The Butcher Dance
Author Unknown
This American professor spent five years traveling all around the world
making a documentary on Native dances. At the end of this time, he had
every single native dance of every indigenous culture in the world on
film or so he thought. He wound up in Australia, in Alice Springs, so
he popped into a pub for a well earned beer.
He got talking to one of the local Aborigines and told him about his
project. The Aborigine asked the professor what he thought of the Butcher Dance.
"Butcher Dance?" the professor said, confused. "What's that?"
"What you mean? You no bin see the Butcher Dance?"
"No, I've never heard of it."
"Hey Bro, you crazy," the Aborigine replied. "You bin say you film all native dance but you not bin see the Butcher Dance?"
"Umm. I got a Corroborree on film just the other week. Is that what you mean?"
"No, no. Butcher Dance more portant than Corroborree."
"Oh," the professor said, his curiosity piqued. "Well how can I see this Butcher Dance then?"
"Butcher Dance he bin way out in the bush,eh. Long time to go see it."
"Look, I've been everywhere from the forests of the Amazon, to
deepest darkest Africa, to the frozen wastes of the Arctic filming
these dances. Nothing will prevent me from recording this one last
dance."
The Aborigine replied, shrugging. "You bin drive along highway bin
go Darwin.You bin drive 197 miles,sometime you see dirt track to left.
You bin go along dirt track for 126 miles. You see big big fella dead
gum tree - him biggest tree you ever see. You gotta leave car,no good
for car . Youwalk ina sun. Walk three days you maybe find a creek. You
bin follow this creek northwest. Mightbe two days you find where creek
comes out some big fella hill, maybe him too hard to cross. Maybe you
go back south half day. Might be you see pass . Him is very hard an cut
feet. Maybe three days you get through it. T' other side, you bin go
northwest four days maybe you reach big huge rock plenty feet high and
maybe him rock look like this fella head. Den you walk ina sun for two
days, maybe you find Plibara fellas. Maybe you look round you see
Butcher Dance dere."
So the guy grabbed his camera crew and equipment and headed out.
After a couple of hours, he found the dirt track. The track was in a
shocking state, and he was forced to crawl along at a snail's pace, so
he didn't reach the tree until dusk, where he was forced to set up camp
for the night. He set out bright and early the following morning. His
spirits were high, and he was excited about the prospect of capturing
on film this mysterious dance that he had never heard mention of
before. True to the directions he had been given, he reached the creek
after three days and followed it for another two, until he reached the
rocky mountains.
The merciless sun was starting to take its toll, and the spirits of
both himself and his crew were starting to flag; but wearily they
trudged on, finally finding the pass through the mountains. Nothing
would prevent him from completing his life's dream. The mountains
proved to be every bit as treacherous as their guide had said, and at
times they despaired of ever getting their bulky equipment through. But
after three and a half days of back breaking effort, they finally
forced their way clear and continued their long trek.
When they reached the huge rock, four days later, their water was
running low, and their feet were covered with blisters, but they
steeled themselves and headed out on the last leg of their journey. Two
days later they virtually staggered into the village. To their relief,
the natives welcomed them and fed them and gave them fresh water, and
they began to feel like new men. Once he recovered enough, the guy went
before the village chief and told him that he came to film their
Butcher Dance.
"Eh, white fella," he said. "Very bad you come today. Butcher Dance last night. You bin too late. You miss dance."
"Well, when do you hold the next dance?"
"No dance till next year."
"Well, I've come all this way. Couldn't you just hold an extra dance for me tonight?"
"No, no, no!" the chief exclaimed. "Butcher Dance very holy. Only
hold once a year. You wanna see Butcher Dance, you bin come next year."
Understandably, the guy was devastated, but he had no other option but to head back to civilization and back home.
The following year, he headed back to Australia and, determined not
to miss out again, set out a week earlier than before. He was quite
willing to spend a week in the village before the dance is performed in
order to ensure he was present to witness it.
But right from the start, things went wrong. Heavy rains that year
turned the dirt track to mud, and the car got bogged down every few
miles. Finally they had to abandon their vehicles and slog through the
mud on foot almost half the distance to the tree. They reached the
creek and the mountains without any further problems, but halfway
through the mountain pass, they were struck by a fierce storm that
raged for several days, during which they were forced to cling
forlornly to the mountainside until it subsided.
Then, before they had traveled a mile out from the mountains, one
of the crew sprained his ankle badly, slowing down the rest of their
journey greatly. Eventually, having lost all sense of how long they had
been traveling, they staggered into the village right at noon.
"The Butcher Dance!" the man gasped. "Please don't tell me I'm too late to see it!"
The chief recognized him and said, "No, white fella. Butcher Dance
tonight. Maybe you come just in time."
Relieved beyond measure, the crew spent the rest of the afternoon
setting up their equipment and preparing to capture the night's ritual
on celluloid. As dusk fell, the natives started to cover their bodies
in white paint and adorn themselves in all manner of birds' feathers
and animal skins. Once darkness had settled fully over the land, the
natives formed a circle around a huge roaring fire. A deathly hush
descended over performers and spectators alike as a wizened old figure
with elaborate swirling designs covering his entire body entered the
circle and began to chant.
"What's he doing?" the man whispered to the chief.
"No talk," the chief whispered back. "You first white man ever see
most sacred of our rituals. Must remain silent. Holy man, he asks that
the spirits of the dream world watch as we demonstrate our devotion to
them through our dance, and, if they like our dancing, will they be so
gracious as to watch over us and protect us for another year."
The chanting of the holy man reached a stunning crescendo before he
removed himself from the circle. The rhythmic pounding of drums boomed
out across the land, and the natives began to sway to the stirring
rhythm. The guy became caught up in the fervor of the moment himself.
This was it. He realized beyond all doubt that his wait had not been in
vain. He was about to witness the ultimate performance of rhythm and
movement ever conceived by mankind.
The chief strode to his position in the circle and, in a big
booming voice, started to sing: "You butch yer right arm in. You butch
yer right arm out. You butch yer right arm in, and you shake it all
about...."
