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SAMANTHA UNFOLDED THE newspaper, and Nomusa and Jessie moved in so as to see better. On the front page was a photograph of the captured fishing trawler, alongside a bold heading.
Gotcha! MCM raid nets illegal fishing operation
The article beneath described the search and seizure of the illegal fishing vessel the previous night.
Samantha quickly read the article. “Wow, it says the hold was full of endangered fish species and contraband abalone. And even severed shark’s fins!”
“Yes, but they arrested the captain and seventeen crew members. This is such good news!” Nomusa said, delighted.
“Yeah, yeah. But the part I found most interesting is in the last few paragraphs — on the next page,” Dan said. He was smiling in a peculiar way.
Samantha opened the paper, found the rest of the article and read aloud:
In a curious twist, one of the arrested crew has accused local maritime authorities of underhanded tactics. He stated that a night-time raid on their fishing lines had been conducted in July, resulting in destroyed longlines and lost catches. He alleged that the raid was conducted by child operatives.
Samantha’s voice faded on the last words. She swallowed, stole a glance at Dan — who was eyeing all three of them speculatively — and then continued in a stronger voice.
But a government spokesman described this accusation as “arrant nonsense. The idea that we would dispatch underaged and clandestine groups of line-cutters at night is both ridiculously farfetched and completely untrue.”
The arrested crew members are due to appear in the Durban Magistrate’s court tomorrow morning.
“Now, I find that interesting,” Dan said, rocking backwards on his chair. “Ver-ry interesting indeed. Because putting two and two together, I find myself coming to a surprising four. And if I really believed that my sister and her besties had slipped out from the bungalow one night during their July holidays, armed themselves with gloves, secateurs and other deadly weapons, and then gone out onto the ocean — without parental permission, I might add — and destroyed a longline attached to a trawler manned by a bunch of armed and dangerous thugs, if I concluded that, then I would definitely have to tell —” He caught sight of Mr. Steadman, who was walking towards their table.
Samantha held her breath. Beside her, Jessie pleaded, “Dan, please!”
“Then I would definitely have to,” Dan continued, “tell them — good job! I never thought you had it in you, girls!”
Dan cackled as Samantha, Nomusa and Jessie slumped back into their chairs, limp with relief.
Mr. Steadman, who had overheard only Dan’s last few words, patted his daughter on the back. “Yes, well done, ladies, well done!”
The Minister of Environmental Affairs stepped up to the microphone and welcomed everyone to the ceremony. A number of long boring speeches followed. Samantha listened intently, but Jessie and Dan picked buds off the floral table decorations and flicked them at the VIPs who were sitting at neighbouring tables. Nomusa read the newspaper which she held half-hidden under the tablecloth, while Cassie played with her braids. Finally, the speeches were over, and the new agreement was signed with great pomp and ceremony by representatives of all the nations involved in the treaty.
After posing for a series of photographs, the minister announced, “We will now proceed with the auction of a very special painting by Miss Jessica Delaney. Please dig deep into your pockets — all proceeds will be donated to KZN Wildlife’s turtle-tagging project.”
Mr. and Mrs. Delaney quickly took their seats at the table and Jessie’s turtle painting was brought forward on its easel. The blues and greens of the painting seemed to shine with a light of their own, and the turtle’s eyes were a deep, fathomless black.
“It’s truly beautiful, Jessie,” Samantha said, while the minister called for a toast to the artist.
“Not bad,” Dan conceded.
The bidding began at R1000 and rapidly climbed higher. When the bids hit R5000, Jessie hissed, “Yesss!”
Mr. Delaney looked both surprised and impressed. When the bidding stalled at R8000, he stood up and announced loudly, “R20 000!”
“Going once ... Going twice... SOLD!” There was a loud round of applause.
“Dad,” Jessie said. She had a soft, vulnerable expression on her face that Samantha had never seen there before. “You actually want one of my paintings.”
But Mr. Delaney appeared not to hear her. He addressed the crowd in a loud, confident voice.
“I’d like to donate the painting to KZN Wildlife — I’m sure it will look splendid on the walls of their head office.”
There was more applause at this, as well as a few cheers. Mr. Delaney nodded and smiled, clearly enjoying all the attention. Even his wife was looking at him and seemed to be trying hard to force her stiff facial muscles into a semblance of pleasure.
Jessie, however, was not smiling. She glanced from her father to her mother, disappointment etched on her face.
“Well, that went rather well. A good time for me to work the room, I think,” Mr. Delaney said, and disappeared back into the crowd as the waiters brought out trays laden with plates of food.
Jessie stared moodily at the table, but Dan threw a rosebud at her and said, “Hey, you —famous artist. What do you think I could get for the babe with the moustache and horns?”
Jessie gave him a reluctant grin.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Samantha said.
Outside, they all kicked off their shoes and stacked them against the wheels of a catering truck parked behind the marquee. Then they walked up the beach, their toes sinking into the cool softness of the sand. Away from the bright lights, loud music and raucous partying, the night was still, and the sea glimmered with a faint blue fluorescence where the waves crashed onto the shore. They kept going until the marquee was a mere dim light in the distance and the only sound was the roar of the breakers.
“What a day!” Nomusa said.
“What a year!” Samantha said.
Jessie threw an arm around each of their shoulders. “It’s been fun, hasn’t it?”
Dan, edging Samantha to the side so that he could walk beside Jessie, said, “It’s had its moments.”
“I liked the turtle best,” Cassandra declared. “I’m glad we’re going to see it again.”
Jessie ruffled her sister’s hair. “I already told you. The turtles aren’t invited guests at the ceremony.”
“Well, it came anyway, so there!” Cassandra pointed at the shadowed dunes ahead.
“No way!” Jessie squinted to see better.
“I told you so,” Cassandra replied.
They scrambled over the sand — Jessie cursing the evening gown which kept tripping her — until they caught up with the lumbering turtle pushing its way down the dunes to the water.
“It’s a leatherback. I can hardly believe it — tonight, of all nights! And right here! Isn’t it amazing?” Samantha said. “It’s like a sign.”
She felt as if her heart was swelling with joy, and with something more. Something bigger than all of them.
“I think it’s been laying.” Nomusa pointed up the dunes where, by the soft light of the stars, they could just make out where the turtle’s tracks ended at a patch of rumpled sand.
“This has been the best night ever!” Jessie said.
Turning to look at her, Dan said, “Yeah, it has.”
They stood, all five of them, arm-in-arm in a sort of guard of honour along the turtle’s path until it reached the water.
Cassandra waved at it. “Goodbye, my turtle.”
“Good luck,” Samantha whispered.
A wave splashed over the giant turtle, washing away her land-bound clumsiness along with the sand that had clung to her. With a last gleam of her black eyes, she moved gracefully into the waves and disappeared into the deep, dark water.