Another far more serious accident happened in Hamburg. An atmosphere of earnestness preceded my performance of the D-minor solo suite by Bach. Inexplicably, my memory limited itself to only the first open D, and not one note further. I kept tuning my cello, all the while hoping the continuation would come back to me. But the more I tuned, the less I knew what followed the D. I had to start. My fingers would automatically follow, I was sure. Determinedly I struck the D, but stopped, and to an embarrassing silence pretended that my cello needed some more tuning. Realizing that I couldn’t sit there forever and having no alternative, I finally began. I improvised and, my heart pounding, I tried to foresee how it would develop and end. It was a very long preludium, but I finally reached the concluding chord. Glancing at the hall, I saw Professor Jacob Sakom and his cello students staring bewilderedly at their score. “It is amazing,” said Sakom after the concert, “I don’t know that edition of the preludium. Most interesting. I would love to see it.” / In the morning he came for breakfast. “The critics and everyone loved your Bach,” he said. I laughed and confessed that it was “my” Bach indeed. << less