What I was not prepared for was the sight of

the overbearing, somewhat haughty, bespectacled, gray-haired middle age man, who

walked imperiously through the salon door, ignoring the liveried servant

who held it open for him.  There was something vaguely

familiar about the man, an aura, perhaps that betrayed the

master’s genius; there was even an abstract sound of distant

thunder — heard only in my overwrought mind, but it reverberated.

I was ten years old when my father took me

to meet Beethoven.  I was at once told to play

something.  “The boy has talent,” Beethoven said.  I was awestruck.


Paraphrases from the novel The Road to Omaha by Robert Ludlum and the biography Beethoven by Barry Cooper.