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Wolf Messing –the true story of Russia’s greatest psychic – Tatiana Lungin

The doctor explained that Messing’s appendix had burst, resulting in peritonitis.  It looked like death was at his door…….

Also in this ward was a young man of Herculean stature with an Ernest Hemingway-style beard, who had wound up there through some misunderstanding. Messing intercepted my glance toward the young man, beckoned me with his finger, and whispered softly in my ear.

"Taibele, these damned doctors obviously think I'm finished,” he said, "but they're wrong. I feel sorry for that young fellow, though. He's in his last days, though he appears to be in fine shape."

During my second visit, Wolf asked for some black caviar.  He lost his appetite for everything else. After traveling all over Moscow, I managed to obtain about one and a half ounces of it at a small out-of-the-way restaurant, and immediately hurried to the clinic with the precious gift. Wolf was overjoyed to see both me and the caviar. Now he was smiling effortlessly, and I could see that things had taken a turn for the better. But the brawny young man was no longer in the ward; he died, just as my friend had foretold.