Chapter Five: The Romance of Geppetto

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

Chapter Five: The Romance of Geppetto

Le Roman di Geppetto
set down by Carlo Collodi

Once upon a time there was a toymaker named Geppetto who was alone and childless, and knew himself to be growing old. His greatest joy was making toys for children, especially puppets that they could bring to life with strings and rods. He liked to watch the puppets dance, and he had learned through secret practice the art of witchcraft, which -- all harmless -- is still condemned by the church and the law.

At night, when no-one could see, he would take puppets that had no strings to tangle them up and make them dance and play together, without using his hands at all, as if they were his children. He loved children and wished for a child of his own, but he had to content himself with the puppets and the children who came to his shop to buy toy boats and hobby-horses.

As he grew even older, the toymaker yearned to have a child and his puppets no longer satisfied him. Even as he practiced his witchcraft he prayed to God to bring him a child of his own, and when God did not answer he decided to carve a perfect little boy for himself. He worked on it for weeks, and then months, while the children stopped coming to the toy shop that was always closed. He worked until his hands bled.

One night when he had decided that his little pine nut, his Pinocchio, was finished -- that night he put his little boy on the table and brought it to life. Pinocchio danced and laughed all through the night, and called Geppetto "father" and loved him for he knew no-one else.

He had spent so much of his love and blood and life on his little boy that when he brought him to life he found that Pinocchio would not cease to move when he wished it, and as morning dawned he knew he would be found out and punished for practicing witchcraft. So he locked Pinocchio in a trunk in his bedroom and opened his shop for the first time in months. But seeing all the little children in his shop, he wished to play with Pinocchio again and that night he took him out of the trunk, and Pinocchio laughed as before and still called Geppetto "father".

Days passed, and each day Pinocchio was put away in the trunk and let out only at night, to play with his father. But one day Geppetto, in his hurry to put away his son and open his shop, left the trunk unlocked and Pinocchio climbed out. He was so amazed by the sunlight through his father's window that he wanted to climb up and touch it, and then to climb out and dance in it, and then to see all the sights the big wide world had to offer.

But he did not know the ways of men, having only ever known Geppetto, and soon he was caught. When a priest asked where he came from, he answered, innocent as a babe, "My father is Geppetto!"

When the priest heard that the toymaker had brought a puppet to life, he went to the village square at once and showed the boy to all who wished to look, and Pinocchio in his innocence understood none of it. It was decided that the little wooden boy must be destroyed and Geppetto punished.

Thus, before all the children left their school to go to the toymaker's shop, Geppetto discovered a fire burning in his wood shop, and the cause of the fire was his son, who could not feel pain and still laughed and called out to his father to see how the pretty flame danced. He would not leave his son's side, and they were burned together; but the toymaker loved his son and after their death no building could be erected on the site of his shop but it mysteriously burned to the ground.

After the Revelation of William LaRoche, this parable was uncovered and has become a staple element of young Creationist teaching. It is considered one of the most romantic and tragic stories in Creationist mythology, and has been immortalised in thousands of retellings in literature, art, and stage drama, particularly as a puppet play in America.

***

The people emptied out onto the street like jewels spilling on velvet, which was a terrible metaphor that Ellis noticed as soon as it crossed his mind. Nevertheless, he leaned against the window of the theatre's second story and watched, enjoying the view. Carriages clattered and horses shook their harnesses, snorting steam impatiently into the air. The world was rich and full of interesting things, and Ellis was content to perch here and watch, for now. Soon enough he'd be back in the middle of it. Crowds didn't agree with him, so he had stayed above while the Archchancellor took Jack and Clare to the bar to buy them a cocoa and settle them down before the trip home.

He left the window and walked across the balcony to lean over the rail and watch the bar, where stragglers were huddling around hot drinks and snacks. He found the others easily enough; Jack was gesturing excitedly to the Archchancellor and Clare was already trying to re-create the little dancing puppets the theatre troupe had used in a number of their acts. They were very clever, the puppets that didn't need hands or strings to move. A few theatregoers had gathered around to watch her attempts, which were only partially successful -- the puppet was very clearly real, at least for the moment, but it flopped about bonelessly.

He had known when he came to America that he would be choosing someone young and brilliant. He had plenty of experience with intelligent youth, and he had learned to respect it. But the children below him, excited and laughing after seeing a play, were so very young and so very inexperienced in the world. He wasn't even asking so much of them; just their genius. But he knew the demands that a real challenge could put on a brilliant mind and it frightened him, what he was going to do.

Jack was young, clever, educated, and incredibly frustrated, which was perfect. He needed Clare, that much was obvious, but Ellis was fond of the witty young woman and in every other way Jack was ideal. So now was the time to act, without allowing his appreciation of their innocence to get in the way.

He circled the balcony and strolled casually down the stairs, arriving at the bar just in time for Clare to collapse her puppet and let it fade away into nothing.

"I'm not sure they enjoyed it -- what do you think?" he asked the Archchancellor, who laughed. "Did you like the Pinocchio panto, Ms. Fields?"

"I always cry when Geppetto dies," she said. "It's nice they don't do it last, or it'd be too sad. Jack cried too, though."

"Everyone cries when Geppetto dies," Jack replied imperturbably. "Mr. Graveworthy wrote a book about that, didn't you?"

Ellis smiled. "I may have done. I try not to be obvious. And I thought that book was banned in Americ -- ahh," he said, as Jack and Clare exchanged a guilty look.

"It was still sold here; we don't tolerate small-mindedness in Massachusetts," the Archchancellor said. Jack gave him a pecular look, and Ellis smiled.

"I'm glad," he said. "And also rather tired. Are you staying in town, Archchancellor?"

"No; the school needs me. And I think I must shepherd this one back to Cambridge," he added, tilting his head at Jack.

"It's a long cold ride back; I was about to offer to take Ms. Fields back to her lodgings, and shelter Mr. Baker at my hotel for the evening. I'll be traveling to Cambridge tomorrow at any rate; I could squire him back in the morning, if you care to meet us at the gate."

The Archchancellor looked relieved, which Graveworthy had counted on; he would probably fall asleep on the train back. He steered them out into the night and helped the Archchancellor hail a cab in the now-empty street.

"Are your lodgings far?" he asked Clare, who smiled and shook her head. "Shall we walk or ride?"

She laid a hand on Jack's shoulder and rocked him gently. He glanced at her with a question on his face.

"I'll go on my own," she said. "You want to be dutch uncle, and you'll get rid of me sooner or later. Be good, Baker," she added, kissing Jack on the cheek.

"Look after yourself, Fields," he replied, matching her amused look. "I'll write to you tomorrow."

Both men stood in the cold, their breath freezing in the air as they watched Clare until she turned a corner and disappeared into the dark.

"Do you worry about her?" Ellis asked, curiousity getting the better of him.

"Clare? You have met her, haven't you?" Jack asked, turning to walk north up Washington Street. "Let's go down to the waterfront. I'm going to make the most of every single minute I'm out of Harvard."

"Like your friend, Mr. Wirth."

Jack laughed. "Well, not exactly. I want to go back, and he doesn't. Jacob wasn't built to be an engineer. Which was never more evident than tonight."

"Yes -- Clare said he didn't like your inventions."

"He didn't understand them, that's all."

"The technical side?" Ellis asked.

"N...no, he knows how to build an engine, and he'd understand the schematics if I drew them out. He doesn't get why he should change the way things are." Jack shrugged.

"But you do," Ellis said, stepping carefully around a heap of manure slowly freezing in the street.

"If you can make things more efficient, why wouldn't you?"

"Oh, I don't know. There's nothing quite like a hand-cooked meal. Perhaps Mr. Wirth feels the way about food that you do about machines. Creating for the sake of creating."

"I don't Create -- "

"Not that kind of Creation, Mr. Baker," Ellis said carefully. "Maybe...building. Making something new out of something real. That's what you do, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Jack led him through an alley, turning east towards the water. Ellis looked around him in bemusement. It reminded him of his youth, darting through narrow streets, taking the shortest, dirtiest route to his goal.

"Clare told me once that you could have gone to the Trade Schools for Creation," he suggested.

"Sure, but I can hardly do anything anymore. Can't even start fires," Jack said, bursting out of the alley and dodging around a cart standing in the road. "I'm not interested in things that don't last. At the end of the day, everything you make..." he turned and spread his fingers, forming an imaginary cloud, "...goes up in smoke."

"How would you like the opportunity to build something nobody's ever built before, something that would last forever?" Ellis asked, lingering under a gaslight. Jack, ten or twelve steps ahead, stopped as if something had struck him between the shoulders. He was silent, so Ellis continued. "Something that would last forever, not just in reality but in books. History books, textbooks, engineering manuals. Something students would build models of, hundreds of years from now."

Jack's left hand moved, as if he were reaching for a handrail that wasn't there. He turned around, tilting his head, and Ellis came forward.

"How would you like to shake the stodgy dust of Harvard off your heels and work for me, Jack?" he asked, pulling in close. "How'd you like to build something that really matters?"

"What do you want?" Jack said. Outside of the pool of light thrown by the gas lanterns, his face was streaked with shadow. He had circles under his eyes from staying out too late, but his pupils were wide and his eyes glittered.

"I want you to build me a flying machine," Ellis said, pushing his advantage. Jack licked his lips. "I want you to come to England with me and build a Da Vinci engine. Or a new engine. Something that flies, something that even your teachers haven't dreamed was possible. I need to fly across an ocean, and I want you to build the machine that will do it."

He could see the fire light itself in Jack's soul -- he'd seen it in the mirror the first time a story dug its claws in and wouldn't let go. It was almost breathtaking, watching a young man find his purpose in a dark street at half past midnight. Jack's mouth worked slightly, and his nostrils flared; when he spoke again, it was exactly what Ellis knew he would say.

"I can't leave Clare," he said. "I shouldn't leave school."

"You don't have to leave Clare if she comes as well," Ellis answered. "As for school...well, young Wirth left because he had a passion your school couldn't satisfy. You can always transfer to Cambridge in England, if you like, but we both know you've outgrown Harvard."

"No -- " Jack hesitated. "There's all kinds of things I don't know..."

"Facts, things you can take from books. If you want to be a ride-along mechanic, you'll need a diploma and the knowledge that comes with it, but I'm asking you to travel the world, here, now, with me." He smiled gently, a smile calculated to reassure. "You don't have to decide tonight. You wanted to walk along the waterfront. My hotel is north of here; we'll reach it eventually."

"I -- " Jack looked around, a little wildly. "Maybe I should go back to Harvard. If I run I can still make the last train."

"There's a room waiting for you," Ellis said. "Come along, Jack. Let me tell you a little about my Cambridge, and if that doesn't put you to sleep nothing will."

Jack hesitated, but a warm bed and a good night's sleep heavily outweighed a run for the train and a night on the ground outside the Archchancellor's gate. He turned and followed like a stray puppy, up the waterfront walk to where the lights of Ellis's hotel still burned brightly.

***

As with most of the population of Boston and Cambridge, Jack drank beer for preference over milk or juice; for one thing, it was cheaper. Unlike his fellow students, however, he rarely had more than one before switching to water or tea, and never drank hard liquor. Still, that morning he woke with a decidedly hung-over sensation, starting with the fact that he wasn't waking in his own bed.

He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around, taking in the sterile facelessness of a hotel room, the sun breaking through the window, and the rising sounds of people starting their morning in the street below. He stumbled to the washbasin in the corner and unbuttoned his shirt, easing it down over his shoulders before bending over the basin to dump the entire jug of water over his head. It was just warm enough and, despite the fact that it smelled strangely like flowers, it was pure bliss.

He washed his hands and arms, feeling dizzy and fogged. He'd been out late and eaten rich food and seen a show, which was too much stimulation -- that was why he felt so awful. And he hadn't gated out which meant he had to sneak back in, which was why he felt so anxious and foreboding...

The memory of the walk from the theatre to the hotel hit him so hard that he nearly fell over. He grabbed the basin stand, his hair still dripping into the bowl.

Graveworthy had stopped under a gaslight and said something to make Jack stop in his tracks, and then this toweringly tall man had walked forward until he filled Jack's vision and talked about seeing the world and building things that would last forever and Da Vinci engines and the other Cambridge, the one across an enormous ocean in England. Jack tried to breathe deeply.

There was a knock on the door.

"I'm dead!" he called, because the only person who knew he was here was Graveworthy. "Nobody here but us ghosts!"

The door opened, and a concerned but unfamiliar face poked around it.

"Breakfast, sir," the man said uncertainly. "Should I return when you are, ah...dressed?"

Jack, whose hair was now dripping on his shoulders and not in the bowl, hastily pulled his shirt up and began buttoning it. "No! Please, uh...how much?"

"Charged to Mr. Graveworthy's room," the man answered, unloading a tray onto the table near the window. He lifted the cover off and the enticing scent of bacon wafted towards Jack, whose student's stomach was not so far gone that it didn't recognise a free meal. "Can I get you anything, sir?"

"What time is it?" Jack asked, mouth watering. He sat down at the table and was startled to find the man supplying him with a white linen napkin. "Uh, thanks."

"Just coming on seven-thirty. Mr. Graveworthy is not expected to be up for another half-hour. He keeps very regular hours," the man added. "Any message for him, sir?"

Jack, mouth already full of fried egg, looked up at him. "Hm?"

"Any message for Mr. Graveworthy? When he wakes. There is no charge on the room; it's on Mr. Graveworthy's bill."

"I'm going to see him, aren't I?" Jack asked.

"We often recommend, to avoid any awkwardness..." the man coughed.

"Awkwardness?" Jack asked, now intrigued.

"Is there money owing, sir?"

"I thought you said everything was billed to the room," Jack answered, now completely bewildered.

"Yes, sir, I meant -- to you, sir."

"No," Jack replied, biting into a piece of toast. "Should there be?"

The man gave him a smile that was at once ingratiating and frustrated. "Very well. Enjoy your breakfast, sir."

As the door closed, it hit Jack what the man had been hinting at. He was clearly an idiot, but it was early in the morning, after all. He jumped up and ran after the man.

"Hey!" he called, and the man turned. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Here."

He pressed a tip into the man's palm, smiled encouragingly at him, and went back inside.

Once he'd finished stuffing himself with breakfast, he dressed properly and tried to reorder his hair so that it didn't look like he'd dunked it in a river. He could hear movement in the room where Graveworthy had been sleeping; he fought the urge to bolt out the door and hop the train back to Cambridge and get back into Harvard any way he could. Instead, he sat down at the desk, where there were sheets of paper and a fountain pen available, and began to doodle aimless little lines while he waited for Graveworthy to come fetch him.

It was soothing that a square was always a square. Ninety degrees was an infallible fact, not like the uncertainty of Jacob dropping out of Harvard or Graveworthy asking him, Jack Baker, to leave Harvard and take Clare with him to England or the unbelievable hotel room he was sitting in.

A flying machine. A machine that flew through the air. A Da Vinci engine, the unattainable goal.

He found himself adding fanciful little wings to one of the boxes he'd drawn. They were much too small; wings that size would never support a box that large. The drag on the corners of the box alone would pull the whole thing down. It should be shaped more like a train, a big cylinder on wheels, only of course you'd only need the wheels while you were on the ground. So you could build a wheel chassis that the actual cylinder just sat on top of. Hadn't the Da Vinci designs looked vaguely circular? It'd at least a year since they'd done the unit on Da Vinci, and longer still since he'd read about him as a kid. Jack thought he recalled that the actual Da Vinci Engine was more of a straight up-and-down proposition, and the forward-motion flight machine didn't have any real machinery at all. More built for gliding, like birds on thermals. So if you fixed two of the engines to the glider, one to go up and one to go forward...

An image filled his head of what would happen if you had two engines pushing in two different directions. The imaginary man in his head, clinging to an imaginary wood glider frame, screamed hilariously as the engines sent him corkscrewing through the air in a series of tremendous backflips. Jack began to laugh.

"That's an encouraging sound," said Ellis Graveworthy's voice, and Jack started in his chair. The other man, impeccably dressed and looking much more refreshed than Jack did, stood in the doorway with his hand on the knob.

"I heard you were awake, so I thought I'd come see if you wished to visit Haymarket before we go back to Cambridge," he said.

"Oh! Sure," Jack answered, rolling up the sheet of paper and shoving it in his pocket. While he'd been daydreaming about imaginary acrobats, his hands had been crafting a more appropriate shape and structure for the engine, and he didn't want to lose track of his thoughts.

"I noticed you have the means to cook in your rooms at school, if you choose to," Graveworthy said as they descended the staircase. "I thought you might like some fresh food. Haymarket is a wonderful experience, even if you're not looking to buy anything."

"Clare's told me about it, but I've never been," Jack replied. They reached the grand main lobby, and Jack noticed the gentleman who'd brought him breakfast watching them as they made their way to the door. "He's a funny duck."

"Who, the hotelier? He sees scandal everywhere. He prides himself on running the most discreet hotel in the city -- not that anyone's asked for the service," Graveworthy answered with a grin. "He probably thinks you're a prostitute."

"What?" Jack asked, stopping just outside to face him.

"As I said, he sees scandal where none exists. Don't tell me you've never heard of the Boys of the Back Bay," Graveworthy answered, apparently enjoying Jack's discomfort. "I imagine he assumed I picked you up after the theatre and paid for your services with the room and the breakfast. It's not uncommon, in certain parts of the city. And in a way, I am asking you to perform a service for pay."

"But..." Jack blinked at him.

Graveworthy rested a hand on his shoulder, guiding him gently down to where a long row of temporary market stalls swayed gently in the wind. "Don't fret about it. Have you given any more thought to my proposal, by the way? You seemed a little overwhelmed last night."

"I -- it's a long way to go. Why can't I build what you need here?"

"That's a good question requiring an honest answer, but unfortunately unless I have your agreement I can't give you one. Suffice it to say that the placement is wrong, and that if you did build here we would be required to transport it at any rate."

"What's it going to be used for?"

Graveworthy looked amused. "I suspected you would go straight for the questions I can't answer. Let me tell you what I can, shall I?"

Jack nodded, lingering at the edge of the market, just behind a fishmonger's stall. The smell was overwhelming, but Graveworthy seemed to want privacy.

"I need a contraption that can carry one or possibly two men, no more, over a long distance in a short amount of time using air flight. There must be no stops to take on more fuel, so fuel should factor into your calculations. It must be able to land smoothly and leave the ground with no additional assistance. And it cannot rely on Creationists to support any element of it."

"And you can't tell me where this contraption will carry them or why?" Jack asked.

"Is it necessary, in order to design it?"

"There's just a lot to take into account, that's all," Jack answered, leaving the shelter of the fishmonger's stall and ambling down the crowded market-stall path. "And not just in construction, I mean. There's Clare to think about."

"I encourage you to invite her. I believe she's a necessity to your process."

"Well, yeah, I can invite her, but that's no guarantee she'll want to go. She has school too, you know. And she's not like me, she has her godparents to think about. I've just got her." Jack picked up a late-fall apple, passed payment across to the woman minding the stall, and bit into it. "Then there's whether or not I can come back to Harvard when it's done, and what happens if I can't build it for you, and where we'll live in England. You have to do these things properly," he said seriously, and was not entirely pleased by the amusement lingering on Graveworthy's face.

"All things will be done properly, I assure you," Graveworthy replied. "Neither of you have classes today or tomorrow; you could meet her tomorrow after the Rites and discuss it. I'll carry a message if you like; I'll be speaking to her this afternoon, unless you'd prefer I wait."

Jack pursed his lips. "Mm...no. You're better at convincing people."

Graveworthy's laughter echoed down the crowded street, startling a flock of birds feasting on castoff from the butcher's shop.

Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

Comments

[i-louvre-art.livejournal.com]

I just choked on my cereal.

As the door closed, it hit Jack what the man had been hinting at. He was clearly an idiot, but it was early in the morning, after all. He jumped up and ran after the man.

"Hey!" he called, and the man turned. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Here."

He pressed a tip into the man's palm, smiled encouragingly at him, and went back inside.

I thought I was in love with Jack, but this is the moment I really fell for him.

P.S. Clare and cherries. So cute.

[copperbadge.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you're enjoying the story! Thanks for this and the other comments :)

[the_rainbow_jen]

Delurking to say how appropriate the Pinocchio story was, and how incredibly creepy it is coming from this world to one that reveres such a legend as parable. Goes to show, doesn't it?

And having read all your Captain Jack stuff, this naive naff of a Jack is so very endearing :)

[(Anonymous)]

Ah he's adorable