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An elderly lady in robe stood by the doorway; a huge smile, as well as a thin oxygen tube hung across her face. "Oh, how lovely," she pointed to my violin. "Would you like to hear something?" I asked, forgetting that my guide was the one who was supposed to ask.

The lady was a little hard of hearing, at least it seemed that way because we had to repeat our intention a few times. She finally agreed to return to her side of the room and sit down. We squished by the bed next to the door, which was completely curtained off. "Nobody is in this room, just me," she informed us. "Your neighbor isn't here?" my guide asked. "That's what I said," she replied. "Oh, how lovely, a violin!"

Standing behind her, I saw my guide catching a glimpse through the curtains. Her expression immediately changed -- "stony" is the only word that came to mind. Not wanting to startle the old lady or making her feel that something was wrong, I simply looked at the girl. I got nothing. I only knew that something disturbed her, but the nature and gravity of which were beyond guesses. I started playing, limiting my improvisation to less than a minute. The old lady interrupted me every few second with "How wonderful!" and "I feel like I am in Carnegie Hall!"

After wishing the patient a good night, we hurried out of the room. "What's wrong?" I whispered. She did not reply. We came to the nurse's station, which was just three steps from the room. "Was there someone in there?" I asked again. She nodded. "Sleeping?" No. "Awake?" Again, no. "Then what?"

"Dead," she whispered.