The Boy didn’t know where the drum had come from. A couple of years ago he had curled up in an alleyway one night and gone to sleep. When he had woken the drum had been lying at his side. None of the local people appeared to have lost the drum or know where it had come from and so the drum had become his. The drum was long and narrow with goat skin stretched tightly across the top. It had seen better days; the sides were covered with scratches and scores; the goat skin was wearing thin; the leather strap had snapped. The Boy sanded down the drum to smooth out most of the scratches. He replaced the broken strap with an old piece of rope so that he could sling the drum over his shoulder as he walked. He used a sharp stone to scratch his own mark at the base of the drum. It still looked as if it had seen better days but the Boy considered that it just looked well-loved and it was his own.

Day after day the Boy sat cross-legged and played the drum by striking the tight skin with his tiny hands. He experimented with different techniques and was soon able to produce an amazing range of sound. By striking different parts of the skin he could make sounds higher or lower. Using different rhythms he made the beats short and snappy or long and lingering. When the Boy was happy the songs that he played made him want to laugh, shout, sing. When he was scared they reassured him and made him feel brave. When he was simply content they made him want to be still. In the Boy’s mind the drum was magical, able to sense his mood. It felt to him as if he and the drum were one.

As he sat for hours, day after day, playing the drum, the Boy became the Drummer Boy. Passersby began to throw coins down to him as he played. Most days he earned enough money to buy food; some nights he went to sleep hungry. Finding somewhere to sleep at night was a problem. Sometimes he would find a sheltered doorway and sleep there. Other times he would sleep in the alleyways. When it was really cold he would walk to the outskirts of the town to shelter in a barn or stable. He liked the stables because sometimes the animals would let him snuggle up beside them for warmth. But it was a long walk in the dark and it meant a trek back to the centre of town in the morning so that he could earn money there by playing his drum.

One day it had been particularly cold and the Drummer Boy had earned very little money; the Drummer Boy had noticed that people were less inclined to be generous when they were cold and miserable themselves. The Drummer Boy was tired, cold and hungry. He had eaten little that day and felt weary. When night fell he found a doorway and settled down to sleep there but a man came along, swore at him, chased him away and then lay down in the doorway himself. The Drummer Boy reluctantly decided to journey across town to seek shelter for the night.

As the Drummer Boy approached the stable his heart sank. Someone was already there. He could see light shining out from under the door. He tiptoed up to the door to see who was there. As he peeped through a crack in the door he forgot about the cold. He could see two grown-ups in the stable; a man and a woman. They didn’t look that old. They were sitting up on some straw, leaning against the back wall of the stable. The woman was nursing a baby, holding it to her breast. Both grown-ups were gazing in delight at the baby as it sucked contentedly. In the corner lay two cows and a donkey. A candle had been melted onto the top of a rock and it shed its light upon the scene. The Drummer Boy stared with longing; it looked so peaceful, and cosy. This was a little family that belonged together. He was alone, on the outside, looking in.

The woman glanced up and stared at crack in the door. Had she seen him? He slid away into the shadows. Then the woman called out, “Who’s there?” The Drummer Boy held his breath and said nothing, his heart pounding in his chest. The woman called out again, “Who’s there?” To his surprise the woman didn’t sound angry; she sounded almost as if she was trying not to laugh. He took a deep breath, pushed the door open slowly and edged in. The woman and man both looked up. The woman looked kind and had laughing eyes. The man looked quiet and gentle. As he stood there he named the people in his own mind: the Kind Lady; the Gentle Man; the Baby.

The Kind Lady asked, “Would you like to see the Baby?” The Drummer Boy nodded. “Well then, come on in and close the door!” the Kind Lady said. The Drummer Boy gently closed the door and walked over to the Kind Lady. She turned the Baby round so that he could see it. “It’s a boy,” she said, “Isn’t he beautiful?” The Drummer Boy looked at the baby. He saw a tiny face with bright eyes that appeared to be looking at him. Raised against the face were two small fists. The Baby looked perfectly formed and fragile. The Drummer Boy nodded. “Would you like to hold the baby?” asked the Kind Lady. The Drummer Boy glanced questioningly at the Gentle Man. The Gentle Man nodded at him and smiled. The Drummer Boy said, “Yes, I’d like to”. The Kind Lady asked the Drummer Boy to sit down beside her. She showed him how to hold out his arms. Then rising slowly, she bent down and gently placed the Baby into the arms of the Drummer Boy.

The Drummer Boy didn’t know what to think. He was thrilled to be holding the Baby and yet he was terrified that he might drop him. The Kind Lady reassured him, showing him just how relaxed and contented the Baby was. After a few minutes the Drummer Boy gingerly returned the Baby to its mother. He then said to the Kind Lady and the Gentle Man, “I can play the drum. Would you like me to play something for you?” The Kind Lady and the Gentle Man gestured that they would like that. The Drummer Boy sat down cross-legged and closed his eyes. He thought about how peaceful and content he felt right now, about how cosy the stable was and about the love that he could see in the eyes of the baby’s parents. And he played. The music that came from the drum was relaxed and gentle and made him think of sleep. As he played, the Drummer Boy looked up at the young couple and saw happiness and love in their faces. He stole a glance at the Baby and just as he did so he saw the baby give one of those half-smiles that only new babies give. The Baby then closed his eyes and fell asleep. A few minutes later the Drummer Boy fell asleep also, his arm still around his drum.

Just before dawn the Drummer Boy awoke. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was. He looked up and saw the Kind Lady smiling over at him. She was nursing her baby again. The Drummer Boy felt that it was now time to leave. He picked up his drum and slung it over his shoulder. He ran his fingers through his hair and went over to the Kind Lady. Kneeling down beside her he said, “Thanks for letting me stay”. The Kind Lady said, “You’re welcome. But I need to ask you something”. She looked at the Drummer Boy, her eyes no longer smiling. “Please, would you give me your drum?” The Drummer Boy was stunned. For a moment he said nothing. The Kind Lady looked at him, her eyes pleading. The Drummer Boy’s eyes filled with tears. How could he say, “No” to the Kind Lady? He slowly removed the drum from his shoulder and placed it gently on the ground at the feet of the Kind Lady. Then he opened the door, edged out, took a final look at the couple and the Baby and at his beloved drum and left.
Outside it was bitterly cold. The sky was clear and thousands of stars glistened above the head of the Drummer Boy. But the Drummer Boy noticed none of this. Warm tears streaked his cheeks and ran cold down his neck. He plodded along the long roads that led to the centre of the town. All he could think about was his drum; it had been able to reflect his moods so precisely; it had enabled him to face his fears. He had felt that he and the drum were one. He thought that his identity had been taken away from him. He had been the Drummer Boy; how could he be the Drummer Boy without his drum? The Drummer Boy felt empty inside, as if an essential part of himself were missing.

The Drummer Boy kept asking himself “What were you thinking of? Why did you give away the drum?” And yet he had really felt that he had no choice. It had been the right thing to do. For some reason he did not understand he had needed to let the drum go. The drum had never really belonged to him; the drum had found him and he had been allowed to keep it for those two years. It had been time to let it go.

Life without the drum was different. Daytimes weren’t so bad. The Drummer Boy could no longer earn money by playing the drum so he ran errands instead. He played with friends. He kept himself busy. He liked being busy because it stopped him from thinking about his drum. Night times were difficult. At night he had time to think and his thoughts would invariably turn to his drum. Sadness would descend upon him. Usually the sadness fell on him like light drops of rain and he could shake it off by forcing himself to think about something else. On the worst nights a deep sadness seemed to penetrate to his soul and no thoughts could drive this out. Those nights felt as if they would never end. Yet even in those nights he remained convinced that he had made the right choice. Even though it seemed impossible, the Drummer Boy was certain that somehow his drum would be restored to him or that it would be replaced. Something would happen to sort out his drum. He was sure of it. He just had no idea how it could happen.

Months passed and summer arrived. One day the Drummer Boy felt restless. He couldn’t settle to brush floors, run errands or collect water from the well. He started to walk briskly, anywhere, just to be by himself. After a while he realised that he was walking in the direction of the stable where he had met the Kind Lady, the Gentle Man and the Baby. He had not returned there since the day he had given away his drum. The people would all be gone by now, of course. He found himself thinking about the Kind Lady and wondered why she had wanted to keep his drum. He also thought about the Gentle Man and the Baby and wondered where they were now. The Drummer Boy looked up and found himself standing outside the stable door.

The stable looked very different by day. From the outside it looked small, dirty and dusty. Swallows were flying in and out of the stable through a gap caused by a broken hinge. The Drummer Boy pushed open the door. Inside it smelt musty. Apart from the swallows the stable was empty. The Drummer Boy could see a pile of straw where the Kind Lady and Gentle Man had sat. In the corner he could see a cleared space where the cattle had been. The rock on the floor still had a candle melted onto it and he could see the place where he had fallen asleep with his drum.

The Drummer Boy walked over to where he had sat when holding the Baby. He tried to lean against the wall but something stuck uncomfortably into his back. He thrust his hand into the straw to see what had caused him such discomfort. His hand struck wood. He turned around and knelt down. Using both hands he cleared away the straw and then gasped at what he saw – a drum! But was it his? It looked like his drum and yet it looked different. The old piece of rope had been replaced by a shining leather strap. The drum had been sanded all over so that all of the scratches were now gone – all but one. Down at the base he could see his own mark, the one that he had scratched using a sharp stone. It was his drum! The Drummer Boy sat down cross-legged on the floor and began to play. The tune that he played was racing, wild, ecstatic; a tune fit to exorcise the deepest of sorrows. He played this wild, rejoicing tune in celebration. His drum had been returned to him and he felt whole again.

© Claire Murray