The Stone Axe of Burkamukk

by Mary Grant Bruce

III
THE EMU WHO WOULD DANCE

Long ago, Kari, the Emu, was superior to all other birds. She was so superior that she would not live on the earth. Instead, she had a home up in the clouds, and from there she used to look down at the earth and the queer antics of all the things that lived there. It gave her much food for thought.

At that time there were no human beings at all. All the earth was inhabited by animals, birds, and reptiles, and they lived very happily together, as a rule. There were no wars, and every one had enough to eat. While there were no men, Fear did not live on earth either. All the world was a big feeding-ground, where even the smallest and weakest could find a peaceful home.

Kari, sitting in her great nest up in the clouds, watched the animals below, both night and day. She thought them strange creatures, and wondered very much how they could be so contented with so many other creatures about them. She was so used to living alone that it seemed to her rather unpleasant to have one's solitude broken upon by others, all of whom might be peculiar enough to think their little affairs as interesting as one's own. Kari thought that nothing could possibly be so interesting as her great lonely nest in the clouds. In reality, it was a very dull old nest, and she was a big, dull bird. She knew no one, and spoke to no one, and thought only her own queer thoughts. But she did not know she was dull, and so she was quite happy.

One day she sat in her nest, watching the cloud-masses drift about between her and the world. They cleared away after a while, and she looked down upon a great forest over which she found herself, for, as her nest was in a cloud, it used to float about, and so she never knew what country she might see when she looked down. Sometimes it was a lake, sometimes a mountain, and sometimes the great, rolling sea, which always made her feel rather giddy, because it would not keep still for a moment.

But on this day it was a wide forest, green and peaceful. Kari's sight was very keen, and she looked through the tree-tops to the ground below and saw all the animals. It was really almost as good as a circus, but then Kari knew nothing about such a thing as a circus. She watched them with great interest, leaning her long neck over the edge of the cloud in which her nest was built.

Suddenly she saw a sight that made her lean forward so far that she very nearly overbalanced and fell out. Far below her was an open space near a bright spot that she knew was water in a little swampy place in a hollow. The grass there was green and soft; there were trees all round it, and it was a very secluded place, except for anyone looking from above, like the inquisitive Kari.

But Kari was not looking only at green grass and shining water. She saw a little group of birds that had come out of the swamp, where they had been wading, and had begun to dance. They were Native Companions—Puralkas—but Kari did not know that. All she knew was that they were very beautiful creatures, the most beautiful, she thought, that she had ever seen: and they were doing the most interesting things.

Very gracefully they danced to and fro on the patch of green grass. They were tall, slim birds, looking a kind of dim grey colour when seen so far away. Their legs were very long and thin, for they belonged to the tribe of birds called Waders, who get their food by walking in swamps and morasses, and they had neat bodies, not fluffy like some of Kari's own feathers—with which she immediately felt very dissatisfied. Their queer thin heads, with long beaks, were carried on long necks, which twisted about as they danced. They pranced up and down, giving little runs backwards and forwards, marching and stepping in the most curious manner. Never had Kari seen so charming a sight. It made her suddenly envious. Until now, she had regarded all the animals and birds as so much beneath her in every way that it never occurred to her to wish to be like them, or to do anything that they did. But this was the first time that she had seen the Native Companions dance.

Kari's cloud drifted away presently, and she could no longer see the queer grey company of long-legged birds prancing on the green spot in the forest. But nothing that now came within her sight interested her at all. She saw the lyre-birds building their mounds in the Bush, and making them gay with all sorts of odd things: bright stones, bits of quartz, gay feathers; and they also danced on their mounds, but it did not please Kari as much as the dance of the Puralkas. The moon showed her the animals that come out at night—wombat, wallaby, wild dogs, and opossums; native bears climbing up the highest trees, and flying-foxes that trailed like clouds between her and the tree-tops. She saw the lizards that live in rocks and on the ground, and the hideous iguanas that run up the trees. Great flocks of screaming cockatoos made the air white, as they flew, the sun gleaming on their yellow crests. There were snakes, too, in the Bush: great carpet-snakes, evil-looking brown and black fellows, and the wicked tiger-snake, with its yellow-patterned back and its quick cruel movements. Once it had amused Kari very much to see the jackass, Merkein, swoop down upon a snake and carry it, struggling, back into a tree. The jackass was a silent bird then, and never made any fuss over his captures: still, it was exciting to see him catch snakes. But now Kari found that none of these things interested or amused her any more. All she wanted to see again was the Puralkas come out of their swamp and dance upon the grass.