The Piper was once a man. He knows that much. He knows that at one point, he too was normal. He knows it, but he cannot remember it. As he walks through the town of Hamelin, he sees emotions in the eyes of those who stare at him, but he can no longer name them. He does not know how to read the people. Here and there he sees something that could be terror, something that could be awe, something that could be anything. He does not care to decipher the faces. He does not care to remember that he was once a man as well. The Piper's fingers dance lightly across the pipe that rests delicately against his lips, transforming mere air into music and power. No, the music has come between the Piper and the world. He likes it better this way. So he shuts his eyes to the world, and plays on, blocking out the haunting faces that line the streets of Hamelin.
The boy made the Piper remember only too well that he was once a man. The Piper knows this. He knows that at one point, he could have found huma