Bambi was by himself. He went over to the water that flowed quietly between the reeds and the willows on the bank.
Ever since he had been keeping to his own company he had come more and more often down here. There were not many paths here and he almost never came across any other deer. But that was just what he wanted. For his thoughts had become earnest and his spirit was heavy. He did not know what was happening inside him, and nor did he try to work it out. He merely tried to puzzle it out in a confused way, with no plan, and it seemed to him that his whole life had become darker.
When he went to stand at the riverside he would spend a long time there. He went to a place where the water flowed in a gentle curve and where it was possible to see a long way. The cool breathing of the ripples brought an unfamiliar smell with it, a smell that was refreshing but bitter, a smell that awoke a sense of being carefree and trusting. Bambi stood there and watched the ducks as they enjoyed one another’s company. They chatted with each other without cease, friendly, serious and clever. There was a couple of mothers there, each of them surrounded by a crowd of children who received regular instruction and who never tired of learning. Sometimes, one of the mothers would give out a warning sign, and the young ducks would rush out in all directions, without hesitation they would glide out as if broadcast from a sower’s hand and would do so in complete silence. At one moment Bambi saw how the little ones, who still could not fly, would go into the thick reeds, carefully, without touching any of the stalks which, if they moved, would betray their locations. Here and there he saw their small, dark bodies in among the rushes as they slowly hid themselves away. Then he saw nothing more of them. A short call from the mother, and they would all swarm around her in an instant. In this instant her flock had gathered back together and they began, as before, to cruise along thoughtfully. This filled Bambi with admiration every time he saw it. It was like a work of art.
One time, after one of these brief alarms, he asked one of the mothers, “What was all that for? I’ve been watching carefully, but didn’t see anything.”
“Well, there was nothing to see,” the duck replied.
Another time, one of the children gave the warning signal. He turned round as quick as a flash, steered his way through the rushes to the bank where Bambi was standing and stepped up onto it.
Bambi asked the little one, “What happened now then? I didn’t see anything.”
“Well there was nothing to see,” the young duck answered. Like a wise old man he shook his feathers, carefully laid the tips of his wings down into the right place and went back into the water.
But Bambi continued to think about the ducks. He understood that they were more watchful than he was, that their hearing was sharper and their eyesight better. When he stood here, the anxiety that at other times he was always full was slightly relieved.
And he enjoyed talking with the ducks. They did not talk about things he heard about so often from the others. They talked about the capacious sky, about the wind and the distant fields where they would enjoy lots of delicious food.