Bambi

by Felix Salten

  He grew silent and looked at Faline and at Bambi. Their helpless astonishment delighted him. Then he added, “Yes, my dears, I’ve seen a lot more than all of you put together in your old forest.” He sounded somewhat boastful, but they paid no attention to it. They were still too much absorbed in their great surprise.

  “Tell us about it,” cried Faline, beside herself with joy.

  “Oh,” said Gobo with satisfaction, “I could talk all day about it and never reach the end.”

  “Well then, go ahead and talk,” Bambi urged.

  Gobo turned to Faline and grew serious. “Is Mother still alive?” he asked timidly and softly.

  “Yes,” cried Faline gladly. “She’s alive but I haven’t seen her for a long while.”

  “I’m going to see her right away,” said Gobo with decision. “Are you coming too?”

  They all went.

  They did not speak another word the whole way. Bambi and Faline felt Gobo’s impatient longing to see his mother, so both of them kept silent. Gobo walked ahead hurriedly and did not speak. They let him do as he liked.

  Only sometimes when he hurried blindly over a cross trail or when, in a sudden burst of speed, he took the wrong turning, they called gently to him. “This way,” Bambi would whisper, or Faline would say, “No, no, we go this way now.”

  A number of times they had to cross wide clearings. They noticed that Gobo never stopped at the edge of the thicket, never peered around for a moment when he walked into the open, but simply ran out without any precaution. Bambi and Faline exchanged astonished glances whenever this happened, but they never said a word and followed Gobo with some hesitation. They had to wander around sometimes and search high and low.

  Gobo recollected his childhood paths at once He was delighted with himself, never realizing that Bambi and Faline were leading him. He looked around at them and called, “How do you like the way I can still find my way around?” They did not say anything, but they exchanged glances again.

  Soon afterward they came to a small leafy hollow. “Look,” cried Faline and glided in. Gobo followed her and stopped. It was the glade in which they were both born and had lived with their mother as little children. Gobo and Faline looked into each other’s eyes. They did not say a word. But Faline kissed her brother gently on the mouth. Then they hurried on.

  They walked to and fro for a good hour. The sun shone brighter and brighter through the branches and the forest grew stiller and stiller. It was the time for lying down and resting. But Gobo didn’t feel tired. He walked swiftly ahead, breathing deeply with impatience and excitement, and gazed aimlessly about him. He shrank together whenever a weasel slunk through the bushes at his feet. He nearly stepped on the pheasants, and when they scolded him, flying up with a loud flapping of wings, he was terribly frightened. Bambi ­marveled at the strange, blind way Gobo moved around.

  Presently Gobo stopped and turned to them both. “She isn’t anywhere here,” he cried in despair.

  Faline soothed him. “We’ll soon find her,” she said, deeply moved, “soon, Gobo.” She looked at him. He still had that dejected look she knew so well.

  “Shall we call her?” she asked smiling. “Shall we call her the way we used to when we were children?”

  Bambi went away a few steps. Then he saw Aunt Ena. She had already settled herself to rest and was lying quietly in a nearby hazel bush.

  “At last,” he said to himself. At the same moment Gobo and Faline came up. All three of them stood together and looked at Ena. She had raised her head quietly and looked sleepily back at them.

  Gobo took a few hesitating steps and cried softly, “Mother.”

  She was on her feet in a flash and stood as though transfixed. Gobo sprang to her quickly. “Mother,” he began again. He tried to speak but couldn’t utter a word.

  His mother looked deep into his eyes. Her rigid body began to move. Wave after wave of trembling broke over her shoulders and down her back.

  She did not ask any questions. She did not want any explanation or history. She kissed Gobo slowly on the mouth. She kissed his cheeks and his neck. She bathed him tirelessly in her kisses, as she had when he was born.

  Bambi and Faline had gone away.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THEY WERE ALL STANDING AROUND in the middle of the thicket in a little clearing. Gobo was talking to them.

  Even Friend Hare was there. Full of astonishment, he would lift one spoonlike ear, listen attentively, and let it fall back, only to lift it again at once.

  The magpie was perched on the lowest branch of a young beech and listened in amazement. The jay was sitting restlessly on an ash opposite and screamed every once in a while in wonder.

  A few friendly pheasants had brought their wives and children and were stretching their necks in surprise as they listened. At times they would jerk them in again, turning their heads this way and that in speechless wonder.

  The squirrel had scurried up and was gesturing, wild with excitement. At times he would slide to the ground, at times he would run up some tree or other. Or he would balance with his tail erect and display his white chest. Every now and again he tried to interrupt Gobo and say something, but he was always told sternly to keep quiet.

  Gobo told how he had lain helpless in the snow waiting to die.

  “The dogs found me,” he said. “Dogs are terrible. They are certainly the most terrible creatures in the world. Their jaws drip blood and their bark is pitiless and full of anger.” He looked all around the circle and continued. “Well, since then I’ve played with them just as I would with one of you.” He was very proud. “I don’t need to be afraid of them any more, I’m good friends with them now. Nevertheless, when they begin to grow angry, I have a roaring in my ears and my heart stops beating. But they don’t really mean any harm by it and, as I said, I’m a good friend of theirs. But their bark is terribly loud.”

  “Go on,” Faline urged.

  Gobo looked at her. “Well,” he said, “they would have torn me to pieces, but He came.”

  Gobo paused. The others hardly breathed.

  “Yes,” said Gobo, “He came. He called off the dogs and they quieted down at once. He called them again and they crouched motionless at His feet. Then He picked me up. I screamed but He petted me. He held me in His arms. He didn’t hurt me. And then He ­carried me away.”

  Faline interrupted him. “What does ‘carry’ mean?” she asked.

  Gobo began to explain it in great detail.

  “It’s very simple,” Bambi broke in, “look at what the squirrel does when he takes a nut and carries it off.”

  The squirrel tried to speak again. “A cousin of mine . . .” he began eagerly. But the others cried out at once, “Be still, be still, let Gobo go on.”

  The squirrel had to keep quiet. He was desperate and, pressing his forepaws against his white chest, he tried to begin a conversation with the magpie. “As I was saying, a cousin of mine . . .” he began. But the magpie simply turned her back on him.

  Gobo told of wonders. “Outside it will be cold and the storm is howling. But inside there’s not a breath of wind and it’s as warm as in summertime,” he said.

  “Akh!” screamed the jay.

  “The rain may be pouring outside so that everything is flooded. But not a drop of it gets inside and you keep dry.”

  The pheasants craned their necks and twisted their heads.

  “Everything outside may be snowed under, but inside I was warm,” said Gobo; “I was even hot. They gave me hay to eat and chestnuts, potatoes and turnips, whatever I wanted.”

  “Hay?” they all cried at once, amazed, incredulous and excited.

  “Sweet, new-mown hay,” Gobo repeated calmly, and gazed triumphantly around.

  The squirrel’s voice cut in, “A cousin of mine . . .”

  “Keep quiet,” cried the oth
ers.

  “Where does He get hay and all the rest of the things in winter?” asked Faline eagerly.

  “He grows them,” Gobo answered, “He grows what He wants and keeps what He wants.”

  Faline went on questioning him: “Weren’t you ever afraid, Gobo, when you were with Him?” she asked.

  Gobo smiled a very superior smile. “No, dear Faline,” he said, “not any more. I got to know that He wouldn’t hurt me. Why should I have been afraid? You all think He’s wicked. But He isn’t wicked. If He loves anybody or if anybody serves Him, He’s good to him. Wonderfully good! Nobody in the world can be as kind as He can.”

  While Gobo was talking that way the old stag suddenly stepped noiselessly from the bushes.

  Gobo didn’t notice him and went on talking. But the others saw the old stag and held their breath in awe.

  The old stag stood motionless, watching Gobo with deep and serious eyes.

  Gobo said, “Not only He, but all His children loved me. His wife and all of them used to pet me and play with me.” He broke off suddenly. He had seen the old stag.

  A silence followed.

  Then the old stag asked in his quiet commanding voice, “What kind of a band is that you have on your neck?”

  Everybody looked at it and noticed for the first time the dark strip of braided horsehair around Gobo’s neck.

  Gobo answered uneasily, “That? Why, that’s part of the halter I wore. It’s His halter and it’s the greatest honor to wear His halter, it’s . . .” He grew confused and stammered.

  Everyone was silent. The old stag looked at Gobo for a long time, piercingly and sadly.

  “You poor thing!” he said softly at last, and turned and was gone.

  In the astonished silence that followed, the squirrel began to chatter again. “As I was saying, a cousin of mine stayed with Him, too. He caught him and shut him up, oh, for the longest while, till one day my father . . .”

  But nobody was listening to the squirrel. They were all walking away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ONE DAY MARENA APPEARED again. She was almost full grown the winter that Gobo disappeared, but she had hardly ever been seen since, for she lived alone, going her own ways.

  She had stayed slender and looked quite young. But she was quiet and serious and gentler than any of the others. She had heard from the squirrel and the jay, the magpie and the thrushes and pheasants that Gobo had returned from his wonderful adventures. So she came back to see him.

  Gobo’s mother was very proud and happy over her visit. Gobo’s mother had grown rather proud of her good fortune. She was delighted to hear the whole forest talking about her son. She basked in his glory and wanted everybody to know that her Gobo was the cleverest, ablest and best deer living.

  “What do you think of him, Marena?” she exclaimed. “What do you think of our Gobo?” She didn’t wait for an answer but went on, “Do you remember how old Nettla said he wasn’t worth much because he shivered a little in the cold? Do you remember how she prophesied that he’d be nothing but a care to me?”

  “Well,” Marena answered, “you’ve had plenty of worry over Gobo.”

  “That’s all over with now,” his mother exclaimed. She wondered how people could still remember such things. “Oh, I’m sorry for poor old Nettla. What a pity that she couldn’t live to see what my Gobo’s become!”

  “Yes, poor old Nettla,” said Marena softly, “it’s too bad about her.”

  Gobo liked to hear his mother praise him that way. It pleased him. He stood around and basked as happily in her praises as in the sunshine.

  “Even the old Prince came to see Gobo,” his mother told Marena. She whispered it as though it were something solemn and mysterious. “He never let anyone so much as get a glimpse of him before, but he came on account of Gobo.”

  “Why did he call me a poor thing?” Gobo broke in in a discontented tone. “I’d like to know what he meant by that.”

  “Don’t think about it,” his mother said to comfort him, “he’s old and queer.”

  But at last Gobo meant to ease his mind. “All day long it keeps running through my head,” he said. “Poor thing! I’m not a poor thing. I’m very lucky. I’ve seen more and been through more than all the rest of you put together. I’ve seen more of the world and I know more about life than anyone in the forest. What do you think, Marena?”

  “Yes,” she said, “no one can deny that.”

  From then on Marena and Gobo were always together.

  Chapter Eighteen

  BAMBI WENT TO LOOK FOR THE OLD stag. He roamed around all night long. He wandered till the sun rose and dawn found him on unbeaten trails without Faline.

  He was still drawn to Faline at times. At times he loved her just as much as ever. Then he liked to roam about with her, to listen to her chatter, to browse with her on the meadow or at the edge of the thicket. But she no longer satisfied him completely.

  Before, when he was with Faline, he hardly ever remembered his meetings with the old stag, and when he did it was only casually. Now he was looking for him and felt an inexplicable desire driving him to find him. He only thought of Faline between whiles. He could always be with her if he wanted to. He did not much care to stay with the others. Gobo or Aunt Ena he avoided when he could.

  The words the old stag had let fall about Gobo kept ringing in Bambi’s ears. They made a peculiarly deep impression on him. Gobo had affected him strangely from the very first day of his return. Bambi didn’t know why, but there was something painful to him in Gobo’s bearing. Bambi was ashamed of Gobo without knowing why. And he was afraid for him, again without knowing why. Whenever he was together with this harmless, vain, self-conscious and self-satisfied Gobo, the words kept running through his head, “Poor thing!” He couldn’t get rid of them.

  But one dark night when Bambi had again delighted the screech owl by assuring him how badly he was frightened, it suddenly occurred to him to ask, “Do you happen to know where the old stag is now?”

  The screech owl answered in his cooing voice that he didn’t have the least idea in the world. But Bambi perceived that he simply didn’t want to tell.

  “No,” he said, “I don’t believe you, you’re too clever. You know everything that’s happening in the forest. You certainly must know where the old stag is hiding.”

  The screech owl, who was all fluffed up, smoothed his feathers against his body and made himself small. “Of course I know,” he cooed still more softly, “but I oughtn’t to tell you, I really oughtn’t.”

  Bambi began to plead. “I won’t give you away,” he said. “How could I, when I respect you so much?”

  The owl became a lovely, soft gray-brown ball again and rolled his big cunning eyes a little as he always did when he felt in a good humor. “So you really do respect me,” he asked, “and why, pray?”

  Bambi did not hesitate. “Because you’re so wise,” he said sincerely, “and so good-natured and friendly, besides. And because you’re so clever at frightening people. It’s so very clever to frighten people, so very, very clever. I wish I could do it, it would be a great help to me.”

  The screech owl had sunk his bill into his downy breast and was happy.

  “Well,” he said, “I know that the old stag would be glad to see you.”

  “Do you really think so?” cried Bambi while his heart began to beat faster for joy.

  “Yes, I’m sure of it,” the owl answered. “He’d be glad to see you, and I think I can venture to tell you where he is now.”

  He laid his feathers close to his body and suddenly grew thin again.

  “Do you know the deep ditch where the willows stand?”

  Bambi nodded yes.

  “Do you know the young oak thicket on the farther side?”

  “No,” Bambi confessed, “I’ve never been on the farther side.�
��

  “Well, listen carefully then,” the owl whispered. “There’s an oak thicket on the far side. Go through that. Then there are bushes, hazel and silver poplar, thorn and shadbush. In the midst of them is an old uprooted beech. You’ll have to hunt for it. It’s not so easy to see it from your height as it is from the air. You’ll find him under the trunk. But don’t tell him I told you.”

  “Under the trunk?” said Bambi.

  “Yes,” the screech owl laughed, “there’s a hollow in the ground there. The trunk lies right across it. And he sleeps under the trunk.”

  “Thank you,” said Bambi sincerely. “I don’t know if I can find it, but I’m very grateful anyhow.” He ran quickly away.

  The screech owl flew noiselessly after him and began to hoot right beside him. “Oi, oi!” Bambi shrank together.

  “Did I frighten you?” asked the owl.

  “Yes,” he stammered, and that time he told the truth.

  The owl cooed with satisfaction and said, “I only wanted to remind you again. Don’t tell him I told you.”

  “Of course not,” Bambi assured him and ran on.

  When Bambi reached the ditch the old stag rose before him out of the pitch-black night so noiselessly and suddenly that Bambi drew back in terror.

  “I’m no longer where you were going to look for me,” said the stag.

  Bambi was silent.

  “What is it you want?” asked the stag.

  “Nothing,” Bambi stammered, “nothing, excuse me, nothing at all.”

  After a while the old stag spoke, and his voice sounded gentle. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been looking for me,” he said.

  He waited. Bambi did not answer. The old stag went on, “Yesterday you passed close by me twice, and again this morning, very close.”

  “Why,” said Bambi gathering courage, “why did you say that about Gobo?”

  “Do you think that I was wrong?”

  “No,” cried Bambi sorrowfully, “no, I feel that you were right.”