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.”