27 Nov.

Played Bach's Tocatta and Fugue for mother this morning. She turned her head slightly towards the tape deck and smiled a sort of half-smile. It was precisely the way she would respond were she conscious, and, for a brief moment, I entertained the notion that she was. There was music in our house all the time; loud, crashing, operatic stuff--she had this record player in the study that neither my father nor myself were permitted to touch.