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[D a n c e r s by John Henry Fleming]
It is said that the Lakas are natural dancers because when they walk from hut
to hut or village to village they must spin, shuffle, and slide over
treacherous, cliff-hugging paths and the knife-sharp rocks that stipple their jagged
island. So rarely do the Lakas encounter flat earth that when they do their
knees bow and their feet roll over onto their ankles and their torsos sway and
totter until they finally collapse to the dirt and struggle for hours to regain
their feet, like turtles flipped on their backs. The skips and twists in the
Lakas' walk form a kind of dance, and one they must learn early or else risk
tumbling down spiked hillsides into the gnashing surf. But that is only part
of it. For the Lakas, all life is a dance, one to be shaped and practiced
until it achieves a form so marvelous and real it will survive its dancer.
Every important event in a Laka's life gets expressed in a common language of
dance steps. Because of this, a Laka may recall his entire life by joining
these steps into one continuous life-dance. The dance embodies the history and
personality of its dancer, so much so that Lakas make no real distinction
between a person and his dance. If several Lakas long for the company of an
absent friend, they may elect someone to perform part of their friend's life
dance. Then, magically, the performer seems transformed into the friend. This
little ceremony brings comfort to the families and friends of loved ones on long
journeys and those who've passed away. It brings back ancestors for the
delight of descendants who never knew them and raises long-dead chiefs, whose dance
steps still edify and inspire.
A Laka's dancing life begins when its first step is recorded in front of the
entire village.
The child's father holds its arms while music is played, speeches are made,
and fires burn at the cardinal points, the shadows creating new geometries on
the rocky earth. Finally, haltingly, the child lifts a knee and steps into a
life of dance.
"Let the dance begin!" shouts the village chief.
"And let the dance be named Rabu!" shout the child's parents, announcing for
the first time the name of their child--and his dance.
As the child grows older, his life-dance grows longer and more complex. When
he travels, he will add movements to recount each of the islands and peoples
he visits. When he marries, a great ceremony will be held in which bride and
groom adopt one dance step from each other's life dance, the more sentimental
couples choosing each other's first step to signify a new beginning. If the
child is foolish enough to grow into a criminal, his crimes, too, will be
recorded in the life dance. And the dance steps for crimes are not ones that any
dancer would choose to perform: the dance step for stealing is to spank
yourself repeatedly on the bare buttocks, and the dance step for adultery is to lie
across jagged rocks while others walk over your back.
When a Laka dies, his life dance is performed by friends and relatives in a
funeral ceremony that can take hours, with mourners bursting into tears as the
dance recalls for them the poignant moments of the deceased's life, though the
mourners take solace in knowing that the deceased's life dance lives on, and
that a Laka is never really dead until his life dance is forgotten, which may
take several generations or more, depending on the respect and affection he
generated and the skill with which he danced.
This is the reason the Lakas are such perfectionists. If they wish their
dance to survive them, they'd better make it memorable, and a memorable dance
must have both interesting choreography and skillful dancing.
The choreography of every Laka's dance is determined solely by the important
events in his life. For this reason, the Lakas often seem to base their life
decisions purely on the dance steps that will follow. They'll visit a certain
island just to add that island's dance step to their own dance. They'll
build a new hut just to add the building-a-hut step to their dance. They have
even been known to trip and fall on purpose, breaking an arm just to add the
wrist-swinging, thigh-slapping motion of an arm-break to their dance. When
spouses fight, they accuse each other of marrying them solely to steal their dance
step.
This is how the Lakas give shape to their lives and why, for them, every life
event is experienced not just for its own sake but also for the sake of its
effect on their dance. Some would say that the Lakas' real living takes place
only when they dance, so that for them life and art are reversed, and living
is worthwhile mainly for the life it brings to art. But perhaps this is the
price they must pay to fulfill for their deepest desire: that upon their deaths
they will have shaped their lives into a dance so inspiring and beautiful that
future generations will long to dance in their steps, bringing them back to
life, leap by leap, spin by spin.
John Henry Fleming is the author of a novel, The Legend of the Barefoot Mailman (Faber & Faber). His short stories have appeared in McSweeney's, Rosebud, The North American Review, and Ducky. He teaches creative writing at the University of South Florida and is a research associate at the Center for Fictional Anthropology (CFA). Contact John Henry Fleming: JohnHenryFleming@cs.com David Eide eide491@earthlink.net © 2004 David Eide. All rights reserved. |