Mr. Schultz

Mr. Schultz, a gentleman in his 60's, was intimidating at first sight. He wore a fur hat, ear flaps draped along both sides of his thin face; below the hat brink, one bulging eyelid was shut close, making the remaining window of the soul shining extra piercingly. He was standing next to the nurse station, leaning against the counter, as we approached.

"I visited that gentleman last month," my guide Liz whispered to me. "The musician was a guitarist. As soon as the patient saw him, he said, 'No rock and roll!'" she chuckled. "But I think he enjoyed the music." She kept going for a minute, describing to me the brief exchange they shared that night. I was not listening. I looked at the man through the corner of my eyes, who, for no particular reason, nearly gave me chills.

"Are you looking for me?" A gruff voice thundered. Up close, the fierce eye was even more luminous than from afar. The man has two faces: the left side of his face (drawing an imaginary line from his forehead to his chin) is peaceful and smiling, as if asleep; but the right side is bordering on hostile. "Yes, sir," Liz said, her voice was extra gentle. "I don't know if you remember me, I visited you last month with another musician--a guitarist. We are wondering if you would like to hear some violin music tonight."

"Ah, yes. I remember," he said pensively. He gave me a quick once-over. "Well, come on in!" The two of us quickly followed.

He lived in an isolation room, with a heavy outer door, a "prep" area--equipped with a sink and soap dispenser for medical staff before entering the room--and an inner door, also quite heavy. The room was especially lonely as a droning noise from the air-conditioning filled the tiny space. "Look at that, I'm living in an isolation room even though I don't need to with my condition. Just fabulous," he said sarcastically. "At least I got a view," he pointed to the huge window next to the bed, which faced the Hudson River. I waited one more minute as he settled himself on bed. "What would you like to play for me?" The intimidating side of his face softened a little.

I started playing "Le Cigne" ("The Swan") by Camille Saint-Saen. A few measures into the piece I opened my eyes and peeked. His eyes were closed and a serene smile appeared on his whole face. I felt relieved. "Can you please play another one?" he asked as the last note lingered and finally vanished. I looked over at Liz, my timekeeper. She was enjoying it as much as he was. I gladly obliged and played "Meditation from Thais" by Massenet.

By the end of the second piece, all fierceness left his face and was replaced by an indescribable tranquility. Mr. Schultz thanked us and we bade him good night. Before Liz closed the first door, I turned around and saw that the sun was starting to set, coloring the Hudson with brilliant gold. Mr. Schultz was still smiling -- the sunset reflecting off the eye that shone so brightly.