Bambi

by Felix Salten

Then Faline would always say, “Why’s that then, when it’s a pleasure?” And Mrs. Nettla would pretend to be cross and say, “It’s a bad sort of pleasure, and I’ve had enough of it. Everyone enjoyed chatting very much. They sat next to each other and talked. The children had never had as much to listen to.

Even one or two of the princes came and kept company with them now. At first it felt a little awkward, especially as the children were still somewhat shy with them. But that passed quite quickly and then there was a pleasant atmosphere. Bambi admired Prince Ronno, who was an impressive gentleman, and he felt a tempestuous love for the young, beautiful Karus. They had cast off their crowns and Bambi would often stare at the two round, slate-grey discs on their heads where glamour, splendour and many tender points could be seen. Karus seemed very elegant and distinguished.

It was tremendously exciting when one of the princes would tell him about what had happened to him. On Ronno’s left foreleg there was a big lump which was now overgrown with fur. He would often ask, “Have you ever noticed how I limp on this leg?” Everyone was prompt to assure him that no-one had ever noticed any limp at all. That was what Ronno wanted to hear. And it really was true to say that it was barely noticeable. “Yes,” he would then continue, “I escaped from something very dangerous that day.” And so Ronno would go on to recount how he had been taken by surprise by Him and hurled fire at him. But he was only hit here on his leg. It hurt so much it could drive you mad. But it was only here, on his leg, that he had been hit. It hurt nearly enough to drive him crazy. No wonder. The bone had been shattered. But Ronno did not panic. He got up and went, on just three legs. He kept going despite the pain, as he was well aware that he was being chased. He ran and ran until night fell. Then he allowed himself some rest. But the following morning he moved on again until he felt he was in safety. Then he groomed himself, hidden and alone, and waited for the wound to close up. Eventually he came out of his place of safety and he was a hero. He had a limp, but that was barely noticeable.

Now, when they were all together in one place so often and for so long, when so many stories were told, Bambi heard more about Him than he ever had before. They talked about how horrible he was to look at. Nobody could bear looking into this pale face. This was something that Bambi already knew from his own experience. They even talked about the smell of him that spread all around, and here, too, Bambi would have been able to contribute to the discussion if he had not been too well brought up to join in with the conversations of grown ups. They said this scent was of a rather puzzling sort, always changing but instantly recognizable as it was always remarkably stimulating, unidentifiable, mysterious, but in itself rather disgusting. They talked about Him only needing two legs to walk on and about the wonderful strength of both his hands. Some of them did not exactly know what hands are. But Mrs. Nettla explained it to them. “I don’t see anything surprising about it. The squirrel can do everything you’ve just mentioned and does it in just the way he wants to, and every little mouse can do the same.” She turned her head disrespectfully away from them. “Oh!” the others exclaimed and they made her understand that it’s far from being the same thing. But Mrs. Nettla was not to be intimidated. “And what about the falcon?” she declared, “what about the buzzard? And the owl? They’ve only got two legs, and when they want to take hold of something, as you call it, they just stand on one leg and hold it with the other. That’s a lot harder to do, and I’m sure He can’t do it. “Mrs. Nettla was not in any way inclined to admire anything about Him. She hated him with all her heart. “He’s disgusting,” she said, and nothing would change her mind. And there was nobody who contradicted her, as there was nobody who found Him very lovable. But the matter became even more confusing as they talked about it, saying He had a third hand, not just two hands but a third hand as well. Mrs. Nettla’s reply was curt. “That’s just an old wives’ tale,” she concluded. “I just don’t believe it.”

Now Ronno joined in. “So what?” he asked, “and what do you think it was that He used to shatter my leg? Just tell me that, will you!”

Mrs. Nettla gave a glib retort. “That’s your affair, my love! He’s never shattered anything of mine.”

Auntie Ena said, “I’ve seen lots of different things in my life, and I think there must be something in it if he insists He’s got a third hand.”

Young Karus observed politely, “I can only agree with you there. There’s a crow who’s a friend of mine ...” He stopped in embarrassment for a short while and looked at all the people there as if he were afraid of being laughed at. But when he saw that they were listening to him and giving him all their attention, he continued. “The crow is exceptionally talented, I can’t deny that, she’s astonishingly talented. She told me that He really does have three hands, but not all the time. It’s that third hand, the crow told me, that’s the nasty one. It doesn’t grow out of Him like the other two; He carries it hanging on his shoulder. The crow says she can always tell whether He or any of his kind is dangerous or not. If He comes along without that third hand then He isn’t dangerous.”

Mrs. Nettla laughed. “This crow of yours is just stupid, Karus, take it from me, my love. If she was as clever as she thinks she is she’d know that He’s always dangerous –always!”

But the others had something to say too. “But there are some of them who are not dangerous at all,” Bambi’s mother thought. “You can see it straight away.”