“Really?” Bambi asked. He became so pleased that he went back to the hazel bush and started striking at it for a little while longer. The velvet was thrown around into the air in long strands.
Meanwhile the squirrel went on speaking. “I really must say that others of your age don’t have a crown as magnificent as yours. You wouldn’t think it’s possible. Anyone who knew you last summer – and I did catch sight of you a few times in the distance - probably wouldn’t believe you’re the same deer ... such thin little sticks you had in those days ...”
Bambi suddenly stopped. “Goodbye,” he said hurriedly, “I have to go!” And he ran off.
He did not like being reminded of the previous summer. It had been a difficult time for him. First of all, after his mother had disappeared he had felt totally abandoned. The winter had been so long, the spring came hesitantly and it was a long time before anything green appeared. Without Mrs. Nettla Bambi would not have been able to manage, but she had taken him in and helped him in every way she could. Nonetheless, he often found himself alone. He missed Gobo all the time, poor Gobo, who must now be dead, like the others. Gobo was continually on his mind at this time, and it was only too late that he realized how lovable and he had been. He rarely saw Faline. She always stayed close to her mother, and turned out to be remarkably shy. Later, when, at last, it had become warm, Bambi began to recover his mood. He wiped his first crown clean of its velvet and was very proud of it. But a bitter disappointment was soon to follow. The other crown-wearers chased him away whenever they saw him. They pushed him away angrily, they would not tolerate him going close to anyone, mishandled him, until, with every step he took, he was afraid of being found by them, afraid of being seen anywhere, and he crept along the most hidden paths with a feeling of being oppressed. At the same time, while the days became warmer and sunnier, he became gripped by a strange unease. His heart became ever more oppressed with a yearning that was both painful and welcome. Whenever he happened to see Faline or one of her friends in the distance he was overcome by a storm of excitement that he could not understand. It even happened quite often that that he would recognize just a trace of where she had been, or that he would draw in breath to test the air and smell that she was nearby. He felt irresistibly drawn to her ever more often. But if he gave in to this longing that drew him to her it always turned out badly. Either he would find no-one and in the end, tired out after wandering about for so long, have to acknowledge that the others were avoiding him, or he came across one of the crowned heads, who would immediately leap out at him, hit him, push him and drive him away, shouting insults. Worst of all, Ronno and Karus had taken against him. No, that was not a happy time.
And now the squirrel had stupidly reminded him of it. He suddenly became quite wild and began to run. The tits and the wrens flew out of the bushes in alarm as he went past them and asked each other urgently, “Who’s that then ... Who was that?” Bambi did not hear them. A pair of magpies laughed nervously, “Has something happened?” The jay was cross and shouted, “What’s going on?” Bambi paid him no attention. Above him the oriole flew from tree to tree, “Good morning ... I’m ... hap-hap-happy!” Bambi made no answer. All around him the thicket was already light and the rays of the sun ran through it in fine beams. Bambi did not bother about that. There was a sudden loud rattling sound from near his feet; a whole rainbow of gorgeous colours flashed up and shone into his eyes so that he was dazzled and he stopped. It was Janello, the pheasant, who had shot into the air in startlement because Bambi had nearly stepped on him. He rushed away, scolding Bambi as he went. “Unheard of!” he shouted in his cracked, crow-like voice. Bambi was bewildered and watched him go. “Well it’s turned out alright, but you really were being very careless ...” said a soft, twittering voice from nearby on the ground. It was Janelline, the pheasant’s wife. She sat, brooding, on the ground. My husband was terribly alarmed,” she continued, dissatisfied, “and so was I. But I can’t move from this spot ... I can’t move from this spot whatever happens ... you could very easily have trodden on me ...”
Bambi was slightly ashamed. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he stuttered, “I wasn’t paying attention.”
Janelline answered, “Oh, please! Maybe it wasn’t quite that bad. But my husband and I, we’re so nervous at present. You understand ...”
Bambi understood nothing at all and went on his way. He had become calmer now. All around him the wood was singing. The light became warmer and more golden, the leaves on the bushes, the grass on the ground and steam rising from the damp earth took on a sharp aroma. Bambi’s youthful strength swelled up in him and stretched out into all his limbs so that he became quite stiff, his movements became hesitant as if he were something artificial.
He went over to a small elder bush and, lifting his knees high into the air, he struck against the ground with powerful blows so that clods of earth flew up from it. His fine, sharp, cloven hoof cut the grass away that was growing here, wild peas and wild leeks, violets and snowdrops, he scraped them all away till the earth lay before him quite dashed and bare. With each blow a dull thump could be heard.
Bambi caught the attention of two moles who had been tumbling around at the roots of an old privet bush. They looked up and watched him. “But ... that’s just ridiculous, what he’s doing,” whispered one of them. “That’s not how you dig ...”