HOLD YOUR BREATH

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 4, 26 March 1927, Page 23 (Supplement)

HOLD YOUR BREATH

MY FLAT FACE AND GREEDY CRY (By H.T.G.) No. 1. “Yes,'* said the young morepork, “I’ll tell you all about it! Long, long ago, the father of all the moreporks listened to the glory of the tui’s song, and said to himself: Why can’t I sing like that? I’ve a beak, a tongue, a throat; why can’t 1?’” “Listen!” said the ugly, evil weta. “and I’ll tell you the secret. Stoop, and I’ll whisper it!” The morepork listened, and nodded his head, and the weta hid in a black hole in a puriri tree. All that night the morepork worked hard with beaks and claws, and cleared away all the moss and soil from a large flat stone which lay below the tree on which the tui loved to sit and sing. "Early next morning out crept the wicked weta, and again he whispered into the morepork’s ear. At once the morepork flew off. and presently returned with a long length of maungamaunga fibre, just like a piece of string. Hardly had he perched on thie tree than “Fluff! Fluff!” came the pretty tui. and settled on his favourite branch to sing his welcome to the morning. “But straightaway the morepork pounced on him. twisted the fibre around his glossy wings, so that, he could not fly, and pushed him head* long front the tree. Down crashed poor tui, right on to the bare, hard stone below. A faint flutter, a mournful cry, and tui was deadl Down swooped the morepork, and straightway dragged the corpse into a small dark cave in the side of the hill. There he tore the skin from the body of his victim, feathers and all, in one whole piece. Quickly he w’orked. and at once crawled into the folds of the limp, wrarm skin, so that his own feathers were completely hidden; and* behold! instead of the ugly morepork lie appeared a/i a beautiful tui! ‘Ha* ha!’ he chuckled, ‘now' for my sou# for a sw T eet-voiced tui am I.’ “He hurried away, and the forest pool, where all the bird{ take their morning drink. He stood at the edge, and gazed at his reflection, just as a lady gazes in her mirror. He felt quite satisfied, for the water reflected a perfect tui, white necktie and all. ‘Good morning, tui!* said a kiwi, stalking silently from the undergrow th. ‘lt’s time for your morning song.’ “‘Morning!’ answered the morepork hurriedly, and away he hopped, and climbed up to the very branch that the dead tui had loved so well. And straightway he opened his beak and sang. Oh, the hideous sounds! He coughed, and tried again. Worse still! Again he began. Still worse! He trembled with rage and shame. But he kept on trying, though he only made the trees around him echo to dismal howlings and horrid shrieks. Presently along came some real tuis. and other birds, who perched around him, and listened in astonishment. Still he continued his desperate attempts to sing. More birds came, and yet more, all gazing in wonder. A SPLENDID JOKE “At last an old tui laughed outright. ‘A splendid joke, brother!’ he cried, and then all the other birds laughed too, for they all thought this to be a really good joke, a tui making such weird screechings. They laughed and clapped their beaks together at the idea of a tui singing like a frog with a sore throat. They crowded around him, flapping and pushing and laughing, until at last the silly morepork was jostled right off the branch. He tried to use his wings, but of course could not, and down he plunged, -face first, crash on to the bare, hard stone below. But the borrowed skin and feathers shielded him, so that he was not killed. The merrymakers at once flew to his rescue. Imagine their horror to see a burst tui skin, with a morepork inside! “They flew at him in rage, and tore the stolen plumage from him. Behold! His face was squashed as flat as the stone on w’hich he fell. And, ah me! we moreporks have forever and ever to wear our faces just the same—flat, stony-eved, and staring. “The furious birds knew no mercy, and cried ‘Kill him! Kill him!* and the wicked weta laughed, and gave three scratchy cheers. But the morepork sprang at his nearest assailants, and tore at their eyes. Amid the confusion he darted off, scurried through the undergrowth, and scrambled into his dark, dank cave, taking care to roil a stone in front of the entrance. “And there he stayed and hid for many days and nights, and became so hungry that he almost starved to death. But his w ife, though very much ashamed of his bad deeds and stupid vanity, remained loyal and faithful to him. She fed him with bits of a dead boar she found in a gully nearby, but she could not bring him much at a time, and constantly the prisoner’s voice could be heard calling out for ‘more pork! more pork!’ “After a long time the faithful wife managed to get the tuis and the other birds to forgive her husband for his wickedness; but he felt his disgrace so keenly, and became so ashamed and retiring, that he and his wife, and all their descendants, have lived in the darkness and secrecy of holes and hiding-places ever since. “We moreporks never come out by day, but w-e hunt for our food, especially wetas. during the darkness of night. And. of course, the only tune we know, the only song wo can sing, is the cry of our starving ancestor: ‘More pork! More pork!,’’*