Gold drew many to South Africa and it was gold that has just restored my faith in this chaotic nation.
As a British living in Cape Town, I recently received the call that my father had passed away. After the funeral in England, my mother gave me a gold ring, worm for decades by Dad and before him, by his own father. I've never really been into jewellery, yet when I slipped the ring on my finger it felt somehow right.
Consoled (抚慰) in my grief by Dad's beloved ring, I flew home to South Africa.
All went well until a windy Saturday when I walked on our local beach. As so often in the Cape, it was fiercely windy. When I got home and lit the fire, I looked at my left hand. The ring wasn't there. Awful emotions washed over me- shock, horror, remorse, anger, powerlessness, guilt - a potential life sentence of guilt. Hoping that it had not been dropped on the beach, I looked everywhere else. Maybe the car? I searched every corner of it but fruitless. Maybe the house? Nothing.
It must have been the beach, an area stretching 200 metres from the car park - the ring, a very small needle in an ocean.
I was out at first light the next day but with no luck, discouraged. My only hope was this - the wind had been so strong that the ring could have been buried. It might just be there, somewhere.
I swore to recover it no matter how much I would pay, so I contacted local metal detector users. Two came to help, one even lending me his gear(设备). "Take as long as you need," he said. Days of searching passed quickly, we found an old mobile phone, a 50 cent coin and a lot of bottle tops.
With my hopes failing, a third detectionist (探测者), Allan called to help me.
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Paragraph 1:
Three days later, Alan, with his acute gear, arrived.
Paragraph 2:
And there was a greater miracle.
