Bambi's Children

  “We were afraid . . .” Geno began.

  “I should hope you were,” said the hare. “I should just hope you were. Chronic nervous prostration. It’s the only way to be safe, I assure you.”

  “We mean, we heard a sound . . . we thought perhaps that the cat . . .”

  The hare opened and closed his eyes with great rapidity. “Oh, yes,” he said very sadly, “that was a cousin of mine. We are a very large family, you know. He was a dear boy.”

  “You must hate the cat,” Gurri said.

  “Hate the cat!” The hare looked tremblingly fierce. “I wish I were a dog, just for a minute. Oh, how I wish I could be a dog! That cat murdered my cousin for the sheer pleasure of it. He wasn’t even hungry.”

  Geno shuddered.

  The hare said violently, “I’m sorry if such a thought revolts you, my boy, but we hunted creatures must face things as they are. The fox is less horrible than the cat, for the fox is wild and preys for food. The cat kills because he has a liking for it.”

  “And the dog is the opposite of the cat!”

  “The dog is the cat’s sworn enemy.”

  Gurri thought: “I wish the brown He would bring Hector,” but then she trembled at the idea of that great creature roaming in the woods.

  Yet surely anything was better than the cat. As time went on, the frozen, mangled corpses of the forest folk became a commonplace sight. No bird or animal dared go to feed on the grain or clover for fear of that slinking shadow and those ripping claws.

  Finally the gamekeeper realized what was amiss. He found the paw-marks in the snow.

  “H’m!” he murmured. “So that’s the trouble! Well, I guess we can fix that.”

  He dropped his load of sweet clover and turned back on his tracks. Geno, Gurri, the hare and the squirrel listened to his retreating footsteps.

  “Is He going to do something?” the squirrel asked.

  “I don’t know. I think He saw the footprints.” Geno turned as Faline hurried from behind a bush.

  “Both of you children are becoming careless now,” she scolded. “You must hide when He comes.”

  “We would have,” Geno reassured her, “if He hadn’t turned back.”

  The hare interrupted them. “Hush,” he whispered, “I smell something . . . it’s the dog! Oh, my ears and whiskers, hide now in earnest. The dog can be terrible!”

  The animals scattered, all of them forgetting that but a short while back they had almost hoped for the dog. Presently the brown He appeared with Hector at His heels.

  Faline shuddered. “My poor child,” she said to Gurri, “did you live with that thing?”

  Gurri nodded. “He’s His servant. Everything that He wants, he does.”

  The gamekeeper showed Hector the killer’s tracks; but in the snow the scent was thin. Hector tried hard, sniffing with his great nose and casting eager glances all around.

  The gamekeeper encouraged him in every way he knew.

  “Find him, boy!” he urged. “Find!”

  Hector sniffed and wheezed obligingly, and ran around in harried circles. If the cat had not had an uneasy conscience, all might have been well for him; but he was nervous. The great dog at times ran uncomfortably close. The cat decided on flight. He sprang from the elbow of a branch where he was hidden and ran. Hector took after him in full cry. The cat took to the trees and ran along their branches, but Hector could see him now. A clearing stopped the chase. There was nowhere else for the cat to jump. He could not go back because of Him. So the cat set his back against the tree trunk and showered abuse on the dog.

  Hector, leaping and lunging at the foot of the tree, answered him hoarsely. Even now the cat had a chance. The dog’s eyes, when he jumped, were close. Two lightning strokes of the cat’s claws and that would be that. The cat gathered himself to spring, but He came. The thunder-stick spoke sharply.

  When the black body dropped to earth, Hector sniffed at it without much interest. Rage had left him. His job was done.

  Chapter Seventeen

  SOME WEEKS LATER THE COLD relaxed its grip, sunshine inlaid the branches of the trees with gold; the smooth snow glittered like a vast expanse of treasure.

  Soon the pool rose as the snow melted; thaw-water cut little rivers in the forest paths. In the early mornings frost halted the rushing of these rivulets and froze them solid.

  On one such morning Bambi visited the sleeping place. He moved with quiet purpose, unhurried, yet with urgency in every muscle.

  “Hunters have been in the forest,” he said quietly. “There’ll be no sleep for us today.”

  “Hunters!” Faline shuddered. “You mean it is the time?”

  “I think so.” The great buck examined Gurri’s shoulder. “Your wound seems to be quite healed.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Bambi said nothing. He was thinking of this Him and that Him he had seen driving fresh-cut stakes into the ground at regular intervals. This activity, he knew, always presaged the great slaughter. He turned his plan over in his mind, testing each link of it for some recognizable flaw. It seemed secure.

  “Follow me,” he said gently.

  They fell in behind him, Faline trembling, Geno stolidly trying to conceal his nervousness, Gurri almost with elation. Unlike most of the bucks at this season of the year, Bambi had kept his crown and following those branching antlers was a simple undertaking.

  He led them back to that section of the forest he had haunted when he sought to rescue Gurri. He had noticed that game tracks there were sparse. All the animals fought shy of coming near Him. Even the deer who fed on the oats hurried through the fringes of the forest when their appetite was satisfied and hid themselves within its depths.

  Bambi took his charges to the covert where he himself had lain. Stripped of summer’s foliage it was, of course, much thinner than before; but still he did not hesitate. Taking no heed of Faline’s terrified protests, he crossed the well-worn path, which led to the place where the brown He lived, and stopped.

  “Now we must separate,” he said, “each one going to his own place.”

  “But supposing one of us is caught?” Geno tried to keep his trust in Bambi, but the close scent worried him.

  “If that should be, the one who is taken must sacrifice himself,” Bambi said, “but I believe we shall be quite safe. The sticks-in-the-ground are deeper in the forest.”

  “I wish we had brought Rolla and the children,” Faline sighed.

  “It would have been impossible to bring so many,” Bambi replied, “but I spoke with them. I hope they’ll be all right.”

  “Shall I lie here?” Gurri asked.

  “Yes, that looks safe.”

  “Here’s a big place.” Geno raised his head above a bramble. “Mother and I could hide here together.”

  “I think that would be better, Bambi,” whispered Faline. “He’s still nervous, you know.”

  “Very well,” Bambi agreed. “Now, when He comes, behave as though you were rocks. Do not move. Don’t even breathe more than you have to, especially when the great noise starts.”

  “Yes, Father,” they murmured.

  The day wore on. In perfect silence, in deathly stillness, the roe-deer lay concealed. Around the bush roots snow had melted, leaving hummocks of brown and lifeless grass. They melted into it, pressing deep down to the cold security of earth.

  The sun swung up above the trees. Shadows advanced before it like searching black fingers. At long last came the sound of human voices. A flock of birds flew up from their search for food. The flapping of their wings sounded, in that tense, expectant air, like thunderclaps. Then silence reigned: the dull, ingrowing quiet of fear.

  The breeze was sour with the manifold scents of Him; the sound of voices carried on it.

  The gamekeeper admonished: “Remember, gentlemen, you’re using shot. No large game. And leave the owls alone.”

  The hunters stepped into the wood, each with his loader. They took their positions by the stakes driven
into the frozen ground. The beaters followed them to take up their positions.

  The roe-deer did not move.

  At last, from the far distance, from the deep interior of the forest, came a note of music. It was the signal horn. Close, very close, another answered it.

  Immediately pandemonium broke loose. The beaters rushed to attack the trees with sticks and branches. Their voices made great roarings:

  “Ho, there! Ho, ho, ho!”

  “Yah! Yah, yah, yah-ha!”

  The sleeping trees said nothing. Their branches cracked, their dried up twigs flew in all directions.

  “Come on! Up, there! Get up!”

  “Ho! Ho, ho, ho, there!”

  The roe-deer could hear the pheasants floundering aimlessly about, unwilling to fly, knowing too well the fate that lay in store for those that flew. Yet nerves could stand so much, no more. A young bird broke. Ten, twenty followed it. The air was full of the flapping of their urgent wings.

  “Bang, bang! Bang, bang!” went the thunder-sticks

  “Bravo, you bagged that one nicely,” cried a voice.

  The creaking of the cart that followed the hunters was heard. The beaters began their violence again.

  Geno said fearfully, “It’s farther away.”

  Faline raised her head. “Yes,” she agreed, “I think it is. But keep your head down.”

  They saw Bambi cautiously raise himself from cover.

  “Father,” Gurri cried, “how did you know?”

  “Hush,” he said, “it’s something we have to thank you for, really. But wait a while. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  The shadows of the trees reached out and took him. He was gone.

  “Oh, dear,” Faline said, “I hope he’ll be all right!”

  “I don’t know what we’d do without Father,” Gurri said wistfully.

  “My belly’s cold. I’m stiff,” Geno grumbled.

  “Patience, my son. You must learn how to rest yourself by moving no more than an ear or an eyelid.”

  A fresh salvo of shots broke out, but farther away. Bambi reappeared.

  “All right,” he said. “Get up.”

  Geno tried to, staggering on numb legs.

  “Something terrible has happened to me,” he quavered. “My legs won’t work.”

  Bambi smiled deep in his eyes. “You’ll be all right. Walk a little.”

  Geno tried, his knees buckling. He felt agonies as blood began to flow through his body.

  “Oh,” he cried, “oh!”

  “Keep trying, son.”

  A shout broke out from the depths of the forest.

  “A fox! There goes a fox!”

  Firing began again.

  A howl was heard from the bushes.

  “Hi, take it easy, will you! You’re going to kill someone in a minute!”

  The gamekeeper cried:

  “Say, listen, don’t kill the beaters!”

  A muffled laugh and a tremulous reply: “Sorry, I saw him moving.”

  “He won’t be moving much longer if you don’t watch what you’re doing!”

  “There he goes! Look! Gone away over there!”

  A single shot rang out.

  “Oh, nice shot! Bowled him right over!”

  Slowly the hunt moved away, describing a great circle through the forest. Slowly, too, the day waned. Dusk spun its first thin webs and with it, meshed within it, came peace. The cries of the hunters, the resounding of the thunder-sticks, were stilled.

  Bambi said quietly, “Now we can go. Now it is over.”

  There was sadness in his voice, sorrow for those who would no longer lead their harmless lives within the forest’s fastnesses. There was relief, too, that he and his were not among the dead.

  Faline said, “Why must this happen, Bambi? Why must we always undergo this terror?”

  Bambi sighed. He knew no answer.

  Mourning held its silent court among the trees. There were those that were dead. There were those that were maimed and crippled who, by the laws of the forest, must also surely die.

  Slowly, in single file, the roe-deer took their path for home, Bambi in front, Gurri bringing up the rear. They passed a pheasant lying quietly in a bank of snow. His metallic feathers shimmered, but his eyes were dull.

  “What is it, pheasant?” Gurri asked gently.

  The bird’s small head was proudly borne. “It is nothing,” it said. “I have an appointment, that is all.”

  “An appointment!” Gurri was surprised. “Here, on the ground?”

  “Yes,” the bird replied, “here—on the ground.”

  “How very strange,” Gurri said. “If I had wings, I’d keep all my appointments in the trees.”

  “Yes,” the bird said, “I always have. But when the time comes, this one must be kept wherever you may be.”

  Gurri felt terror grip her heart with jaws of ice.

  “I don’t understand,” she faltered.

  The pheasant’s eyes had closed, “This,” he murmured, “is the great migration.”

  Bambi paused where the path turned.

  “Come, Gurri,” he said, “there is nothing to be done.” With aching heart, Gurri obeyed his summons. Somewhere a faint voice called to them.

  “Faline, oh, Faline, Ma’am, don’t you see me?”

  They stopped aghast.

  “It’s the hare!” Geno cried.

  “Yes,” said the voice, “it’s the poor old hare.”

  “Oh, dear hare,” Faline sobbed, “you’re not badly hurt?”

  “Really, I swear I don’t know, Ma’am. It’s my front paw. . . .”

  They found him crouching in a patch of reeds where he had crawled.

  Bambi said, “What is it, my friend?”

  “Oh, Bambi!” the hare said dolefully. “Really, if I had known you were here I wouldn’t have bothered . . .”

  “You mustn’t talk like that, friend hare.” Bambi’s own heart was heavier with extra grief.

  “Friend!” the hare muttered proudly. “That’s what I told them all. Bambi’s my very good friend, I said. It made a difference, too. But He,” the hare’s ears drooped, “He didn’t understand.”

  “But you’re alive,” Gurri said cheerfully.

  “And while there’s life, there’s hope,” added Geno.

  “Do you really think so?” the hare inquired. “You know, I’ve never had much hope. Hope’s for more important beings than I. All I ever really wanted was a little peace and a dandelion growing near by. . . .”

  “I’m sure you’ll have them both,” Faline said.

  “Thank you, Ma’am. You know, I’ve been second to none in my admiration for you. Second to none, I swear it by my ears. . . . But now, I can’t hobble, do you see, Ma’am. I’m here, and here I stay.”

  “That’s just what you mustn’t do,” objected Bambi. “Tomorrow He will come searching for the wounded, and those He finds He’ll slay with the thunder-stick. You must make shift to hide.” He looked around. “Come,” he encouraged, “there’s good cover here, not very far for you to go.”

  “Please make the effort, hare,” urged Faline.

  “I’ll try, Ma’am, if you say so.”

  “You must,” said Geno.

  Painfully the hare rose. His injured paw dragged uselessly across the snow; but, hobbling painfully, he made the shelter of a thicket.

  “There,” said Faline joyfully. “There’s even a little grass. Stay very quietly now. Don’t move at all. I’m sure you’ll soon be better.”

  “Why, Ma’am, that’s very good of you. I’ll stay here just as you say. Oh dear, I’m glad to see you are all well. Oh, believe me, Ma’am, I am.”

  “Thank you, hare,” said Faline, “We’ll come to see you just as soon as possible.”

  They left him in his hideaway panting slightly with his pain, but with new hope.

  “How brave they all are when they’ve been hurt,” mused Gurri.

  “Yes, in the end, they’re brave,” said F
aline.

  Bambi was a little way ahead. Suddenly he stopped, wheeled and plunged into the bushes. Frightened, the others hurried after him.

  “What is it, Bambi?” gasped Faline; but she did not need an answer. Stretched in front of Bambi lay a roe-deer.

  “Rapo,” Bambi cried, “are you badly hurt?”

  The roe-deer slightly raised his head, uncrowned because of the season.

  “Ah, Bambi!” he gasped. “Yes, it’s bad.”

  “Don’t give way,” Bambi implored. “Don’t lose heart.”

  But even as he spoke, he saw the holes in the roe-deer’s breast. Rapo breathed with difficulty.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t learn fast enough. . . .”

  His great eyes opened. They heard the rattle in his throat.

  He died.

  Chapter Eighteen

  IT WAS SOME TIME LATER during that melancholy trek that they found Rolla. They made slow progress, pausing here and there to visit this injured animal or that. Geno and Gurri never ceased to marvel at the fortitude of the wounded pheasants. Not even the severest injury could break their pride. With shattered wings they were not dismayed in their efforts to ascend, still hopeful after a thousand failures.

  “Do you suppose they don’t feel pain as we do?” Geno asked.

  Gurri wrinkled her forehead between her eyes. “They must feel it,” she decided. “Birds are queer creatures, different from us. They have great pride.”

  “Perhaps it’s because they can fly,” suggested Geno. “How could a thing with wings be humble?”

  “Do you suppose there’s any place where He is not?”

  “How can there be? The land finishes at the forest’s edge.”

  “But it doesn’t. Don’t forget I’ve been beyond that, and from the place where the brown He kept me, I could see the land going on forever.”

  “Well, there must be Hes there, or the birds would go. They can fly far. Some of them tell the tallest stories, about pools so big that it takes weeks to fly across them.”

  “Perhaps it’s true.”

  “I wouldn’t know. A swallow told me that even though the pools are made of water, you can’t drink it.”

  Faline said anxiously, “Geno! Gurri! Come here.”

  They hurried forward.