It wasn't closed yet, though it would be soon. She stepped into the dim interior; a soft light illuminated the stage. And there was music, a kind she'd never heard. A child playing, as, a few hundred years before, countless children had played. A simple two fingered melody, but nevertheless a tune, distinct and recognizable.
"Danny," she called; but he didn't hear. She climbed to the stage though she had less luck with the door to the enclosure than her son had had.
"Danny." She pounded against it. Danny looked up, his smile of preoccupation fading. He came out.
"It's a piano," said Danny.
"I know it's a piano. And very valuable, the only one in the world. You might break it." She didn't know, but her statement wasn't true. There were seven others, carefully preserved and guarded.
"I've been careful," he said. "I don't want to break it."
"Listen, Danny. Would you go near an atomic pile?"
"No," he admitted.
"Of course not," she said. "Robots do that kind of work. They are built for it and it doesn't hurt them. It's like that with music."
Gravely he considered her logic. "But it's not the same. It didn't hurt me at all," he said. "It was fun playing. I wish I had a piano."