At first it seems mere curiosity, innocent and natural enough, this child’s questions. But he is abject, insatiable. His mother humors him, but the questions soon define the sharp edges of her ignorance.
What is the sun, Mama? Where do people go when they die? Why can’t I hear the thoughts of others? Does God get bored with prayers? Why does He allow evil in this world if he is all-powerful? Isn’t hell a form of eternal life?
She has no answers, feels as though her son has questioned her onto a crumbling cliff, an abyss yawning beneath her.
She retreats to solidity of the church where the priests clearly define the known and unknown, accepting both without reservation or questions. She loses herself in their certainty, accepting the necessary damnation that comes with it.