberries you have,

What will you do with them?

Oh what beautiful strawberries you have,

Give them to me!

No, no, no. I won’t give them to you because mother doesn’t want me to.

No, no, no. I won’t give them to you because mother won’t let me to.

And then:

Oh, what nice cherries you have,

What will you do with them?

Oh, what nice cherries you have,

Give them to me!

No, no, no. I won’t give them to you, because mother doesn’t want me to.

No, no, no. I won’t give them to you, because mother won’t let me to.

And finally:

Oh, what pretty bouquets you have,

What will you do with them?

Oh, what pretty bouquets you have,

Give them to me!

No, no, no. I won’t give them to you, because mother doesn’t want me to.

No, no, no. I won’t give them to you, because mother won’t let me to.

Finally, Little Red Riding Hood was getting annoyed, and so she added:

“Go away, you big bad wolf. I have to take this stuff to my grandmother, who is old and sick and lives on the other side of the wood. You will have none of it. Now, go away and don’t let me see you again!”

The wolf went away with his tail between his legs, and he was still hungry; but as Little Red Riding Hood lingered to pick more flowers, he went quickly to her grandmother’s house.

Knock knock, the wolf tapped on her door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s the doctor,” replied the wolf, disguising his voice.

“The doctor? And why have you come?”

“Because I heard your feet are hurting, if I’m not wrong.”

“Foot pain? Coming to think of it, you know you’re right? My feet do hurt. I almost forgot about that. But I wouldn’t have allowed myself to bother you, just because of a little foot pain.”

After a while, again the wolf knocked on the door… Knock knock.

“Who is it?”

“It’s the doctor,” the wolf replied, again disguising his voice.

“The doctor? And why have you come?”

“Because I heard you have a headache.”

“Headache? Coming to think of it, you know you’re right? I do have an annoying headache. But I wouldn’t have allowed myself to bother you, just because of a little foot ache, or a little headache.”

After a while the wolf knocked on the door again, Knock knock.

“Who is it?”

“It’s the doctor,” the wolf replied, still disguising his voice.

“The doctor? And why have you come?”

“For your stomach ache.”

“Stomach ache? You’re quite right! I really do have a terrible stomach ache. You were right to come; this stomach ache is unbearable. And I also have a headache and a foot ache. Come in, come in. I’ve been waiting for you.”

And the old lady got out of bed and went to open the door for him.

“Doctor! What a mess you’ve made of yourself,” said the grandmother, who clearly had some sight problems. “You look so worn out!”

“You know how it is, with all these visits. I haven’t had time to eat, since this morning.”

“Come, come, I’ll offer you something.” And with a slow pace and a limp from the pain in her feet, she lead him to the kitchen.

“Would you like some biscuits? They are good and homemade, you know! From time to time my daughter or my granddaughter, who are both so dear, bring them to me. Please, take some. Take some.”

And the wolf – at first discreetly, one at a time; then all at once, seeing that the grandmother wasn’t looking – spat them out of his mouth.

“I hope you enjoyed them. Take as many as you like, because they’re not good for my stomach ache, and soon they’ll be bringing me more. And try some of this tart, which is genuine and home made by my daughter. Have a taste, have a taste.”

The wolf didn’t let her say it twice. In no time at all, all the pie ended up keeping company with the biscuits.

“I really wouldn’t know what else to offer you. I’ve got some good fruit, especially strawberries and cherries” she said, opening the larder door; and the wolf, in no time at all, took the opportunity to swallow what he found in there too.

“I’m very sorry, but I don’t think I have anything else to offer you, dear doctor,” said Grandma, opening the door of the almost empty refrigerator; and in a moment the wolf, who was just behind her, emptied it out again, completely.

“Ah, that’s what I could give you, a nice fresh egg. You’ll see, it’ll put you right back on your feet.” And so she opened the kitchen door and went out into the chicken coop. The wolf followed her and while she picked up a fresh egg to offer him, he ate a whole hen in one gulp. Now, he thought, he felt full.

“Here, taste how good this is,” said the granny, offering him the egg in a cup. The wolf naturally did not refuse it, but soon regretted it.

Everything he had swallowed began to turn over in his stomach, giving him an unbearable stomach ache and pain.

“Get me a doctor, please,” he managed to say with difficulty.

“Of course I thought you were a doctor! I certainly wouldn’t presume to call another one. What’s wrong with you? Do you feel ill? Come, come, lie down on the couch. Of course, this doesn’t look good for a doctor. But who can I call? You know, as well as I do, that there are no other doctors for miles around.”

“Even a vet will do,” said the wolf before he lost consciousness.

Just then, Little Red Riding Hood arrived with her basket. Grandma, worried about the doctor’s illness, asked for help and Little Red Riding Hood reassured her. “Don’t worry… I’ll take care of this, you’ll see,” she said, having already thought of how to deal with the wolf’s nuisance. She went to call a hunter who lived nearby, who everyone knew was an unscrupulous poacher and whose house was full of hunting trophies; but perhaps, he was still missing the head of a wild wolf.

When she and the hunter (with the rifle) returned to grandmother’s, the wolf was recovering.

Poor wolf! He was dreaming of Little Red Riding Hood, putting on his head a wreath of fragrant flowers which had been picked and woven by herself; and the vet, holding a long bottle to his mouth, saying

“Now you will see that all your pains will cease for good.”

Poor wolf! Didn’t even realise that the bottle was actually a rifle, and the vet was a fierce hunter.

The poor grandmother, also, was disorientated and confused by the shot and did not understand why there was so much blood. She thought to hold her fresh egg responsible for the bloody scene.

The wolf, quick smart, had his belly cut open with a knife, and the poor little hen jumped out of it, still alive and jumping around. She could have continued to make fresh eggs for the grandmother for a long time, except that she didn’t eat them anymore. She was so shocked by what she had seen happen to the doctor… pardon me, the wolf. However, Grandma never called the doctor again, and she lived a long life, continuing to receive baskets from her daughter and granddaughter.

From that day on, they visited her less and less, and Little Red Riding Hood only visited her by bicycle, until they put her Grandmother in a home.

The moral of the story is this: even if you are a terrible, cheating, unscrupulous wolf in life… never trust too much in what appears to be innocent, naive and defenceless little girls, especially if they have red pigtails.

SERENA THE MERMAID

The calm sea, the mild evening and the full moon had attracted not only a handsome red–haired boy named Aldo, but also other fishing enthusiasts to the rocks, equipped with rods and appropriate gear.

“Are you fishing?” Aldo had been there for a while when he heard this question addressed to him.

“Can’t you see it?” he replied dryly, without looking. But then, seeing who had spoken to him, he smiled and tried to be more polite.

“Or at least I’m trying to. If you want to know whether I’ve caught anything so far, the answer is no, not yet.”

The two didn’t know each other. Her light coloured and very long hair was almost to her waist, and it was quite shiny, almost like silk. So, in the moonlight, it was difficult to tell what colour it actually was, but her eyes were distinctly between blue and aquamarine, and they shone like two precious stones. She was like a vision. ’Maybe I’m dreaming?’ Aldo thought to himself.

“Fishing like that doesn’t seem to require much skill, or courage,” she said. “But if you do it out of necessity, because you’re as hungry as, or more hungry than they are… They’re biting because they’re hungry, you should know that. They’re just trying to get today’s dinner, poor things.”

“No, I don’t do it out of necessity, but for fun. Fishing relaxes me” he replied.

“What strange ways you have for relaxing. Me, I sing to relax, or maybe take a nice bath and a swim. Preferably with a wonderful full moon like this one… and maybe together with a nice, red–haired boy – I love red–haired boys!”

She began to sing as she started to enter the water. She had a sweet, harmonious and beautiful voice. Aldo became even more convinced that he was dreaming.

“Do you want to try it too, to find if it relaxes you?” she asked. “And by the way, please get that hook out of the water so it doesn’t get caught on my legs.”

Aldo stood still at first, almost in a trance. But then the girl’s song and words had induced him to leave the rod. He was already in his swimming costume and followed her into the sea. He didn’t feel cold, and he seemed to move slowly, almost as if walking along in a dream.

She kept singing and moved through the water as if she were in her natural element.

“What is your name? And where do you live?” he asked her.

“My name is Serena. I’m from here, I was born and raised here, that’s why I swim so well. You, on the other hand, are you on holiday? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“Yes. I live in the town. But I wouldn’t mind moving to a seaside resort, if I had the chance. I like the sea very much.”

“Now, let me show you what I think fishing should be like.”

Serena plunged into the water where she stood and stayed there for a long time, perhaps more than a minute. In that time, Aldo saw first the surface of the sea ripple, and then dark shadows dart quickly along the bottom. Finally, Serena surfaced, holding a fish in each hand, one smaller and the other, larger.

“See?” she said. And then she dropped the fish back into the water. “Skill and courage. But it’s only a game. Because now they have to go and eat, and I’m not hungry.”

“You’re awesome!” exclaimed Aldo in amazement.

“In this way it seems to me like a fair and fun contest, on equal terms. Would you enjoy it if a rope came out of the sea and dragged you under the water, just because some fish wanted to relax?”

Aldo did not bite at the provocation, and Serena resumed singing.

So, they spent some time in the water. A thick cloud had begun to obstruct the moon’s rays, which made it darker; but not so dark that they could not distinguish in the distance, punctual as ever, the evening passage of the large ferry boat bound for the islands.

“It’s getting late, I have to get home” said Serena.

“Where do you live? Can I drive you back? Will I see you tomorrow?” Aldo asked her.

“Maybe. It depends… it depends on the clouds…” Serena didn’t say anything else before she jumped back into the water. And she was so fast, swimming underwater. And because it was too dark now, Aldo could not, as was his intention, follow her with his eyes and figure out which way she was heading.

At the same time, the following evening, Aldo went to the same rock hoping to meet Serena again. He had his fishing equipment with him, but did not use it. He looked here and there, hoping that she would arrive. He also wanted to understand where she was coming from, so he could look for her during the day. But again, her arrival took him by surprise.

Suddenly, from behind him, there was her sweet singing, as if she had materialised from nowhere.

“Are you fishing again tonight?” Serena asked him.

“No,” he replied. “It’s just to make our rock look busy, and to keep the other fishermen away.”

They sat looking at the moon. He contemplated Serena, who was even more beautiful than the moon, and listened to her singing. This time it was a little melancholy and in a foreign, mysterious language.

“What language is that?” he asked her.

“It is the language of the fish,” she replied, smiling. “I warn them that there are fishermen about. They say this song keeps the fish away… but it attracts the boys!”

It was true, Aldo thought. He found her so beautiful that he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Who knows how long they stayed like that. Until again, in the distance, was the ferry passing by. Aldo imagined what would happen, and took her hand. But she said…

“It’s time for me to go. But if you want to, we’ll meet again.”

“Yes,” he replied.

When she got up to leave, he wanted to get up too; but Serena prevented him, putting her hands on his shoulders.

“Please don’t follow me. Not today. Not even with your eyes, like you did yesterday. Do you promise?”

“But… ”

“If you want to, one of these days I’ll take you to my house. Would you like that?”

He nodded.

“Then I’ll take you there. But that means you’ll have to meet my parents. Are you up for that?”

“You’re kidding, you’re exaggerating,” Aldo would surely have replied in other circumstances and to another girl. But instead he answered naturally…

“Of course. Why shouldn’t I? Know that I’m not afraid of anything, or anyone.”

“All right then, wait for me tomorrow.” And so she disappeared behind his back.

The next day, Aldo returned to his usual reef. As always, he took his fishing gear with him, but did not use it. He waited for Serena to arrive.

The weather was bad, drizzly, and there was even a couple of quick squalls. The sky and the sea were restless, and they were a dark grey; he could hardly see anything. But at one point, after a long time, Aldo could make out the passing ferry in the distance. It was time to go home, Aldo thought dejectedly; she would not be coming that evening. He sat down, and despite the rain he began to fish with his rod.

But it was just at that moment when Serena came to get him. A strange, anomalous wave, not justified by the calm sea conditions, or perhaps caused by the passage of the ferry, suddenly hit the small area of rocks where he was fishing, and took him away. It was a rare and unusual meteorological, somewhat natural event, yet very brief and sudden, during which (as the few fishermen who witnessed this strange and unbelievable occurrence agreed) the wind started whistling, or rather shouting in an odd way, as if reciting a kind of mysterious song. And someone among the witnesses also claimed that the boy was not the only one to have been swept out to sea, but there was also a girl with long, shiny light–coloured hair, that was with him.

So much for the legend. Then there are the facts, Commissioner, all of which are set out in detail in this file. And the facts are that, in over fifteen years, this is the fourth boy swallowed by the sea in the same area of rocks; and, it seems, in roughly the same way. All of them, as it happens, having red hair. And this time, just as every other time, searches for the body in the surrounding waters have returned absolutely nothing.

THE MINES OF SANTA CLAUS

“Come on Thomas, go to sleep. Otherwise Santa won’t come.”

The two little brothers, in the darkness of their room, were preparing to face the Holy Night in a completely different way. The younger and wiser one was almost already asleep under the covers, dreaming of finding under the tree the next morning at least one of the toys he had dictated to his mother in his letter.

The eldest and most mischievous boy had completely different thoughts. There were rumours among his classmates that Santa Claus did not exist, that it was all a set–up by the parents or some other compliant relative; and that night he was determined to check it out. He had previously tied some bells and spoons to some wires and was now completing the placement of those traps in his room, in a few strategic spots, about a hand’s width off the ground, particularly between the doorposts. If, like every Christmas, someone had brought their presents close to their bed, they would have to make such a noise that it would wake him up, and he would discover the truth.

He crawled under the covers with his torch in hand, determined to stay awake as long as possible. Suddenly, during the night, he thought he heard noises coming from the stairs. So Thomas opened the wardrobe and slipped inside, leaving only a gap to look out.

He spent so much time in there that it was a miracle he didn’t fall asleep. And when happened what I am about to tell you, Thomas was so taken by surprise that he had no way of reacting.

A big man, dressed in red and with a long white beard, opened the wardrobe, lifted Thomas up like a doll and put him in a big sack.

“Here he is, another hotshot on the naughty list. He deserves else than presents. This one wanted to trip me up and, at the very least, send me to the hospital. A poor old guy like me!”

“No wait. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Thomas objected.

“There’s no point in screaming, boy. Nobody can hear you in this magic sack anyway. Besides, I don’t believe you. But you can be sure that it will be many years before I become so old and senile, as to be fooled by a brat like you.”

Thomas realised that he was not alone inside that sack. “And who are you? What are you doing in here?” he asked the other child companion of misfortune.

“I am Mirko. When he came to my house I tried to push him down the stairs, but I couldn’t”, he replied. Then the sack was felt as if it were being lifted. It was moving faster and faster as if it were on a train or, maybe, in a plane.

Suddenly, the two children felt as if they were falling into a void and then they felt themselves being tossed around and down, spiralling as if their sack was going down a long, smooth carnival–like slide. When they stopped, they were helped out of the sack by another boy about their height (did he happen to have pointed ears and wore a red or green dress, and a hat? I couldn’t tell you about the ears, but I’m sure he didn’t have a hat on).

“Come on, we have to collect as much stuff as fast as possible, otherwise some children won’t find sweets in their stockings to eat, under the tree. We’re way behind schedule, this year”, he added as he handed each of them a large basket, a firefly lantern and some kind of chisels.

“In this area there is nougat and chocolate; over there is sugar–coal. But if you can’t handle it, in those other galleries you’ll find softer stuff like biscuits, plum cake, Pandoro and Panettone. The collection points are well sign–posted. Oh, I forgot… the more you collect, the sooner you can go home.”

Mirko, then, immediately begun to sneeze. “Sorry, but I have to leave. I’m allergic to chocolate, and there must be a lot of it here,” he explained.

Thomas, still in disbelief, had already set to work (first with his bare hands, then with the help of a hammer and a chisel) to remove a piece of pistachio nougat from the wall.

“Mmmm, really good” he confided to a little girl who was in the area and had already almost filled her basket. “Listen, have you been here for a long time?”

“I don’t know exactly, but I would say no. But if you want to know how long we’ll be here, I can’t tell you. Somebody says we’re all going home tonight, but that guy over there told me he’s been here for months. But I don’t believe him. I think he’s a joker.”

“You know what?” said Thomas to her as the sound of another sack announced the arrival of another child in the mine. “I’m not in such a hurry to go home. There are some very good things to eat here, and I see no reason to work hard to get them to other children. In the meantime, I’m going to go around and taste everything I can find. And then I’ll decide what to do.”

And so he did.

He had already explored several tunnels, tasting various types of nougat and chocolate. At one point he had stopped where the white nougat was hardest and had spent some time with his hammer and chisel, trying to make a sculpture to reproduce the face of Santa Claus.

“I would need a bit of red,” he had said to himself, thinking of sketching the hat.

“If you go downstairs, you’ll find jellybeans,” another boy had told him as he passed by with an almost filled basket.

Thomas could not resist to fruit jellies, which were his passion. He found them and ate them to his heart's content, in all flavours and colours, and only stopped when he couldn’t eat any more. But by then it was too late.

He had started collecting them in his basket, thinking that somehow, he could take them away or give them to his brother and eat them later at home; or give them to some of his friends. There were so many of them! But just as these generous thoughts had begun, he had also begun to feel a strong stomach ache.

At first Thomas tried to pretend that nothing had happened, but soon the pain was such strong that he could no longer pretend, nor ignore it. He doubled over in pain and fell to the ground. “Ouch, that hurts! What a bellyache!”

Someone noticed. Unfortunately, this happened from time to time, and the practice was that in such cases, children were immediately brought back and returned to their mother’s care and affection; and Thomas was no exception. In no time at all, without even realising how or by whom, he was returned to his bed.

It all seemed like a distant memory… the waiting in the wardrobe, the trip in the sack with Mirko, the mine. Only the bellyache remained, stronger and more terrible than ever.

“Ouch, ouch that hurts!”

“Thomas! What’s wrong with you?” asked him his mother and father who had come by after his complaints.

In the meantime, the sun was starting to rise outside. Yet despite this, Thomas, absorbed in his pains, didn’t even pay attention to the gift package lying next to his little brother’s bed.

More observant though was his mother, who was holding Thomas’ hand between hers, when she saw his face, smeared with chocolate, and felt his hand sticky with honey and sugar.

“But what have you done to your hands? Ah, now I understand! You have given yourself this tummy ache from too many sweets. I wonder where you got them from.”

“Of course, you’ll have to eat only plain toast today, and no sweets for you!” Dad added. “Too bad, Santa brought a bag of jellybeans, your favourite kind.”

“I’ll give them all to my brother,” replied Thomas; and with this unexpectedly generous answer, he caused his parents further concern for his health.

“But… didn’t Santa bring me anything else?” asked Thomas, worried.

His father, that the day before had not been able to find the present that was in his mind and did not know exactly when the shops would open again, answered him “Santa left word that, for technical reasons, your parcel will arrive at least a day late. Assuming you behave yourself of course!”

And so it was that that year Thomas (unbelievable to his parents ears) did not only limit himself to a small serving of sweets, but he also gave all his jelly beans to his brother! And it must be said that, at least until the end of the Christmas holidays, he behaved like a very good boy.

SCARLETT

“Scarlett. Scarlett!”

The old lady, in her usual elegance of everyday, called out loudly to the girl several times. After hearing no reply, she manoeuvred her wheelchair and rolled herself to the other side of the flat, a dwelling that was too large and luxurious for the only two people that lived there.

She found Scarlett in her daughters’ room, in front of an open wardrobe with a mirror. She was imagining how the evening dresses, some of them very beautiful, would look on her.

“Oh, Scarlett. I thought I might find you here. I’ve been calling you for a while. Well, hearing is not your best quality.”

“Oh, excuse me, ma’am. I was dusting this room and got distracted. It happens to me a lot when I’m here, thinking about how well your daughters looked in these beautiful clothes.”

“Yes,” the old woman replied in a tone of gentle reproach, “but how many times do I have to tell you not to call me ma’am? I’ve been telling you it for years now. By adoption, I became your mother, and you became my daughter, officially. And my daughters are your sisters.”

“Yes, I know, but my mother…” Scarlett could not finish her sentence as a whirlpool of emotions, filled with tears and sobs, took over her body and soul.

“Come here, my little one: give me a cuddle.” Scarlett wanted nothing more. This liberating outburst happened often, periodically, every month or sometimes every two.

Scarlett long, beautiful, straight coal–black hair (so different from the silvery and elegantly groomed hair of her adoptive mother) almost hid the old woman’s face completely. Scarlett cried for a long time while her adoptive mother consoled her, in more or less the same words as she often did.

“You know that your mother has always been much more than a housekeeper and maid to me. So, when she asked me to be your godmother at your christening, I immediately agreed. And so, when unfortunately, she passed away, taking you with me as my daughter seemed me the right thing to do. You were still so young!”

“I did my best, considering my age and ailments. I made you study. And my daughters always looked after you like a sister. Well… now they are both far away, abroad; and one of them has her own family, while the other one… who knows what she’s up to. But what I want to tell you is, that if you want to take or wear anything that belonged to your sisters in the past, you have every right to do so. You are part of our family. Feel free to do so, just as if they belonged to you.”

“Thank you very much, mother,” Scarlett struggled not to call her ma’am. “But no, actually I don’t need anything. I have no worldly ideas in sight,” she added, smiling and wiping away her tears.

“I am so comfortable here in this house. I like to spend my free time tidying it up and keeping it lovely, just like my mum used to do; and the canary gives me so much company.”

“You’ll have as much time for canaries as you like when you’ll be old. Now it’s time to think about having fun. Why don’t you go out a little, with your schoolmates?”

“Well, actually they’re going to a party on Saturday night and they asked me if I am going. But I don’t know… they sometimes tease me a bit. They say I’m hard of hearing; and that I am old–fashioned, especially in my dressing. And that’s just the way I am; what can I do about it?”

“Go, go to this party and dress as you like. If you want, I’ll even give you some extra money to go shopping. But don’t worry about what people say about you. It’s not worth looking like someone else to please another. On the contrary, you’ll know who really loves you because he will appreciate you just the way you are.”

And so, Scarlett was persuaded to go to the party. In that week, with the sparse time she had left after her schoolwork and housework, she devoted herself to arranging and adapting one of her sisters’ dresses to make it even more beautiful and fashionable. She was an exceptional, naturally gifted needle worker. While she was doing this, Scarlett was in a very good mood, often asking his canary for advice.

Her mother, who often came over to see how the work was progressing, preferred not to give her any advice, because she said that an old woman’s advice would surely be unsuitable for modern times.

When the day of the party arrived, she merely gave her a few recommendations.

“Don’t be too late. At midnight the metro closes, and going home on the night buses in a big town like ours would not be a good experience for a young, pretty and well–dressed girl like you. I suggest you leave the party on time; say, at eleven, would the latest. And maybe set an alarm on your mobile phone so you don’t forget: hopefully, in the confusion of the party, you’ll be able to hear it.”

She also gave her, at her insistence and explicit request, an opinion on what shoes to wear.

“If I were you, I’d wear those with the gold buckle. I think they look beautiful. And they’re certainly less uncomfortable than those other ones with the heels. In case there’s an opportunity, and you feel like it, you might want to dance during the party”

The girl listened carefully to her advice. “Thank you Mummy, I’ll do as you say”, said affectionately as she had never before, and giving her mother a kiss on the forehead. But before leaving Scarlett hesitated, with another doubt, and asked, “But what if I get into trouble? If I find myself in an unexpected situation, and I don’t know how to behave, what should I do?”

“Don’t be afraid, my child. First of all you smile, so you gain a little time. You have such a beautiful smile: always smile if you can. And then you ask for help, with confidence. No one can deny help to those who ask for it, especially with a beautiful smile.”

“Where do you think you’re going, dressed like a fairy–tale princess? To a castle, for a prince’s reception?” her friends asked her, good–naturedly when she met them. Embarrassed, she blushed a little, smiled and said nothing.

The party was held in a large hall with lots of boys and girls, divided into groups. Mostly of them were leaning against the walls, chatting among themselves or looking around. Scarlett didn’t really know what to do.

Many of the guests looked at her and smiled, amused, and she smiled back, or they made little jokes; and so did a group of young boys including who seemed to be the birthday boy, or the host. His father was said to be a prince of the law, and he came up to them and introduced himself. Scarlett smiled shyly, her cheeks flushing, and said nothing.

She was so coy that her friends joked and claimed that she could not speak that day, because of magic or a bet. But next to the birthday boy, another young boy looked at her with deep interest. This made her all the more embarrassed, and smiled at him, blushing uncontrollably; so she immediately looked away, but not without noticing that the young boy smiled back.

A few moments later, the music started and he approached her.

“May I have this dance?” She nodded, smiling.

They began to dance carefree, seemingly effortlessly. They danced continuously for hours, without saying a word to each other. She danced, lightly twirling her wide skirt, with the naturalness of someone who in her life had done nothing else except dance; and she smiled broadly. This time, her smile was natural and spontaneous.

He followed the movements of his partner and was staring at her, totally enraptured. The two of them looked like a regular couple of dancers who had known each other for years.

In the meantime, the sun had set and the natural light had been replaced by electric light. The crowd began to thin out; many of the guests, including all of Scarlett’s friends, had already left.

The two had not even felt the call of hunger, nor the comments of the other guests: most of them seemed to envy their shared, carefree serenity.

However, something broke this long magic. Beep, beep, beep! Her alarm clock rang from who knows where in Scarlett’s dress. It was now eleven o’clock. When she noticed it, she remembered her mother’s advice and froze, almost frightened.

“Sorry. I really have to go.” And she literally fled the floor, leaving her cavalier feeling like a codfish. He was speechless, and petrified by this sudden surprise.

The boy, together with the birthday boy (who had made sure that the dance music went on without interruption), tried to run after her as soon as he recovered, but it was no use.

“She left you in the lurch, and almost killed herself running down the stairs. However, all is not lost, she did leave you a piece of her shoe, as a souvenir,” his friend commented, hoping to console him by showing him the golden buckle of a woman’s shoe he had found on the stairs.

The poor boy, who I later learned was named Riccardo, didn’t know what to do anymore. He started going around, asking everyone if they knew that girl in the long dress; or if they at least knew her name. But he couldn’t get an answer. They tormented him with a little sarcasm, stating, “You could have, at least, asked for her name!”. And that was as much help he received.

The next day, he and the birthday boy contacted all the people of the party whose telephone numbers they had, but to no avail. He even went so far as to print out one hundred flyers and posted them around the neighbourhood, with a picture of the golden buckle; across the flyer were the words, ’wanted’, and there was a description of its beautiful owner.

Unfortunately, no one had taken any photos of that girl. Riccardo really didn’t know what to do, and fell into depression.

When Scarlett came home and undressed, she was very sorry to see that one of her sister’s beautiful shoes had lost its golden buckle. She didn’t know what to do. It was too late to go back and look for it. Maybe she could replace the buckles; or fix the shoes in some other way, so that they would look the same.

She had golden hands… she was very good at this kind of handiwork. So, as soon as she could, she went around asking all the shoemakers in the neighbourhood. She even ventured a little further afield to see if she could find a buckle that looked like the lost one, but she couldn’t find that.

The shoemaker on Via Verdi told her, “We can replace it with a similar one, look at the alternative choices we have here”, but she couldn’t find one that was as beautiful.

Soon, the idea of going back to the place of the party to look for this missing buckle was forming in her mind. And… who knows, perhaps she might be able to find her dancing friend and say hello to him; but this time in a more peaceful and civilised way than the last time, she thought.

She decided that the following Saturday she would return to the party venue to look for this missing buckle. Her friend Laura, who was always looking for an adventure and happened to be interested in Riccardo’s friend, offered to accompany her.

When they arrived at the front door of the building and saw the poster with the picture of the buckle, Scarlett felt incredibly happy; but she soon realised that just finding a simple buckle could not make her truly happy.

“Excuse me, do you happen to know if these guys found what they were looking for?” her friend asked the concierge.

“Not to my knowledge. Every day they come asking me if anyone has brought back here the shoe that belongs to this buckle” replied the old concierge. He hadn’t really understood much about this search. “When I clean, I also search very carefully: on the stairs, in the hallway… but I couldn’t find anything like it. Who knows why they care so much.”

At that very moment, Riccardo and his friend returned from their umpteenth tour of the neighbourhood – just to keep their hope alive, because the previous days they had already asked everyone they could think of, to no avail. They despaired at finding anything… when suddenly, they saw the girl. Riccardo’s eyes lit up.

“Finally I have found you!” he said. She said nothing, only smiled and blushed foolishly.

“I… really…” she tried to say.

“Please, come up to my place for a while and have a chat”, proposed Riccardo. “Maybe we could listen to some music, perhaps get a little snack, or something”.

And that’s how Riccardo and Scarlett finally met. They went on to become Italian dance champions in their category, for several years, and were nicknamed, ’The king and queen of the dance floor’. They eventually got married and had several children and lived happily together… for many years to come.

GEPPETTO, THE BLUE FAIRY AND THE TALKING CRICKET

When he had finished his humble supper, Master Geppetto, took his stick and went straight to his bed. He felt tired because of his age and because of the day that saw him still mostly engaged in his usual, but increasingly tiring activity of carpentry; and also because of the lack of sleep coming to restore him more and more reluctantly, and for less and less time.

He lay down without changing his clothes, only putting on his blanket. He thought of his son, who had been working for months at the workshop of Duccio di Leonardo in Siena, to learn art. And who knows if and when he would see him again.

“Dad, as soon as I have time I’ll come and see you” he had promised him; but he was young and had many things on his mind; and ‘as soon as I have time’, who knows what he was up to do. And it was in these usual thoughts that Geppetto eventually dozed off.

He was awakened by a sort of celestial glow, which at first made him suspect that he had left a shutter open. But as he looked closer, he noticed a smiling, young woman in a turquoise dress sitting next to him, gently stroking his hair.

Geppetto went back a long time in his memories, to his mother, who was putting a still very small child to sleep with sweet words.

“By all the trumps! I have a vision. But who are you? You must be the Madonna, so lovely and beautiful you are.”

She did not stop smiling and caressing him.

“I am the Blue Fairy,” she replied.

Geppetto then remembered some childhood fantasies that his son had told him years before, when he was a wood headed brat; so many that he couldn’t keep up with them.

“The Blue Fairy! But then you really do exist! My Pinocchio often told me about you, and about a talking cricket and so many other strange things, that I listened to him just to keep him glad.”

She nodded, continuing to smile and caress him.

“You’re that good fairy that makes children’s wishes come true, is that right?”

“Yes, but only of those who behave.”

“But only children’s wishes?”

“Children, puppets… But tell me, do you have any wishes that are close to your heart?”

At these words, Geppetto, who now lived only for his son, had his heart enlarged and his eyes lit up.

“I do indeed have some desires…”

Pinocchio, as he was still called by everyone, had made up his mind and, as soon as he had the chance, he went back to the village to see his father. Well, it wasn’t the first time, but after all he was a boy of flesh and blood like all the others, and at a certain point he felt a great desire to embrace his dear Geppetto again.

When he arrived at the door, he found it locked and began to knock.

“Father, father. Open up. Where are you?”

He then went to seek news from Master Cherry, with whom his father sometimes met to play cards.

“We haven’t seen each other for a few weeks. But, you know, with the rheumatism and all the other ailments we have, even the distance between our houses, which seems so short to you, is beginning to become a burden. Anyway, the last time I saw him he told me he wanted to prepare a surprise for your return.”

Pinocchio returned to Geppetto’s house to knock again. There, to his surprise, he noticed the presence of the talking cricket leaning on the door.

“I’ll come and see you as soon as I can. But are you really sure you couldn’t have come earlier in all this time?”

“Look, the talking cricket. What a pleasure to see you again! But where have you been these last few years? I thought you were dead. And then you come and reproach me for not showing up at my father’s home!”

The cricket was wearing a tuba hat, carried a cane and was dressed in green as was his usual attire. He was only embarrassed for a moment, then replied promptly, “Do you think you are the only person in the world who needs my help? If I wasn’t there, it’s because I wasn’t needed.”

“And what are you back for now?”

“To tell you a few things from Geppetto. To remind you, for example, that you don’t need a key to get into the house, because you know how to get in without one.”

“You’re right. I know the trick. I’ll open up and wait for him inside. When he comes in, I’ll give him a nice surprise.” He began to fiddle with the latch, then gave the door a sharp kick at the bottom in just the right place, and it opened.

On entering, Pinocchio had the impression that he had come to the wrong house. It would have been a certainty, had he not managed to open it in the way that only he and his father knew.

He looked around. It was not furnished in the same old way, but with furniture of great value, worthy of the house of a great lord.

“Mind you: you wanted to surprise him, but my opinion is that he surprised you, instead.”

“Did he sell the house? Has he moved out?”

“No, no. The house is still his. In fact it’s yours now, if you want it. And then there’s another little surprise for you in the pantry. Because Geppetto has only ever thought of his son, you know that, don’t you?”

Then Pinocchio went to open the cupboard in the pantry, thinking he would find some good cheese or some seasoned sausages inside. Instead he found… a bag of gold coins!”

“Damn! Where do these come from? What has my old man been doing?”

“He picked these up, just the other day when they were ripe enough… in the field of miracles; do you remember the field of miracles?” And so he winked at him. Pinocchio remembered the field of miracles. Oh, how he remembered it!

“And where is Geppetto? When is he coming back? When can I see him again? If you know, please tell me.”

“Geppetto has been called to work in a castle, by a great Lord. You may not know it, but when he was young he was a fine carpenter and he knew how to do beautiful work like this, and more. He accepted, because he was lonely, but reluctantly because he knew you would come back to greet him. So he begged me to come here and wait for you, to tell you not to worry about him, that he’s fine and always loves you; and to tell you behave yourself.”

In the meantime, Pinocchio went around the house opening cupboards and searching under tables and behind every corner, looking for something.

“What castle do you think he has gone to, when he couldn’t even get to Master Cherry’s house without his stick!”

“They have come to fetch him in a carriage,” said the cricket timidly. And when he said this, he alone noticed something strange, incredible to say: that his walking–stick, which used to be as high as his shoulder, was now stretched out over his head and he had to shift the handle so that it wouldn’t get in his way.

Pinocchio had little to look for, there was no sign of Geppetto, nor of his clothes or even his shoes. He took off his cap and sat down, disconsolately.

“Oh Cricket, come here.”

The talking cricket, with some awe, jumped on the table in front of him.

“Look in my eyes and tell me the truth: are you hiding me something about my father?”

“Oh no, why should I? By all the trumps, how do you come up with such a thing? I have told you exactly in full detail everything that happened to him.”

But as he said these words, his walking–stick grew longer; it grew so long that even Pinocchio could not help noticing it.

“You are not very good at telling lies either, are you?” said Pinocchio letting out a laugh.

The cricket shut his mouth to avoid letting slip a few more words.

“You do what you like. I’m going for a walk to the graveyard” said Pinocchio as he stood up and put his hat back on. “Who knows, I may meet someone I know, and they may be able to tell me something about my father.”

“By all the trumps. Wait for me, please. I’ll come with you,” said the cricket. And with a jump he went to slip into his jacket pocket.

How strange, thought Pinocchio: in all of his life, he had never heard anyone but his father, use that funny expression, ‘for all the trumps’!

THE TOY SOLDIERS AND THE BALLERINA

I have very clear memories of what happened that time, even though I was still a very small child. It was my brother John’s birthday and for that event, in addition to the grandparents, our favourite aunt Philomena had also come to visit us. I remember the cake with the candles which John could hardly blow out; and Aunt Philomena, having finished her slice of cake, had already put her coat back on and was greeting us affectionately as if to leave.

But at the last moment, with the door of the house already open and the biting cold coming in from outside, she said

“Oh, how careless of me! I almost forgot. I have a little something here for this little man’s birthday.”

“What is it?” asked John, who was all excited and could not contain his joy and curiosity.

His aunt had slipped her hand into a sort of bag and began to feel for something inside, as if she were choosing the winning number to draw for the bingo.

“Let’s see, let’s see. This is… yes, it feels like a trumpet to me. Look, what a handsome trumpeter was hiding in here!”

She pulled out a colourful little soldier, in the act of running and playing the charge. John, with irrepressible joy, took it from her hand and began to play with it.

“Oh, it’s wonderful! Thank you aunt!”

“And then here,” continued his aunt, still fishing from her bag, “is the regiment’s flag.” She pulled out the flag–bearer, proud and fearless on a white horse.

“Yes, yes,” cried John happily, taking the new guest in his other hand; and he started to make him chat with the bugler.

“But… wait. There’s still someone else!” Little by little, one by one, a handful of soldiers of the same army came out of our aunt’s bag, some on foot and some on horseback, but all well-armed and clearly determined and willing to throw themselves into the battle: it was evident even from afar on their small faces. The squad took their places on the table as John’s hands could not hold more than two soldiers.

“And this small regiment only needs a brave commander to lead them, with order and courage, in the service of the fatherland… Are you up to it, John, to take command?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you, Aunt. Thank you!”

It really was a nice party for John, with all those presents. Too bad it wasn’t my birthday as well, I thought, otherwise Aunt Philomena would certainly have brought me something too.

But Aunt Philomena, who – as she sometimes said – ‘knew only one less than the angels’, probably really knew how to read children’s thoughts and therefore mine too.

“But… look who’s left here, all alone,” she said, sinking her hand into her bag again. “A lady! What villains, these soldiers! They left her all alone in there. Wouldn’t you like to look after her?” she asked me, “And take her, so she can keep your dolls company?”

It was not a doll; or, if it was, it was a very strange one. It was made of wood and metal, and it was all coloured. It depicted a slender dancer on her toes, with a funny smile; and her strange mouth opened abnormally, in sync with her legs, showing a long row of teeth.

“It’s a nutcracker,” my aunt explained, holding it with one hand and inserting the fingers of the other into the strange mouth. “You may hold it if you like; but remember that she is a very generous young lady, and she will gladly crush nuts and hazelnuts for anyone who asks her nicely.”

I took it in my hand and looked at it curiously. It looked nothing like our old nutcracker. Then I started twirling it on its toes on the side of the table, which was free of toy soldiers.

I remember that we played all evening, me with my ballerina, and my brother with his toy soldiers. And so, my aunt ended up staying for dinner too, and we all had a wonderful evening.

Before going to bed, I put Rina – that’s what I had christened my ballerina – to bed with my other dolls. I would gladly have let her sleep with me, as I used to do with my dolls when they had just arrived, just in case they might have felt lost; but she was too bony and angular. Instead, as I usually did, I fell asleep with my stuffed tiger and my soft Lucilla in my arms.

But I didn’t sleep well, since I suddenly heard someone talking.

“There, you can go, the camp is free, do what you want. But remember… be back before dawn, and don’t wake anyone up. Behave yourselves.”

I recognised John’s voice as he opened the door of his room. His new toy soldiers, together with the other ones he already had, had marched out into the corridor.

“Come. The dolls we were telling you about are over here. They are cute and always love to play with us when we visit them.” They spoke in low voices; but I was awake and could hear them, along with their light footsteps and also the heavier ones of their horses as they entered the open door to my room. How is that? Don’t you believe me? I can assure you. You don’t think I dreamt it, or perhaps made it all up!

There they were, those little soldiers running towards my little dolls, who were mostly scared, even though they were bigger than the soldiers were. As I sat on the bed, I watched the scene incredulously.

“This dancer is really lovely, she drives me crazy. What did you say your name is? Rina? I want to marry you and take you away with me. I have honourable intentions, you know!” said one of the riders trying to get her to join him on his horse. But she did not want to, and although she was frightened, she resisted.

“No. Leave me. Let me alone. I don’t want to go with you,” she replied.

It was then that I intervened. I took my pillow in my hand and beat the crap out of him.

“Go on, get out of