"This is worse than a Hitchcock movie," muttered the Frenchman. But no one was listening. Huddled in a dingy back room of Carnegie Hall last week, the seven finalists in the Dimitri Mitropoulos International Music Competition were wrapped in a cocoon of suspense, nervously awaiting the verdict of the judges. The Czech stared vacant-eyed at the wall; the Japanese seemed mesmerized by his feet. The German bustled around the room collecting autographs. The Chilean idly felt his wrist, suddenly exclaimed: "I have no pulse! My heart has stopped!"
It was the grand finale to two hellish weeks of elimination rounds...
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