In early summer the trees stood still under the blue sky, held their limbs outstretched and received the direct rays of the sun. On the shrubs and bushes in the undergrowth, the flowers unfolded their red, white and yellow stars. On some the seed pods had begun to appear again. They perched innumerable on the fine tips of the branches, tender and firm and resolute, and seemed like small, clenched fists. Out of the earth came whole troops of flowers, like motley stars, so that the soil of the twilit forest floor shone with a silent, ardent, colorful gladness. Everything smelled of fresh leaves, of blossoms, of moist clods and green wood. When morning broke, or when the sun went down, the whole woods resounded with a thousand voices, and from morning till night, the bees hummed, the wasps droned, and filled the fragrant stillness with their murmur. These were the earliest days of Bambi's life. He walked behind his mother on a narrow track that ran through the midst of the bushes. How pleasant it was to walk there. The thick foliage stroked his flanks softly and bent supplely aside. The track appeared to be barred and obstructed in a dozen places, and yet they advanced with the greatest ease. There were tracks like this everywhere, running crisscross through the whole woods. His mother knew them all, and if Bambi sometimes stopped before a bush as if it were an impenetrable green wall, she always found where the path went through, without hesitation or searching. Bambi questioned her. He loved to ask his mother questions. It was the pleasantest thing for him to ask a question and then to hear what answer his mother would give. Bambi was never surprised that question after question should come into his mind continually and without effort. He found it perfectly natural, and it delighted him very much. It was very delightful, too, to wait expectantly till the answer came. If it turned out the way he wanted, he was satisfied. Sometimes, of course, he did not understand, but that was pleasant also because he was kept busy picturing what he had not understood, in his own way. Sometimes he felt very sure that his mother was not giving him a complete answer, was intentionally not telling him all she knew. And at first, that was very pleasant, too. For then there would remain in him such a lively curiosity, such suspicion, mysteriously and joyously flashing through him, such anticipation, that he would become anxious and happy at the same time, and grow silent. Once he asked, “Whom does this trail belong to, Mother?” His mother answered, “To us.” Bambi asked again, “To you and me?” “Yes.” “To us two?” “Yes.” “Only to us two?” “No,” said his mother, “to us deer.” “What are deer?” Bambi asked, and laughed. His mother looked at him from head to foot and laughed too. “You are a deer and I am a deer. We're both deer,” she said. “Do you understand?” Bambi sprang into the air for joy. “Yes, I understand,” he said. “I'm a little deer and you're a big deer, aren't you?” His mother nodded and said, “Now you see.” But Bambi grew serious again. “Are there other deer besides you and me?” he asked. “Certainly,” his mother said. “Many of them.” “Where are they?” cried Bambi. “Here, everywhere.” “But I don't see them.” “You will soon,” she said. “When?” Bambi stood still, wild with curiosity. “Soon.” The mother walked on quietly. Bambi followed her. He kept silent for he was wondering what “soon” might mean. He came to the conclusion that “soon” was certainly not “now”. But he wasn't sure at what time “soon” stopped being “soon” and began to be a “long while”. Suddenly he asked, “Who made this trail?” “We,” his mother answered. Bambi was astonished. “We? You and I?” The mother said, “Well, we… we deer.” Bambi asked, “Which deer?” “All of us,” his mother said sharply. They walked on. Bambi was in high spirits and felt like leaping off the path, but he stayed close to his mother. Something rustled in front of them, close to the ground. The fern fronds and wood-lettuce concealed something that advanced in violent motion. A threadlike little cry shrilled out piteously; then all was still. Only the leaves and the blades of grass shivered back into place. A ferret had caught a mouse. He came slinking by, slid sideways, and prepared to enjoy his meal. “What was that?” asked Bambi excitedly. “Nothing,” his mother soothed him. “But,” Bambi trembled, “but I saw it.” “Yes, yes,” said his mother. “Don't be frightened. The ferret has killed a mouse.” But Bambi was dreadfully frightened. A vast, unknown horror clutched at his heart. It was long before he could speak again. Then he asked, “Why did he kill the mouse?” “Because—” his mother hesitated. “Let us walk faster,” she said, as though something had just occurred to her and as though she had forgotten the question. She began to hurry. Bambi sprang after her. A long pause ensued. They walked on quietly again. Finally Bambi asked anxiously, “Shall we kill a mouse, too, sometime?” “No,” replied his mother. “Never?” asked Bambi. “Never,” came the answer. “Why not?” asked Bambi, relieved. “Because we never kill anything,” said his mother simply. Bambi grew happy again. Loud cries were coming from a young ash tree which stood near their path. The mother went along without noticing them, but Bambi stopped inquisitively. Overhead two jays were quarreling about a nest they had plundered. “Get away, you murderer!” cried one. “Keep cool, you fool,” the other answered, “I'm not afraid of you.” “Look for your own nests,” the first one shouted, “or I'll break your head for you.” He was beside himself with rage. “What vulgarity!” he chattered. “What vulgarity!” The other jay had spied Bambi and fluttered down a few branches to shout at him. “What are you gawking at, you freak?” he screamed. 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.”
费利克斯·萨尔腾 (Felix Salten). 小鹿斑比 Bambi(中英双语) (双语译林 壹力文库) (pp. 36-40). 译林出版社. Kindle 版本.
