The Kwikw Dancer

Once a year, every year there’s a great celebration in Osprey hollow in honor of the returning salmon. Aboriginals from all over Canada gather to tell stories, roast bannock, cook salmon and sing. But the best part is the dancing. I still remember the dances from last year. The heart thumping beats, the coordinated moves, every detail remains in perfectly embedded in my mind. The Orca dancer was the best. His moves were so coordinated and fluid that you felt you were in the ocean next to one.

When we finally got to Osprey hollow I ran ahead shouting back “Quick dad they’ve started without us”. I headed towards the giant bonfire to get bannock. The bannock was great and the salmon was even better, the singing was exquisite but I just wanted to see the dancers again. It seemed everybody did. They appreciated and enjoyed all the other celebrations but it seemed they were all holding their breath for the dancing.

At the end of the last song we all clapped loudly and edged closer to the fire. The dance stage this year was in the shape of a circle. Logs line the outside and in the center is a huge bonfire. The writhing flame danced and dove quickly upwards disappearing into the night sky. Our chief announced that the dances would be starting now. Everyone cheered and clapped eagerly. Finally I thought rubbing my eyes.

The crisp autumn air teemed with excitement and anticipation almost like a great beast catching the scent of its prey. The first dancer walked in. He was superb, looking like an owl and dancing flawlessly. Every step seemed to match the last one perfectly. He must be the best I thought, even better than the Orca dancer last year. When he was finished everyone applauded vigorously. He bowed then moved off into the darkness.

The next dancer came on stage just as quickly as the other one left. His costume alone was jaw dropping. He wore a wolf hide on his back and the face on his forehead. The wolf face was frozen in an angry snarl ivory teeth reflecting the firelight suiting the dancer and his beat.

He danced around the fire singing and beating his drum. His feet travelling faster than a hare’s, darting quickly then calming down to a gentle pattern, then fast again. When he had finished I knew he was better by a mile. But the next one was even better and the one after that way better.

When the historic me’dzawesawi salmon dance was done I knew it couldn’t be beat. It had been presented for centuries, it was part of our history passed down through generations. That’s when I saw him.

He was moving slowly out of the cloak of darkness, in no hurry to reveal himself. But when he did everyone gasped and clapped like they were being reintroduced to an old friend. He wasn’t excessively tall but his slender figure gave the effect of a powerful man. Eagle feathers were braided into his hair and attached to his clothes. His arms were decorated like wings, feathers stitched to his sleeves gave the appearance of huge wings. In one hand was a hide drum and the other stick with cloth wrapped around it. The most impressive thing was his mask. Carved from redwood with a long beak and eyes painted in black that seemed to sparkle intuitively with the fire.

“Who’s that papa?” I asked quietly. My father was smiling just at the sight of him “You’ve never seen the Kwikw dancer before” he said “The eagle dancer” he repeated to make sure I understood. I shook my head. “Well watch close.” He said and we both turned our attention back to the dancer.

He kept his head bowed slightly so all you could see was a line of thin-lipped mouth. The way he did this seemed to give his costume life. His lithe body moved to the center of the circle just in front of the fire and stopped, his body immobile, his head twitching like that of a bald eagle. He raised his wings holding the drum and drumstick opposite. He quickly brought the two together suddenly creating a deep vibration that made your insides shiver. I sat up a little straighter and my eyes focused properly. Again he spread his wings and brought them together creating the same low note. He did this again and again each time striking a little faster. All the hairs on the back of my neck were standing straight and my spine felt like it was filled with liquid nitrogen. The Kwikw dancer started humming and stuck his drum one more time and started dancing.

Hypnotizing was the only word to describe his dance. His feet moved with such purpose, such certainty one foot after another kicking up leaves so that when they hit the firelight it looks like fireworks exploding around his waist. He skipped and danced around the fire humming and drumming. I realized the silence behind his dance. Nothing moved except the dancer. Even the river, usually roaring over stones, yielded to the dance. It was almost as if the night itself was watching the eagle dance. It felt like he was telling me something, a story from long ago maybe. He continued this rhythm altering it only slightly, it so complex already it didn’t need anything else.

After one more drumbeat he stopped so suddenly I felt a lurch in my stomach. I wanted him to, no, I needed him to continue. His dance was a living thing he couldn’t just leave there to die. He remained still, not moving a muscle. Then, after what seemed like hours, he struck his drum again. A tremor shook the hollow and seemed to shake the last of the tree leaves from the sleeping trees. He took a couple swift paces then leapt into the air and spread his wings. He seemed to freeze in the air, his wings floating and ruffling slowly in the evening draft. He lands, his feet stomping with such force it makes me tremble. Then he stops moving not a muscle, his head bowed.

All around people erupt in tears, I too feel like weeping simply because of its beauty. Now it’s done, gone forever only remaining in my mind. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I look up at my father and see him clapping heartily a single tear rolling down his chin. I begin to clap also and turn back to the stage. The Kwikw dancer’s gone. I look around and see he’s moving leisurely back into the darkness. He pauses and turns his head slightly almost like he’s looking back and the mask seemed darker red than before. But then he stepped into night once more.

Later that night, when I was in bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about the dancer. He had captivated me with his moves. The fluidity of every step enchanted me and made him seem supernatural. He was indeed quite amazing.

“Who was he father?” I asked as he tucked me in and said good night.

“The dancer? He was the Kwikw dancer of course.”

“I know that but what’s his name?”

My Father frowned. “The Kwikw dancer, as I just told you”

I was perplexed but father seemed confused also. “Thanks for taking me to the festival papa” I said “Good night”. He smiled and said good night too, then turned off the lights and closed the door. I waited until I could hear the faint chatter of our old television then I hopped quietly out of bed and crept downstairs.

My grandmother was sitting on the couch with her eyes closed. “Ada” I said, “are you awake?” She opened her eyes and sat up straighter. “Grandson, aren’t you supposed to be sleeping”

“Yes grandma” I began. She cut me off “Call me ada grandson”

“Yes ada, I’m supposed to sleeping but I need to know something” She yawned and shifted in her seat. After a moment I realized she was waiting for me to speak.

“Well” I said, “I saw the eagle dancer tonight, and I wondered who he was. Papa didn’t understand my question so I thought I’d ask you”

Ada sat there for a moment then said, “They say the Kwikw dancer is so good it’s impossible for him to be completely human. So they say that as a child he was abandoned in the forest while a majestic bald eagle was flying by. The Eagle took the child back to their nest for he certainly would have died if they didn’t. When the rest of the fledglings left the nest the eagles took pity on the child with no wings. They say the eagles plucked out most of their wing feathers and gave them to him. But that wasn’t enough the eagles took a part of a newly fallen redwood and carved out a head exactly the same as theirs. Eventually the child left the nest and wondered out into our world. The child still didn’t know how to speak so the only way he could express himself was through dance.”

I listened carefully to every word. “That’s incredible Ada but what’s his name?”

She frowned just like papa. “I see.” she said “You don’t think that can be his real name, he should have a name like Thomas or Joseph, you want to know his identity.” I nodded. “What’s your name?” She asked. “John” I said knowing it was hypothetical. Shestarted laughing. “That’s what my father would have called your christen name, your school name, what’s your real name, your soul name.” “Kadalawi” I said, “Kingfisher”

“That’s right, little one. It’s not about the sensibility of your name, it’s what your bak’wine’ is telling you. It’s all about your soul.”

“Thank you ada I think I understand now.”

“Good” she said, “ I hope you do”

I walked back up the stairs and stopped at the last stair.

“Everything you said about the eagles raising the child, do you think it’s true?”

She stopped for a while, considering what I just asked.

“I think he has a gift” she paused, “No one can deny that”

I woke up early next morning. All night I had dreamt of the dancer. I knew I had to see him again. I left a note on the table and walked down to the hollow. All around the hollows trees were exploding with fall leaves and their lifeless carcass littered the ground. I asked a man roasting bannock on a campfire if he’s seen the Kwikw dancer. He nodded and said he was down by the river. I walked down and saw him standing straight facing the torrent. He was still wearing his costume and mask. I came up beside him and sat on a rough log beside him. I looked along the river for salmon and spotted one almost immediately. Its glossy red scales flashed along the surface of the river. I looked at him again and realized he was observing me. I looked at his eyes, they seemed to stare right through me. He broke my gaze and pointed up at the sky. I looked were he was pointing and saw a bald eagle soaring in the sky. It came close and landed on a nearby branch. It called out and I jumped when the exact same sound rang out behind me. I turned around and the Kwikw dancer called out again.

“Who are you?” I asked truly bewildered about this man.

He stared at me again. Those charcoal coloured eyes sparkled with mischief and intelligence. The entire mask seemed to be a part of him, a part of his identity.

He strode away without saying a word.

“Wait” I said getting up. “WAIT” I shouted.

“I know who you are”

He stopped a couple yards away and turned his head so it was just above his shoulder, beak pointed downwards.

“You’re the Kwikw dancer”

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

“You’re the Kwikw dancer” I whispered, “and I’m the Kadalawi”

He straightened his head and walked off.

I was sure he was smiling.