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.”