“Are you ready to leave?” My husband’s hand rests gently on my shoulder as he speaks, and his thumb is cool where it brushes against the skin of my neck.

“Soon.” I know we’re meant to be meeting friends for dinner, that a lengthy visit to this old church was not on our itinerary, but there’s something about this statue that has me transfixed.

“Might I remind you that you answered ‘soon’ ten minutes ago, and fifteen minutes before that?” His tone betrays only the merest hint of impatience.

“I know, but there’s something about her that… I feel like there’s something I’m meant to be seeing, or… comprehending… that I’m not.”

“The informational brochure describes her merely as an unnamed saint.”

“I know,” I tell him. “It’s just that I can’t decide… is she human turning to gold, or gold turning to human?”

My husband, who typically has a response for everything, does not reply.