— Pinocchio the Other is slowly beginning to understand something strange about himself…
— …those who try to grasp him always want to divide him into pieces.
— They want to know where he comes from, at what moment he becomes the Moon Child, at what precise instant he ceases to be a puppet, when Don Carotte begins, where the figure ends and the person begins.
— I believe they are searching for fixed points within his becoming, as though his existence could be halted upon a series of motionless images.
— But Pinocchio the Other obscurely senses that something is lost each time one proceeds in this way.
— He understands that his life is not made of separate states.
— It is not a succession of masks arranged one after another inside a display case.
— It resembles a crossing instead.
— Something flows through him. A duration. A continuous transformation that cannot be divided without being destroyed.
— Then Zeno’s paradox could become, for him, a kind of metaphysical trap.
For all those who try to understand Pinocchio the Other act somewhat like Zeno observing Achilles.
— They say: here he was a puppet.
— Then here he becomes a child.
— Then here a traveler.
— Then here Don Carotte.
— Then here something else again.
— And each time they believe they have reached his identity, it has already shifted elsewhere.
— Lucian himself sometimes falls into this difficulty when he copies the portraits in order to understand better.
— He immobilizes figures. He extracts positions from the great inner movement of the being he pursues. The drawings then become comparable to Bergson’s “geometrical points”…
— …visible stations torn away from the living flow.
— Yet Pinocchio the Other never inhabits those stations.
— He passes through them.
Félix’s Notebook
That is why Igniatius recognizes something of the original in Lucian’s copies. Not because Lucian fraudulently reproduced an image, but because, by copying, he himself began to enter into the movement he had sought to observe from the outside. His hand followed an inner trajectory before his mind entirely understood it. It is here that Bergson profoundly converges with Pinocchio the Other.
The visible trajectory, the drawings, the figures, the names, the metamorphoses, all belong to space. They can be divided. Classified. Juxtaposed. One may say: here is portrait number one, then number two, then number three. Here is the Moon Child before Don Carotte. Here is Pinocchio before the Child.
But the true movement of Pinocchio the Other belongs to duration. And this duration cannot be decomposed. For Pinocchio does not become other through successive additions. He never entirely leaves behind what he once was. The puppet remains within the child. The child remains within Don Carotte. Wood remains within flesh. Fire remains within drowned wood. All the figures continue to live simultaneously within a thickness of time resembling volcanic stratification far more than a line.
That is why the characters sometimes seem to exist together, as though within a sort of poetic quantum physics. They do not truly replace one another. They pass through one another.
Thus the great error of observers may lie in wanting to understand Pinocchio the Other as a trajectory, whereas he is a passage. They look at the line left behind him instead of sensing the very movement of his passing.
And Pinocchio the Other eventually begins to suspect this: each time one seeks to fix him definitively within an identity, he is transformed into a motionless object. Into a dead figure. Into a frozen portrait.
Yet he truly exists only in passage.
As flame exists only in its burning.
As the sea exists only in its movement.
As speech exists only so long as it passes through someone.
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