DANCE AND POSTURE SONGS
I was extremely desirous of taking a moving picture of one of their
dances, and, accordingly, promised the natives of our district that if
they would perform a really good, genuine dance, and hold it outside
of the _failu_, in the bright light of day, they should have all
the tobacco they could smoke for many days and a lavish feast of their
favourite tinned meats, sardines, salmon, boned chicken, etc., all
to be had in Friedlander’s Emporium. But little did I dream at what
expense I was to get my wish. There are two affiliated _failus_,
both within a hundred yards of Friedlander’s house, and, the nights
being almost as light as day under the full moon, rehearsals for the
dance and song took place in the cool night outside the _failu_,
and lasted far on toward dawn. It took at least a week of rehearsals,
and I am afraid poor Friedlander deeply anathematised the unmelodious,
howling, explosive nights I was responsible for, at peaceful Dulukan.
The singers punctuate the end of each verse or stanza with a loud
clap produced by bending the left arm at the elbow, and holding it
across the chest, then the right hand with the fingers and thumb held
together and the palm bent so that it is cup-shaped, is clapped down
sharply over the bend of the left arm, and produces, when skilfully
done, a report nearly as loud as a pistol. When this is performed
simultaneously by thirty or forty men and boys, it wakes the echoes,
and everything else that is trying to get a wink of sleep.
At last the momentous day for the dance dawned, and I urgently begged
the performers to be ready before noon so that I could get the best
possible light under the thick palm trees. By eight o’clock in the
morning they were all busy and bustling near the _failu_, donning
their costumes and having head-dresses renovated and elaborated; and I
adjusted my five-hundred feet of film ready for an exceptional show; my
camera was all set up to begin at a moment’s notice. Ten o’clock came,
and they were still busy. The day wore on to eleven o’clock; still came
the threadbare answer that they were not nearly ready, but would surely
be fully decked out by noon, or a little after.
Noon found them still as excited as bees about to swarm and preparing
long strips of pandanus leaves or of the bast of Hibiscus for their
costumes, collecting white chicken-feathers, bits of cotton wool or
pieces of paper for their combs, and practising the steps of their
dance. The hours came and passed; one o’clock; two o’clock; three
o’clock; and not until near five o’clock in the afternoon did they
pronounce themselves ready.
I had refrained from bothering them with too many requests to hurry; it
would have been not only absolutely useless, but I desired to be sure
that they were really completely satisfied with themselves and would
therefore enter into the spirit of the dance with animation, and not
with that resigned mien implying “of course, since you insist.”
At last they filed out from behind the _failu_ and burst in all
their glory upon my aching sight; they had been fully nine hours most
busily and incessantly dressing and I could not, after the closest
scrutiny, detect that they had done anything more than dab on their
foreheads and cheeks a few streaks of white paint with the lime from
their betel baskets, and decorate their combs with streamers of
pandanus leaves and yellow stained paper, and tie bands of narrow palm
fronds round both knees and their right elbows (only the right elbows,
so as not to interfere with the punctuation). They walked with exultant
pride and supreme self-consciousness to the front of the _failu_
where there was a good open space, and there sat down cross-legged in
one long straight line, the little boys, or _petir_, at one end;
the youths, or _pagul_, in the middle; and the proficient adults,
or _pumawn_, at the other end; all arranged according to size and
age.
These dances, or rather posture-songs, are to the natives like
theatrical performances or grand opera; the rumour of this performance
had spread near and far, and for several hours an audience of a
hundred or more men, women, and children had waited patiently and
expectantly, smoking innumerable cigarettes and chewing many a pound of
betel nut.
Out of consideration for the “ladies” the first number on the
programme was, paradoxical as it may seem, a sitting-down dance or
“_tsuru_.” This song-dance is the only one that is considered
proper for the women to witness and hear. As well as I could make out,
it is a dramatic narration of adventures of heroes in canoes at sea,
or dramatic legends of the Kan or devils who control the lives of
men. While the men sing in unison, with the higher voices of the boys
in accord making it slightly harmonious, they wave their arms about,
sometimes as though rowing with paddles, sometimes as though repelling
foes, but most of the time merely accompanying the cadences of the song
with graceful, waving motions of the wrists; no weapons, neither sword,
spear, nor shield, were used.
This posture-dance belongs to the same class as those to be seen in
Japan, Anam, Siam, the Malay States, and Java. The dancers do not
move from their sitting position; every now and then they make a loud
clap, on the bend of their elbows with the palms of their hands, and
apparently the stanza is finished. Several times they seemed merely to
take a rest between songs and, without rising, begin another; possibly
it was only another verse or chapter of the same narrative; I had no
one to interpret or explain it to me.
The audience of women was scattered in groups in the coconut grove
at a respectful distance from the _failu_, while the men pushed
forward close to the performers; they were all as fixedly attentive as
if witnessing the intricate plot of a problem play, and the performers
were equally absorbed in their parts, never even smiling nor hesitating
for a moment in the perfect rhythm of their song and the accompanying
movements of their arms. Even down to the small boys at the end of the
line, the gestures were identical and as synchronous as the steps and
body-swing of a troop of soldiers.
After several verses, or songs, a loud, high shout proclaimed the end
of the sitting-down dance, and the performers arose and sauntered
off into the _failu_, or out of sight on the other side of it,
to repair whatever damage might have been done to their costumes by
their exertions or by the wind. The announcement that a “standing-up
_tsuru_” was about to be performed, caused a lively stir among
the women; the greater part of them really did retire to the houses
nearby or wandered off in the side paths to their own homes, but
quite a number merely moved off a short distance deeper in the grove
and sat down again upon the ground, albeit with their backs turned;
others sought conveniently stout coconut trees behind which they hid
themselves and took surreptitious peeps at the forbidden dances. I
think their conduct was not considered downright reprehensible, but
only a little “fast,” verging on immodest; the men knew perfectly well
that these women were watching them and even twitted them about it, so
that several of the younger ones, who were a little too conspicuous,
broke from their ostrich-like hiding places and ran giggling to another
equally insufficient shelter at a greater distance.
The standing-up _tsuru_ is performed chiefly by the younger men,
who filed out from the _failu_ and took up a position in a long
line, shoulder to shoulder, in front of it.
Truly they were a fine looking lot, clean of limb, and smooth and
glistening of skin from their recent exertions in the sitting
_tsuru_; the brisk sea breeze fluttered the plumes of grass and
feathers in their hair, and the shifting glints of the declining sun
seemed to keep them in a continual barbaric shower of golden spangles.
They arranged their positions with much care to avoid interference
with one another, and then began a sort of marking-time movement with
their feet, and at the same time clapping their hands at about the
rate of ninety to a hundred beats a minute. This they kept up in an
exceedingly uninteresting, dispirited manner, as it seemed to me, for
a long while, in reality, I suppose, for about three minutes; then one
of them, I think it was Gamiau, the strong-voiced maker of phonograph
records, started the song in a high-pitched head-toned voice, and the
others all joined in and the dance became fast and furious; they waved
their arms from side to side; they stepped forward and stepped back;
they twisted and turned to right and to left; they dropped on one knee,
and swayed the body like a Spanish dancer. Then up on their feet again,
and then down on hands and knees, and up on their feet again, almost in
less time than it takes to tell it. All the while the song continued
uninterruptedly; and the motions of arms, body, and legs seemed to
italicise emphatic words and keep time with the metre. I failed
completely to unravel what it was all about; either they could not,
or perchance, would not, translate it into modern Uap. It is barely
possible that its impropriety is a tradition purely, which has survived
after the full meaning of the ancient phrases is lost. This strenuous
dance lasted but five or six minutes and then wound up with a loud and
prolonged howl, a vigorous stamping of feet, and a salvo of elbow-claps.
It was evidently humourous, for at several points the native audience
laughed loudly, but the performers never smiled, on the contrary,
they maintained an earnest, sometimes even a ferocious and hostile
expression.
During the dance, tobacco was free to the spectators, and after it,
a liberal supply to all hands and mouths was distributed; this, and
also a goodly pile of tins of provisions of all descriptions made the
evening pass busily and gaily. Although my especial interest in the
dance faded with the sunlight, theirs did not; they had practised the
several dances long and faithfully and were not minded to subside into
humdrum life and doff all gorgeousness so rapidly. Throughout the
livelong night I heard at intervals the minor drone of their voices,
the clapping of hands as the dances were renewed, and the resounding
punctuation of the elbow-claps.