Bambi (11 page)

The squirrel rushed up and scolded him. “What are you talking about?” he said. “The Prince isn't looking for bugs and grubs.”

“Why not?” said the woodpecker in high glee. “They taste fine.” He bit a bug in half, swallowed it and began drumming again.

“You don't understand,” the squirrel went on scolding. “A noble lord like that has far other, far higher aims. You're only casting reflection on yourself by such talk.”

“It's all the same to me,” answered the woodpecker. “A fig for higher aims,” he cried cheerfully and fluttered away. The squirrel bustled down again.

“Don't you remember me?” he said, putting on a pleased expression.

“Very well,” answered Bambi in a friendly way. “Do you live up there?” he asked, pointing to the oak.

The squirrel looked at him good-humoredly.

“You're mixing me up with my grandmother,” he said. “I knew you were mixing me up with her. My grandmother used to live up there when you were just a baby, Prince Bambi. She often told me about you. The ferret killed her long ago, last winter, you may remember it.”

“Yes,” Bambi nodded. “I've heard about it.”

“Well, afterward my father settled here,” the squirrel went on. He sat erect and held both forepaws politely over his white chest. “But maybe you've got me mixed up with my father, too. Did you know my father?”

“I'm sorry,” Bambi replied. “But I never had that pleasure.”

“I thought so,” the squirrel exclaimed, satisfied. “Father was so surly and so shy. He had nothing to do with anybody.”

“Where is he now?” Bambi inquired.

“Oh,” said the squirrel, “the owl caught him a month ago. Yes. . . . And now I'm living up there myself. I'm quite content, since I was born up there.”

Bambi turned to go.

“Wait,” cried the squirrel quickly, “I didn't mean to talk about all that. I wanted to say something quite different.”

Bambi stopped. “What is it?” he asked patiently.

“Yes,” said the squirrel, “what is it?” He thought a little while and then gave a quick skip and sat erect, balancing with his splendid tail. He looked at Bambi. “Right you are,” he chattered on. “Now I know what it was. I wanted to say that your antlers are almost grown now, and that you are going to be a remarkably handsome person.”

“Do you really think so?” said Bambi joyfully.

“Remarkably handsome,” cried the squirrel, and pressed his forepaws rapturously against his white chest. “So tall, so stately and with such long bright prongs to your antlers. You don't often see the like.”

“Really?” Bambi asked. He was so delighted that he immediately began to beat the hazel stems again. He tore off long ribbons of bark.

All the while the squirrel kept on talking. “I must say that very few have antlers like those at your age. It doesn't seem possible. I saw you several times from a distance last summer, and I can hardly believe that you're the same creature, you were such a thin little shaver then.”

Bambi suddenly grew silent. “Goodbye,” he said hastily. “I have to go now.” And he ran off.

He didn't like to be reminded of last summer. He had had a difficult time of it since then. At first, after his mother's disappearance, he had felt quite lost. The long winter was interminable. Spring came hesitatingly and it was late before things began to turn green. Without old Nettla Bambi might not even have pulled through at all, but she looked after him and helped him where she could. In spite of that he was alone a good deal.

He missed Gobo at every turn; poor Gobo, who was dead too, like the rest of them. Bambi thought of him often during that winter, and for the first time he really began to appreciate how good and lovable Gobo had been.

He seldom saw Faline. She stayed with her mother most of the time and seemed to have grown unusually shy. Later when it had finally grown warm Bambi began to feel his old self once more. He flourished his first antler on high and was very proud of it. But bitter disappointment soon followed.

The other bucks chased him whenever they saw him. They drove him away angrily. They would not let him come near them until finally he was afraid to take a step for fear of being caught. He was afraid to show himself anywhere and slunk along hidden trails in a very downcast frame of mind.

As the summer days grew warmer a remarkable restlessness seized him. His heart felt more and more oppressed with a sense of longing that was both pleasant and painful. Whenever he chanced to see Faline or one of her friends, though only at a distance, a rush of incomprehensible excitement crept over him. Often it happened that he recognized her track, or the air he snuffed told him she was near. Then he would feel himself irresistibly drawn toward her. But when he gave way to his desire he always came to grief. Either he met no one and, after wandering around for a long while, had to admit that they were avoiding him, or he ran across one of the bucks, who immediately sprang at him, beat and kicked him and chased him disgracefully away. Ronno and Karus had treated him worst of all. No, that hadn't been a happy time.

And now the squirrel had stupidly reminded him of it. Suddenly he became quite wild and started to run. The titmice and hedge sparrows flitted, frightened, through the bushes as he passed, and asked each other in a fluster. “What was that?” Bambi did not hear them. A couple of magpies chattered nervously, “What happened?” The jay cried angrily, “What is the matter with you?” Bambi paid no attention to him. Overhead the yellowbird sang from tree to tree, “Good morning, I'm ha–appy.” Bambi did not answer. The thicket was very bright and shot through with sunbeams. Bambi did not stop to think about such things.

Suddenly there was a loud whir of wings. A whole rainbow of gorgeous colors flashed from under Bambi's very feet and shone so close to his eyes that he stopped, dazzled. It was Jonello, the pheasant. He had flown up in terror, for Bambi had nearly stepped on him. He fled away scolding.

“I never heard of such a thing,” he cried in his split, crackling voice. Bambi stood still in astonishment and stared after him.

“It turned out all right this time, but it really was inconsiderate,” said a soft, twittering voice close to the ground. It was Jonellina, the pheasant's wife. She was sitting on the ground, hovering over her eggs. “My husband was terribly frightened,” she went on in an irritable tone. “And so was I. But I don't dare stir from this spot. I wouldn't stir from this spot no matter what happened. You could step on me and I wouldn't move.”

Bambi was a little embarrassed. “I beg your pardon,” he stammered, “I didn't mean to do it.”

“Oh, not at all,” the pheasant's wife replied. “It was nothing so dreadful after all. But my husband and I are so nervous at present. You can understand why. . . .”

Bambi didn't understand why at all and went on. He was quieter now. The forest sang around him. The light grew more radiant and warmer. The leaves on the bushes, the grass underfoot and the moist, steaming earth began to smell more sweetly. Bambi's young strength swelled within him and streamed through all his limbs so that he walked around stiffly with awkward restrained movements like a mechanical thing.

He went up to a low alder shrub and, lifting his feet high, beat on the earth with such savage blows that the dirt flew. His two sharp-pointed hoofs cut the turf that grew there. They scraped away the wood vetch and leeks, the violets and snowbells, till the bare earth was furrowed in front of him. Every blow sounded dully.

Two moles, who were grubbing among the tangled roots of an old sycamore tree, grew anxious and, looking out, saw Bambi.

“That's a ridiculous way to do things,” said one mole. “Who ever heard of anybody digging that way?”

The other mole drew down one corner of his mouth in a scornful sneer. “He doesn't know anything, you can see that right off,” he said. “But that's the way it is when people meddle with things they know nothing about.”

Suddenly Bambi listened, tossed up his head, listened again, and peered through the leaves. A flash of red showed through the branches. The prongs of an antler gleamed indistinctly. Bambi snorted. Whoever it might be who was circling around him, whether it was Karus or somebody else, didn't matter. “Forward!” thought Bambi as he charged. “I'll show them that I'm not afraid of them,” he thought as though suddenly exultant. “I'll show them that they'd better look out for me.”

The branches rustled with the fury of his charge, the bushes cracked and broke. Then Bambi saw the other deer right in front of him. He did not recognize him, for everything was swimming before his eyes. He thought of nothing but “Forward!” His antlers lowered, he rushed on All his strength was concentrated in his shoulders. He was ready for the blow. Then he smelled his opponent's hide. But he saw nothing ahead of him but the red wall of his flank. Then the other stag made a very slight turn and Bambi, not meeting the resistance he expected, charged past him into the empty air. He nearly went head over heels. He staggered, pulled himself together and made ready for a fresh onslaught.

Then he recognized the old stag.

Bambi was so astonished that he lost his self-­possession. He was ashamed to run away as he would have liked to do. But he was also ashamed to stay there. He didn't move.

“Well?” asked the old stag, quietly and gently. His voice was so frank and yet so commanding it pierced Bambi to the heart. He was silent.

“Well?” the old stag repeated.

“I thought . . .” Bambi stammered, “I thought . . . it was Ronno . . . or . . .” He stopped and risked a shy glance at the old stag. And this glance confused him still more. The old stag stood motionless and powerful. His head had turned completely white by now, and his proud dark eyes glowed in their depths.

“Why don't you charge me . . . ?” the old stag asked.

Bambi looked at him, filled with a wonderful ecstasy, and shaken by a mysterious tremor. He wanted to cry out, “It's because I love you,” but he merely answered, “I don't know. . . .”

The old stag looked at him. “It's a long time since I've seen you,” he said. “You've grown big and strong.”

Bambi did not answer. He trembled with joy. The old stag went on examining him critically. Then he came unexpectedly up to Bambi, who was terribly frightened.

“Act bravely,” said the old stag.

He turned around and in the next moment had disappeared. Bambi remained in that place for a long while.

Chapter Twelve

I
T WAS SUMMER AND SIZZLING HOT. The same longing he had felt before began to stir again in Bambi. But much more strongly now than then. It seethed in his blood and made him restless. He strayed far afield.

One day he met Faline. He met her quite unexpectedly, for his thoughts were so confused, his senses so clouded by the restless desire that raged within him, that he did not even recognize Faline. She was standing in front of him. Bambi stared at her speechless for a while. Then he said as though fascinated, “How beautiful you have grown, Faline!”

“So you recognized me again?” Faline replied.

“How could I help recognizing you?” cried Bambi. “Didn't we grow up together?”

Faline sighed. “It's a long time since we've seen each other,” she said. Then she added, “People grow to be strangers,” but she was already using her gay bantering tone again. They remained together.

“I used to walk on this path with my mother when I was a child,” Bambi said after a while.

“It leads to the meadow,” said Faline.

“I saw you for the first time on the meadow,” said Bambi a little solemnly. “Do you remember?”

“Yes,” Faline replied. “Gobo and me.” She sighed softly and said, “Poor Gobo. . . .”

Bambi repeated, “Poor Gobo. . . .”

Then they began to talk about old times and asked each other every minute, “Do you remember?” Each saw that the other still remembered everything. And they were both pleased at that.