and
fell. He was on the verge of tears. He laughed. He whispered.
Threatened. Trembled. Finally: "And _that_ is how the little drum saved
the Water People." He looked at Oliver. Jennifer's foot pressed down.
Oliver struck his drum three times, and there was loud clapping.

"Gaia!" someone called. Bogdolf bowed modestly and made his way to the
coffee table where he was soon surrounded.

"Whew!" Oliver said.

"I'm sorry," Jennifer said. "I didn't know you were going to be the
orchestra." She giggled.

"First time for everything," Oliver said. They took a walk and watched
an osprey bring fish back to a nest of sticks high in a tree on an
island just offshore. They got down to serious drumming for an hour
before lunch and then for several hours afterwards. They warmed up with
straightforward Native American rhythms. Oliver found that he could
contribute as long as he played the most basic beat.

In the afternoon, they got into a Latin groove. Raul assigned parts and
demonstrated the son clave. Oliver, another drummer, and a boy with a
triangle were to play just the clave. Thank God for the other drummer.
Oliver and the boy followed him through the center of the complications
as the group got into synch and began to rock. He felt a duty to do it
right, to keep the beat, keep the faith. When they broke up for the
day, he felt refreshed. They continued sporadically on the bus, but
later, when Oliver was by himself, he couldn't recapture the beat. This
irritated him.

"I bought a book," he told Jennifer the following week. "I guess I'm
not musical. It just isn't inside me naturally; I need help to hear it.
Anyway," he explained, "if you take 16 even beats, numbers 1,4,7,11,
and 13 are the son clave beats. So, it is asymmetrical within the 16
beats, but symmetrical outside; the pattern repeats every 16 beats.
That's what gives it that rocking quality--the train leans one way and
then pulls back and leans the other. Ba, ba, ba--baba. Ba, ba,
ba--baba."

"There you go," Jennifer said, "who says you aren't musical?"

Oliver changed the subject. "How's Rupert doing?"

"Rupert . . ." She shrugged, frustrated. "Sometimes I think he doesn't
even see me when he looks at me."

"Do you think you'll have kids, someday?" It just popped out of his
mouth.

"I hope so. We've been trying."

"This could be the weekend," Oliver said hopefully.

"I don't think so," she said. "Rupert's at a stamp collectors'
convention . . . Y