Years later, when I was visiting the nearby ancient monastery of Santes Creus, I met an old innkeeper who said that he remembered hearing me play that strange instrument [homemade cello constructed by his father] one night, when I was a boy of nine, in the cloisters of the monastery. And I too remembered that night – when I played in the moonlight and the music echoed among the shadows and against the crumbling white monastery walls….