Robert Coover - Pinocchio in Venice

"Here, here, you scummy old tart, stop that!" The young gendarme whose knees he's grabbed swats him across the noggin with his leather gloves and boots him away, while the others make sport about this, saying not to be hasty, it's the best offer any of them has had all night. The professor howls and fumes and crawls about in the tumbling snow and bright lights, demanding, pleading, explaining, chastising, but it's as though the language has lost its referents and is only good for the noise it makes. "My computer! My life! My entire career — !" "Ha ha! Don't give us that to drink, you miserable little blister!" they jeer. "You pezzo di puzzo! You piece of garbage! You shrunken scrotum! You stinking smoke salesman! You gangrenous turd!" They seem to be having a great time. "Look at that beak! Last time I saw one like that it was being used as a billiard stick!" "And bald as a cueball on top of it, the little freak's a whole game in himself." "Idiots!" he screams. "Scoundrels!" "But not a very amusing game…" "Delinquenti!" "To tell the truth, the little asswipe is starting to get up my nose." "Assassini!" "Basta! Enough and period! Someone go wake Lido up! Let him have a gnaw on this old tramp! If there's less of him, there might be less noise!"

"Get up here, Lido! We got a live one for you!"

"Or almost live!"

One of the police launches sloshes about in the water as a huge ugly mastiff rises from it, growling throatily, so evil and monstrous in his appearance that even the hysterical scholar is momentarily silenced by awe. It's like some kind of hideous apparition, like a creature long dead rising grotesquely from the Venetian lagoon, pale and deadly, and the very sight of the dreadful thing makes the old professor's knees rattle. If he hadn't already emptied his bowels, he would probably be doing so now. "You're in bad waters now," an officer mutters sinisterly in his ear. "Lido hates presumptuous shitters like you."

"Some he eats straightaway," murmurs another as the beast slouches ashore, "some he promises."

"Eh, Lido, what do you think? One bite or two?"

"The little testa di cazzo even claims to be a professor! That should whet your appetite!"

"He certainly stinks like one! Dress him for the party, Lido!"

"Give him a little holy reason!"

He can feel the mastiffs hot breath on him. But the growling has stopped. The brute is sniffing him curiously, gazing blearily at him through muddy old eyes, drool spooling from his drooping lips. The professor can see that the old fellow is nearly toothless.

"What's this, Lido? We catch you a filthy off-season tourist and you're not even going to chew off a leg or two?"

"He says his name is Pinenut, Lido! Professor Pinenut! Ha ha! There's a tidbit for you!"

"Pinocchio — ? Does my nose tell me true, is it really you?"

"Alidoro — ?!"

"Ah, Pinocchio! My old friend!" cries the dog, his voice phlegmy with age and deep emotion. He throws his paws around him, laps him on the face and behind the ears, his stub of a tail wagging. Alidoro's coat is mildewy and flyblown, almost suffocatingly rank, but the professor hugs it to him like the sweetest balm, burying his face in it and weeping like a baby. "What has happened, my friend? What has brought you to this miserable state?"

"If you only knew!" the aged traveler wails. "This infernal — sob — night! I'll never — ! The misfortunes that have — boo boo! — rained down on — !"

"The little stronzo was waking up the whole neighborhood, Lido, making a bloody nuisance of himself with his drunken racket — then he tried to break into this old abandoned mansion here. We caught him with his — "

"Keep your mouth out of this, goose-brain! You're breaking my pockets!" Alidoro roars. "Can't you see I'm speaking with this gentleman?" He tugs the professor's coat collar up around his ears, licks his frozen pate with a warm tongue, then wipes it gently with a big soft paw, covers it with a few tufts of hair, torn from his own breast. "So, my friend…"

"It was terrible, Alidoro!" he sobs. "Just imagine! The airport was fogged in and I had to take the train from Milan and it was overheated, I don't even know what time it was! I had no hotel reservation and the tourist office was closing and the woman dropped the spoon. I mean the key. But the porter had a friend so he brought me here, it was just two steps away, and they were dressed up for Carnival. Only the room wasn't heated, so we had supper in the Gambero Rosso, it was included in the price, but I got lost. The snow — I couldn't see! My old eyes — I nearly died! Someone threw water on me and I got chased by a lion who flew into a belltower! Then I saw the viva abbasso and I came here but it was dark. I was getting sick. I threw my watch — ! All my bags — choke! — my computer! My floppies! Oh, Alidoro! My life's work — !" He's not sure if any of this is comprehensible. He doesn't understand it himself, he's crying like a cut vine, it's all just streaming out of him, words, tears, terrors, the lot, as Alidoro hugs him close. "In there-! Everything's in there — !"

"Gentlemen," says the dog, "this is a dear friend of mine. We once saved each other's lives. We are like bread and cheese, friends by the skin, do you understand? He is the most truthful person I have ever known. I'm sure he is all he says he is. You should believe everything he says."

"He says he knows the Pope."

"Well, almost everything." Alidoro raises his heavy snout and sniffs, then leaves the professor and goes to nose about the blackened doorway of the old palazzo. "Now, I think we should open up, gentlemen. There's something decidedly foxy on the air."

"La Volpe — ?!"

"Very nasty, whatever it is. Hop to it now!"

One of the policemen fumbles with a big ring of keys. "It gives me a hell of a fright to go in here at night," shudders another, and a third laughs nervously: "Afraid of ghosts?" "A ghost — you know, that woman who died here in the fire." "Fire?" "That's just a legend," says the policeman with the keys, as he pushes the door open. "Beam one of those spotlights in here!" "Whew, when was the last time this pesthole was opened up?" "They say she was waiting for the return of a beloved brother or son who had abandoned her and that maybe in sorrow she set the fire herself. The place hasn't been used since." "Except by cats. It stinks worse than the old man in here!"

"The woman," gasps the old professor, startled by the tale, his voice reduced now after all the hysterics to a hoarse whisper, "did she have… did she have blue hair?"

"Blue hair!" they laugh. "Whoever heard of such a thing!"

"Well, like you can see, Lido. The old ruin's as bald as your pal's conk."

"There's still a kind of smoky smell in this place. Like she's still burning or something. Let's get out of here — !"

"Wait a minute! What's this over here? Someone shine a light!"

"It's a watch! Do you recognize this, old man?"

"Yes, it's mine." This is not going to turn out well. The truth is beginning to sink in. And the story of the woman dying by fire has left him feeling frightened and confused. He knows about fire. He once burned his own feet off. He thought he was going to have to walk through life on his knees. Fire is his greatest fear.

"Did they steal your watch?" rumbles Alidoro, peering up from the shadows where he's been sniffing around.

"No. I threw it through a window. To wake them up."

"To wake who up?"

"His friend the Pope, no doubt. Lido, your mate's got his head in a sack of shit! He's a raving lunatic!"

"Let's take him to the Questura and lock him up. This place makes my blood freeze!"

"Really, Lido, come on, this is a complete waste of time. There's nothing else here except catshit and an old umbrella."