In the heart of the forest was a little glade that belonged to Bambi’s mother.
It lay only a few steps from the narrow trail where the deer went bounding
through the woods. But no one could ever have found it who did not know the
little passage leading to it through the thick bushes.
The glade was very narrow, so narrow that there was only room for Bambi
and his mother, and so low that when Bambi’s mother stood up her head was
hidden among the branches. Sprays of hazel, furze, and dogwood, woven about
each other, intercepted the little bit of sunlight that came through the
tree-tops, so that it never reached the ground. Bambi had come into the world
in this glade. It was his mother’s and his.
His mother was lying asleep on the ground. Bambi had dozed a little, too.
But suddenly he had become wide awake. He got up and looked around.
The shadows were so deep where he was that it was almost dark. From the
woods came soft rustlings. Now and again the titmice chirped. Now and again
came the clear hammering of the woodpecker or the joyless call of a crow.
Everything else was still, far and wide. But the air was sizzling in the midday
heat so that you could hear it if you listened closely. And it was stiflingly
sweet.
Bambi looked down at his mother and said “Are you asleep?”
No, his mother was not asleep. She had awakened the moment Bambi got up.
“What are we going to do now?” Bambi asked.
“Nothing,” his mother answered. “We’re going to stay right where we are.
Lie down, like a good boy, and go to sleep.”
But Bambi had no desire to go to sleep. “Come on,” he begged, “let’s go to
the meadow.”
His mother lifted her head. “Go to the meadow,” she said, “go to the
meadow now?” Her voice was so full of astonishment and terror that Bambi became
quite frightened.
“Can’t we go to the meadow?” he asked timidly.
“No,” his mother answered, and it sounded very final. “No, you can’t go
now.”
“Why?” Bambi perceived that something mysterious was involved.
He grew still more frightened, but at the same time he was terribly
anxious to know everything. “Why can’t we go to the meadow?” he asked.
“You’ll find out all about it later when you’re bigger,” his mother replied.
“But,” Bambi insisted, “I’d rather know now.”
“Later,” his mother repeated, “you’re nothing but a baby yet,” she went on
tenderly, “and we don’t talk about such things to children.” She had grown
quite serious. “Fancy going to the meadow at this time of day.
I don’t even like to think of it. Why, it’s broad daylight.”
“But it was broad daylight when we went to the meadow before,” Bambi
objected.
“That’s different,” his mother explained, “it was early in the morning.”
“Can we only go there early in the morning?” Bambi was very curious.
His mother was patient. “Only in the early morning or late evening, ” she
said, “or at night.”
“And never in the daytime, never?”
His mother hesitated. “Well,” she said at last, “sometimes a few of us do
go there in the daytime.... But those are special occasions.... I can’t just explain
it to you, you are too young yet.... Some of us do go there.... But we are
exposed to the greatest danger.”
“What kind of danger?” asked Bambi all attention.
But his mother did not want to go on with the conversation. “We’re in
danger, and that’s enough for you, my son. You can’t understand such things
yet.”
Bambi thought that he could understand everything except why his mother
did not want to tell him the truth. But he kept silent.
“That’s what life
means for us,” his mother went on, “though we all love the daylight, especially
when we’re young, we have to lie quiet all day long. We can only roam around
from evening till morning. Do you understand?”
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