"Quickly, bring him into the light where we can see him properly," said my mother, her voice shrill with excitement. "Don't drop him now."
We had barely got da Silva onto the kitchen table when Frikkie came home.
"What're you doing with da Silva?" he demanded, glaring at all of us. "He doesn't feel like coming out now, he's hibernating. I never said you could play with him."
"Don't worry, Boet, we're just checking his shell," soothed my father.
"There might be diamonds under there," added my mother, flushed with the thought of sudden wealth. "Uncut diamonds."
"Oh, come ON Ma," retorted Frikkie, "You don't get diamonds from a tortoise! You get them from under the ground!"
"Don't get cheeky with me, young man," she snapped, "da Silva is from Angola, isn't he? They've been smuggling them out for years. His shell could be STUFFED with diamonds."
We peered intently at the edge of da Silva's shell and in the dim kitchen light, it suddenly seemed to me as if there could be a double edge to it. If I looked at a certain angle, there was definitely a thickness above the outer edge. This could easily be another shell, one that had been expertly glued down ten years before. How could we not have noticed this until now?
"Jannie," said my mother, "You've got to try and take this off. Shall I fetch the claw hammer for you?"
"MA!" Frikkie was horrified. "You can't smash da Silva's shell off! He'll die!"
"No, Boetie, not smash it off, you Pa is just going to ... sort of ... LIFT the top shell off," soothed my mother. "He won't hurt de Silva , now will you Jannie?"
I saw her wink at my father.