“Heroism,” I said. My word. But how very different was my definition of it. I did not interrupt her.

“It seemed that the piano playing was at war with my spiritual soul. I wanted to give up everything for others, and that meant giving up the piano, above all, the piano.”

This saddened me. I had the feeling she had not told this story often, and her voice was very subdued when she spoke.

“But what about the happiness you gave to people when you played?” I asked. “Wasn’t that something of real value?”

“Now, I can say that it was,” she said, her voice dropping even lower, and her words coming with painful slowness. “But then? I wasn’t sure of it. I wasn’t a likely person for such a talent. I didn’t mind being heard; but I didn’t like being seen.” She flushed slightly as she looked at me. “Perhaps if I could have played in a choir loft, or behind a screen it would have been different.”

“I see,” I said. “There are many humans who feel this way, of course.”

“But you don’t, do you?”

I shook my head.

She explained how excruciating it was for her to be dressed in white lace, and made to play before an audience. She did it to please her parents and her teachers. Entering the various competitions was an agony. But almost invariably she won. Her career had become a family enterprise by the time she was sixteen.

“But what about the music itself. Did you enjoy it?”

She thought for a moment. Then: “It was absolute ecstasy,” she answered. “When I played alone … with no one there to watch me, I lost myself in it completely. It was almost like being under the influence of a drug. It was … it was almost erotic. Sometimes melodies would obsess me. They’d run through my head continuously. I lost track of time when I played. I still cannot really listen to music without being swept up and carried away. You don’t see any radio here or tape player. I can’t have those things near me even now.”

“But why deny yourself this?” I looked around. There was no piano in this room either.

She shook her head dismissively. “The effect is too engulfing, don’t you see? I can forget everything else too easily. And nothing is accomplished when this happens. Life is on hold, so to speak.”

“But, Gretchen, is that true?” I asked. “For some of us such intense feelings are life! We seek ecstasy. In those moments, we … we transcend all the pain and the pettiness and the struggle. That’s how it was for me when I was alive. That’s how it is for me now.”

She considered this, her face very smooth and relaxed. When she spoke, it was with quiet conviction.

“I want more than that,” she said. “I want something more palpably constructive. But to put it another way, I cannot enjoy such a pleasure when others are hungry or suffering or sick.”