Deep in among the trees was a place that belonged to Bambi’s
mother. It lay only a few steps from the narrow path used by the deer
as they made their way through the wood but it was nearly impossible
to find for anyone who did not know where the little gap through the
dense bushes was.
It was only a narrow space, so narrow that it only just had room for
Bambi and his mother to fit in, and it was so low that when Bambi’s
mother stood up her head would be in among the twigs and
branches. Hazel bushes, gorse and dogwood all grew here tangled in
among each other and the little sunlight that came down through the
forest canopy would be caught by them so that it never reached as far
as the ground. This was the room where Bambi came into the world and
this was where he and his mother made their home.
Now, his mother lay asleep, pressed down on the ground. Bambi had
slept a little too, but now he had become quite lively. He stood up
and looked around.
Here, deep in the woods, it was shadowy, it was almost dark. The wood
could be heard gently rustling and soughing. Here and there the tits
chirruped, here and there was the bright laughter of a woodpecker or
the cheerless bark of a crow. All else, near and far, was quiet. Only
the air became warm in the heat of midday, and even that could be
heard if you listened carefully. Here in the woods it was humid and
sweltering.
Bambi looked down at his mother. “Are you asleep?”
No, his mother was not sleeping. She had woken up straight away when
Bambi had stood up.
“What are we going to do now?” Bambi asked.
“Nothing,” his mother answered. “We’re going to stay where we are.
Just lie down, like a good child, and go to sleep.”
But Bambi did not feel like sleeping. “Come on,” he begged. “Let’s go
onto the meadow.”
His mother raised her head. “To the meadow? Now ... to the meadow
...?” She sounded so astonished and so full of alarm that Bambi became
quite frightened.
“Can’t we go to the meadow now, then?” he asked shyly.
“No,” came his mother’s answer, and it sounded quite conclusive. “No,
that isn’t possible right now.”
“Why not? asked Bambi as he became aware that there was something very
strange going on here. He became more afraid, but at the same time he
felt the urge to learn about everything. “Why can’t we go onto the
meadow now?”
“You’ll learn about all that later, when you’re a bit older ...,” his
mother reassured him.
Bambi was insistent. “Why won’t you tell me now?”
“Later,” his mother repeated. “You’re still just a little child,” she
continued gently, “and you don’t talk about things like this with
little children.” She had become very serious. “Now ... on the meadow
... I just don’t want to think of it. In broad daylight ...!”
“But when we went on the meadow,” Bambi objected, “it was broad
daylight then, too.”
“That was different,” his mother explained, “that was early in the
morning.”
“Can you only go there early in the morning then?” Bambi had become
too inquisitive.
His mother remained patient. “Only early in the morning or late in the
evening ... or at night ...”
“And not in the daytime? Never ...?”
His mother hesitated. “Yes,” she said at last, “sometimes ... there
are some of us who go out there in the daytime too, sometimes. But
that’s under special conditions, ... I can’t really explain it to you,
... you’re still too little, ... some go out there, but then they put
themselves in great danger ...”
“What is it that’s dangerous for them?” By now, Bambi was very
excited.
But his mother did not want to explain it straight away. “They are in
danger ... listen, my child, these are things that you won’t be able
to grasp yet.
Bambi thought he would be able to understand anything, but he could
not understand why his mother did not want to give him more
details. But he said nothing.
“This is the way we have to live,” his mother went on, “all of us.
Even if we love the daytime ... and children are especially fond of
the daytime ... we have to live like this, we just have to accept
it. We can only move about from the evening until the morning. Can you
understand that?”
“Yes.”
“Now, my child, that’s why we have to stay here, where we are now.
This is where we’re safe. That’s all there is to it! So now, lie down
again and go to sleep.”
But Bambi did not want to lie down again. “What makes us safe where we
are now?” he asked.
“Because all the bushes are watching over us, because the twigs on the
bushes rustle, because the rough brushwood on the ground cracks and
gives us warning, because the dead leaves from last year lie on the
ground and rustle to give us a sign, ... because the jays are there,
the magpies too, they keep watch over us, and that’s how we know
there’s somebody coming a long time before they reach us ...”
“What’s that,” Bambi enquired, “the dead leaves from last year?”
“Come and sit beside me,” said his mother. “I’ll tell you all about
it.” Bambi gladly went and sat beside her and snuggled in close while
she explained to him that the trees do not stay green all the time,
that the sunshine and the lovely warmth go away. Then it gets cold,
the leaves turn yellow because of the frost, they go brown and red
and, one by one, they fall off the trees so that they and the bushes
reach their naked branches to the sky and look completely forlorn. But
the dead leaves lie on the ground, and when they’re disturbed by
somebody’s foot they rustle: There’s someone coming! Oh they’re very
good, these dead leaves from last year. They do us a good service by
being so eager and by keeping watch the way they do. And now, in the
middle of summer, there are still lots of them hidden under the things
growing on the ground and they warn about any danger long before it
gets near.
Bambi pressed close against his mother. He forgot all about the
meadow. It was so cosy to sit here and listen to what his mother told
him.
Then, when his mother stopped speaking, he thought about what she had
said. He thought it was very nice of the good, old leaves to watch
over them so carefully even though they were dead and had been frozen
and had gone through so many things already. He tried to think what
that danger, that his mother kept talking about, could actually
be. But all that thinking tired him out; it was all quiet around him,
all you could hear was the heat of the air. And he went to sleep.