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The Stranger and the Ring
old drew many to South Africa and it was gold that has just reaffirmed my faith in this 1）muddled， mosaic nation.
As a Briton living in 2）Cape Town， I recently received the call that nobody wants. My father had passed away. After the funeral in England， my mother showed me dad’s will. It mostly went to her with one named item for me—a gold ring， worn 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 left 3）pinky it felt somehow right. Consoled in my grief by dad’s beloved bling， I flew home to South Africa.
All was well until a wintry Saturday when I walked on our local beach. As so often in the Cape， it was fiercely windy， a blur of sand and 4）spindrift. When I got home and lit the fire， I looked at my left hand. The ring wasn’t there.
An emotional tsunami washed over me—shock， horror， 5）remorse， anger， powerlessness. And when it pulled back， all that was really left was guilt—a potential life sentence of guilt. 6）Hoping against hope that it had not been dropped on the beach， I looked everywhere else. Maybe the car？ I stripped it 7）to no avail. Maybe the 8）veranda where I dried off the dog？ No luck. Maybe the house？ Nothing.
It must have been the beach， an area stretching 200m from the car park—the ring， a very small needle in a very large and tidally wet haystack.
I was out at first light the next day but with no luck， spirits dimming. My only hope was this—the wind had been so strong the ring could have been buried. It might just still be there， somewhere.
I contacted local metal detector users. Two came to help， one even lending me his gear. “Take as long as you need，” he said. Days of searching passed 9）forlornly. I found an old mobile phone， a 50 cent coin and a lot of bottle tops.
I rang mum that long week but was not brave enough to confess. If I had to tell her I had lost dad’s ring， I had to be able to say I had done everything humanly possible to find it.
With my hopes failing， a third detectionist offered to drive from an hour away to help， “I have only one condition，” he said： “I don’t want payment even if I find something.”
When things look too good to be true， surely life teaches us that is exactly what they are. So late on Sunday， eight days after the ring was lost， Alan and his kids arrived. Fluid dynamics of wet sand being what they are， by now the ring could have burrowed anything up to 50cm down. Was this 10）the last throw of the dice？
Alan surveyed the search area. He talked about the wind， the tide， the currents and then he got to work. Up and down he ploughed， earphones on， criss-crossing dry sand， wet sand and even the approaching surf.
His gear was so good； he was picking up something every three or four paces， ring pulls and other metallic junk so I rather gave up watching closely every time he started to dig.
And then， a miracle. From a hole 40cm down， Alan had heaped wet sand and his eye， tempered by years of peering into 11）briny 12）swill， had seen something. Calling out for me to come over， calmly he said the best of words： “There’s your ring， Tim.”
This could not be happening. My eyes， 13）prickly with tears and blurry with expectation， couldn’t see straight to begin with. And then there it was， dad’s ring， his dad’s ring， 90 years of accompanying them on life’s journey and lost by me on a beach in Africa after a few weeks’ 14）custody.
Alan grinned， the kids capered， the dog joined in and for a moment all was madness. I hugged this big， bearded stranger.
And there was a greater miracle at work. My saviour refused all reward. He was firm， he was insistent. No he would not accept a fee， no he did not want petrol money， no he did not want a celebratory drink nor fish and chips to drive home with. He wanted nothing more than to give something back.
I went down to that beach that day to find a ring. What I actually found was more valuable still—that there remain some decent souls out there. Now， at last， I can call mum.
金子吸引了很多人到南非，也是金子让我在这个纷乱而多样化的国家再次坚定我的信仰。
我是一个住在开普敦的英国人，我最近接到了一个任何人都不想接到的电话。我的父亲去世了。在英国参加完葬礼后，母亲给我看了父亲的遗嘱。大部分遗产都归母亲所有，我得到了一样指定物品——一个金戒指，这个戒指父亲已经戴了几十年了，在他之前，他的父亲也戴了几十年。
我从未佩戴过真正意义上的珠宝，然而当我把这个戒指穿入左手尾指时，不知为何，我觉得很合适。父亲这件心爱的珠宝抚慰了我内心的痛苦，我戴着这个戒指飞回了南非的家。
一切都安好无事，直到一个寒冷的星期六，当时我在当地一个沙滩上散步。那时的开普敦和平时没什么两样，风很大，沙子与飞溅的浪花让人视线模糊。我回到家，点燃壁炉，看向我的左手。戒指不见了。
霎时，我心里翻江倒海，震惊、恐惧、懊恼、愤怒、无力等情绪在内心翻腾。各种情绪平复后，我只感到深深的愧疚——也许将背负一生的愧疚。抱着一线希望，但愿戒指没有掉到沙滩上，我找遍了其他地方。也许是掉在了车上？我把车子翻遍了也没找到。也许是掉在了走廊？我曾在那里吹干狗狗身上的毛。没找到。也许在房子里？一无所获。
一定是掉在了沙滩里，以停车场为起点，延伸200米以内的区域——要找一个戒指，就像大海捞针一样。
old drew many to South Africa and it was gold that has just reaffirmed my faith in this 1）muddled， mosaic nation.
As a Briton living in 2）Cape Town， I recently received the call that nobody wants. My father had passed away. After the funeral in England， my mother showed me dad’s will. It mostly went to her with one named item for me—a gold ring， worn 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 left 3）pinky it felt somehow right. Consoled in my grief by dad’s beloved bling， I flew home to South Africa.
All was well until a wintry Saturday when I walked on our local beach. As so often in the Cape， it was fiercely windy， a blur of sand and 4）spindrift. When I got home and lit the fire， I looked at my left hand. The ring wasn’t there.
An emotional tsunami washed over me—shock， horror， 5）remorse， anger， powerlessness. And when it pulled back， all that was really left was guilt—a potential life sentence of guilt. 6）Hoping against hope that it had not been dropped on the beach， I looked everywhere else. Maybe the car？ I stripped it 7）to no avail. Maybe the 8）veranda where I dried off the dog？ No luck. Maybe the house？ Nothing.
It must have been the beach， an area stretching 200m from the car park—the ring， a very small needle in a very large and tidally wet haystack.
I was out at first light the next day but with no luck， spirits dimming. My only hope was this—the wind had been so strong the ring could have been buried. It might just still be there， somewhere.
I contacted local metal detector users. Two came to help， one even lending me his gear. “Take as long as you need，” he said. Days of searching passed 9）forlornly. I found an old mobile phone， a 50 cent coin and a lot of bottle tops.
I rang mum that long week but was not brave enough to confess. If I had to tell her I had lost dad’s ring， I had to be able to say I had done everything humanly possible to find it.
With my hopes failing， a third detectionist offered to drive from an hour away to help， “I have only one condition，” he said： “I don’t want payment even if I find something.”
When things look too good to be true， surely life teaches us that is exactly what they are. So late on Sunday， eight days after the ring was lost， Alan and his kids arrived. Fluid dynamics of wet sand being what they are， by now the ring could have burrowed anything up to 50cm down. Was this 10）the last throw of the dice？
Alan surveyed the search area. He talked about the wind， the tide， the currents and then he got to work. Up and down he ploughed， earphones on， criss-crossing dry sand， wet sand and even the approaching surf.
His gear was so good； he was picking up something every three or four paces， ring pulls and other metallic junk so I rather gave up watching closely every time he started to dig.
And then， a miracle. From a hole 40cm down， Alan had heaped wet sand and his eye， tempered by years of peering into 11）briny 12）swill， had seen something. Calling out for me to come over， calmly he said the best of words： “There’s your ring， Tim.”
This could not be happening. My eyes， 13）prickly with tears and blurry with expectation， couldn’t see straight to begin with. And then there it was， dad’s ring， his dad’s ring， 90 years of accompanying them on life’s journey and lost by me on a beach in Africa after a few weeks’ 14）custody.
Alan grinned， the kids capered， the dog joined in and for a moment all was madness. I hugged this big， bearded stranger.
And there was a greater miracle at work. My saviour refused all reward. He was firm， he was insistent. No he would not accept a fee， no he did not want petrol money， no he did not want a celebratory drink nor fish and chips to drive home with. He wanted nothing more than to give something back.
I went down to that beach that day to find a ring. What I actually found was more valuable still—that there remain some decent souls out there. Now， at last， I can call mum.
金子吸引了很多人到南非，也是金子让我在这个纷乱而多样化的国家再次坚定我的信仰。
我是一个住在开普敦的英国人，我最近接到了一个任何人都不想接到的电话。我的父亲去世了。在英国参加完葬礼后，母亲给我看了父亲的遗嘱。大部分遗产都归母亲所有，我得到了一样指定物品——一个金戒指，这个戒指父亲已经戴了几十年了，在他之前，他的父亲也戴了几十年。
我从未佩戴过真正意义上的珠宝，然而当我把这个戒指穿入左手尾指时，不知为何，我觉得很合适。父亲这件心爱的珠宝抚慰了我内心的痛苦，我戴着这个戒指飞回了南非的家。
一切都安好无事，直到一个寒冷的星期六，当时我在当地一个沙滩上散步。那时的开普敦和平时没什么两样，风很大，沙子与飞溅的浪花让人视线模糊。我回到家，点燃壁炉，看向我的左手。戒指不见了。
霎时，我心里翻江倒海，震惊、恐惧、懊恼、愤怒、无力等情绪在内心翻腾。各种情绪平复后，我只感到深深的愧疚——也许将背负一生的愧疚。抱着一线希望，但愿戒指没有掉到沙滩上，我找遍了其他地方。也许是掉在了车上？我把车子翻遍了也没找到。也许是掉在了走廊？我曾在那里吹干狗狗身上的毛。没找到。也许在房子里？一无所获。
一定是掉在了沙滩里，以停车场为起点，延伸200米以内的区域——要找一个戒指，就像大海捞针一样。