USING BOTH HANDS MY MUM pulled a rusted steel box from the satchel. The box was the size of a biscuit tin and very old. It was by far the largest item in the satchel.
When the contractors arrived to dig the well I found this buried in the soil, several meters below the surface. Chris and I were observing the work as though we were at a funeral, solemnly standing at the edge of the hole, saying farewell to half our money. As they dug deeper I caught a glimmer of light. I shouted for them to stop work, waving my arms. The contractors saw the commotion, shut down the drill, and before Chris could grab me I clambered down the hole. It was stupid. I could’ve been killed. I just had to save whatever was down there. When I emerged from the hole, clasping this box, everyone was yelling at me. No one cared about the box. All I could do was apologize and withdraw to the house, where I examined my discovery in private.
Lift the lid—
Take a look through them—
That’s not what I discovered that day. Let me explain. The box did contain papers. It contained those same papers, but that writing wasn’t on them. As you can see, the metal’s cracked with rust in several places. The box had failed to keep out the moisture so the original ink on the pages had long since disappeared. You couldn’t make out more than a few words. They were probably legal documents. I should’ve thrown them on the fire. In my mind they were part of the farm’s history. It felt wrong to destroy them, so I put them back in this box and left them under the sink. My next comment is very important: I thought no more about them.
I want to say that again because I can’t tell whether you registered the point—