Wooden Bones by Scott William Carter Page A

trying to slow their speed. It was nearly perfectly done—Pino was impressed at how well his papa used the featherwings, having never used them before—but Geppetto still collapsed with a painful cry when all their weight came down on his knees.
    Pino rolled off of him, spitting out a mouthful of dirt, and immediately sprang back to his papa. The featherwings floated over their heads, still tugging at the straps attached to his shoulders.
    â€œPapa!” Pino said.
    â€œI’m—I’m all right, boy,” Geppetto said, holding one of his knees, his face screwed up in pain. “Just . . . help me undo this.”
    It took a bit of work, but Pino managed to get the straps of the featherwings off Geppetto’s shoulders. The featherwings, buoyed by a bit of breeze, floated some distance away until they were snagged by a thorny yellow bush. Pino helped a wincing Geppetto rise to a sitting position. There was no one else around. The breeze that had carried them to this place must have carried the other featherwings somewhere else.
    â€œWhew,” Geppetto said, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “When we landed, it was like I was carrying a house.” Then he looked at Pino with concern. “Let me see your hand, Pino.”
    Pino’s right hand was slightly behind him, just out ofGeppetto’s sight. He didn’t move. “It’s okay, Papa. It’s—it’s better now.”
    â€œLet me see it.”
    â€œIt was just, um, covered with some tree sap.”
    â€œPino—”
    â€œWe should get up, Papa. We should—”
    Before Pino could react, Geppetto seized Pino’s right hand and jerked it into plain sight. When he got a good look at it, he shook his head in befuddlement. But then he touched it, and his befuddlement changed first to astonishment, then dismay, then anguish.
    â€œIt’s okay, Papa,” Pino insisted. “It’ll get better.”
    â€œWhen did this happen?”
    â€œI don’t know. After the cave.”
    â€œHow?”
    Pino felt tears springing into his eyes, and he forced them back. “I don’t know, Papa. I don’t know.”
    â€œOh, boy, don’t get upset. I’m just trying to understand.”
    â€œI didn’t wish for it. It just happened.”
    â€œIt’s all right.”
    â€œI promise!” Pino insisted. “I just looked and there it was.”
    â€œReally, boy. It’s all right.”
    â€œPlease don’t get rid of me, Papa!”
    Geppetto, who’d been reaching to comfort Pino, froze. He gaped in astonishment, then slowly lifted his hand over his heart as if he’d been shot.
    â€œPino,” he said, “my dear boy, I would never do such a thing. Get rid of you? Why would you say that?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œDo you think so little of me?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen why do you say it? Why? ”
    Pino pulled his hand away, gazing down at his wooden finger with shame. His vision blurred with his tears, and he felt them fall hot on his cheeks. “I just thought,” he began hesitatingly, “I just thought if I was turning back into wood—I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore.”
    When he looked at Geppetto, he found that now it was his papa who had tears in his eyes. It was not the first time he remembered his papa crying, but it was the first time his papa made no effort to wipe them away and dismiss them as a bit of wood shavings in his eyes. His chin trembling, Geppetto stared for a long time, the two of them surrounded by all those giant trees, then he grabbed Pino and hugged him fiercely.
    â€œOh, my dear child,” he said. “My child, my son, you are all that I have. I love you more than life itself. There is nothing that could change that. Nothing.”
    *  *  *
    They talked about Pino’s wooden finger a bit more, and since neither of them