“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“Ever since I’ve seen the infamies committed in the world; ever since I’ve seen how coldly a piece of humanity is given over to death; ever since I’ve seen how men die friendless on the streets and in the hospital,” answered Jesús with a certain solemnity.
Manuel was silent. Mutely the two friends sauntered along the Ronda de Segovia, selecting a bench in the gardens of La Virgen del Puerto.
The heavens over them were studded with stars; the milky way lay white across the immense blue vault. The geometric figure of the Great Bear shone high up in the sky. Arcturus and Vega glowed softly in that ocean of planets.
Far off, the dark fields, furrowed by lines of lights, looked like the water of a harbour; the rows of lights seemed like the piers of a wharf.
The damp, warm air was saturated with the scents of wild plants—odours set free by the heat.
“How many stars!” exclaimed Manuel. “What can they be?”
“They’re worlds and worlds without end.”