At first, there are drum beats. A rhythmic multitude of percussion growing louder, faster and more exhilarating by the second.

Then there are cheers and whistles from the crowd, at the end of each ingeniously turned phrase of the drum symphony.

Then the fall of drumsticks grow denser and denser, like a thick curtain of rain that soon develops into a wild storm.

Just as the frenetic drumbeats are on the verge of losing their breathless unity, an explosive, triumphant “Hey!” resonates from the base of a hundred throats.

Jenny opens her eyes. –The same dream yet again. The same acoustic dream void of images.

Three weeks after her return from Rio, the powerful sounds of Batucada still haunt her, awake and asleep.

And when her mind’s ear hears the beats, every detail in that past life becomes real to her once again. — The letters “J & J” she…