081413 #worm The circle opens and assimilates Krim. It happens seamlessly; the rhythm never breaks. But somehow the circle traps Ltiky at its fringes. The obvious eagerness with which the grinning, shining men work Krim into the dance is matched by the effortless indifference with which they wordlessly delegate Ltiky to one of the drums. Determined to be at least a part of this thing from which escape seems no longer possible, Ltiky joins in the drumming. His sense of rhythm is adequate to the task; the rhythm is simple on the surface. His confidence starts tentatively to return. To drum for dancers--there's no shame in that.