Prevod

Once upon a time there was a deer—a doe—who had twins, a rare thing among deer. A wildcat ate one of them, and only the little female was left. The other does, who were very fond of her, were always tickling her sides.

Every morning, at the first light of dawn, her mother made her recite the deer’s prayer. It goes like this: Always sniff leaves carefully before eating them, because some are poisonous.

Always look carefully at the river and stand still before going down to drink, to make sure there are no caimans. Every half hour, lift your head high and sniff the wind to catch the scent of a jaguar.

When eating grass from the ground, always look among the weeds first to see whether there are any snakes. This is the Lord’s Prayer of little deer. Once the little doe had learned it well, her mother let her wander on her own.

One afternoon, however, as the little doe roamed through the forest eating tender leaves, she suddenly saw, in the hollow of a rotten tree, a cluster of little balls hanging together. They were a dark, slate-like color.

What could they be? She was a little frightened, too; but since she was very mischievous, she gave the things a butt with her head and darted away. Then she saw that the little balls had split open and drops were falling from them. Many tiny golden flies with very slender waists had come out as well and were scurrying over them.

The doe came closer, and the little flies did not sting her. Slowly, then, very slowly, she tasted a drop with the tip of her tongue and licked her lips with great delight: those drops were honey, and delicious honey at that, for the slate-colored balls were a hive of tiny bees that did not sting because they had no stingers. There are bees like that.

In two minutes the little doe had drunk all the honey, and, wild with delight, she went to tell her mother. But her mother scolded her sternly. “Be very careful, my child,” she said, “with bees’ nests. Honey is a lovely thing, but taking it is very dangerous. Never meddle with any nests you find.”

The little doe cried happily, “But they don’t sting, Mama! Horseflies and botflies sting; bees don’t.” “You’re mistaken, my child,” her mother went on. “Today you were lucky, that’s all. There are some very nasty bees and wasps. Be careful, my child, or you’ll bring me terrible sorrow.”

“Yes, Mama! Yes, Mama!” answered the little doe. But the first thing she did the following morning was to follow the paths men had cut through the forest, so she could spot bees’ nests more easily.

At last she found one. This time the nest had dark bees with little yellow bands around their waists, walking over its surface. The nest was different too; but the little doe thought that since these bees were bigger, their honey must be even nicer.

She also remembered her mother’s warning; but she thought her mother was exaggerating, as little does’ mothers always do. So she gave the nest a mighty butt with her head.

If only she had never done it! Out came hundreds of wasps at once, thousands of wasps that stung her all over, covering her whole body with stings—her head, her belly, her tail, and, far worse, her very eyes. More than ten of them stung her in the eyes.

Mad with pain, the little doe ran and ran, crying out, until suddenly she had to stop: she had to stop because she could no longer see. She was blind, completely blind.

Her eyes had swollen enormously, and she could see nothing. So she stood still, trembling with pain and fear, and could only cry desperately:

“Mama!… Mama!…” Her mother, who had gone out to look for her because she had been away so long, found her at last, and she too was overcome with despair at the sight of her blind little doe. Step by step she led her back to their shelter, with her daughter’s head resting against her neck, and all the forest creatures they met along the way came up to look at the poor little doe’s eyes.

The mother did not know what to do. What remedies could she give her? She knew very well that in the village on the other side of the forest lived a man who had medicines. The man was a hunter, and he hunted deer too; but he was a good man.

Even so, the mother was afraid to take her daughter to a man who hunted does. In her desperation, she decided to do it. But first she wanted to ask the ANTEATER, who was a great friend of the man’s, for a letter of recommendation.

So, after leaving the little doe well hidden, she set off and ran through the forest, where a jaguar nearly caught her. When she reached her friend’s den, she was so exhausted she could not take another step.

This friend was, as we have said, an anteater; but he belonged to a small species whose members are yellow, with what looks like a black vest over the yellow, held up by two straps passing over their shoulders. They also have prehensile tails, because they spend most of their lives in trees and hang by their tails.

How had the anteater and the hunter become such close friends? No one in the forest knew; but someday the reason is sure to reach our ears.

And so the poor mother reached the anteater’s den. “Knock! Knock! Knock!” she called, panting. “Who is it?” answered the anteater. “It’s me, the doe!”

“Ah, very well! What does the doe want?” “I’ve come to ask you for a card of introduction to the hunter. My daughter, the little doe, is blind.” “Ah, the little doe?” answered the anteater. “She’s a good soul. If it’s for her, yes, I’ll give you what you want. But you don’t need anything in writing… Show him this, and he’ll help you.”

And with the tip of his tail, the anteater held out to the doe a dried snake’s head, quite dried out, with its venomous fangs still in place.

“Show him this,” the eater of ants added. “You won’t need anything else.” “Thank you, anteater!” the doe answered happily. “You’re a good soul too.”

And she ran off, for it was very late and dawn would soon be breaking. As she passed her shelter, she collected her daughter, who was still whimpering, and together they finally reached the village, where they had to walk very slowly and keep close to the walls so the dogs would not notice them.

At last they stood before the hunter’s door. “Knock! Knock! Knock!” they tapped. “What is it?” a man’s voice answered from inside. “We’re the does!… WE HAVE THE SNAKE’S HEAD!”

The mother hurried to say this so that the man would know at once that they were friends of the anteater. “Ah, ah!” said the man, opening the door. “What’s the matter?”

“We’ve come so you can cure my daughter, the little doe. She’s blind.” And she told the hunter the whole story of the bees. “Hmm!… Let’s see what’s wrong with this young lady,” said the hunter. He went back into the house and came out again with a little high chair, then had the little doe sit in it so he could look at her eyes without bending down too far. He examined her eyes very closely through a large round magnifying glass, while her mother lit them with a storm lantern hanging from her neck.

“This isn’t too serious,” the hunter said at last, helping the little doe down. “But you must be very patient. Put this ointment on her eyes every night, and keep her in the dark for twenty days. After that, put these yellow glasses on her, and she’ll get well.”

“Thank you very much, hunter!” answered the mother, happy and grateful. “How much do I owe you?” “Nothing at all,” the hunter replied with a smile. “But be very careful of the dogs, because just one block away there happens to be a man who keeps dogs for tracking deer.”

The does were terribly frightened; they barely set their hooves down and stopped at every moment. Even so, the dogs caught their scent and chased them half a league into the forest. They ran along a very wide trail, with the little doe in front, bleating as she went.

The cure worked just as the hunter had said. But only the mother knew what it had cost her to keep the little doe shut inside the hollow of a great tree for twenty endless days. Inside, there was nothing to be seen. At last, one morning, the mother pushed aside with her head the great pile of branches she had stacked against the hollow to keep out the light, and the little doe, wearing her yellow glasses, came running out and shouting:

“I can see, Mama! I can see everything now!” And the mother, resting her head against a branch, wept for joy too at seeing her little doe cured. And she recovered completely. But although she was well again, healthy and happy, the little doe had a secret that made her sad. And this was the secret: she wanted more than anything to repay the man who had been so kind to her, but she did not know how.

Until one day she thought she had found a way. She began roaming the edges of the lagoons and marshes, looking for heron feathers to take to the hunter. The hunter, for his part, sometimes remembered the blind little doe he had cured.

One rainy night the man was reading in his room, very pleased because he had just mended the thatched roof and it no longer leaked. He was reading when he heard a knock. He opened the door and saw the little doe, who had brought him a small bundle, a little plume of heron feathers soaked through with rain.

The hunter began to laugh, and the little doe, ashamed because she thought he was laughing at her poor gift, went away very sadly. Then she searched for very large feathers, quite dry and clean, and a week later she returned with them. This time the man, who had laughed out of affection before, did not laugh, because the little doe did not understand his laughter. Instead, he gave her a length of bamboo filled with honey, which the little doe drank in wild delight.

From then on, the little doe and the hunter were great friends. She always insisted on bringing him heron feathers, which are worth a great deal of money, and she would stay for hours chatting with him. He always set an enamel mug full of honey on the table and pulled up the little high chair for his friend. Sometimes he gave her cigars too, which does eat with great pleasure and which do them no harm. They passed the time this way, watching the flames, for the man had a wood-burning stove, while outside the wind and rain shook the thatched eaves of the cottage.

For fear of the dogs, the little doe came only on stormy nights. And when evening fell and it began to rain, the hunter would set the little mug of honey and a napkin on the table while he drank coffee and read, waiting for the familiar KNOCK-KNOCK of his friend the little doe at the door.