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Redefining Diversity & Dynamics of Natural Resources Management in Asia, Volume 3. Natural Resource Dynamics and Social Ecological Systems in Central Vietnam: Development, Resource Changes and Conservation Issues 1st Edition Ganesh Shivakoti
Exploring the Variety of Random Documents with Different Content
But Bambi had no desire to go to sleep. “Come on,” he begged, “let’s go to the meadow.”
His mother lifted her head. “Go to the meadow,” she said, “go to the meadow now?” Her voice was so full of astonishment and terror that Bambi became quite frightened.
“Can’t we go to the meadow?” he asked timidly.
“No,” his mother answered, and it sounded very final. “No, you can’t go now.”
“Why?” Bambi perceived that something mysterious was involved. He grew still more frightened, but at the same time he was terribly anxious to know everything. “Why can’t we go to the meadow?” he asked.
“You’ll find out all about it later when you’re bigger,” his mother replied.
“But,” Bambi insisted, “I’d rather know now.”
“Later,” his mother repeated, “you’re nothing but a baby yet,” she went on tenderly, “and we don’t talk about such things to children.” She had grown quite serious. “Fancy going to the meadow at this time of day. I don’t even like to think of it. Why, it’s broad daylight.”
“But it was broad daylight when we went to the meadow before,” Bambi objected.
“That’s different,” his mother explained, “it was early in the morning.”
“Can we only go there early in the morning?” Bambi was very curious.
His mother was patient. “Only in the early morning or late evening,” she said, “or at night.”
“And never in the daytime, never?”
His mother hesitated. “Well,” she said at last, “sometimes a few of us do go there in the daytime.... But those are special occasions.... I
can’t just explain it to you, you are too young yet.... Some of us do go there.... But we are exposed to the greatest danger.”
“What kind of danger?” asked Bambi all attention.
But his mother did not want to go on with the conversation. “We’re in danger, and that’s enough for you, my son. You can’t understand such things yet.”
Bambi thought that he could understand everything except why his mother did not want to tell him the truth. But he kept silent.
“That’s what life means for us,” his mother went on, “though we all love the daylight, especially when we’re young, we have to lie quiet all day long. We can only roam around from evening till morning. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Bambi.
“So, my son, we’ll have to stay where we are. We’re safe here. Now lie down again and go to sleep.”
But Bambi didn’t want to lie down. “Why are we safe here?” he asked.
“Because all the bushes shield us,” his mother answered, “and the twigs snap on the shrubs and the dry twigs crackle and give us warning. And last year’s dead leaves lie on the ground and rustle to warn us, and the jays and magpies keep watch so we can tell from a distance if anybody is coming.”
“What are last year’s leaves?” Bambi asked.
“Come and sit beside me,” said his mother, “and I will tell you.” Bambi sat down contentedly, nestling close to his mother. And she told him how the trees are not always green, how the sunshine and the pleasant warmth disappear. Then it grows cold, the frost turns the leaves yellow, brown and red, and they fall slowly so that the trees and bushes stretch their bare branches to the sky and look perfectly naked. But the dry leaves lie on the ground, and when a foot stirs them they rustle. Then someone is coming. O, how kind last year’s dead leaves are! They do their duty so well and are so alert
and watchful. Even in mid-summer there are a lot of them hidden beneath the undergrowth. And they give warning in advance of every danger.
The leaves fall slowly.
Bambi pressed close against his mother. It was so cozy to sit there and listen while his mother talked. When she grew silent he began to think. He thought it was very kind of the good old leaves to keep watch, though they were all dead
and frozen and had suffered so much. He wondered just what that danger could be that his mother was always talking about. But too much thought tired him. Round about him it was still. Only the air sizzling in the heat was audible. Then he fell asleep.
CHAPTER IV
ONE evening Bambi was roaming about the meadow again with his mother. He thought that he knew everything there was to see or hear there. But in reality it appeared that he did not know as much as he thought.
This time was just like the first. Bambi played tag with his mother. He ran around in circles, and the open space, the deep sky, the fresh air intoxicated him so that he grew perfectly wild. After a while he noticed that his mother was standing still. He stopped short in the middle of a leap so suddenly that his four legs spread far apart. To get his balance he bounded high into the air and then stood erect. His mother seemed to be talking to someone he couldn’t make out through the tall grasses. Bambi toddled up inquisitively.
Two long ears were moving in the tangled grass stems close to his mother. They were grayish-brown and prettily marked with black stripes. Bambi stopped, but his mother said, “Come here. This is our friend, the Hare. Come here like a nice boy and let him see you.”
Bambi went over. There sat the Hare looking like a very honest creature. At times his long spoon-like ears stood bolt upright. At others they fell back limply as though they had suddenly grown weak. Bambi became somewhat critical as he looked at the whiskers that stood out so stiff and straight on both sides of the Hare’s mouth. But he noticed that the Hare had a very mild face and extremely good-natured features, and that he cast timid glances at the world from out of his big round eyes. The Hare really did look friendly. Bambi’s passing doubts vanished immediately. But oddly enough, he had lost all the respect he originally felt for the Hare.
There sat the Hare looking like a very honest creature.
“Good evening, young man,” the Hare greeted him, with studied politeness.
Bambi merely nodded good evening. He didn’t understand why, but he simply nodded. He was very friendly and civil, but a little condescending. He could not help it himself. Perhaps he was born that way.
“What a charming young prince,” said the Hare to Bambi’s mother. He looked at Bambi attentively, raising first one spoon-like ear, then the other, and then both of them, and letting them fall again, suddenly and limply, which didn’t please Bambi. The motion of the Hare’s ears seemed to say, “He isn’t worth bothering with.”
Meanwhile the Hare continued to study Bambi with his big round eyes. His nose and his mouth with the handsome whiskers moved incessantly in the same way a man who is trying not to sneeze twitches his nose and lips. Bambi had to laugh.
The Hare laughed quickly, too, but his eyes grew more thoughtful. “I congratulate you,” he said to Bambi’s mother. “I sincerely congratulate you on your son. Yes, indeed, he’ll make a splendid prince in time. Anyone can see that.”
To Bambi’s boundless surprise he suddenly sat straight on his hind legs. After he had spied all around with his ears stiffened and his nose constantly twitching, he sat down decently on all fours again. “Now if you good people will excuse me,” he said at last, “I have all kinds of things to do to-night. If you’ll be so good as to excuse me....” He turned away and hopped off with his ears back so that they touched his shoulders.
“Good evening,” Bambi called after him.
His mother smiled. “The good Hare,” she said; “he is so suave and prudent. He doesn’t have an easy time of it in this world.” There was sympathy in her voice.
Bambi strolled about a little and left his mother to her meal. He wanted to meet his friend again and he wanted to make new acquaintances, besides. For without being very clear himself what it was he wanted, he felt a certain expectancy. Suddenly, at a distance, he heard a soft rustling on the meadow, and felt a quick, gentle step tapping the ground. He peered ahead of him. Over on the edge of the woods something was gliding through the grasses. Was it alive? No, there were two things. Bambi cast a quick glance at his mother but she wasn’t paying attention to anything and had her head deep in the grass. But the game was going on on the other side of the meadow in a shifting circle exactly as Bambi himself had raced around before. Bambi was so excited that he sprang back as if he wanted to run away. Then his mother noticed him and raised her head.
“What’s the matter?” she called.
But Bambi was speechless. He could not find his tongue and only stammered, “Look over there.”
His mother looked over. “I see,” she said, “that’s my sister, and sure enough she has a baby too, now. No, she has two of them.” His mother spoke at first out of pure happiness, but she had grown serious. “To think that Ena has two babies,” she said, “two of them.”
Bambi stood gazing across the meadow. He saw a creature that looked just like his mother. He hadn’t even noticed her before. He saw that the grasses were being shaken in a double circle, but only a pair of reddish backs were visible like thin red streaks.
“Come,” his mother said, “we’ll go over. They’ll be company for you.”
Bambi would have run, but as his mother walked slowly, peering to right and to left at every step, he held himself back. Still, he was bursting with excitement and very impatient.
“I thought we would meet Ena sometime,” his mother went on to say. “Where can she have been keeping herself? I thought I knew she had one child, that wasn’t hard to guess. But two of them!...”
At last the others saw them and came to meet them. Bambi had to greet his aunt, but his mind was entirely on the children.
His aunt was very friendly. “Well,” she said to him, “this is Gobo and that is Faline. Now you run along and play together.”
The children stood stock-still and stared at each other, Gobo close beside Faline and Bambi in front of him. None of them stirred. They stood and gaped.
“Run along,” said Bambi’s mother, “you’ll soon be friends.”
“What a lovely child,” Aunt Ena replied. “He is really lovely. So strong, and he stands so well.”
“O well,” said his mother modestly, “we have to be content. But to have two of them, Ena!...”
“O yes, that’s all very well,” Ena declared; “you know, dear, I’ve had children before.”
“Bambi is my first,” his mother said.
“We’ll see,” Ena comforted her, “perhaps it will be different with you next time, too.”
The children were still standing and staring at each other. No one said a word. Suddenly Faline gave a leap and rushed away. It had become too much for her.
In a moment Bambi darted after her. Gobo followed him. They flew around in a semi-circle, they turned tail and fell over each other. Then they chased each other up and down. It was glorious. When they stopped, all topsy-turvy and somewhat breathless, they were already good friends. They began to chatter.
Bambi told them how he talked to the nice grasshopper and the butterfly.
“Did you ever talk to the gold bug?” asked Faline.
No, Bambi had never talked to the gold bug. He did not even know who he was.
“I’ve talked to him often,” Faline declared, a little pertly.
“The jay insulted me,” said Bambi.
“Really,” said Gobo astonished, “did the jay treat you like that?” Gobo was very easily astonished and was extremely timid.
“Well,” he observed, “the hedgehog stuck me in the nose.” But he only mentioned it in passing.
“Who is the hedgehog?” Bambi asked eagerly. It seemed wonderful to him to be there with friends, listening to so many exciting things.
“The hedgehog is a terrible creature,” cried Faline, “full of long spines all over his body and very wicked!”
“Do you really think he’s wicked?” asked Gobo. “He never hurts anybody.”
“Is that so?” answered Faline quickly. “Didn’t he stick you?”
“O, that was only because I wanted to speak to him,” Gobo replied, “and only a little anyhow. It didn’t hurt me much.”
Bambi turned to Gobo. “Why didn’t he want you to talk to him?” he asked.
“He doesn’t talk to anybody,” Faline interrupted, “even if you just come where he is he rolls himself up so he’s nothing but prickles all over. Our mother says he’s one of those people who don’t want to have anything to do with the world.”
“Maybe he’s only afraid,” Gobo said.
But Faline knew better. “Mother says you shouldn’t meddle with such people,” she said.
Presently Bambi began to ask Gobo softly, “Do you know what ‘danger’ means?”
Then they both grew serious and all three heads drew together. Gobo thought a while. He made a special effort to remember for he saw how curious Bambi was for the answer. “Danger,” he whispered, “is something very bad.”
“Yes,” Bambi declared excitedly, “I know it’s something very bad, but what?” All three trembled with fear.
Suddenly Faline cried out loudly and joyfully, “I know what danger is—it’s what you run away from.” She sprang away. She couldn’t bear to stay there any longer and be frightened. In an instant, Bambi and Gobo had bounded after her. They began to play again. They tumbled in the rustling, silky green meadow grass, and in a twinkling had forgotten all about the absorbing question. After a while they stopped and stood chattering together as before. They looked towards their mothers. They were standing close together, eating a little and carrying on a quiet conversation.
Aunt Ena raised her head and called the children. “Come, Gobo. Come, Faline. We have to go now.”
And Bambi’s mother said to him, “Come, it’s time to go.”
“Wait just a little longer,” Faline pleaded eagerly, “just a little while.”
“Let’s stay a little longer, please,” Bambi pleaded, “it’s so nice.” And Gobo repeated timidly, “It’s so nice, just a little longer.” All three spoke at once.
Ena looked at Bambi’s mother. “What did I tell you,” she said, “they won’t want to separate now.”
Then something happened that was much more exciting than everything else that happened to Bambi that day. Out of the woods came the sound of hoofs beating the earth. Branches snapped, the boughs rustled, and before Bambi had time to listen, something burst out of the thicket. Someone came crashing and rustling with someone else rushing after him. They tore by like the wind, described a wide circle on the meadow and vanished into the woods again, where they could be heard galloping. Then they came bursting out of the thicket again and suddenly stood still, about twenty paces apart.
Bambi looked at them and did not stir. They looked like his mother and Aunt Ena. But their heads were crowned with gleaming antlers covered with brown beads and bright white prongs. Bambi was completely overcome. He looked from one to the other. One was smaller and his antlers narrower. But the other one was stately and beautiful. He carried his head up and his antlers rose high above it. They flashed from dark to light, adorned with the splendor of many black and brown prongs.
“O,” cried Faline in admiration. “O,” Gobo repeated softly. But Bambi said nothing. He was entranced and silent. Then they both moved and, turning away from each other, walked slowly back into the woods in opposite directions. The stately stag passed close to the children and Bambi’s mother and Aunt Ena. He passed by in silent
splendor, holding his noble head royally high and honoring no one with so much as a glance.
The children did not dare to breathe till he had disappeared into the thicket. They turned to look after the other one, but at that very moment the green door of the forest closed on him.
Faline was the first to break the silence. “Who were they?” she cried. But her pert little voice trembled.
“Who were they?” Gobo repeated in a hardly audible voice. Bambi kept silent.
Aunt Ena said solemnly, “Those were your fathers.”
Nothing more was said, and they parted. Aunt Ena led her children into the nearest thicket. It was her trail. Bambi and his mother had to cross the whole meadow to the oak in order to reach their own path. He was silent for a long time before he finally asked, “Didn’t they see us?”
His mother understood what he meant and replied, “Of course, they saw all of us.”
Bambi was troubled. He felt shy about asking questions, but it was too much for him. “Then why ...” he began, and stopped.
His mother helped him along. “What is it you want to know, son?” she asked.
“Why didn’t they stay with us?”
“They don’t ever stay with us,” his mother answered, “only at times.”
Bambi continued, “But why didn’t they speak to us?”
His mother said, “They don’t speak to us now; only at times. We have to wait till they come to us. And we have to wait for them to speak to us. They do it whenever they like.”
With a troubled heart, Bambi asked, “Will my father speak to me?”
“Of course he will,” his mother promised. “When you’re grown up he’ll speak to you, and you’ll have to stay with him sometimes.”
Bambi walked silently beside his mother, his whole mind filled with his father’s appearance. “How handsome he is!” he thought over and over again. “How handsome he is!”
As though his mother could read his thoughts, she said, “If you live, my son, if you are cunning and don’t run into danger, you’ll be as strong and handsome as your father is sometime, and you’ll have antlers like his, too.”
Bambi breathed deeply. His heart swelled with joy and expectancy.
CHAPTER V
TIME passed, and Bambi had many adventures and went through many experiences. Every day brought something new. Sometimes he felt quite giddy. He had so incredibly much to learn.
He could listen now, not merely hear, when things happened so close that they struck the ear of their own accord. No, there was really no art in that. He could really listen intelligently now to everything that stirred, no matter how softly. He heard even the tiniest whisper that the wind brought by. For instance, he knew that a pheasant was running through the next bushes. He recognized clearly the soft quick tread that was always stopping. He knew by ear the sound the field mice make when they run to and fro on their little paths. And the patter of the moles when they are in a good humor and chase one another around the elder bushes so that there is just the slightest rustling. He heard the shrill clear call of the falcon, and he knew from its altered, angry tones when a hawk or an eagle approached. The falcon was angry because she was afraid her field would be taken from her. He knew the beat of the wood-doves’ wings, the beautiful, distant, soaring cries of ducks, and many other things besides.
He knew how to snuff the air now, too. Soon he would do it as well as his mother. He could breathe in the air and at the same time analyze it with his senses. “That’s clover and meadow grass,” he would think when the wind blew off the fields. “And Friend Hare is out there, too. I can smell him plainly.”
Again he would notice through the smell of leaves and earth, wild leek and wood mustard, that the ferret was passing by. He could tell by putting his nose to the ground and snuffing deeply that the fox was afoot. Or he would know that one of his family was somewhere nearby. It might be Aunt Ena and the children.
By now he was good friends with the night and no longer wanted to run about so much in broad daylight. He was quite willing to lie all day long in the shade of the leafy glade with his mother. He would listen to the air sizzling in the heat and then fall asleep.
From time to time, he would wake up, listen and snuff the air to find out how things stood. Everything was as it should be. Only the tit-mice were chattering a little to each other, the midges who were hardly ever still, hummed, while the wood-doves never ceased declaiming their ecstatic tenderness. What concern was it of his? He would drop off to sleep again.
He liked the night very much now. Everything was alive, everything was in motion. Of course, he had to be cautious at night too, but still he could be less careful. And he could go wherever he wanted to. And everywhere he went he met acquaintances. They too were always less nervous than in the daytime.
At night the woods were solemn and still. There were only a few voices. They sounded loud in the stillness, and they had a different ring from daytime voices, and left a deeper impression.
Bambi liked to see the owl. She had such a wonderful flight, perfectly light and perfectly noiseless. She made as little sound as a butterfly, and yet she was so dreadfully big. She had such striking features, too, so pronounced and so deeply thoughtful. And such wonderful eyes! Bambi admired her firm, quietly courageous glance. He liked to listen when she talked to his mother or to anybody else. He would stand a little to one side, for he was somewhat afraid of the masterful glance that he admired so much. He did not understand most of the clever things she said, but he knew they were clever, and they pleased him and filled him with respect for the owl.
Then the owl would begin to hoot. “Hoaah!—Ha!—Ha!—Haa!— ah!” she would cry. It sounded different from the thrushes’ song, or the yellow-birds’, different from the friendly notes of the cuckoo, but Bambi loved the owl’s cry, for he felt its mysterious earnestness, its unutterable wisdom and strange melancholy.
Then there was the screech-owl, a charming little fellow, lively and gay with no end to his inquisitiveness. He was bent on attracting attention. “Oi, yeek! Oi, yeek!” he would call in a terrible, highpitched, piercing voice. It sounded as if he were on the point of death. But he was really in a beaming good humor and was hilariously happy whenever he frightened anybody. “Oi, yeek!” he would cry so dreadfully loud that the forests heard it for a mile around. But afterwards he would laugh with a soft chuckle, though you could only hear it if you stood close by.
Bambi discovered that the screech-owl was delighted whenever he frightened anyone, or when anybody thought that something dreadful had happened to him. After that, whenever Bambi met him, he never failed to rush up and ask, “What has happened to you?” or to say with a sigh, “O, how you frightened me just now!” Then the owl would be delighted.
“O, yes,” he would say, laughing, “it sounds pretty gruesome.” He would puff up his feathers into a grayish-white ball and look extremely handsome.
There were storms, too, once or twice, both in the daytime and at night. The first was in the daytime and Bambi felt himself grow terrified as it became darker and darker in his glade. It seemed to him as if night had covered the sky at mid-day. When the raging storm broke through the woods so that the trees began to groan aloud, Bambi trembled with terror. And when the lightning flashed and the thunder growled, Bambi was numb with fear and thought the end of the world had come. He ran behind his mother, who had sprung up somewhat disturbed and was walking back and forth in the thicket. He could not think about nor understand anything. The rain fell in raging torrents. Everyone had run to shelter. The woods were empty. But there was no escaping the rain. The pouring water penetrated even the thickest parts of the bushes. Presently the lightning stopped, and the fiery rays ceased to flicker through the tree-tops. The thunder rolled away. Bambi could hear it in the distance, and soon it stopped altogether. The rain beat more gently. It pattered evenly and steadily around him for another hour. The
forest stood breathing deeply in the calm and let the water drain off. No one was afraid to come out any more. That feeling had passed. The rain had washed it away.
Never before had Bambi and his mother gone to the meadow as early as on that evening. It was not even dusk yet. The sun was still high in the sky, the air was extremely fresh, and smelt sweeter than usual, and the woods rang with a thousand voices, for everyone had crept out of his shelter and was running excitedly, telling what had just happened.
Before they went on to the meadow, they passed the great oak that stood near the forest’s edge, close to their trail. They always had to pass that beautiful big tree when they went to the meadow.
This time the squirrel was sitting on a branch and greeted them. Bambi was good friends with the squirrel. The first time he met him he took him for a very small deer because of the squirrel’s red coat and stared at him in surprise. But Bambi had been very childish at that time and had known nothing at all.
The squirrel pleased him greatly from the first. He was so thoroughly civil, and talkative. And Bambi loved to see how wonderfully he could turn, and climb, and leap, and balance himself. In the middle of a conversation the squirrel would run up and down the smooth tree trunk as though there was nothing to it. Or he would sit upright on a swaying branch, balance himself comfortably with his bushy tail, that stuck up so gracefully behind him, display his white chest, hold his little forepaws elegantly in front of him, nod his head this way and that, laugh with his jolly eyes, and, in a twinkling, say a lot of comical and interesting things. Then he would come down again, so swiftly and with such leaps, that you expected him to tumble on his head.
He twitched his long tail violently and called to them from overhead, “Good day! Good day! It’s so nice of you to come over.” Bambi and his mother stopped.
The squirrel ran down the smooth trunk. “Well,” he chattered, “did you get through it all right? Of course, I see that everything is first rate. That’s the main thing.”
He ran up the trunk again like lightning and said, “It’s too wet for me down there. Wait, I’m going to look for a better place. I hope you don’t mind. Thanks, I knew you wouldn’t. And we can talk just as well from here.”
He ran back and forth along a straight limb. “It was a bad business,” he said, “a monstrous uproar! You wouldn’t believe how scared I was. I hunched myself up as still as a mouse in the corner and hardly dared move. That’s the worst of it, having to sit there and not move. And all the time you’re hoping nothing will happen. But my tree is wonderful in such cases. There’s no denying it, my tree is wonderful! I’ll say that for it. I’m satisfied with it. As long as I’ve had it, I’ve never wanted any other. But when it cuts loose the way it did to-day you’re sure to get frightened no matter where you are.”
The squirrel sat up, balancing himself with his handsome upright tail. He displayed his white chest and pressed both forepaws protestingly against his heart. You believed without his adding anything that he had been excited.
The squirrel sat up, balancing himself with his handsome upright tail.
“We’re going to the meadow now to dry ourselves off in the sun,” Bambi’s mother said.
“That’s a good idea,” cried the squirrel, “you’re really so clever. I’m always saying how clever you are.” With a bound he sprang onto a higher branch. “You couldn’t do anything better than go to the meadow now,” he called down. Then he swung with light bounds back and forth through the tree-top. “I’m going up where I can get the sunlight,” he chattered merrily, “I’m all soaked through. I’m going all the way up.” He didn’t care whether they were still listening to him or not.
The meadow was full of life. Friend Hare was there and had brought along his family. Aunt Ena was there with her children and a few acquaintances. That day Bambi saw the fathers again. They came slowly out of the forest from opposite directions. There was a third stag too. Each walked slowly in his track, back and forth, along the meadow. They paid no attention to anyone and did not even talk to one another. Bambi looked at them frequently. He was respectful, but full of curiosity.
Then he talked to Faline and Gobo and a few other children. He wanted to play a while. All agreed and they began running around in a circle. Faline was the gayest of all. She was so fresh and nimble and brimming over with bright ideas. But Gobo was soon tired. He had been terribly frightened by the storm. His heart had hammered loudly and was still pounding. There was something very weak about Gobo, but Bambi liked him because he was so good and willing and always a little sad without letting you know it.
Time passed and Bambi was learning how good the meadow grass tasted, how tender and sweet the leaf buds and the clover were. When he nestled against his mother for comfort it often happened that she pushed him away.
“You aren’t a little baby any more,” she would say. Sometimes she even said abruptly, “Go away and let me be.” It even happened sometimes that his mother got up in the little forest glade, got up in the middle of the day, and went off without noticing whether Bambi was following her or not. At times it seemed, when they were wandering down the familiar paths, as if his mother did not want to notice whether Bambi was behind her or was trailing after.
One day his mother was gone. Bambi did not know how such a thing could be possible, he could not figure it out. But his mother was gone and for the first time Bambi was left alone.
He wandered about, he was troubled, he grew worried and anxious and began to want her terribly. He stood quite sadly, calling her. Nobody answered and nobody came.
He listened and snuffed the air. He could not smell anything. He called again. Softly, pathetically, tearfully, he called “Mother, Mother!” In vain.
Then despair seized him, he could not stand it and started to walk.
He wandered down the trails he knew, stopping and calling. He wandered farther and farther with hesitating steps, frightened and helpless. He was very downcast.
He went on and on and came to trails where he had never been before. He came to places that were strange to him. He no longer knew where he was going.
Then he heard two childish voices like his own, calling, “Mother! Mother!” He stood still and listened. Surely that was Gobo and Faline. It must be they.
He ran quickly towards the voices and soon he saw their little red jackets showing through the leaves. Gobo and Faline were standing side by side under a dog-wood tree and calling mournfully, “Mother, Mother!”
They were overjoyed when they heard the rustling in the bushes. But they were disappointed when they saw Bambi. They were a little consoled that he was there, however. And Bambi was glad not to be all alone any more.
“My mother is gone,” Bambi said.
“Ours is gone too,” Gobo answered plaintively.
They looked at one another and were quite despondent.
“Where can they be?” asked Bambi. He was almost sobbing.
“I don’t know,” sighed Gobo. His heart was pounding and he felt miserable.
Suddenly Faline said, “I think they may be with our fathers.”
Gobo and Bambi looked at her surprised. They were filled with awe. “You mean that they’re visiting our fathers?” asked Bambi and trembled. Faline trembled too, but she made a wise face. She acted like a person who knows more than she will let on. Of course she knew nothing, she could not even guess where her idea came from. But when Gobo repeated, “Do you really think so?” she put on a meaningful air and answered mysteriously, “Yes, I think so.”
Anyway it was a suggestion that needed to be thought about. But in spite of that Bambi felt no easier. He couldn’t even think about it, he was too troubled and too sad.
He went off. He wouldn’t stay in one place. Faline and Gobo went along with him for a little way. All three were calling, “Mother, Mother!” Then Gobo and Faline stopped, they did not dare go any farther. Faline said, “Why should we? Mother knows where we are. Let’s stay here so she can find us when she comes back.”
Bambi went on alone. He wandered through a thicket to a little clearing. In the middle of the clearing Bambi stopped short. He suddenly felt as if he were rooted to the ground and could not move.
On the edge of the clearing, by a tall hazel bush, a creature was standing. Bambi had never seen such a creature before. At the same time the air brought him a scent such as he had never smelled in his life. It was a strange smell, heavy and acrid. It excited him to the point of madness.
Bambi stared at the creature. It stood remarkably erect. It was extremely thin and had a pale face; entirely bare around the nose and the eyes. A kind of dread emanated from that face, a cold terror. That face had a tremendous power over him. It was unbearably painful to look at that face and yet Bambi stood staring fixedly at it.
For a long time the creature stood without moving. Then it stretched out a leg from high up near its face. Bambi had not even noticed that there was one there. But as that terrible leg was reaching out into the air Bambi was swept away by the mere gesture.
In a flash he was back into the thicket he came from, and was running away.
In a twinkling his mother was with him again, too. She bounded beside him over shrubs and bushes. They ran side by side as fast as they could. His mother was in the lead. She knew the way and Bambi followed. They ran till they came to their glade.
“Did you see Him?” asked the mother softly.
Bambi could not answer, he had no breath left. He only nodded.
“That was He,” said the mother.
And they both shuddered.
CHAPTER VI
BAMBI was often alone now. But he was not so troubled about it as he had been the first time. His mother would disappear, and no matter how much he called her she wouldn’t come back. Later she would appear unexpectedly and stay with him as before.
One night he was roaming around quite forlorn again. He could not even find Gobo and Faline. The sky had become pale gray and it began to darken so that the tree-tops seemed like a vault over the bushy undergrowth. There was a swishing in the bushes, a loud rustling came through the leaves and Bambi’s mother dashed out. Someone else raced close behind her. Bambi did not know whether it was Aunt Ena or his father or someone else. But he recognized his mother at once. Though she rushed past him so quickly, he had recognized her voice. She screamed, and it seemed to Bambi as if it were in play, though he thought it sounded a little frightened too.
One day Bambi wandered for hours through the thicket. At last he began to call. He simply couldn’t bear to be so utterly lonely any more. He felt that pretty soon he’d be perfectly miserable. So he began to call for his mother.
Suddenly one of the fathers was standing in front of him looking sternly down at him. Bambi hadn’t heard him coming and was terrified. This stag looked more powerful than the others, taller and prouder. His coat shone with a deeper richer red, but his face shimmered, silvery gray. And tall, black, beaded antlers rose high above his nervous ears.
“What are you crying about?” the old stag asked severely. Bambi trembled in awe and did not dare answer. “Your mother has no time for you now,” the old stag went on. Bambi was completely dominated by his masterful voice and at the same time, he admired it. “Can’t you stay by yourself? Shame on you!”
Bambi wanted to say that he was perfectly able to stay by himself, that he had often been left alone already, but he could not get it out. He was obedient and he felt terribly ashamed. The stag turned around and was gone. Bambi didn’t know where or how, or whether the stag had gone slow or fast. He had simply gone as suddenly as he had come. Bambi strained his ears to listen but he could not catch the sound of a departing footstep or a leaf stirring. So he thought the old stag must be somewhere close by and snuffed the air in all directions. It brought him no scent. Bambi sighed with relief to think he was alone. But he felt a lively desire to see the old stag again and win his approval.
When his mother came back he did not tell her anything of his encounter. He did not call her any more either the next time she disappeared. He thought of the old stag while he wandered around. He wanted very much to meet him. He wanted to say to him, “See, I don’t call my mother any more,” so the old stag would praise him.
But he told Gobo and Faline the next time they were together on the meadow. They listened attentively and had nothing to relate that could compare with this.
“Weren’t you frightened?” asked Gobo excitedly.
O well—Bambi confessed he had been frightened. But only a little.
“I should have been terribly frightened,” Gobo declared.
Bambi replied, no, he hadn’t been very much afraid, because the stag was so handsome.
“That wouldn’t have helped me much,” Gobo added, “I’d have been too afraid to look at him. When I’m frightened I have streaks before my eyes so that I can’t see at all, and my heart beats so fast that I can’t breathe.”
Faline became very thoughtful after Bambi’s story and did not say anything.
But the next time they met, Gobo and Faline bounded up in great haste. They were alone again and so was Bambi. “We have been
