One day, Marena turned up again.
She was already nearly grown up when Gobo disappeared, but she was almost never to be seen since then. She held herself apart and went on her own solitary ways.
She had always had a slight build and looked quite young. But she was serious and quiet and was more gentle than anyone else. Now she had heard from the squirrel, from jays and magpies, from thrush and pheasant that Gobo had come back home and had had wonderful experiences. There she appeared, and wanted to see him. Gobo’s mother was very proud and happy about her visit. Most of all, Gobo’s mother was very proud of how happy she seemed. She was glad that the entire forest was talking about her son, she wallowed in his fame and she wanted everyone to acknowledge that Gobo was the cleverest, the most capable and the best.
What do you think, Marena?” she called. “What do you think of Gobo?” She did not wait for an answer but just continued. “Can you still remember that time when Mrs. Nettla said he wouldn’t amount to much because he shivered a bit in the cold ... and can you remember how she prophesied I’d never get much joy from him?”
“Gobo certainly gave you enough to worry about,” Marena answered.
“That’s all in the past!” Gobo’s mother declared, and was very surprised that anyone could still be thinking of these things. “Oh, I feel so sorry about poor Mrs. Nettla. It’s such a shame that she’s no longer alive and can’t see what my Gobo has made of himself!”
“Yes, poor Mrs. Nettla,” said Marena gently, “it’s a pity about her.”
Gobo enjoyed hearing his mother praise him like this. It pleased him. He stood there and felt as good as if standing in warm sunshine when he heard these praises.
His mother said to Marena, “Even the old prince came to see Gobo ...” She said it in a way that was secretive, in a whisper and celebratory. “He’s never let any of us catch a glimpse of him ... but when it was Gobo, he came!”
“Why did he call me a poor thing?” asked Gobo, sounding very discontented. “I’d like to know what that was supposed to mean!”
“Don’t you worry about that,” his mother reassured him, “he’s very old and ... a bit odd.”
But now, finally, said what was on his mind. “All this time it’s been going round my head what he meant by that. You poor thing. I’m not poor, I’m not unlucky! I’m very lucky! I’ve seen more, I’ve had more experiences than anyone else! I know more about the world and about life than anyone here in the forest! What do you think, Marena?”
“Yes,” she said, “there’s certainly no-one who can gainsay that.”
From that day on, Marena and Gobo were always together.
Bambi looked for the elder. He would walk around all through the nights, wandered about at the time the sun rose and when the morning sky was red, all along uncharted ways, without Faline.
There were times when he still felt an urge to go to her, sometimes he was still as happy to be with her as he had been before, he found it beautiful to walk about with her, to hear her chatting, to have a meal with her at the edge of a thicket; but now these were things that did not satisfy him as much as they had done.
Before, it was rare for him to think of the elder when he was with Faline, and even then it was only fleetingly. Now he was out searching for the elder, he felt an inexplicable yearning to see him and remembered about Faline only once. He could always find her whenever he wanted her. He felt little urge to be together with the others though, Gobo or Auntie Ena. He avoided them whenever he could.
Bambi was unable to stop thinking about the phrase that the elder had used about Gobo. He had been remarkably struck by it. From the first day that he had come back Gobo’s reappearance had seriously disturbed him. Bambi did not know why, but when Gobo looked at him it immediately seemed to make him suffer. Bambi was ashamed of Gobo but did not know why; he was worried about him without knowing why. But now, whenever he was with the incautious, self conscious, complacent and haughty Gobo, that phrase came to his mind: You poor thing! He could not get it out of his head.
But one dark night, in which Bambi had once again assured the owlet, just to please him, that he had been dreadfully startled by him, it suddenly occurred to Bambi to ask where the elder might be.
The owlet replied, in his cooing voice, that he did not have the slightest idea. But Bambi could see that he did not really want to say.
“No,” he said, “I don’t believe you. You’re so clever, you know about everything that goes on in the forest. I’m sure you know where the elder is hiding.”
The owlet went back down into a nice, soft, grey-brown ball, turned his big, clever, eyes a little, as he always did when he felt like it and asked, “Well then, do you really have such respect for me? Why’s that then?”
Bambi did not hesitate. “Because you’re so wise,” he said candidly, “and despite that, you’re such fun and so friendly. And because you can frighten others so well. That’s so clever to startle others, so very clever. I wish I could do that, that would be very useful for me.”
The owlet had sunk his beak deep into his breast feathers and was pleased.
“Well,” he said, “I know that the elder likes your company ...”
“Do you think so?” exclaimed Bambi as the owlet spoke, and his heart began to beat with joy.
“Yes, I’m sure of it,” answered the owlet, “he likes your company, and that’s why I think I might dare to tell you where he is now ...” He pulled his feathers down against his body and suddenly looked quite thin again. “Do you know that deep gorge where the willows are?”
“Yes,” Bambi nodded.
“Do you know the thicket of oak trees on the other side?”
“No,” Bambi admitted, “I’ve never been on the other side.”
“Now listen carefully,” the owlet whispered, on the other side there’s a thicket of oak trees. You have to go through there and you come to an area of bushes, hazel and white poplars, hawthorns and privet. In the middle, there, you’ll need to find an old beech tree that’s been broken down by the wind. It won’t be as easy for you to find down there on the ground, certainly not as easy as it is from up in the air. That’s where the elder lives. Under the trunk of that tree. But ... don’t say I told you!”
“Under the trunk?”
“Yes!” the owlet laughed. “There’s a dip in the ground there. The hollow trunk lies over it. That’s where he is.”
“Thank you,” said Bambi with enthusiasm. “I don’t know whether I’ll be able to find him, but thank you a thousand times.”
He hurried away.
Making no sound, the owlet flew along behind him and close above him he began to screech. “U-y? Uiy!”
Bambi was startled.
“Did I shock you?” the owlet asked.
“Yes ...,” he stuttered and this time he was telling the truth.
The owlet felt satisfied with himself and cooed, “I just wanted to remind you – don’t say I told you!”
“Of course I won’t!” Bambi assured him and he ran off. When he reached the gorge the elder emerged from the darkness of chamber right in front of him, so silently and so suddenly that Bambi was greatly startled once again.
“I’m not there any more, where you hope to find me,” the elder said.
Bambi said nothing.
“What do you want from me?” the elder asked.
“Nothing ...” stuttered Bambi, “oh ... nothing ... do forgive me...”
After a pause the elder said gently, “It wasn’t just today that you started looking for me.”
He waited. Bambi said nothing. The elder continued, “you passed quite close to me twice yesterday, and twice this morning too, very close...”
“Why ...” Bambi gathered up his courage, “why did you say that about Gobo ...?”
“Do you think I was mistaken?”
“No,” Bambi declared with a passion, “no! I think you must be right!”
The elder nodded very slightly, and his eyes looked at Bambi with more benevolence than ever before.
Bambi said to these eyes, “But ... why? ... I can’t understand it!”
“It’s enough that you think so. You’ll understand it later. Farewell!”
It was not long before everyone noticed that Gobo had an odd and puzzling habit. He slept at night, when all the others were awake and moving about. But by day, when all the others sought out a place to hide and sleep, he would cheerfully walk off somewhere. And when he felt like it he would go, without hesitation, out of the thick woods and stand in full daylight in the middle of the meadow with no worry at all.
Bambi was no longer able to keep quiet about this. “Do you not think of the danger?” he asked.
“No,” came Gobo’s simple answer. “There is no danger for me.”
“Bambi, love,” Gobo’s mother put in, “you’re forgetting that He is a friend of his. Gobo can afford to allow himself more than you can or anyone else.” And she was very proud of this. Bambi said no more. One day, Gobo commented to him, “Do you know? Sometimes it strikes me as odd that I can eat here like this, whenever I want to and wherever I want to.”
Bambi did not understand. “What’s so odd about that? That’s what we all do.”
Gobo thought about this and said, “Yes ... well that’s you! Bit with me it’s a bit different. I’ve got used to having my food brought to me, and that they’ll call me when it’s ready.”
Bambi looked at Gobo with pity. Looked at Auntie Ena, at Faline and Marena. But they just smiled and admired Gobo.
“I think,” Faline began, “I think you’ll find it hard to get used to the winter, Gobo. For us, outside in the winter there is no hay at all, no turnips, no potatoes.”
“That’s true,” answered Gobo thoughtfully, “but if it gets too hard for me I’ll just go back to Him. Why should I go hungry? I really don’t need to.”
Without a word, Bambi turned round and walked away.
Gobo now was alone with Marena, and he began to talk about Bambi. “He doesn’t understand me,” he said. “Bambi is good, but he thinks I’m still just stupid, little Gobo, like I used to be. He still can’t understand that I’ve been changed into something special. The danger! Why is he always on about danger? I’m sure he means the best for me. But danger is something for him and for those like him, not for me!”
Marena agreed with him. She loved him, and Gobo loved her, and the two of them were very happy.
“You see,” he said to her, “no-one understands me as well as you do! Anyway, I can’t complain. Everyone respects and honours me, but it’s you who understands me best. The others ... I’ve told them so many times how good He is but they won’t listen to me. I’m sure they don’t think I’m lying but they keep on thinking he must be terrible!”
“I always believed in Him,” said Marena with enthusiasm.
“Really?” Gobo replied glibly.
“Don’t you remember,” Marena went on, “that day when you stayed lying in the snow? I said that one day He would come to us here in the woods and play with us ...”
“No,” retorted Gobo, speaking very slowly, “I can’t remember that at all.”
A couple of weeks went by, and one morning, just as the sun was rising, Bambi and Faline, Gobo and Mareni, were all together in the old thicket of hazel bushes that they saw as home. Bambi and Faline had just come back home from their wanderings, they had gone past the oak and wanted to seek out their place to rest when they came across Gobo and Marena. Gobo was just about to go out onto the meadow.
“Stay here with us,” said Bambi. “It’ll soon be broad daylight, no-one goes out into the open at this time.”
“Ridiculous,” Gobo mocked. “If no-one goes ... I go.”
He strode away, Marena followed him.
Bambi and Faline stayed where they were. “Come on!” said Bambi angrily to Faline. “Come on! He can just do what he wants.” They wanted to go on. Then outside, from the other side of the meadow, came the screech of the jay, loud and foreboding.
Bambi turned suddenly round and ran after Gobo. He caught up with him and Marena just before they had reached the oak tree.
“Do you hear that?” he called to him.
“Hear what?” asked Gobo in puzzlement.
The jay at the other side of the meadow screeched again.
“Can you really not hear it?” Bambi repeated.
“No,” said Gobo calmly.
“That means danger!” Bambi insisted.
Now a magpie appeared, chattering as he went, and immediately after there was another one and then, just as promptly, a third. At the same time the jay screeched once again, and the crows gave signals from high in the air.
Faline began to implore them too. “Don’t go out there, Gobo! It’s dangerous!”
Even Marena now began to urge him. “Stay here! For my sake stay here today ... it’s dangerous!”
Gobo stood there and grinned in embarrassment. “Danger! Danger! Why should I be bothered about that?”
The danger of the moment gave Bambi an idea. “At least let Marena go out first, then we’ll know ...”
He had not finished speaking before Marena had already slipped out there.
All three stood there and looked at her. Bambi and Faline held their breath, Gobo was openly patient, as if he wanted to let the others have their foolish way.
They watched as Marena walked, step by step, onto the meadow, slowly, her head raised high, her legs hesitant. She looked round and smelt the air on every side.
She suddenly turned round, as quick as lightning, a high leap and, as if blown in by a storm, she was back in the thicket. “He ... He’s there ...” she whispered in a voice that was choking in horror. Her whole body was shaking. “I ... I... saw ... Him ... He ... is ... there ...” she stammered, “up there ... He’s standing there ... by the alder tree ...”
“Let’s get away from here!” Bambi called. “Now, let’s get away!”
“Come away!” Faline implored them. And Marena, who by now was barely able to speak, whispered, “Please Gobo, I beg of you, come away with us ... I beg of you ...”
But Gobo remained calm. “Run away then, run away as far as you can?” he said, “I’m not stopping you am I. If He’s there I’ll go over and say hello.”
There was nothing that could have held Gobo back.
They stayed where they were and watched him as he went out onto the meadow. They stayed behind because his immense confidence had a kind of power over them and at the same time held their terror for Him in its place. They were unable to move from the spot.
Gobo stood out in the open on the meadow and looked around to find the alder. Now he seemed to have found it, now he seemed to have glimpsed Him. Then the thunder-crack sounded.
The sound threw Gobo into the air, he suddenly turned round and, leaping as fast as he could, flew back into the thicket.
When he arrived they were still standing there, unable to move because of their horror. They heard the whistling of his breath, he did not stop but hurled himself forward in unthinking leaps. They turned to him, surrounded him, and gave themselves up to full flight.
But very soon Gobo collapsed.
Marena immediately stood still, close beside him. Bambi and Faline were a little further away, ready to flee at any time.
Gobo’s flank had been torn open and he lay there with his bloody innards protruding. He made a dull movement of turning and raising his head.
“Marena ...” he said with some effort, “Marena ... He didn’t recognize me ...” His voice broke off.
From the bushes between them and the meadow, there came an uproarious noise showing no thought of any need to be careful.
Marena lowered her head down to Gobo. “He’s coming!” she whispered urgently. “Gobo ... He’s coming ... can’t you stand up and come with me ...?”
Gobo, once again, weakly turned his head and raised it. His legs twitched violently but he continued to lie where he was.
With a clattering and a cracking and a loud rustling the bushes divided and He entered.
Marena could see him from a short distance. She slowly crept back, disappeared behind the undergrowth, and hurried to join Bambi and Faline.
She turned around once more and there she saw Him as He bent down over the fallen Gobo and took hold of him.
Then she heard Gobo’s pitiful scream of death.
Bambi was by himself. He went over to the water that flowed quietly between the reeds and the willows on the bank.
Ever since he had been keeping to his own company he had come more and more often down here. There were not many paths here and he almost never came across any other deer. But that was just what he wanted. For his thoughts had become earnest and his spirit was heavy. He did not know what was happening inside him, and nor did he try to work it out. He merely tried to puzzle it out in a confused way, with no plan, and it seemed to him that his whole life had become darker.
When he went to stand at the riverside he would spend a long time there. He went to a place where the water flowed in a gentle curve and where it was possible to see a long way. The cool breathing of the ripples brought an unfamiliar smell with it, a smell that was refreshing but bitter, a smell that awoke a sense of being carefree and trusting. Bambi stood there and watched the ducks as they enjoyed one another’s company. They chatted with each other without cease, friendly, serious and clever. There was a couple of mothers there, each of them surrounded by a crowd of children who received regular instruction and who never tired of learning. Sometimes, one of the mothers would give out a warning sign, and the young ducks would rush out in all directions, without hesitation they would glide out as if broadcast from a sower’s hand and would do so in complete silence. At one moment Bambi saw how the little ones, who still could not fly, would go into the thick reeds, carefully, without touching any of the stalks which, if they moved, would betray their locations. Here and there he saw their small, dark bodies in among the rushes as they slowly hid themselves away. Then he saw nothing more of them. A short call from the mother, and they would all swarm around her in an instant. In this instant her flock had gathered back together and they began, as before, to cruise along thoughtfully. This filled Bambi with admiration every time he saw it. It was like a work of art.
One time, after one of these brief alarms, he asked one of the mothers, “What was all that for? I’ve been watching carefully, but didn’t see anything.”
“Well, there was nothing to see,” the duck replied.
Another time, one of the children gave the warning signal. He turned round as quick as a flash, steered his way through the rushes to the bank where Bambi was standing and stepped up onto it.
Bambi asked the little one, “What happened now then? I didn’t see anything.”
“Well there was nothing to see,” the young duck answered. Like a wise old man he shook his feathers, carefully laid the tips of his wings down into the right place and went back into the water.
But Bambi continued to think about the ducks. He understood that they were more watchful than he was, that their hearing was sharper and their eyesight better. When he stood here, the anxiety that at other times he was always full was slightly relieved.
And he enjoyed talking with the ducks. They did not talk about things he heard about so often from the others. They talked about the capacious sky, about the wind and the distant fields where they would enjoy lots of delicious food.
Bambi sometimes saw something small rushing past him through the air, keeping close to the bank, like a fire-coloured lightning flash. “Srrr-ih!” shouted the kingfisher gently for himself as he sped past. A tiny whizzing dot. He glowed in blue and green, sparkled in red, lit himself up and he was gone. Bambi was amazed, he was enchanted, and he wished he could see this remarkable stranger close up, so he called to him.
“Don’t bother with ‘im,” the coot said up to him from the dense rushes. “Don’t bother with ‘im, you’ll never get an answer from ‘im.”
“Where are you?” asked Bambi and peered round in the reeds.
But the laughter of the coot came up loud and clear from a quite different place. “I’m over here! He’s a bad tempered bloke, him who you were trying to talk to just now, he don’t talk with anyone. There’s no point in trying to call to him.”
“He’s so beautiful!” said Bambi.
“Yeah, but he’s no good!” the coot replied, again from a different place.
“Why do you say that?” Bambi enquired.
The coot answered – again from a totally different place - “He can’t be bothered about any one or any thing. It don’t matter what happens, he never says hello to anyone and he never replies if anyone says hello to him. He never makes the alarm call when danger comes along and he’s never spoken a word to anyone.”
“The poor ...” Bambi started to say.
The coot continued speaking, and his cheerful, cheeping voice now, again, came from a quite different place. “I suppose he thinks we’re all jealous of that couple of colours he has in his feathers. I suppose that’s why he don’t want to let anyone get a closer look at him.”
“You’re not letting me get a look at you either,” Bambi suggested.
The coot immediately appeared in front of him. “Well there’s nothing to look at about me, is there,” came his simple reply. There he stood, slender, the water glittering on his back, his simple clothing, his elegant figure, ever-moving, content. And in a moment he was once more gone.
“I don’t know how you can be wondering for so long about a little speck,” his voice came from the water. And – again from a different place - he added. “It’s boring to keep on about a single speck. It’s dangerous and all.” Again from another different place he proclaimed, loud, triumphantly and gaily, “You’ve got to keep moving! If you want to stay safe and get your belly full, you’ve got to keep moving!”
Bambi was startled by a gentle rustling in the grass. He looked round. There, in the bushes, he glimpsed something reddish, which disappeared into the rushes. At the same time there came a warm but sharp trembling in his breath. The fox slipped by. Bambi wanted to call to the duck and stamped on the ground as a warning. There was a rustling and the reeds suddenly divided, the water splashed and the duck screamed in confusion. Bambi heard the clatter of her wings, saw the whiteness of her body in the shimmering greenness, and now he saw how her wings were flapping loudly and whipped against the cheeks of the fox. Then, all became quiet.
Very soon afterwards the fox came up into the bushes with the duck in his jaws. Her neck hung down loosely, her wings still moved feebly, the fox paid no attention. He looked sideways at Bambi, and his bulging eyes seemed to be jeering, and he slipped slowly away into the thick woods.
Bambi stood there, motionless.
Some of the older ducks had clattered up onto the bank, they flew around in confusion caused by the horror of what they had seen. The coot sounded shrill warning cries to every side. The tits in the bushes twittered excitedly, the young ducks pushed themselves into the rushes and, having become orphans, lamented with gentle tones.
The kingfisher rushed by along the bank.
“Please!” called the young ducks. “Please, have you seen our mother?”
“Srrr-ih!” the kingfisher shrieked, and seemed to sparkle as he rushed past. “What’s that to me?”
Bambi turned round and left. He wandered through a dense wilderness of goldenrods, passed through a group of tall beech trees, went through ancient hazel bushes, until he reached the edge of the great trench. Here he wandered round at random in the hope of coming across the elder. It was a long time since he had last seen him, not since Gobo met his end.
Now he saw him in the distance and ran towards him.
For a while, they walked beside each other in silence. Then the elder asked, “Well ... do they still talk about him?”
Bambi understood that he meant Gobo, and answered, “I don’t know ... I’m almost always by myself ...” He hesitated, “... but ... I can’t stop thinking about him all the time.”
“Ah!” said the elder, “are you by yourself now?”
“Yes,” said Bambi expectantly, but the elder remained silent.
They walked on. Suddenly the elder stopped. “Can’t you hear it?”
Bambi listened. No, he heard nothing.
“Come on!” the elder called as he hurried forward. Bambi followed him.
The elder stopped again. “Can you still not hear it?”
Bambi now could make out a sound that he did not understand. It was as if twigs were being pulled down and then allowed to snap up again. At the same time there were dull and irregular thumps on the ground.
Bambi wanted to flee.
“Come with me!” the elder called and ran in the direction of the noise. Bambi dared to ask, “Is it not dangerous there?”
“It is!” the elder replied mysteriously. “It’s very dangerous there!”
They were soon able to see the twigs that were being pulled down from below and were being shaken, and they saw the vigour with which they sprang back up. They came closer and noticed that there was a little path running through the middle of the bushes.
Bambi’s friend the hare lay on the ground, threw himself back and forth, fidgeted about, lay still, fidgeted some more, and each of his movements tore at the twigs above him.
Bambi became aware of a dark stripe, something like a tendril. It became stiff and dropped down onto the hare, where it wound itself around his neck.
By now, the hare must have heard that there was somebody coming. He hurled himself into the air, fell back to the ground, wanted to flee, defeated he rolled himself into ball and quivered.
“Keep still!” the elder ordered him and then, in a gentle and sympathetic voice that struck at Bambi’s heart, he went over close to the hare and repeated, “Stay calm, my friend, it’s only me! Don’t move at all. Just keep very still.”
The hare lay motionless, flat on the ground. His breathing was tense, and it made a gentle sound.
The elder took the twig with the peculiar tendril into his mouth, pulled it down, turned round elegantly, held it firmly against the ground under his hard hoof and did away with it with a single blow of his crown.
Then he turned to the hare. “Keep still,” he said, “even if it hurts.”
With his head turned to one side, he laid one of the points of his crown against the hare’s neck and pressed it deeply into his fur behind his ears, felt around for something and gave a yank. The hare began to writhe.
The elder immediately moved back. “Keep still!” he ordered. “I’m trying to save your life!” He began anew. The hare lay still, but quivering. Bambi watched in astonishment, he was speechless.
Now the elder had pushed one point of his antlers firmly into the hare’s fur, trying to get it under whatever was slung around the hare’s neck. He was nearly on his knees but twisted his head as if drilling a hole, pushed his crown deeper and deeper until finally, whatever it was gave way and began to loosen.
The hare drew breath and at the same time gave in to his fear, his pain broke loudly out from him. “E ... e ... eh!” he wailed.
The elder stopped what he was doing. “Do be quiet,” he chided, “be quiet!” His mouth was very close to the hare’s shoulder, one of the points of his crown was between the ears and it looked as if he had impaled the hare.
“How can you be so stupid and start to cry?” he gently grumbled. “Do you want to get the fox to come here? Yes? Well then. Keep quiet.”
He continued to work, slowly, carefully, attentively. Suddenly the sling around the hare’s neck began to slip off. The hare slid out of it and he was free before he even knew it. He made a step or two and then sat there in a daze. Then he hopped away. Slowly at first, shyly, but all the time getting faster until he ran away in wild leaps.
Bambi looked at him as he went. “And not a word of thanks!” he declared in astonishment.
“He still hasn’t quite come back to his senses,” the elder said.
Whatever it was that had been around the hare’s neck lay now in a circle on the ground. Bambi kicked at it lightly; it made a jangling noise and Bambi was startled. That was the sort of noise that did not belong in the forest.
“Him ...?” Bambi asked quietly. The elder nodded.
They walked on calmly next to each other. “You always need to be careful,” said the elder. “When you’re walking along a path you should always pay attention to the twigs on the trees and bushes, stretch your crown out, up and down, and if you ever hear that jangling noise turn right round. But if it’s the time of year when you’re not carrying a crown on your head you need to be doubly careful. I stopped going along the paths a long time ago.”
Bambi was alarmed and wondered what the elder had meant.
“But ... but He’s not ...” he said to himself in bewilderment.
The elder answered, “no ... He’s not in the forest right now.”
“But ... but it’s Him!” said Bambi, shaking his head.
The elder continued, and his voice was full of bitterness. “What was it that Gobo said to you ...? Did he not give you a lecture about how He is almighty, how he is responsible for of everything ...?”
Bambi spluttered, “Is He not almighty then?”
“He’s no more almighty than He is responsible for all,” the elder complained.
Bambi was disheartened. “... But what about Gobo ... He was good to Gobo ...”
The elder stopped where he was. “Do you really think he was, Bambi?” he asked sadly. This was the first time that the elder had addressed him by his name.
“I don’t know!” declared Bambi in anguish. “I just don’t understand it!”
The elder replied slowly, “If we are to live we need to learn ... and to be vigilant.”
One morning, something very bad happened to Bambi.
The feeble grey of dawn was creeping its way through the forest. A milky-white mist rose from the meadow and the quiet that breathes the change in the time of day stretched itself out everywhere.
The crows were still not awake, nor the magpies, and even the jay was asleep.
Bambi had come across Faline in the night. She looked sadly at him and was very shy.
“I’m by myself so much,” she said quietly.
“I’m by myself too,” Bambi replied hesitantly.
Faline seemed disheartened and asked, “Why don’t you stay with me any more?” and it pained Bambi to see that Faline, once so gay, once so bold, had become earnest and downtrodden.
“I have to be alone,” he replied. He had wanted to say it in a soothing way, but it sounded hard. He heard it himself.
Faline looked at him and quietly asked, “Do you still love me?”
Bambi did not hesitate and answered, “I don’t know.”
She went calmly away and left him alone.
There he stood under the great oak tree at the edge of the meadow, looked carefully out there to see that all was safe, and drank in the morning wind. Every time there had been a storm the air was moist and refreshing, it smelt of the earth, of dew and grass and of wet wood. Bambi breathed deep. He suddenly felt free in a way he had not felt for a long time. He felt gay as he stepped out onto the misty meadow.
Then came a clap of thunder.
Bambi felt as if something had shoved him and it made him stagger.
In a panic he leapt back into the woods and continued running. He did not understand what had happened, he was quite unable to collect his thoughts but just kept on running. His terror kept a tight grip on his heart and took his breath away as he blindly rushed forward. But then, suddenly, a piercing pain ran through him, he did not think he would be able endure it. He felt how it ran hotly over his left thigh, a narrow, burning thread starting from the place where he had first felt the pain. It forced him to stop running. It forced him to walk more slowly. Then his shoulders and legs seemed to go lame. He collapsed to the ground.
He was seen by Labsal as he just lay there resting.
“Get up Bambi! Get up!” The elder stood beside him and pushed him gently on his shoulder.
Bambi wanted to retort, “I can’t,” but the elder said again, “Get up! Get up!” and there was such urgency in his voice and such tenderness that Bambi said nothing. Even the pain he felt in every part of his body abated for a moment.
Now the elder spoke hurriedly and in fear. “Get up! You’ve got to get away from here, son!” Son ... it seemed to be as soon as this word slipped out of his mouth that Bambi hurried back up on his feet.
“Right, then!” said the elder. He took a deep breath and continued to urge Bambi on. “Now, come with me, just stay with me all the time ...!”
He hurried forward. Bambi followed him, even though he was yearning to drop to the ground, to lay still and rest.
The elder seemed able to see this and spoke to Bambi without pause. “Whatever the pain is you’ve now got to just bear it, you can’t even think about lying down ... never think of that at all, as that by itself will make you tired! Now you’ve got to just save yourself ... do you understand, Bambi? ... save yourself ... otherwise you’re lost ... just bear in mind that He’s coming after you ... do you understand, Bambi? ... He won’t show any mercy ... He’ll just kill you ... come with me ... just come with me ... it’ll soon be gone ... it’s got to go ...” Bambi no longer even had the strength to think of anything. The pain surged up in every step he took, robbed im of his breath and of his senses, and the line of heat that burned down into his shoulder brought a deep, delirious excitement into his heart.
The elder went round in a broad circle. It took a long time. Through his veil of pain and weakness Bambi was astonished to see that they were suddenly beside the great oak once more.
The elder stopped and smelt the ground. “Here!” he whispered, “here ... He’s here ... here too ... the dog ... come with me ... faster!”
They ran on. The elder suddenly stopped.
“Can you see ...!” he exclaimed, “this is where you were lying on the ground.”
Bambi saw where the grass had been pressed down and saw a broad pool of his own blood soaking down into the ground.
The elder smelt the place carefully. “They’ve already been here ... Him and the dog ...” he said. “Now, come with me!” He walked slowly on, continually stopping to smell the ground.
Bambi noticed the drops of red on the leaves of the bushes and on the grass. “We’ve already been past here,” he thought, although he was not able to speak out loud.
“Good!” said the elder, almost gaily, “now we’ve got behind them ...”
He went for a while in the same direction. Then he turned suddenly to one side and set off in a new circle. Bambi staggered on behind him.
They arrived at the big oak tree once again, though this time from the other direction, they arrived once again at the place where Bambi had fallen, and then, once again, the elder took a new direction.
“Eat some of this!” he ordered, he had stopped, pushed the grass to one side and pointed to some tiny leaves, short and dark green, fat and fluffy, that were sprouting out of the bare ground.
Bambi did as he was told. The leaves were horribly bitter and had a repulsive smell.
After a while the elder asked, “How are you feeling now?”
“I’m feeling better,” Bambi promptly answered. All of a sudden he was able to speak again, he could think clearly, he felt less tired.
After another pause the elder ordered him, “You go ahead now,” and after he had been walking behind Bambi for some time he said, “At last!” They stopped. “Your blood has stopped running out from your wound, so it won’t show where you are any more, He and His dog won’t be able to find where to go to take your life.”
The elder looked very tired, but there was cheer in his voice. “Come on then,” he continued, “now you need to have a rest.”
They arrived at the broad gulley that Bambi had never been across. The elder climbed down into it, Bambi tried to follow but it took him a lot of effort to climb up the steep slope on the other side.
The fierce pain he felt began once more to go through him. He fell over, pulled himself back up, fell over again and began to gasp for breath.
“I can’t help you here,” said the elder, “you’ve got to get up here yourself!” And Bambi did get up to the top. He began once more to feel the hot band of pain that shot down his shoulder and felt for the second time that he was losing his strength.
“You’re bleeding again,” said the elder, “that’s what I expected. It’s not too much, though ... and ...,” he added in a whisper, “it doesn’t matter any more.”
They made their way very slowly through a grove of beech trees, as high as the sky. The ground was soft and smooth. It did not take too much effort to go through it. Bambi yearned to just lay himself down here, to stretch himself out and not to move a finger. He just could not go any further. His head hurt, there was a buzzing in his ears, his nerves were quivering and his fever began to shake him. His eyes went dim. There was nothing more inside him than the yearning for rest and a vague astonishment at how his life had suddenly been interrupted and altered, at how he had once used to go through the forest in good health and without injury ... just that morning ... just an hour earlier ... it seemed to him now like the happiness of a distant time that had long since vanished.
They passed through a low thicket of oaks and dogwood. The fallen trunk of a beech tree lay across their path, deeply embedded in the bushes. It was very big and they could see no way of getting past it.
“Now we’ve got there ...” Bambi heard the elder say. He walked the length of the beech trunk and Bambi followed him, nearly falling into a hole in the ground.
“Alright!” said the elder. “You can lie down here.”
Bambi sank down and did not try to move any more.
He saw that the hole in the ground under the fallen beech trunk was deeper than it had seemed, creating a small chamber. The bushes at the edge of it closed over him as he entered so that nobody could see in. Once he was down there it was as if he had disappeared.
“You’ll be safe here,” said the elder. “Stay here and don’t go anywhere.”
Days went by.
Bambi lay in the warm earth, the bark of the fallen tree slowly rotting above him, it listened to his pain as it grew inside his body, became stronger, then abated, became weaker and went down, steadily softer and softer. Sometimes he would struggle outside where he would stand, weak and unsteady, on his tired and unreliable legs, and take a few steps to look for food. He began to eat herbs that he had never before noticed. Now they had suddenly begun to offer themselves to him, called to him with their scent that had a strange and tempting sharpness. What he had until then despised, what he would have thrown away if he inadvertently got it between his lips, now seemed tasty and spicy. Many little leaves, many short stalks continued to seem unappetizing even now, but he nonetheless ate them under some kind of compulsion, and his wounds healed more quickly and he could feel how his strength was coming back to him.
He had been saved. But he still did not leave his chamber. He would only come out at night and take a few steps around, but in the daytime he would remain quietly in his bed. It was only now, when his body was feeling no more pain, that Bambi realized all that had happened to him, he was able to think once more, and a feeling of great horror arose within him, his character had been shattered. He was not able to simply wipe it away, not able to stand up and run about as he had before. He lay there and felt many emotions, alternately disgusted, ashamed, astonished, disheartened, but soon afterwards full of melancholy, soon afterwards full of happiness.
The elder was nearby at all times. At first he was at Bambi’s side day and night. Then there were times when he left him alone for short periods, especially when he saw that Bambi was lost in his thoughts. But there was no time when he was not close by.
One day there had been storm and thunder and lightning, the sky had been swept clean and that evening the sun, as it went down, shone over a sky that was blue. The blackbirds sang out loudly from the tree tops, the finches flapped their wings, the tits whispered in the undergrowth, in the grass and under the bushes close to the ground the metallic bursts of the pheasants’ cries could be heard, the woodpecker laughed in loud celebration and the pigeons cooed from the yearning for love that was inside them.
Bambi stepped out from his underground chamber. Life was good. The elder was standing there as if he had been waiting.
The wandered slowly off together.
But Bambi never went back across that gulley, never went back to see the others.
One night, when the autumn leaves were falling and whispering through the whole of the forest, the tawny owl gave his shrill cry through the tree tops. Then he waited.
But Bambi had already seen him in the distance through the now sparse foliage and now he kept still.
The owl flew closer and gave his shrill cry even louder. Then he waited. But this time too, Bambi said nothing.
The owl could not hold back any longer. “Aren’t you startled, then?” he asked discontentedly.
“Oh, yes,” Bambi answered gently. “A little bit.”
“Well ...,” the owl grumbled, “only a little bit? You always used to be terribly shocked. It was always such a pleasure to see how shocked you were. What’s happened then, what’s happened that means your only a little bit shocked ...?”
He was annoyed and repeated, “just a little bit ...”
The owl had grown old, and that had made him even more vain and even more sensitive than he had been.
Bambi wanted to answer; I was never startled before, either, but I just said I was because I knew you liked it. But he decided he would rather keep this information to himself. He felt sorry for the good old owl, as he sat there being cross. He did his best to calm him down. “Maybe it’s because I was just thinking about you,” he said.
“What?” The owl became cheerful again. “What? You were thinking about me?”
“Yes,” answered Bambi hesitantly, “just when began to screech. Otherwise, of course, I would have been just as startled as ever.”
“Really?” the owl purred.
Bambi could not resist. What harm could there be in it? Let the little old boy have some pleasure.
“Really,” he confirmed and went on .”.. it pleases me ... it goes through all my limbs when I suddenly hear you like that.”
The owl puffed up his feathers, turned himself into a soft, brown and light grey, fluffy ball, and he was very pleased. “That’s very nice of you to have been thinking about me ... very nice indeed ...” he cooed gently. “It’s such a long time since we saw each other.”
“A very long time,” said Bambi.
“Maybe it’s that you don’t go along the same old paths any more?” enquired the owl.
“No ...,” Bambi spoke slowly, “I don’t go along the same old paths any more.”
“I’ve been seeing a lot more of the world too lately,” remarked the owl, puffing his chest out. He did not tell Bambi that he had been driven out of the old territory he had inherited from his ancestors by a young and reckless lad. “You can’t always stay on the same spot,” he added. Then he waited for Bambi’s reply.
But Bambi had gone. By now he had learned the art of disappearing in silence almost as well as the elder.
The owl was dismayed. “Shameless ...” he grumbled. He shook himself, buried his beak into his plumage and philosophized to himself; “You should never think you could make friends with these posh types. They might seem ever so likeable ... but one day they’ll shamelessly ... and then you sit there looking stupid, just like I am now ...”
Suddenly he fell vertically down to the ground like a stone. He had seen a mouse, which then, caught in his talons, had the time to squeal just once. He tore the mouse into pieces because he was so angry. He pulled the head off this mouthful quicker than he normally would. And then he flew away. “What does Bambi matter to me?” he thought. “What does any of those posh people matter to me? Nothing. They don’t matter at all!” He started to screech. So shrill, so long, that a pair of wood pigeons he passed by were woken up and, with much loud flapping of wings, they fell out of where they had been sleeping.
The storm blew through the woods for many days, tearing the last of the leaves from the twigs and branches. The trees now stood there naked.
In the grey of morning twilight Bambi was making his way home in order to sleep together with the elder in their chamber.
A thin voice called to him, two times, three times in quick succession. He stayed where he was. Then the squirrel swooped down from the tree like lightning and sat on the ground in front of him.
“It really is you, then!” he piped with respectful astonishment. “I recognized you straight away when you passed by me, I didn’t really want to believe it ...”
“How come you’re here ...?” Bambi asked.
The cheerful, little face in front of him took on a worried expression. “The oak tree is gone ...” the squirrel began to complain, “my lovely old oak tree ... do you remember? It’s terrible ... He’s cut it down.”
Bambi lowered his head in sadness. It really did hurt his soul to hear about the wonderful ancient tree.
“It all happened so quickly,” the squirrel told him. “All of us who lived on the old tree, we all ran away and we could only watch as He bit through it with an enormous blinking tooth. The tree screamed out loud from his wound. He just kept on screaming, and the tooth screamed too ... it was horrible to hear it. Then that poor, lovely tree fell over. Out onto the meadow ... it made all of us cry.”
Bambi was silent.
“Yes ...” said the squirrel with a sigh, “He can do anything ... He’s omnipotent ...” He looked at Bambi with eyes wide open and pricked up his ears, but Bambi was silent.
“We’ve all got nowhere to live now ...” the squirrel continued, “I don’t even have any idea of where the others have got to ... I came over here ... but it’ll take me ages to find another tree like that.”
“The old oak tree ...,” muttered Bambi to himself, “I’ve known it since I was a child.”
“No ... but it’s good to see that it’s really you!” The squirrel became quite contented. “We all thought you must have died a long time ago. But there were some who said you were still alive ... some said that someone or other had seen you ... but we couldn’t find out anything definite, so we just supposed it was an empty rumour ...” The squirrel looked at him searchingly. “Well, that was ... that was because you didn’t come back.”
He sat there waiting for an answer, you could see that he was very keen to know what had happened.
Bambi was silent. But he, too, felt a slight, anxious curiosity. He wanted to ask. About Faline, about Aunt Ena, about Ronno and Karus, about everyone he had known as a child. But he was silent.
The squirrel continued to sit in front of Bambi and examined him. “Look at that crown!” he exclaimed in admiration. “What a crown! Apart from the old prince, no-one has a crown like that, no-one anywhere in the forest!”
Earlier, Bambi would have felt very pleased and flattered by an observation like this. Now he just said wearily, “Yes ... I suppose so ...”
The squirrel nodded his head vigorously. “It really is!” he said in astonishment. “Really. You’re beginning to go grey.”
Bambi walked away.
The squirrel saw that the discussion was at an end and swung up into the branches. “Bye then,” he called down. “Look after yourself! I enjoyed seeing you again. If I see any of your old friends I’ll tell them you’re still alive ... they’ll all be glad to hear it.”
Bambi heard this and once again felt those slight stirrings in his heart. But it said nothing. You have to stay alone, the elder had taught him when Bambi was still a child. And the elder had shown him many things, told him many secrets, and continued doing so up to the present day. But of all the things he had been taught, this was the most important: You have to stay alone. If you’re going to preserve your life, if you want to understand existence, if you want to become wise, you have to stay alone!
“But,” asked Bambi one time, “but what about the two of us, we’re always together nowadays ...?”
“We soon won’t be,” the elder had retorted.
That had only been a few weeks earlier.
Now, it again occurred to Bambi, and it occurred to him very suddenly, that the very first thing the elder had said to him had been that he had to stay alone. That had been when Bambi was still a child and was calling for his mother. Then the elder had come up to him and asked, “Are you not able to be alone?”
Bambi walked on.
The forest lay once more under snow and was silent under its thick, white coat. All that could be heard was the cawing of the crows, only now and then came the anxious croaking of a magpie or the shy, gentle, twittering conversations of the tits. Then the frost became harder, and everything was silent. Now, the coldness made the air itself ring.
One morning the deep quiet was torn apart by the barking of dogs.
It was an incessant, hurried barking that drove its way quickly through the forest, a sharp, curt and belligerent yapping that made him sound insane.
In the chamber under the fallen beech trunk Bambi raised his head and looked at the elder who was lying next to him.
The elder answered Bambi’s look. “It’s nothing, nothing that need concern us.”
The two of them nonetheless listened.
They lay in their chamber, they had the old beech trunk as a protective roof over them, icy draughts were kept out by the height of the snow, and the tangle of bushes hid them like a dense grid from any spying eye.
The barking came nearer, angry, breathless, heated. It could only have been a small dog.
It came ever nearer. Now they could hear the gasping for breath at twice the speed, and through the angry barking they heard a gentle growling, as if from pain. Bambi became uneasy, but the elder again said, “It’s nothing that need concern us.”
They remained still and quiet in the warmth of their chamber, peering out to see what was happening outside.
The rustling in the twigs came ever nearer, snow fell from the boughs as they were suddenly run past, a dust of snow was kicked up from the ground.
Now it was possible to see who was coming.
Through snow and bushes, through roots and twigs there came, jumping and creeping and sliding, the old fox.
Immediately after him the dog broke through. It was a very small dog on short legs.
One of the fox’s front legs was broken and just above the break his fur was ripped open. He held the broken leg high up in front of him, blood was spurting from his wounds, his breath was wheezy, his eyes were staring far ahead because of his horror and the efforts he was having to make. He was beside himself with terror and panic, he was confused and exhausted. He swung round in a swiping movement, which startled the dog so that he stepped back a few paces.
The fox sat down on his hind legs. He could go no further. He held the shot foreleg up in a way that was pitiful, his mouth was open, sucking in his cheeks he spat at the dog.
He, though, was not quiet for a moment. His high, shrill voice now became fuller and deeper. “Here!” he shouted. Here! Here he is! Here! Here! Here!” He was not shouting at the fox, at that moment he was not speaking to him at all but was clearly calling to somebody else who was still a long way away.
Bambi and the elder were both aware that it was Him whom the dog was calling.
The fox knew it too. The blood was now gushing down from his breast and into the snow and built up a gently steaming, scarlet stain on the icy-white layer.
The fox seemed to be having a mild fit. His shattered foreleg had no strength in it and it sank down, but when it touched the cold snow a burning pain shot through it. Arduously, he raised it up and held it, jittering, in the air in front of him.
“Leave me alone ...” he began to say. “Leave me alone ...”. He spoke quietly and imploringly. He was very dull and disheartened.
“No! No! No!” the dog threw back at him in a malevolent howl.
“I beg of you ...” said the fox, “I can’t go any further ... I’ve had it .. just let me go ... let me go home ... at least let me die in peace ...”
“No! No! No!” the dog howled.
The fox begged him even harder. “But we’re related ...” he lamented, “we’re almost brothers ... let me go home ... let me die among my own folk ... we ... we’re almost brothers ... you and me ...”.
“No! No! No!” the dog said excitedly.
Now the fox sat upright. His lovely pointed snout sank down to his bloodied breast, his eyes rose up and stared at the dog right into his face . In a quite different voice, in control of himself, sad and bitter, he snarled, “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself ...? You traitor!”
“No! No! No!” the dog yelled.
The fox, however went on. “You turncoat ... you defector!” His lacerated body became stiff with hatred and contempt. “You’re just His henchman,” he hissed. “You miserable ... you seek us out where He couldn’t find us ... you persecute us in places that He can’t get to ... you turn us in ..., and all of us are your relatives ... you turn me in, and you and I are nearly brothers ... and you just stand there ...are you not ashamed of yourself?”
Suddenly many loud, new voices were heard around them.
“Traitor!” called the magpies from the trees.
“Henchman!” screeched the jays.
“Miserable!” squealed the weasel.
“Defector!” spat the polecat.
Shrill hisses and screeches came out from all the trees and bushes, and from the air came the screeching of the crows, “henchman!” All had hurried close, all had listened to the quarrel from the trees above or from a safe hiding place on the ground. The disgust expressed by the fox released the old, bitter disgust that they all felt, and the blood steaming in sight of them on the snow made them furious and made them lose all their reserve.
The dog looked around him. “You!” he called. “What do you want? What do you know about it? What are you talking about? All o’ you belong to ‘Im, just like I belong to ‘Im! But me ... well I love ‘Im, I pray to ‘Im! I serve ‘Im! But you, you don’t know that ‘E’s in charge ‘ere. You’re pitiful you are, you can’t rebel against ‘Im? ‘E’s the almighty! ‘E’s above all of us! Ev’rything you’ve got comes from ‘Im! E’vrything that grows and lives, it all comes from ‘Im.” The dog was shaking in his outrage.
“Traitor!” the squirrel screamed.
“Yes!” hissed the fox. “You’re a traitor. Nobody but you ... you’re the only one ...!”
They danced about in self-righteous anger. “I’m the only one ...? You liar! D’you think there aren’t loads and loads of others who are with ‘Im ...? The ‘orse ... the cows ... the lamb ... the chickens ... and some of all of you, all your species, there are loads who are with ‘Im, who pray to ‘im ... and serve ‘Im!”
“Rabble!” hissed the fox, full of boundless contempt.
The dog could control himself no longer and hurled himself at the fox’s throat. A snarling, spitting, gasping bundle, wild and whirring they rolled in the snow, snapping at each other, hair flew up, snow flew up, fine drops of blood flew up. But the fox was not able to maintain the fight for long. After just a few seconds he lay there on his back, showed his pale belly, twitched, stretched himself out, and died.
The dog shook him a few more times, then dropped him into the churned up snow, stood there with his legs wide apart and once more called out in a full, deep voice, “There! There! There he is!”
The others were disgusted and fled away in all directions.
“Horrible ...” said Bambi in his chamber to the elder.
“Worst of all,” the elder replied, “is that they believe in what the dog just said. They believe it, they live a life full of fear, they hate Him and they hate themselves ... and they kill themselves for his sake.”