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.