The winter went on. Sometimes it became milder, but then the snow
would come again, and each time it did it lay higher on the ground so
that it was impossible to scrape it away. Worst of all was when it
became warm enough for it to thaw, and then the snow that had melted
into water would freeze when the night came. Then there would be a
thin layer of ice which you could easily slip on. It would also often
break, so that the sharp splinters would cut the deers’ tender
fetlocks, cut them bloody. But now there was a hard frost which had
lasted for days. The air was clean and thin such as it never had been
before and the frost was full of strength. It began to tinkle with a
sound that was fine and high. It was so cold that the air sang.
Everything was quiet in the forest, but something shocking happened
every day. One time, the crows attacked the hare’s little son, who was
already lying down ill, and killed him in a gruesome way. His cries of
pain were long and pitiful and could be heard by all. Bambi’s friend,
the hare, was away at the time but when he heard the sad news he could
not contain himself. Another time, the squirrel was running around
with a serious wound on his neck from where the polecat had bitten
him. By some miracle the squirrel had been able to get away from
him. He could not speak because of the pain but he ran between all the
twigs and branches. Everyone could see it. He ran like a madman. From
time to time he would stop, sit down, raise his forepaws in confusion,
take hold of his head in his shock and his suffering, and as he did so
his blood gushed over his white breast and turned it red. He ran
around like this for an hour, then he suddenly collapsed, fell hard
against the branches of the tree and fell, dying, into the snow. A
pair of magpies immediately came down on him and began their
feasting. There was also the time when the fox attacked the pheasant
and tore him to bits, even though everyone liked and respected the
pheasant for his beauty and his strength. His death was a cause for
concern far and wide, and everyone felt sorry for his inconsolable
widow. The fox had snatched the pheasant out of the snow he had
settled in and where he thought he was well hidden. No-one could feel
safe any more, as all these things happened in broad daylight. It
seemed that the penury they were suffering would never come to an end,
and it spread bitterness and ruthlessness all around. It made all
experience worthless, it undermined the conscience, destroyed all
trust and all good manners. There was no mercy any more, no peace, no
holding back.
“It’s impossible even to think that it might ever get any better,”
Bambi’s mother sighed.
Auntie Ena sighed too. “And it’s impossible to think that it ever was
any better.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Marena looking straight ahead. “I think about
how lovely it used to be all the time!”
“Listen,” Mrs. Nettla said to Auntie Ena. “Your little one is
shivering, isn’t he!” And she pointed to Gobo. “Does he always shiver
like that?”
“Sad to say,” answered Auntie Ena, somewhat worried, “he’s been
shivering like that for several days now.”
“Well then,” said Mrs. Nettla in the open way she had of saying
things, “I’m only glad I haven’t got any children any more. If he was
my little one I’d be worried about whether he gets through the
winter.”
Gobo indeed did not look well. He was weak, he had always been less
strong than Bambi or Faline and had not grown as fast as those
two. But now, he looked worse from day to day. He could not keep his
food down, what little there was of it now. He was in continual
pain. So, with the cold and the difficulties of life, he had lost all
of what strength he had. He shivered all the time and could barely
hold himself upright. Everyone looked at him with concern.
Mrs. Nettla went to him and gave him a friendly push in the side. “Now
don’t you be sad,” she told him sternly. “That’s not right for a young
prince and it’s bad for your health.” She moved away from him because
she did not want anyone to see how concerned she was.
Ronno was sitting in the snow to one side, but now he jumped up. “I
don’t know what that is ...,” he mumbled and looked all around.
Everyone paid attention. “What what is ...?” they all asked.
“I don’t really know,” Ronno repeated, “but I’m worried ... all of a
sudden I’m worried. It’s as if there were something wrong ...”
Karus had tested the air. “I can’t smell anything odd,” he declared.
They all stood there, listening, and testing the air. “Nothing!,” “I
can’t smell anything ...,” they all said, one after the other.
“But still!” Ronno persisted. “You can say what you like ... but there
is something wrong ...”
“The crows have been calling ...” said Marena.
“They’re calling again now!” added Faline quickly, but by now the
others had heard them too.
“Look, that’s them, flying!,” Karus pointed out to the others.
Everyone looked up. Above the tops of the trees, crows were flying
away in swarms. They came inwards from the outermost edge of the
woods, from wherever it was that the danger was approaching, and spoke
anxiously to each other up there. It was clear that there was an
exceptional disturbance of some sort.
“There, wasn’t I right?” asked Ronno. “You can see that there’s
something going on!”
“What are we to do?” whispered Bambi’s mother uneasily.
“Get away from here, now!” insisted Auntie Ena in alarm.
“Wait!” commanded Ronno.
“Wait? With all the children here?” Auntie Ena contradicted him.
“When Gobo won’t be able to run?”
“Alright then,” Ronno conceded “You get away from here with your
children. I don’t see any point in it, of course, but I don’t want to
have you blaming me for it later.”
He was serious and decisive.
“Gobo, Faline, come this way! Not too fast! Go slowly! Stay behind
me,” Auntie Ena admonished them. She, with her children, slipped away.
A time went by. They stood still, listening and smelling the air.
“That’s all we need,” Mrs. Nettla began. “We’ve got to put up with all
of this and now, this is all we need!” She was very cross. Bambi
looked at her and felt that she was thinking of something dreadful.
Now the magpies were also coming out of the same part of the thicket
as the crows had come, three or four at a time. “Look out, look out!”
they cried. They still could not be seen, but their loud warnings
could be heard one after another: “Look out, look out!” Now they came
nearer, continued to flap their wings, shocked and disturbed.
“Hakh!” the jays cried, yapping loud in their alarm.
Suddenly, and all at the same time, all the deer came together. It had
seared through them as if they had been hit by something. Now they
stood still and breathed heavily.
It was Him.
There was a frenzy of smelling the air like never before. There was
now nothing left to examine. The smell entered their noses, befogged
their senses and made their hearts freeze.
The magpies were still playing about, the jays above them were
yapping, but now there was agitated movement everywhere. The tits
swished between the branches, hundreds of little feathery balls, and
they chirruped “away, away!” The blackbirds rushed dark and
lightning-fast above the trees, with long drawn out screams of
chirping as they flew. The deer looked down at the white snow through
the network of bare twigs on the bushes, and saw a confused rush of
small shadowy figures as they ran to and fro. They were the
pheasants. Further away there was a shimmer of red. That was actually
the fox, but no-one was afraid of him now, for continuous, broad waves
of that dreadful smell wafted to them, breathing alarm into their
minds and uniting them all into one crazy fear and into one feverish
desire to flee, to save themselves.
This mysterious, overpowering scent permeated the wood with such power
that they could tell that He was not alone this time but seemed to
have come with all His friends, and things were at their most extreme.
They did not move, they watched the tits as they hurried away with
frantic flapping of their wings, The blackbirds, the squirrels rushed
away leaping from one tree top to another; they thought these little
ones had no good reason to be afraid, but they nonetheless understood
why they fled when He could be smelt. There was no creature in the
forest who could bear to have Him anywhere near.
Now our friend, the hare, hopped away hesitantly, sat still, and
hopped further.
“How does it look?” Karus called to him, impatiently.
But our friend, the hare, just looked around, madness in his eyes, and
could not speak straight away. He was very disturbed.
“What’s the point of asking ...” said Ronno grimly.
Our friend the hare gasped for breath. “We are surrounded,” he said in
a monotone. “There’s no way out on any side. He is everywhere!”
Just then they heard His voice. Twenty times, thirty times He called
out. Hoho! Haha! It rang out and shook them more than thunder and
lightning. It struck the trunks of the trees which trumpeted the sound
out. It brought them horror, it threw them down. A distant rustling
and cracking of the undergrowth as the bushes were pushed apart and
the sound forced itself over to them, the screams and bangs of twigs
as they broke.
He was coming! He was coming right here, into the thicket.
Now, behind them, they could hear short whistles and trills. Already,
there was a pheasant there standing up as he heard His steps. They
heard the flapping of the pheasant’s wings fading as he rose high into
the air. A flash and a clap of thunder. Quiet. Then the muffled sound
of something hitting the ground. “The pheasant has fallen,” said
Bambi’s mother with a shudder.
“The first ...” added Ronno.
Then Marena, the young girl, spoke. “There are many of us who are
going to die very soon. I might be one of them.” No-one listened to
her. Now the great terror was among them.
Bambi tried to think. But the raging noise, which He was raising
higher and higher, tore all his thoughts apart. Bambi could hear
nothing but this noise, a noise that made you numb, and in among all
this howling, bellowing and banging he could hear the thump of his own
heart. All he felt was curiosity and was completely unaware that all
his limbs were shaking. Now and then his mother came close to his ear
and said, “Stay with me.” She shouted, but in all that uproar it
seemed to Bambi that she was whispering. This “Stay with me” offered
him some support. It held him fast as if he were held in place with a
chain, otherwise he would have run away without a second thought, and
he always heard it again just when he would have lost self control
fled. He looked around. There was a crowd of many different people
running around in a blind panic between each other. A pair of weasels
ran past, slender lines like a snake which it nearly impossible to
follow with the eye. A polecat listened spellbound for all the
information he could get from the stuttering, confused hare. The fox
stood there among the disordered rush of the pheasants. They paid no
attention to him, ran right past his nose, and he paid no attention to
them. Without becoming excited, his head stretched forward, his ears
pointing up high, his nose working hard, he strained himself to hear
through the tumult as it came closer. The only thing moving was his
tail. It looked as if he were straining to think. A pheasant hurried
past, out from behind, out of the most serious danger, and he was in a
panic. “Don’t go up there!” he shouted to the other birds. “Don’t go
up there ... just run! Don’t let them get you! Nobody go up there!
Just run, run, run!” He kept on repeating the same thing, as if he
were trying to warn himself. But he no longer knew what he was
saying. A clamour of “Hoho! Haha!” seemed to come from somewhere quite
close. “Don’t let them get you!” called the pheasant. At the same time
his voice suddenly became a whistle-like sobbing, with a loud rattle
he spread his wings and flew upwards. Bambi watched him as he went,
flapping his wings loudly, flying up directly and steeply between the
trees, his resplendent body glittering with its metallic dark blue,
gold-brown sheen, as majestic as a precious gem. His long tail
feathers swept proudly behind him like the train of a gown. The curt
thunderclap rang out sharp. The pheasant in the sky collapsed suddenly
into himself, twisted himself round as if trying to snap at his feet
with his beak, and hurtled heavily to the ground. He fell in the
middle of the others and moved no more.
Now no-one was able to stay calm. They all rushed around away from
each other. Five, six pheasants rose into the air with noisy
clattering. “Don’t go up there” shouted the others as they ran. The
thunderclap came again, five times, six times, and some of those who
had flown up in the air fell back to the ground lifeless.
“Now, come with me!” said Bambi’s mother. Bambi looked up. Ronno and
Karus had already gone. Mrs. Nettla had also disappeared. Only Marena
was still with them. Bambi went with his mother. Marena demurely
followed them. All around them there was upheaval, loud cracks,
bellowing and thunderclaps. Bambi’s mother stayed calm. She was
trembling, just slightly, but she kept her thoughts together. “Bambi,
my child” she said, “always stay right behind me. We’ve got to get out
of here and across the clearing. But here inside we need to go
slowly.”
The bellowing became more hurried. The thunderclaps came ten, twelve
times, thrown out from the hands of Him.
“Stop that” said Bambi’s mother. “Don’t run! Once we’ve gone past the
clearing then run, run as fast as you can. And Bambi, my child, don’t
forget, you shouldn’t pay me any attention once we’ve reached the
outside. Even if I fall, pay me no attention ... just keep going, keep
going! Do you understand, Bambi?”
His mother made deliberate steps through the booming noise. The
pheasants ran in all directions, pressed themselves into the snow,
jumped out again, started to run once more. The whole family of the
hare jumped here and there, sat down, ran again. No-one spoke a
word. There were all exhausted with their fear, crippled by all the
bellowing and by the thunderclaps.
Ahead of Bambi and his mother it was getting lighter. Through the
cage-work of the bushes shone the clearing. Behind them, getting
closer and closer, there were startling bangs that rattled on the tree
trunks, the cracking of twigs as they broke, the yells of haha, and
hoho!
Now their friend the hare with his two young rushed past close beside
them and into the clearing. Bang! Ping! Bam! the thunder
crashed. Bambi saw the hare did a somersault as he ran, and fell with
his pale belly facing upwards and then just lay there. He twitched a
few times, and then he was still. Bambi stood there as if made of
stone.
But from behind he heard shouts of, “They’re there! Everyone, just get
out!”
A widespread rustling of wings as they hurriedly unfurled, whistling,
sobbing, swoosh of foliage, flapping. The pheasants rose up, lifted
themselves up almost all at the same time like the straw in a
sheaf. The air burst with many thunderclaps, and the muffled impact of
the fallen could be heard as they hit the ground, the fine whistling
of the survivors rang out as they flew away.
Bambi stopped and looked back. There He was. He was coming out from
the undergrowth, here and there and there again. He was appearing
everywhere, striking everywhere, damaging the bushes, drumming on the
tree trunks and shouting terrifying cries.
“Now!” said his mother. “Straight ahead. And don’t come too close
behind me!” With one leap she was out of the woods, so that the snow
merely threw up a few flakes. Bambi hurried after her. They were
attacked by the sound of thunder from every side. It was as if the
Earth had been ripped in half. Bambi saw nothing. He ran. The urge to
get away from this tumult had been accumulating, away from the steam
of the storm that whipped everything up, from the gathering urgency to
flee, the wish to save himself, all these were now unleashed. He
ran. It seemed to him that he saw his mother fall, although he did not
know whether she really had done. He felt a veil around his eyes. It
had been thrown over him by the fear of the thunderclaps, booming all
around him, which had now broken out. He was unable to think, unable
to see, he ran.
The clearing was now behind him. A new thicket took him in. From
behind him came another shout, another sharp thunderclap, and in the
twigs above there was a very brief rattling, like a first spray of
hailstones. Then it became quieter. Bambi ran. A pheasant with a
twisted neck lay dying on the snow, twitching his wings weakly. As he
heard Bambi approach he stopped his spasmodic movements and whispered,
“It’s finished ...” Bambi paid him no attention and continued
running. He found himself in a tangle of undergrowth that forced him
to slow his pace and look for a path. He kicked around himself
impatiently. “Over here,” called somebody in a broken voice. Bambi had
no choice but to follow it, and immediately found himself in a place
where he could walk. But in front of him somebody was struggling to
get to her feet. It was the hare’s wife. It was her who had
called. “Do you think you could give me a little help?” she said.
Bambi looked at her and was shocked. Her rear legs dragged lifeless
through the snow which was red and beginning to melt from the warm
blood that dropped from her. She said once again, “Do you think you
could give me a little help?” She spoke as if she were perfectly
alright, relaxed and almost gay. “I don’t know what’s happened to me,”
she continued, “it’s certainly not anything important ... but at the
moment ... I can’t walk ...” As she spoke she sank down onto her side
and she was dead. Bambi, once again, was horrified and he ran away.
“Bambi!”
He stopped abruptly. That was one of his own people.
It was heard again, “Bambi ... is it you?”
There was Gobo stuck helplessly in the snow. He had no strength at all
and could not even get onto his feet. He lay there as if he had been
buried and merely raised his head weakly. Bambi went over to him in
some agitation.
“Where’s your mother, Gobo?” he gasped, “and where’s Faline?” Bambi
spoke quickly, agitated and impatient. In his anxiety his heart
continued to beat hard.
“Mother and Faline had to go,” answered Gobo in despair. He spoke
gently, but as earnest and as wise as a grownup. “They had to leave me
lying here. I’ve had it. You’ve got to go too, Bambi.”
“Get up!” Bambi yelled. “Gobo, get up! You’ve been resting long
enough. There isn’t any more time for that! Get up! Come with me!”
“No, just leave it, Bambi,” answered Gobo quietly, “I can’t stand
up. It’s impossible. I wish I could come with you, you know that, but
I’m just too weak.”
“What’s going to happen to you then?” Bambi persisted.
“I don’t know. I expect I’ll die,” said Gobo simply.
The shouting started again and the sound of it came over to
them. Between the shouts, new thunderclaps. Bambi was alarmed. There
were rapid bangs and cracks from the undergrowth, rumblings sped
across the snow, and in among the uproar young Karus came galloping
over to them. “Run!” he called when he saw Bambi there. “Don’t just
stand there, anyone who still can run, run!” He went past them in an
instant and his headlong flight yanked Bambi along with him. Bambi was
hardly aware whether he had started running again or not, and it was
only a while later that he said, “Farewell, Gobo.” But by that time he
was already too far away. Gobo could no longer hear him.
He ran through the woods, penetrated by the noise and the thunderclaps
that seemed to be seeking him out, he ran around until it was evening.
When darkness swept down it became quiet. There was soon a light wind
blowing, helping to blow away that horrible storm that had been raging
far and wide. But the terror remained. The first person Bambi saw whom
he knew was Ronno. His limp was worse than ever. “Over there, where
the oaks are,” Ronno said, “the fox is there, lying wounded. I’ve just
come past him. It’s terrible, the way he’s suffering. He’s biting at
the snow and in the earth.”
“Have you seen my mother?” Bambi asked.
“No,” answered Ronno shyly, and he quickly went away.
Later in the night Bambi came across Mrs. Nettla with Faline. All
three were very glad to see each other.
“Have you seen my mother?” Bambi asked.
“No,” replied Faline. “I don’t even know where my mother is.”
“No,” said Mrs. Nettla cheerfully, “and that’s a fine mess for me. I
was glad when I didn’t have to put up with children any more, and now
suddenly I’ve got two of them I’ve got to look after. Thanks a lot!”
Bambi and Faline laughed.
They start talking about Gobo. Bambi told them about how he had found
him, and that made them so sad that they began to cry. But Mrs. Nettla
wouldn’t allow them to cry. “You’ve got to see that the most important
thing now is to find something to eat. It’s unheard of! We haven’t had
a bite to eat all day.” She led the two of them to a place where there
was still some greenery, hanging low and still not quite dried
out. Mrs. Nettla was exceptionally well-informed. She did not touch
anything herself but urged Bambi and Faline to take a good meal. At
places where she knew there was grass she pushed the snow aside and
ordered them, “Here ... here is a good place,” or she would say, “Wait
... we can soon find something better than this.” But between giving
this advice she would grumble, “This is so stupid! Children are so
much trouble!”
Suddenly they saw Auntie Ena coming and they ran up to her. “Auntie
Ena!” Bambi exclaimed. He was the first to have seen her. Faline was
beside herself with joy and jumped up to her. “Mother!” But Ena was
crying, and she was dead tired.
“We’ve lost Gobo,” she lamented. “I’ve been looking for him ... I’ve
been to his sleeping place, out there in the snow where he collapsed
... it was empty ... he’s gone ... my poor little Gobo ...”
Mrs. Nettla grumbled, “You’d do better to try to find out which way he
went, that would be more sensible than crying.”
“There are no tracks to show which way he went,” said Auntie Ena.
“But ... He! ... He left lots of tracks ... He was there where Gobo
was sleeping ...”
They were all silent. Then Bambi asked timidly, “Auntie Ena ... have
you seen my mother?”
“No,” replied Auntie Ena, quietly.
Bambi was never to see his mother again.