You bought it sight unseen.

Yes. I went down to Bein & Fushi with the money in a shopping bag.

On the bus.

Yes. When I gave them the money they took it into the back room and counted it. They’d no idea what to do with it and the auction was in five days. You’d think that you could buy things with cash but apparently it’s not that easy anymore. They couldnt believe I was carrying a third of a million dollars around in a shopping bag. I told them I was hiding it in plain sight but that just seemed to confuse them.

A third of a million dollars.

Well, three hundred thousand actually.

What did Christie’s think that it would sell for?

I dont think they knew. It was such a unique piece. They were guessing at least two hundred thousand dollars but my guys at Bein & Fushi thought it would go for more.

But you were ready to push the whole three hundred thousand forward.

Yes. I told them to just go ahead and buy it.

It would sell for what it was worth. By definition.

Yes.

And so what did it go for?

Two-thirty.

Where was the auction? In New York?

Yes.

And you told them that you didnt even want to see it.

Yes.

I’m guessing that they already thought you were a bit strange.

I dont know what they thought. They got a nice commission out of it. They tried to give me a check for the remainder of the money but I told them cash only. Bobby’s rule.

What did they say to that?

They rolled around in the floor gurgling and calling out to one another.

All right. You didnt want to see it because you just wanted to be alone with it when you did see it.

Yes.

So you took it home on the bus.

Yes. When I got home I sat down on the bed with it in my lap and opened the case. Nothing smells like a three hundred year old violin. I plucked the strings and it was surprisingly close. I took it out of the case and sat there and tuned it. I wondered where the Italians had gotten ebony wood. For the pegs. And the fingerboard of course. The tailpiece. I got out the bow. It was German made. Very nice ivory inlays. I tightened it and then I just sat there and started playing Bach’s Chaconne. The D Minor? I cant remember. Such a raw, haunting piece. He’d composed it for his wife who’d died while he was away. But I couldnt finish it.

Why not?

Because I just started crying. I started crying and I couldnt stop.

Why were you crying? Why are you crying?

I’m sorry. For more reasons than I could tell you. I remember blotting the tears off of the spruce top of the Amati and laying it aside and going into the bathroom to splash water on my face. But it just started again. I kept thinking of the lines: What a piece of work is a man. I couldnt stop crying. And I remember saying: What are we? Sitting there on the bed holding the Amati, which was so beautiful it hardly seemed real. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen and I couldnt understand how such a thing could even be possible.