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.