“Faline, sister, you knew me anyway.” Gobo went to her and kissed her mouth.
“Faline, sister, you knew me anyway.” Gobo went to her and kissed her mouth.
“Faline, sister, you knew me anyway.” Gobo went to her and kissed her mouth.
“Well, Gobo,” Bambi began. His voice trembled and he felt very bewildered. He was deeply moved and very much surprised. “Well, so you’re not dead,” he said.
Gobo burst out laughing. “You see that I’m not dead,” he said; “at least I think you can see that I’m not.”
“But what happened that time in the snow?” Bambi persisted.
“O then?” Gobo said thoughtfully. “He rescued me then.”
“And where have you been all this time?” asked Faline in astonishment.
“With Him,” Gobo replied, “I’ve been with Him all the time.”
He grew silent and looked at Faline and at Bambi. Their helpless astonishment delighted him. Then he added, “Yes, my dears, I’ve seen a lot more than all of you put together in your old forest.” He sounded somewhat boastful, but they paid no attention to it. They were still too much absorbed in their great surprise.
“Tell us about it,” cried Faline beside herself with joy.
“O,” said Gobo with satisfaction, “I could talk all day about it and never reach the end.”
“Well then, go ahead and talk,” Bambi urged.
Gobo turned to Faline and grew serious. “Is mother still alive?” he asked timidly and softly.
“Yes,” cried Faline gladly. “She’s alive but I haven’t seen her for a long while.”
“I’m going to see her right away,” said Gobo with decision. “Are you coming too?”
They all went.
They did not speak another word the whole way. Bambi and Faline felt Gobo’s impatient longing to see his mother, so both of them kept silent. Gobo walked ahead hurriedly and did not speak. They let him do as he liked.
Only sometimes when he hurried blindly over a cross-trail or when, in a sudden burst of speed, he took the wrong turning, they called gently to him. “This way,” Bambi would whisper, or Faline would say, “No, no, we go this way now.”
A number of times they had to cross wide clearings. They noticed that Gobo never stopped at the edge of the thicket, never peered around for a moment when he walked into the open, but simply ran out without any precaution. Bambi and Faline exchanged astonished glances whenever this happened, but they never said a word and followed Gobo with some hesitation. They had to wander around sometimes and search high and low.
Gobo recollected his childhood paths at once. He was delighted with himself, never realizing that Bambi and Faline were leading him. He looked around at them and called, “How do you like the way I can still find my way around?” They did not say anything, but they exchanged glances again.
Soon afterwards they came to a small leafy hollow. “Look,” cried Faline and glided in. Gobo followed her and stopped. It was the glade in which they were both born and had lived with their mother as little children. Gobo and Faline looked into each other’s eyes. They did not say a word. But Faline kissed her brother gently on the mouth. Then they hurried on.
They walked to and fro for a good hour. The sun shone brighter and brighter through the branches and the forest grew stiller and stiller. It was the time for lying down and resting. But Gobo didn’t feel tired. He walked swiftly ahead, breathing deeply with impatience and excitement, and gazed aimlessly about him. He shrank together whenever a weasel slunk through the bushes at his feet. He nearly stepped on the pheasants, and when they scolded him, flying up with a loud flapping of wings, he was terribly frightened. Bambi marveled at the strange, blind way Gobo moved around.
Presently Gobo stopped and turned to them both. “She isn’t anywhere here,” he cried in despair.
Faline soothed him. “We’ll soon find her,” she said, deeply moved, “soon, Gobo.” She looked at him. He still had that dejected look she knew so well.
“Shall we call her?” she asked smiling. “Shall we call her the way we used to when we were children?”
Bambi went away a few steps. Then he saw Aunt Ena. She had already settled herself to rest and was lying quietly in a nearby hazel bush.
“At last,” he said to himself. At the same moment Gobo and Faline came up. All three of them stood together and looked at Ena. She had raised her head quietly and looked sleepily back at them.
Gobo took a few hesitating steps and cried softly, “Mother.”
She was on her feet in a flash and stood as though transfixed. Gobo sprang to her quickly. “Mother,” he began again. He tried to speak but couldn’t utter a word.
His mother looked deep into his eyes. Her rigid body began to move. Wave after wave of trembling broke over her shoulders and down her back.
She did not ask any questions. She did not want any explanation or history. She kissed Gobo slowly on the mouth. She kissed his cheeks and his neck. She bathed him tirelessly in her kisses, as she had when he was born.
Bambi and Faline had gone away.
Theywere all standing around in the middle of the thicket in a little clearing. Gobo was talking to them.
Even Friend Hare was there. Full of astonishment, he would lift one spoonlike ear, listen attentively, and let it fall back, only to lift it again at once.
The magpie was perched on the lowest branch of a young beech and listened in amazement. The jay was sitting restlessly on an ash opposite and screamed every once in a while in wonder.
A few friendly pheasants had brought their wives and children and were stretching their necks in surprise as they listened. At times they would jerk them in again, turning their heads this way and that in speechless wonder.
The squirrel had scurried up and was gesturing, wild with excitement. At times he would slide to the ground, at times he would run up some tree or other. Or he would balance with his tail erect and display his white chest. Every now and again he tried to interrupt Gobo and say something, but he was always told sternly to keep quiet.
Gobo told how he had lain helpless in the snow waiting to die.
“The dogs found me,” he said. “Dogs are terrible. They are certainly the most terrible creatures in the world. Their jaws drip blood and their bark is pitiless and full of anger.” He looked all around the circle and continued, “Well, since then I’ve played with them just as I would with one of you.” He was very proud. “I don’t need to be afraid of them any more, I’m good friends with them now. Nevertheless, when they begin to grow angry, I have a roaring in my ears and my heart stops beating. But they don’t really mean any harm by it and, as I said, I’m a good friend of theirs. But their bark is terribly loud.”
“The dogs found me.”
“The dogs found me.”
“The dogs found me.”
“Go on,” Faline urged.
Gobo looked at her. “Well,” he said, “they would have torn me to pieces, but He came.”
Gobo paused. The others hardly breathed.
“Yes,” said Gobo, “He came. He called off the dogs and they quieted down at once. He called them again and they crouched motionless at His feet. Then He picked me up. I screamed but He petted me. He held me in His arms. He didn’t hurt me. And then He carried me away.”
Faline interrupted him. “What does ‘carry’ mean?” she asked.
Gobo began to explain it in great detail.
“It’s very simple,” Bambi broke in, “look at what the squirrel does when he takes a nut and carries it off.”
The squirrel tried to speak again. “A cousin of mine ...” he began eagerly. But the others cried out at once, “Be still, be still, let Gobo go on.”
The squirrel had to keep quiet. He was desperate and, pressing his forepaws against his white chest, he tried to begin a conversation with the magpie. “As I was saying, a cousin of mine ...” he began. But the magpie simply turned her back on him.
Gobo told of wonders. “Outside it will be cold and the storm is howling. But inside there’s not a breath of wind and it’s as warm as in summertime,” he said.
“Akh!” screamed the jay.
“The rain may be pouring outside so that everything is flooded. But not a drop of it gets inside and you keep dry.”
The pheasants craned their necks and twisted their heads.
“Everything outside may be snowed under, but inside I was warm,” said Gobo; “I was even hot. They gave me hay to eat and chestnuts, potatoes and turnips, whatever I wanted.”
“Hay?” they all cried at once, amazed, incredulous and excited.
“Sweet, new-mown hay,” Gobo repeated calmly, and gazed triumphantly around.
The squirrel’s voice cut in, “A cousin of mine ...”
“Keep quiet,” cried the others.
“Where does He get hay and all the rest of the things in winter?” asked Faline eagerly.
“He grows them,” Gobo answered, “He grows what He wants and keeps what He wants.”
Faline went on questioning him: “Weren’t you ever afraid, Gobo, when you were with Him?” she asked.
Gobo smiled a very superior smile. “No, dear Faline,” he said, “not any more. I got to know that He wouldn’t hurt me. Why should I have been afraid? You all think He’s wicked. But He isn’t wicked. If He loves anybody or if anybody serves Him, He’s good to him. Wonderfully good! Nobody in the world can be as kind as He can.”
While Gobo was talking that way the old stag suddenly stepped noiselessly from the bushes.
Gobo didn’t notice him and went on talking. But the others saw the old stag and held their breath in awe.
The old stag stood motionless, watching Gobo with deep and serious eyes.
Gobo said, “Not only He, but all His children loved me. His wife and all of them used to pet me and play with me.” He broke off suddenly. He had seen the old stag.
A silence followed.
Then the old stag asked in his quiet commanding voice, “What kind of a band is that you have on your neck?”
Everybody looked at it and noticed for the first time the dark strip of braided horsehair around Gobo’s neck.
Gobo answered uneasily, “That? Why that’s part of the halter I wore. It’s His halter and it’s the greatest honor to wear His halter, it’s ...” He grew confused and stammered.
Everyone was silent. The old stag looked at Gobo for a long time, piercingly and sadly.
“You poor thing!” he said softly at last, and turned and was gone.
In the astonished silence that followed, the squirrel began to chatter again. “As I was saying, a cousin of mine stayed with Him, too. He caught him and shut him up, oh, for the longest while, till one day my father ...”
But nobody was listening to the squirrel. They were all walking away.
Oneday Marena appeared again. She was almost full grown the winter that Gobo disappeared, but she had hardly ever been seen since, for she lived alone, going her own ways.
She had stayed slender and looked quite young. But she was quiet and serious and gentler than any of the others. She had heard from the squirrel and the jay, the magpie and the thrushes and pheasants that Gobo had returned from his wonderful adventures. So she came back to see him.
Marena was quiet and serious and gentler than any of the others.
Marena was quiet and serious and gentler than any of the others.
Marena was quiet and serious and gentler than any of the others.
Gobo’s mother was very proud and happy over her visit. Gobo’s mother had grown rather proud of her good fortune. She was delighted to hear the whole forest talking about her son. She basked in his glory and wanted everybody to know that her Gobo was the cleverest, ablest and best deer living.
“What do you think of him, Marena?” she exclaimed. “What do you think of our Gobo?” She didn’t wait for an answer but went on, “Do you remember how old Nettla said he wasn’t worth much because he shivered a little in the cold? Do you remember how she prophesied that he’d be nothing but a care to me?”
“Well,” Marena answered, “you’ve had plenty of worry over Gobo.”
“That’s all over with now,” his mother exclaimed. She wondered how people could still remember such things. “O, I’m sorry for poor old Nettla. What a pity that she couldn’t live to see what my Gobo’s become!”
“Yes, poor old Nettla,” said Marena softly, “it’s too bad about her.”
Gobo liked to hear his mother praise him that way. It pleased him. He stood around and basked as happily in her praises as in the sunshine.
“Even the old Prince came to see Gobo,” his mother told Marena. She whispered it as though it were something solemn and mysterious. “He never let anyone so much as get a glimpse of him before, but he came on account of Gobo.”
“Why did he call me a poor thing?” Gobo broke in in a discontented tone. “I’d like to know what he meant by that.”
“Don’t think about it,” his mother said to comfort him, “he’s old and queer.”
But at last Gobo meant to ease his mind. “All day long it keeps running through my head,” he said. “Poor thing! I’m not a poor thing. I’m very lucky. I’ve seen more and been through more than all the rest of you put together. I’ve seen more of the world and I know more about life than anyone in the forest. What do you think, Marena?”
“Yes,” she said, “no one can deny that.”
From then on Marena and Gobo were always together.
Bambiwent to look for the old stag. He roamed around all night long. He wandered till the sun rose and dawn found him on unbeaten trails without Faline.
He was still drawn to Faline at times. At times he loved her just as much as ever. Then he liked to roam about with her, to listen to her chatter, to browse with her on the meadow or at the edge of the thicket. But she no longer satisfied him completely.
Before, when he was with Faline, he hardly ever remembered his meetings with the old stag, and when he did it was only casually. Now he was looking for him and felt an inexplicable desire driving him to find him. He only thought of Faline between whiles. He could always be with her if he wanted to. He did not much care to stay with the others. Gobo or Aunt Ena he avoided when he could.
The words the old stag had let fall about Gobo kept ringing in Bambi’s ears. They made a peculiarly deep impression on him. Gobo had affected him strangely from the very first day of his return. Bambi didn’t know why, but there was something painful to him in Gobo’s bearing. Bambi was ashamed of Gobo without knowing why. And he was afraid for him, again without knowing why. Whenever he was together with this harmless, vain, self-conscious and self-satisfied Gobo, the words kept running through his head, “Poor thing!” He couldn’t get rid of them.
But one dark night when Bambi had again delighted the screech-owl by assuring him how badly he was frightened, it suddenly occurred to him to ask, “Do you happen to know where the old stag is now?”
The screech-owl answered in his cooing voice that he didn’t have the least idea in the world. But Bambi perceived that he simply didn’t want to tell.
“No,” he said, “I don’t believe you, you’re too clever. You know everything that’s happening in the forest. You certainly must know where the old stag is hiding.”
The screech-owl, who was all fluffed up, smoothed his feathers against his body and made himself small. “Of course I know,” he cooed still more softly, “but I oughtn’t to tell you, I really oughtn’t.”
Bambi began to plead. “I won’t give you away,” he said. “How could I, when I respect you so much?”
The owl became a lovely, soft gray-brown ball again and rolled his big cunning eyes a little as he always did when he felt in a good humor. “So you really do respect me,” he asked, “and why, pray?”
Bambi did not hesitate. “Because you’re so wise,” he said sincerely, “and so good-natured and friendly, besides. And because you’re so clever at frightening people. It’s so very clever to frighten people, so very, very clever. I wish I could do it, it would be a great help to me.”
The screech-owl had sunk his bill into his downy breast and was happy.
“Well,” he said, “I know that the old stag would be glad to see you.”
“Do you really think so?” cried Bambi while his heart began to beat faster for joy.
“Yes, I’m sure of it,” the owl answered. “He’d be glad to see you, and I think I can venture to tell you where he is now.”
He laid his feathers close to his body and suddenly grew thin again.
“Do you know the deep ditch where the willows stand?”
Bambi nodded yes.
“Do you know the young oak thicket on the farther side?”
“No,” Bambi confessed, “I’ve never been on the farther side.”
“Well, listen carefully then,” the owl whispered. “There’s an oak thicket on the far side. Go through that. Then there are bushes, hazel and silver poplar, thorn and shadbush. In the midst of them is an old uprooted beech. You’ll have to hunt for it. It’s not so easy to see it from your height as it is from the air. You’ll find him under the trunk. But don’t tell him I told you.”
“Under the trunk?” said Bambi.
“Yes,” the screech-owl laughed, “there’s a hollow in the ground there. The trunk lies right across it. And he sleeps under the trunk.”
“Thank you,” said Bambi sincerely. “I don’t know if I can find it, but I’m very grateful anyhow.” He ran quickly away.
The screech-owl flew noiselessly after him and began to hoot right beside him. “Oi, oi!” Bambi shrank together.
“Did I frighten you?” asked the owl.
“Did I frighten you?” asked the owl.
“Did I frighten you?” asked the owl.
“Did I frighten you?” asked the owl.
“Yes,” he stammered, and that time he told the truth.
The owl cooed with satisfaction and said, “I only wanted to remind you again. Don’t tell him I told you.”
“Of course not,” Bambi assured him and ran on.
When Bambi reached the ditch the old stag rose before him out of the pitch black night so noiselessly and suddenly that Bambi drew back in terror.
“I’m no longer where you were going to look for me,” said the stag.
Bambi was silent.
“What is it you want?” asked the stag.
“Nothing,” Bambi stammered, “nothing, excuse me, nothing at all.”
After a while the old stag spoke, and his voice sounded gentle. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been looking for me,” he said.
He waited. Bambi did not answer. The old stag went on, “Yesterday you passed close by me twice, and again this morning, very close.”
“Why,” said Bambi gathering courage, “why did you say that about Gobo?”
“Do you think that I was wrong?”
“No,” cried Bambi sorrowfully, “no, I feel that you were right.”
The old stag gave a barely perceptible nod and his eyes rested on Bambi more kindly than ever before.
“But why?” Bambi said, “I don’t understand it.”
“It’s enough that you feel it. You will understand it later,” the old stag said. “Good-by.”
Everybodysoon saw that Gobo had habits which seemed strange and suspicious to the rest of them. He slept at night when the others were awake. But in the daytime, when the rest of them were looking for places to sleep in, he was wide awake and went walking. When he felt like it he would even go out of the thicket without any hesitation and stand with perfect peace of mind in the bright sunshine on the meadow.
Gobo would stand with perfect peace of mind in the bright sunshine on the meadow.
Gobo would stand with perfect peace of mind in the bright sunshine on the meadow.
Gobo would stand with perfect peace of mind in the bright sunshine on the meadow.
Bambi found it impossible to keep silent any longer. “Don’t you ever think of the danger?” he asked.
“No,” Gobo said simply, “there isn’t any for me.”
“You forget, my dear Bambi,” Gobo’s mother broke in, “you forget that He’s a friend of Gobo’s. Gobo can take chances that the rest of you cannot take.” She was very proud.
Bambi did not say anything more.
One day Gobo said to him, “You know, it seems strange to me to eat when and where I like.”
Bambi did not understand. “Why is it strange, we all do it,” he said.
“O, you do,” said Gobo superiorly, “but I’m a little different. I’m accustomed to having my food brought to me or to being called when it’s ready.”
Bambi stared pityingly at Gobo. He looked at Faline and Marena and Aunt Ena. But they were all smiling and admiring Gobo.
“I think it will be hard for you to get accustomed to the winter, Gobo,” Faline began, “we don’t have hay or turnips or potatoes in the winter time.”
“That’s true,” answered Gobo reflectively, “I hadn’t thought about that yet. I can’t even imagine how it would feel. It must be dreadful.”
Bambi said quietly, “It isn’t dreadful. It’s only hard.”
“Well,” Gobo declared grandly, “if it gets too hard for me I’ll simply go back to Him. Why should I go hungry? There’s no need for that.”
Bambi turned away without a word and walked off.
When Gobo was alone again with Marena he began to talk about Bambi. “He doesn’t understand me,” he said. “Poor old Bambi thinks I’m still the silly little Gobo that I once was. He can never get used to the fact that I’ve become something unusual. Danger!... What does he mean by danger? He means well enough by me, but danger is something for him and the likes of him, not for me.”
Marena agreed with him. She loved him and Gobo loved her and they were both very happy.
“Well,” he said to her, “nobody understands me the way you do. But anyhow I can’t complain. I’m respected and honored by everybody. But you understand me best of all. When I tell the others how good He is, they listen and they don’t think I’m lying, but they stick to their opinion that He’s dreadful.”
“I’ve always believed in Him,” said Marena dreamily.
“Really?” Gobo replied airily.
“Do you remember the day when they left you lying in the snow?” Marena went on. “I said that day that sometime He’d come to the forest to play with us.”
“No,” Gobo replied yawning, “I don’t remember that.”
A few weeks passed, and one morning Bambi and Faline, Gobo and Marena were standing together again in the old familiar hazel thicket. Bambi and Faline were just returning from their wanderings, intending to look for their hiding place when they met Gobo and Marena. Gobo was about to go out on the meadow.
“Stay with us instead,” said Bambi, “the sun will soon be rising and then nobody will go out in the open.”
“Nonsense,” said Gobo, scornfully, “if nobody else will go, I will.”
He went on, Marena following him.
Bambi and Faline had stopped. “Come along,” said Bambi angrily to Faline, “come along. Let him do what he pleases.”
They were going on, but suddenly the jay screamed loudly from the far side of the meadow. With a bound Bambi had turned and was running after Gobo. Right by the oak he caught up with him and Marena.
“Did you hear that?” he cried to him.
“What?” asked Gobo puzzled.
Again the jay screamed on the far side of the meadow.
“Did you hear that?” Bambi repeated.
“No,” said Gobo calmly.
“That means danger,” Bambi persisted.
A magpie began to chatter loudly and, immediately after her, another and then a third. Then the jay screamed again and far overhead the crows gave warning.
Faline began to plead. “Don’t go out there, Gobo! It’s dangerous.”
Even Marena begged, “Stay here. Stay here to-day, beloved one. It’s dangerous.”
Gobo stood there, smiling in his superior way. “Dangerous! dangerous! What has that to do with me?” he asked.
His pressing need gave Bambi an idea. “At least let Marena go first,” he said, “so we can find out....”
He hadn’t finished before Marena had slipped out.
All three stood and looked at her, Bambi and Faline breathlessly, Gobo with obvious patience, as if to let the others enjoy their foolish whims.
They saw how Marena walked across the meadow step by step, with hesitant feet, her head up. She peered and snuffed in all directions. Suddenly she turned like a flash with one high bound and, as though a cyclone had struck her, rushed back into the thicket.
“It’s He, He,” she whispered, her voice choking with terror. She was trembling in every limb. “I, I saw Him,” she stammered, “it’s He. He’s standing over by the alders.”
“Come,” cried Bambi, “come quickly.”
“Come,” Faline pleaded. And Marena who could hardly speak whispered, “Please come now, Gobo, please.”
But Gobo remained unmoved. “Run as much as you like,” he said, “I won’t stop you. If He’s there I want to talk with Him.”
Gobo could not be dissuaded.
They stood and watched how he went out. They stayed there, moved by his great confidence, while at the same time a terrible fear for him gripped them.
Gobo was standing boldly on the meadow looking around for the alders. Then he seemed to see them and to have discovered Him. Then the thunder crashed.
Gobo leaped into the air at the report. He suddenly turned around and fled back to the thicket, staggering as he came.
They still stood there, petrified with terror, while he came on. They heard him gasping for breath. And as he did not stop but bounded wildly forward, they turned and surrounded him and all took flight.
But poor Gobo dropped to the ground. Marena stopped close to him, Bambi and Faline a little farther off, ready to flee.
Gobo lay with his bloody entrails oozing from his torn flank. He lifted his head with a feeble twisting motion.
“Marena,” he said with an effort, “Marena....” He did not recognize her. His voice failed.
There was a loud careless rustling in the bushes by the meadow. Marena bent her head towards Gobo. “He’s coming,” she whispered frantically, “Gobo, He’s coming! Can’t you get up and come with me?”
Gobo lifted his head again feebly with a writhing motion, beat convulsively with his hoofs and then lay still.
With a crackling, snapping and rustling He parted the bushes and stepped out.
Marena saw Him from quite near. She slunk slowly back, disappearing through the nearest bushes, and hastened to Bambi and Faline.
She looked back once again and saw how He was bending over and seizing the wounded deer.
Then they heard Gobo’s wailing death shriek.
Bambiwas alone. He walked beside the water that ran swiftly among the reeds and swamp-willows.
He went there more and more often now that he was staying by himself. There were few trails there, and he hardly ever met any of his friends. That was just what he wanted. For his thoughts had grown serious and his heart heavy. He did not know what was happening within him. He did not even think about it. He merely recalled things aimlessly, and his whole life seemed to have become darker.
He used to stand for hours on the bank. The current, that flowed round a gentle bend there, occupied his entire thought. The cool air from the ripples brought him strange, refreshing, acrid smells that aroused forgetfulness and a sense of trust in him.
Bambi would stand and watch the ducks paddling companionably together. They talked endlessly to one another in a friendly, serious, capable way.
The ducks talked endlessly to one another in a friendly, serious, capable way.
The ducks talked endlessly to one another in a friendly, serious, capable way.
The ducks talked endlessly to one another in a friendly, serious, capable way.
There were a couple of mother ducks, each with a flock of young ones around her. They were constantly teaching their young ones things. And the little ones were always learning them. Sometimes one or the other of the mothers would give a warning. Then the young ducks would dash off in all directions. They would scatter and glide away perfectly noiselessly. Bambi saw how the smallest ones, who could not fly yet, would paddle among the thick rushes without moving a stem that might betray them by swaying. He would see the small dark bodies creep here and there among the reeds. Then he could see nothing more.
Later one of the mothers would give a short call and in a flash they would all flock around her again. In an instant they would reassemble their flotilla and go on cruising quietly about as before. Bambi marveled anew at it each time. It was a constant source of wonder to him.
After one such alarm, Bambi asked one of the mothers, “What was it? I was looking closely and I didn’t see anything.”
“It was nothing at all,” answered the duck.
Another time one of the children gave the signal, turning like a flash and staring through the reeds. Presently he came out on the bank where Bambi was standing.
“There wasn’t anything,” the young one replied, shaking its tail feathers in a grown-up way and carefully putting the tips of its wings in place. Then it paddled through the water again.
Nevertheless Bambi had faith in the ducks. He came to the conclusion that they were more watchful than he, that they heard and saw things more quickly. When he stood watching them, that ceaseless tension that he felt within himself at other times relaxed a little.
He liked to talk with the ducks, too. They didn’t talk the nonsense that he so often heard from the others. They talked about the broad skies and the wind and about distant fields where they feasted on choice tidbits.
From time to time Bambi saw something that looked like a fiery streak in the air beside the brook. “Srrrri!” the humming bird would cry softly darting past like a tiny whirring speck. There was a gleam of green, a glow of red, as he flashed by and was gone. Bambi was thrilled and wanted to see the bright stranger near to. He called to him.
“Don’t bother calling him,” the sedge-hen said to Bambi from among the reed clumps, “don’t bother calling. He’ll never answer you.”
“Where are you?” asked Bambi peering among the reeds.
But the sedge-hen only laughed loudly from an entirely different place, “Here I am. That cranky creature you just called to won’t talk to anyone. It’s useless to call him.”
“He’s so handsome,” said Bambi.
“But bad,” the sedge-hen retorted from still another place.
“What makes you think him bad?” Bambi inquired.
The sedge-hen answered from an altogether different place, “He doesn’t care for anything or anybody. Let anything happen that wants to, he won’t speak to anybody and never thanked anybody for speaking to him. He never gives anybody warning when there’s danger. He’s never said a word to a living soul.”
“The poor ...” said Bambi.
The sedge-hen went on talking, and her cheery, piping voice sounded from the far side again. “He probably thinks that people are jealous of his silly markings and doesn’t want them to get too good a look at him.”
“Certain other people don’t let you get a good look at them either,” said Bambi.
In a twinkling the sedge-hen was standing in front of him. “There’s nothing to look at in my case,” she said simply. Small and gleaming with water, she stood there in her sleek feathers, her trim figure restless, animated and satisfied. In a flash she was gone again.
“I don’t understand how people can stand so long in one spot,” she called from the water. And added from the far side, “It’s tiresome and dangerous to stay so long in one spot.” Then from the other side she cried gayly once or twice. “You have to keep moving,” she cried happily, “you’ve got to keep moving if you want to keep whole and hearty.”
A soft rustling in the grass startled Bambi. He looked around. There was a reddish flash among the bushes. It disappeared in the reeds. At the same time a sharp warm smell reached his nostrils. The fox had slunk by.
Bambi wanted to cry out and stamp on the ground as a warning. But the sedges rustled as the fox parted them in quick leaps. The water splashed and a duck screamed desperately. Bambi heard her wings flapping and saw her white body flash through the leaves. He saw how her wings beat the fox’s face with sharp blows. Then it grew still.
At the same moment the fox came out of the bushes holding the duck in his jaws. Her neck hung down limply, her wings were still moving, but the fox paid no attention to that. He looked sidewise at Bambi with sneering eyes and crept slowly into the thicket.
Bambi stood motionless.
A few of the old ducks had flown up with a rush of wings and were flying around in helpless fright. The sedge-hen was crying warnings from all directions. The tit-mice chirped excitedly in the bushes. And the young orphaned ducks splashed about the sedge, crying with soft voices.
The hummingbird flew along the bank.
“Please tell us,” the young ducks cried, “please tell us, have you seen our mother?”
“Srrri,” cried the hummingbird shrilly, and flew past sparkling, “what has she got to do with me?”
Bambi turned and went away. He wandered through a whole sea of goldenrod, passed through a grove of young beeches, crossed through old hazel thickets until he reached the edge of the deep ditch. He roamed around it, hoping to meet the old stag. He had not seen him for a long while, not since Gobo’s death.
Then he caught a glimpse of him from afar and ran to meet him. For a while they walked together in silence, then the old stag asked: “Well, do they still talk about him the way they used to?”
Bambi understood that he referred to Gobo and replied, “I don’t know. I’m nearly alone now.” He hesitated, “But I think of him very often.”
“Really,” said the old stag, “are you alone now?”
“Yes,” said Bambi expectantly, but the old stag remained silent.
They went on. Suddenly the old stag stopped. “Don’t you hear anything?” he asked.
Bambi listened. He didn’t hear anything.
“Come,” cried the old stag and hurried forward. Bambi followed him. The stag stopped again. “Don’t you hear anything yet?” he asked.
Then Bambi heard a rustling that he did not understand. It sounded like branches being bent down and repeatedly springing up again. Something was beating the earth dully and irregularly.
Bambi wanted to flee but the old stag cried, “Come with me,” and ran in the direction of the noise. Bambi at his side ventured to ask, “Isn’t it dangerous?”
“It’s terribly dangerous,” the old stag answered mysteriously.
Soon they saw branches being pulled and tugged at from below and shaken violently. They went nearer and saw that a little trail ran through the middle of the bushes.
Friend Hare was lying on the ground. He flung himself from side to side and writhed. Then he lay still and writhed again. Each of his motions pulled at the branches over him.
Bambi noticed a dark threadlike leash. It ran right from the branch to Friend Hare and was twisted around his neck.
Friend Hare must have heard someone coming, for he flung himself wildly into the air and fell to the ground. He tried to escape and rolled, jerking and writhing in the grass.
“Lie still,” the old stag commanded. Then sympathetically, with a gentle voice that went to Bambi’s heart, he repeated in his ear, “Be easy, Friend Hare, it’s I. Don’t move now. Lie perfectly still.”
The Hare lay motionless, flat on the ground. His throttled breath rattled softly in his throat.
The old stag took the branch between his teeth, and twisted it. He bent down. Then he walked around putting his weight cunningly against it. He held it to the earth with his hoof and snapped it with a single blow of his antlers.
Then he nodded encouragingly to the Hare. “Lie still,” he said, “even if I hurt you.”
Holding his head on one side, he laid one prong of his antlers close to the Hare’s neck and pressed into the fur behind his ear. He made an effort and nodded. The Hare began to writhe.
The old stag immediately drew back. “Lie still,” he commanded, “it’s a question of life and death for you.” He began over again. The Hare lay still gasping. Bambi stood close by, speechless with amazement.
One of the old stag’s antlers, pressing against the Hare’s fur, had slipped under the noose. The old stag was almost kneeling and twisted his head as though he were charging. He drove his antlers deeper and deeper under the noose, which gave at last and began to loosen.
The Hare could breathe again and his terror and pain burst from him instantly. “E-e-eh!” he cried bitterly.
The old stag stopped. “Keep quiet!” he cried, reproaching him gently, “keep quiet.” His mouth was close to the Hare’s shoulder, his antlers lay with a prong between the spoonlike ears. It looked as if he had spitted the Hare.
“How can you be so stupid as to cry at this time?” he grumbled gently. “Do you want the fox to come? Do you? I thought not. Keep quiet then.”
He continued to work away, slowly exerting all his strength. Suddenly the noose broke with a loud snap. The Hare slipped out and was free, without realizing it for a moment. He took a step and sat down again dazed. Then he hopped away, slowly and timidly at first, then faster and faster. Presently he was running with wild leaps.
Bambi looked after him. “Without so much as a thank you,” he exclaimed in surprise.
“He’s still terrified,” said the old stag.
The noose lay on the ground. Bambi touched it gently. It creaked, terrifying Bambi. That was a sound such as he had never heard in the woods.
“He?” asked Bambi softly.
The old stag nodded.
They walked on together in silence. “Take care when you’re going along a trail,” said the old stag, “test all the branches. Prod them on all sides of you with your antlers. And turn back at once if you hear that creak. And when you’ve shed your antlers be doubly cautious. I never use trails any more.”
Bambi sank into troubled thought.
“He isn’t here,” he whispered to himself in profound astonishment.
“No, He’s not in the forest now,” the old stag answered.
“And yet He is here,” said Bambi shaking his head.
The old stag went on and his voice was full of bitterness. “How did your Gobo put it...? Didn’t Gobo tell you He is all-powerful and all-good.”
“He was good to Gobo,” Bambi whispered.
The old stag stopped. “Do you believe that, Bambi?” he asked sadly. For the first time he had called Bambi by his name.
“I don’t know,” cried Bambi hurt, “I don’t understand it.”
The old stag said slowly, “We must learn to live and be cautious.”
Onemorning Bambi came to grief.
The pale gray dawn was just creeping through the forest. A milky-white mist was rising from the meadow and the stillness that precedes the coming of light was everywhere. The crows were not awake yet, nor the magpies. The jays were asleep.
Bambi had met Faline the night before. She looked sadly at him and was very shy.
“I’m so much alone now,” she said gently.
“I’m alone too,” Bambi answered with some hesitation.
“Why don’t you stay with me any more?” Faline asked sorrowfully, and it hurt him to see the gay and lively Faline so serious and downcast.
“I want to be alone,” he replied. And gently as he tried to say it, it sounded hard. He felt it himself.
Faline looked at him and asked softly, “Do you love me still?”
“I don’t know,” Bambi answered in the same tone.
She walked silently away from him, leaving him alone.
He stood under the great oak at the meadow’s edge and peered out cautiously, drinking in the pure and odorless morning air. It was moist and fresh from the earth, the dew, the grass and the wet woods. Bambi breathed in great gulps of it. All at once his spirit felt freer than for a long time. He walked happily onto the mist-covered meadow.
Then a sound like thunder crashed.
Bambi felt a fearful blow that made him stagger.
Mad with terror, he sprang back into the thicket and kept running. He did not understand what had happened. He could not grasp a single idea. He could only keep running on and on. Fear gripped his heart so that his breath failed as he rushed blindly on. Then a killing pain shot through him, so that he felt that he could not bear it. He felt something hot running over his left shoulder. It was like a thin, burning thread coming from where the pain shot through him. Bambi had to stop running. He was forced to walk slower. Then he saw that he was limping. He sank down.
It was comfortable just to lie there and rest.
“Up, Bambi! Get up!” the old stag was standing beside him, and nudging his shoulder gently.
Bambi wanted to answer, “I can’t,” but the old stag repeated, “Up! Up!” And there was such compulsion in his voice and such tenderness that Bambi kept silent. Even the pain that shot through him stopped for a minute.
Then the old stag said hurriedly and anxiously, “Get up! You must get away, my son.” My son! The words seemed to have escaped him. In a flash Bambi was on his feet.
“Good,” said the old stag, breathing deeply and speaking emphatically, “come with me now and keep close beside me.”
He walked swiftly ahead. Bambi followed him but he felt a burning desire to let himself drop to the ground, to lie still and rest.
The old stag seemed to guess it and talked to him without stopping. “Now you’ll have to bear every pain. You can’t think of lying down now. You mustn’t think of it even for a moment. That’s enough to tire you in itself. You must save yourself, do you understand me, Bambi? Save yourself. Or else you are lost. Just remember that He is behind you, do you understand, Bambi? And He will kill you without mercy. Come on. Keep close to me. You’ll soon be all right. You must be all right.”
Bambi had no strength left to think with. The pain shot through him at every step he took. It took away his breath and his consciousness. The hot trickle, burning his shoulder, seared him like some deep heartfelt trouble.
The old stag made a wide circle. It took a long time. Through his veil of pain and weakness, Bambi was amazed to see that they were passing the great oak again.
The old stag stopped and snuffed the ground. “He’s still here,” he whispered. “It’s He. And that’s His dog. Come along. Faster!” They ran.
Suddenly the old stag stopped again. “Look,” he said, “that’s where you lay on the ground.”
Bambi saw the crushed grasses where a wide pool of his own blood was soaking into the earth.
The old stag snuffed warily around the spot. “They were here, He and His dog,” he said. “Come along!” He went ahead slowly, snuffing again and again.
Bambi saw the red drops gleaming on the leaves of the bushes and the grass stems. “We passed here before,” he thought. But he couldn’t speak.
“Aha!” said the old stag and seemed almost joyful, “we’re behind them now.”
He continued for a while on the same path. Then he doubled unexpectedly and began a new circle. Bambi staggered after him. They came to the oak again but on the opposite side. For the second time they passed the place where Bambi had fallen down. Then the old stag went in still another direction.
“Eat that,” he commanded suddenly, stopping and pushing aside the grasses. He pointed to a pair of short dark-green leaves growing close together near the ground.
Bambi obeyed. They tasted terribly bitter and smelt sickeningly.
“How do you feel now?” the stag asked after a while.
“Better,” Bambi answered quickly. He was suddenly able to speak again. His senses had cleared and his fatigue grew less.
“Let’s move on again,” the old stag commanded after another pause. After Bambi had been following him for a long time he said, “At last!” They stopped.
“The bleeding has stopped,” said the old stag, “the blood’s stopped flowing from your wound. It isn’t emptying your veins now. And it can’t betray you any more either. It can’t show Him and His dog where to find you and kill you.”
The old stag looked worried and tired but his voice sounded joyful. “Come along,” he went on, “now you can rest.”
They reached a wide ditch which Bambi had never crossed. The old stag climbed down and Bambi tried to follow him. But it cost him a great effort to climb the steep slope on the farther side. The pain began to shoot violently through him again. He stumbled, regained his feet, and stumbled again, breathing hard.
“I can’t help you,” said the old stag, “you’ll have to get up yourself.” Bambi reached the top. He felt the hot trickle on his shoulder again. He felt his strength ebbing for the second time.
“You’re bleeding again,” said the old stag, “I thought you would. But it’s only a little,” he added in a whisper, “and it doesn’t make any difference now.”
They walked very slowly through a grove of lofty beeches. The ground was soft and level. They walked easily on it. Bambi felt a longing to lie down there, to stretch out and never move his limbs again. He couldn’t go any further. His head ached. There was a humming in his ears. His nerves were quivering, and fever began to rack him. There was a darkness before his eyes. He felt nothing but a desire for rest and a detached amazement at finding his life so changed and shattered. He remembered how he had walked whole and uninjured through the woods that morning. It was barely an hour ago, and it seemed to him like some memory out of a distant, long-vanished past.
They passed through a scrub-oak and dogwood thicket. A huge, hollow beech trunk, thickly entangled with the bushes, lay right in front of them, barring the way.
“Here we are,” Bambi heard the old stag saying. He walked along the beech trunk and Bambi walked beside him. He nearly fell into a hollow that lay in front of him.
“Here it is,” said the old stag at the moment, “you can lie down here.”
Bambi sank down and did not move again.
The hollow was still deeper under the beech trunk and formed a little chamber. The bushes closed thickly across the top so that whoever was within lay hidden.
“You’ll be safe here,” said the old stag.
Days passed.
Bambi lay on the warm earth with the mouldering bark of the fallen tree above him. He felt his pain intensify and then grow less and less until it died away more and more gently.