Pinocchio watches me, waiting for me to say what my name is. Would he think it was odd that a person—a fairy—didn't have a name? Well, then again, the only name he would know me by was the Blue Fairy. But that's not good enough. I need to think fast.
I glance about me at the signs for the shops, observing all the different kinds of names. Antonio, Benito, Georgina…they seem to go on. Although suddenly, my ears can catch the sound of a single name being called through the crowd, which is fine enough for me. I turn myself back towards Pinocchio, and state as confidently as I can.
"My name is Serafina," I answer.
Pinocchio grins, bending down to pick up the sac. He carries it a few feet, and then sets it on top of a wheelbarrow-like cart, which is piled high with blocks of wood. "Well, it was good to meet you, er, Serafina," he says kindly. "But I have to be going back home, otherwise my father will wonder what's become of me."
"You live with the kindly old woodcarver, Geppetto, still?" I want to know, trailing a step after Pinocchio.
"Oh, yes," he answers. "I'm his apprentice."
"I don't believe it," I say. I'd imagined Pinocchio doing great things alongside Geppetto, though I overlooked what might happen after he was no longer a little boy. "You must be quite anxious to learn the business."
"I would say so," Pinocchio agreed. "It's most definitely unlike anything I've ever learned before."
"No, because they don't teach you woodcarving in school, do they?" I ask, only too glad to be in conversation with Pinocchio after so many years.
Pinocchio shakes his head, laughing. "Yes. I liked school, but woodcarving with my father is a thousand times more interesting."
I nod. "You know, I haven't seen you around since you were a little boy. I trust that you and Geppetto get along perfectly enough most of the time?"
"Sure," he says. "Can't imagine a better father than Geppetto."
I cannot help but grin, knowing that Pinocchio is doing so well. Of course, I knew that things were not too terrible down here in the village, but it feels too good to be close to him. I guess it's because I'm so proud of the person that Pinocchio has become since changing into a real boy. Or perhaps it's like just returning to a long-lost relative after so long.
In any case, it's hard to keep the grin from escaping me.
"But, now what about you?" Pinocchio wants to know. "Since we've never met, I should like to know a little about you. Like…what kept you from running away from that wagon. Those things can be dangerous, you know that."
"Now I do," I answer.
"But what?" Pinocchio persists. "The wagon was coming so that you could at least see it. It's kind of odd to just stand still, as certain death is coming close to you."
"I didn't know that I was going to be done away with by a wagon," I explain. "This town is so new to me. I don't see how I could not look around some."
"Oh." Pinocchio draws out the word, as he understands it. "No wonder you didn't notice the wagon. Yeah, I would agree too. It's a nice little town. Especially in the summer, when it gets so warm outside."
"Oh, have you been to the shore?" I wonder aloud, pointing towards the air where I could sense the lingering salt from the sea. "I can only imagine how beautiful it looks down there this time of year."
Pinocchio stops his wheelbarrow, straightening up to follow my point. He gets a thoughtful look on his face, holding a hand over his face to cover from the bright sunlight. And finally, the corners of his lips turn upward, and he clears his throat.
"Well, I don't see why we can't go down there sometime," he says. "It's just, I've been so busy gathering my own wood, and learning from Geppetto, that I haven't had the chance to go down there."
"That's a shame," I mutter. "Perhaps at some point, we could take an excursion to the shore. At sunset."
"Would your family mind?" Pinocchio asks.
"What family?" I answer. "It's summertime—one of the most beautiful seasons of the year. It doesn't matter to my family what I do. As long as I don't run wild like a tiny child chasing chickens, I should be fine."
Pinocchio laughs as he resumes pushing the cart. "No, Geppetto wouldn't mind too much either. I hope Jiminy thinks it's all right too."
"I wouldn't worry about Jiminy," I say, remembering Pinocchio's little cricket conscience; I actually ponder asking if Jiminy should like to come along to the seashore, but I remember that Pinocchio doesn't know who I really am. Should a young woman even be asking about an acquaintance's cricket friends?
Pinocchio looks quickly up at me, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Never mind," he says. "Jiminy is nobody—just a friend of mine. He can get a little…fussy, when things don't go right."
"I understand," I say with a chuckle. "If you would like to accompany me to the seashore, Jiminy can come along too. I wouldn't mind his company at all, either."
"Don't worry," says Pinocchio while he shoves the cart over a peculiar-shaped cobblestone, towards the front door of Geppetto's workshop. He props the cart upright, and opens the little blue door, just as Geppetto comes into the entranceway, dressed in a stained apron, a blue shirt, black pants, and weathering brown shoes—the years haven't changed him the slightest.
"Pinocchio!" he exclaims, coming forth to greet his son. "I'm relieved to see you back so soon. I've barely started the work on supper."
"I can help!" The words are spoken before I can think to stop myself.
Geppetto glances past Pinocchio to look at me. He peers thoughtfully at my face, and the shine in his eyes makes me think briefly that he recognizes me, but then he steps towards me, and bows before remembering how raggedy he looks.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss," he says.
"Please, call me Serafina," I say, smiling back at the kindly woodcarver.
"Now, what was that, miss?" he asks. "You said you could help with supper?"
I nod, keeping my smile.
"Aw, why, that's very, very kind of you, young lady Serafina," Geppetto says. "But I couldn't keep you from your family. A sweet girl like you should eat with her own folks, rather than us."
"Nonsense, Geppetto," I say with a shake of my head. "There's nowhere I'd rather be than helping others." I clench my toes to keep from thinking about my wand tucked in my dress.
Geppetto puts his fingers to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully, as he cocks an eyebrow. "If you insist, Miss Serafina," he finally answers. "Follow me into the kitchen, if you please." He starts through the doorway, humming something to himself. I can't help but giggle when I hear the jolly old man's tune, as he puts a little jingle in his step. And then, behind him, a little black-and-white cat trots into the kitchen with the same step. I enter the kitchen with Geppetto, and the cat meows, catching me off for a moment.
"Say hello to Figaro," Geppetto says, making his way to a small stove.
"Oh, hello," I say, bending down to pet the cat. Once more, Figaro meows, and bends to the motion of my hand going down his back. "He's a sweet little thing."
"Yes, yes," says Geppetto, stirring something in a big boiling pot. He points behind him at a counter where some loafs of bread sit untouched. "There is some bread for breaking, Miss Serafina."
Letting go of Figaro, I take note of the bread, and the sharp object—a knife—resting just beside it. It takes me a moment to remember that I have not done something like this before, so I hesitate a while in picking up the knife. And I'm cautious about using my wand in front of Geppetto, as I know that him seeing me in my true form will only scare him. I don't want him to be scared, especially with that pot of hot water behind him; something dreadful could happen to either one of us.
The trouble is, fairy skin is very tender. And in my reduced form, it would be hard to protect myself if I made a mistake with the knife.
I shall just have to be very careful…
I pick up the knife in my hand, as Figaro watches from close by. I'm nervous now. If I do something, Figaro could get hurt. Very seriously hurt…
I breathe deeply, sweeping aside my caramel hair with my free hand. But then I can see as Pinocchio enters the house. He wipes his forehead, and stops to observe the action in the kitchen.
"Can I help?" he wants to know.
"Give Miss Serafina a hand, will you, Pinocchio?" Geppetto pipes up, and, in light of this, Pinocchio walks around the corner of the counter to see what I am supposed to do.
"You seem to know what to do," he says gently, pointing to the bread loaves.
"Yes, but…well…" My voice trails away, as I know that this might only break my disguise to Pinocchio.
"Are you afraid of the knife?" he asks, and then laughs softly. "Yeah, I know. It's pretty big."
I laugh, too embarrassed to admit that he's right.
"Here," Pinocchio says, placing his hand over mine to hold the knife handle. And then, in slow, gentle strokes, he pushes the blade through the bread, which crumbles apart at the crust. It's a warm sight to me, as the bread's fluffy inside reveals itself in the glow from the stove behind me. I've never eaten bread before—it's not necessary for a fairy to eat. But, one thing's for certain. It looks delicious, like the smell of whatever is cooking in Geppetto's black pot.
Pinocchio's hand continues to guide mine along the bread, cutting slices about half an inch thick. And for a moment, I settle into the repetitive, guided motion, as we near the end of the first loaf. I'm ready to cut the next one quickly.
But Pinocchio takes his hand off mine, stepping beside me.
"There," he says proudly. "I think you know how to do it now."
"Are you sure?" I ask, still a little uncertain.
"Absolutely," he says with a nod of his head.
I swallow a little, still watching the knife in my hand. It feels strange now, holding it, but not having Pinocchio hold it too. I feel the fear returning to me, but it doesn't rear its head as high as it did before. My fingers still hold the repetitive motion, and, subconsciously, when I place the knife on the next loaf, my hands move without my control.
"See, it's not so hard once you get used to it," Pinocchio says, as he bends down to a cupboard below the counter. "When you're done, the bread can go in this basket."
"Thank you," I say, before he smiles and moves behind me to help Geppetto.
At last, when I've cut all the bread, I take each individual piece, and put it into the basket Pinocchio gave me. Under Geppetto's instruction, I place the basket onto a tiny table in the corner of the adjacent room, where five chairs are set to quaint sets of silverware. Pinocchio is taking a round goldfish bowl, where a beautiful little goldfish is swimming happily, to one of the chairs, as Figaro leaps up onto another one. Geppetto soon joins them with a pot of sweet-smelling soup, setting it in the center of the table next to a bowl of fruit, and the basket of bread. The light from the kitchen illuminates the feast, and I quickly find myself wishing I could stay for a divine-looking meal with some dear friends. I only said I would help, not that I would stay with them. And besides, the sun is just disappearing from the sky. In a matter of minutes, I will be required to return to my true form, back to my star.
"Take a seat, please, Miss Serafina," Geppetto says, interrupting my thoughts. Figaro meows sweetly from his seat at the table, grinning at me.
"I wish I could," I say regrettably. "But, I think I may have overstayed my welcome just a little. It's getting dark, you know."
"Didn't you say your family didn't care what you did?" Pinocchio asks. "As long as you didn't get into trouble?"
"Yes, I did say so," I agree, "but I cannot stay out much longer past dark. There are…things…I must be attending to at this time."
The disappointment seems evident on all their faces, but Geppetto is the first to speak. "If that is what you wish, Miss Serafina," he says gently. "I really appreciate what you did for us tonight."
"Please, think nothing of it," I say as I start for the door. "I hope that I will see you again soon."
"I hope so," Geppetto agrees.
"Yes," Pinocchio adds. "Me too."
I grin at them all, wishing with all my heart that I could stay with them for the wonderful evening they're about to have. But as I close the door, I catch the saddened look on Pinocchio's face, somehow hoping that one of them will wish upon my star for Serafina to return tonight. Because once I return to my star, I am just the Blue Fairy again.