‘What?’ I cried. ‘What can you see?’ He was smiling. He was staring at the Pietà– ‘How can you still fucking believe?’ I shouted. ‘After all the things you’ve seen?’ ‘It’s the things I’ve not seen,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘During an eclipse there is no sun,’ he smiled. ‘Only darkness.’ ‘I don’t –’ ‘The sun is still there,’ he said. ‘You just can’t see it.’ ‘I –’ ‘But in your heart you know the sun will shine again, don’t you?’ I nodded. ‘Faith,’ he whispered – ‘The substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.’ I turned again to the Pietà. I turned back to the wounded
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