Bambi sprang away terrified. He reached his mother and walked behind her again, frightened and obedient, thinking she had not noticed his absence.
After a pause he asked, “Mother, what is vulgarity?”
“I don’t know,” said his mother.
Bambi thought a while; then he began again. “Why were they both so angry with each other, Mother?” he asked.
“They were fighting over food,” his mother answered.
“Will we fight over food, too, sometime?” Bambi asked.
“No,” said his mother.
Bambi asked, “Why not?”
“Because there is enough for all of us,” his mother replied.
Bambi wanted to know something else. “Mother,” he began.
“What is it?”
“Will we be angry with each other sometime?” he asked.
“No, child,” said his mother, “we don’t do such things.”
They walked along again. Presently it grew light ahead of them. It grew very bright. The trail ended with the tangle of vines and bushes. A few steps more and they would be in the bright open space that spread out before them. Bambi wanted to bound forward, but his mother had stopped.
“What is it?” he asked impatiently, already delighted.
“It’s the meadow,” his mother answered.
“What is a meadow?” asked Bambi insistently.
His mother cut him short. “You’ll soon find out for yourself,” she said. She had become very serious and watchful. She stood motionless, holding her head high and listening intently. She sucked in deep breathfuls of air and looked very severe.
“It’s all right,” she said at last, “we can go out.”
Bambi leaped forward, but his mother barred the way.
“Wait till I call you,” she said. Bambi obeyed at once and stood still. “That’s right,” said his mother, to encourage him, “and now listen to what I am saying to you.” Bambi heard how seriously his mother spoke and felt terribly excited.
“Walking on the meadow is not so simple,” his mother went on. “It’s a difficult and dangerous business. Don’t ask me why. You’ll find that out later on. Now do exactly as I tell you to. Will you?”
“Yes,” Bambi promised.
“Good,” said his mother, “I’m going out alone first. Stay here and wait. And don’t take your eyes off me for a minute. If you see me run back here, then turn round and run as fast as you can. I’ll catch up with you soon.” She grew silent and seemed to be thinking. Then she went on earnestly, “Run anyway as fast as your legs will carry you. Run even if something should happen … even if you should see me fall to the ground. … Don’t think of me, do you understand? No matter what you see or hear, start running right away and just as fast as you possibly can. Do you promise me to do that?”
“Yes,” said Bambi softly. His mother spoke so seriously.
She went on speaking. “Out there if I should call you,” she said, “there must be no looking around and no questions, but you must get behind me instantly. Understand that. Run without pausing or stopping to think. If I begin to run, that means for you to run too, and no stopping until we are back here again. You won’t forget, will you?”
“No,” said Bambi in a troubled voice.
“Now I’m going ahead,” said his mother, and seemed to become calmer.
She walked out. Bambi, who never took his eyes off her, saw how she moved forward with slow, cautious steps. He stood there full of expectancy, full of fear and curiosity. He saw how his mother listened in all directions, saw her shrink together, and shrank together himself, ready to leap back into the thickets. Then his mother grew calm again. She stretched herself. Then she looked around satisfied and called, “Come!”
Bambi bounded out. Joy seized him with such tremendous force that he forgot his worries in a flash. Through the thicket he could see only the green treetops overhead. Once in a while he caught a glimpse of the blue sky.
Now he saw the whole heaven stretching far and wide and he rejoiced without knowing why. In the forest he had seen only a stray sunbeam now and then, or the tender, dappled light that played through the branches. Suddenly he was standing in the blinding hot sunlight whose boundless power was beaming upon him. He stood in the splendid warmth that made him shut his eyes but which opened his heart.
Bambi was as though bewitched. He was completely beside himself with pleasure. He was simply wild. He leaped into the air three, four, five times. He had to do it. He felt a terrible desire to leap and jump. He stretched his young limbs joyfully. His breath came deeply and easily. He drank in the air. The sweet smell of the meadow made him so wildly happy that he had to leap into the air.
Bambi was a child. If he had been a human child he would have shouted. But he was a young deer, and deer cannot shout, at least not the way human children do. So he rejoiced with his legs and with his whole body as he flung himself into the air. His mother stood by and was glad. She saw that Bambi was wild. She watched how he bounded into the air and fell again awkwardly, in one spot. She saw how he stared around him, dazed and bewildered, only to leap up over and over again. She understood that Bambi knew only the narrow deer tracks in the forest and how his brief life was used to the limits of the thicket. He did not move from one place because he did not understand how to run freely around the open meadow.
So she stretched out her forefeet and bent laughingly towards Bambi for a moment. Then she was off with one bound, racing around in a circle so that the tall grass stems swished.
Bambi was frightened and stood motionless. Was that a sign for him to run back to the thicket? His mother had said to him, “Don’t worry about me no matter
