We move back to Mkhulu's shack. The shadow of a window frame appears on the centre screen.

NARRATOR: So the Little Drummer Girl's mother was forced to keep her hidden in the safety and silence of Mkhulu's back room. Here they padded the floors with grass mats so that the girl would not be tempted by the rhythm in her own footsteps; sealed up the windows and doors, removed all objects from the house …

The NARRATOR moves around the house, miming the removal of a variety of offending objects. As she does this, the PERCUSSIONIST orchestrates each sound. This is done in perfect unison.

NARRATOR: Cutlery.

The NARRATOR mimes opening a drawer and collecting all the cutlery, then tossing it aside. The PERCUSSIONIST provides the sound.

NARRATOR: Tin.

The NARRATOR mimes throwing out tin items.

PERCUSSIONIST provides the clatter.

NARRATOR: Bottle caps.

The NARRATOR mimes gathering bottle caps.

PERCUSSIONIST provides the sound from the actual objects.

NARRATOR: And plates.

The NARRATOR mimes sliding the plates off a shelf. PERCUSSIONIST provides the sound using tin plates. After the final tin plate hits the floor, the NARRATOR, nerves frayed, turns back to the audience and whispers.

NARRATOR: Anything that might inspire forbidden rhythmic activities. [Pause.] Eight years would pass like this. Eight long years of this silent confinement.

The NARRATOR sits on the edge of the table (the red tablecloth is now doubling as a bedspread), assuming the character of NOMVULA, the Little Drummer Girl. Her legs dangle awkwardly off the edge.

NARRATOR [mischievously]: But she found a way. She always found a way to keep the rhythm in her heart alive. You see, she had kept a secret beneath her pillow.

The NARRATOR removes something from underneath the pillow and holds it out for the audience to inspect.

NARRATOR: a box of matches, the one her mother had used to light her bedside candle. Well, at night, when all of Tin Town was asleep, the child would shake the box, rattling the matches.