The Hercules Beetle

The wing covers are shut, two halves that meet in a straight seam down the back. Each is held at its front corner by a brass pin with a flattened head.

You lift one with a fingertip, and the other lifts with it.

Underneath, the back is soft and pale, in bands. The flight wings are folded there, longer than the covers that hide them.

The covers are green when it is dry, the man with the brush says, without looking up. In damp air they go black.

Beside the book there is a dish of silica beads, all still blue but one, which has gone pink.

You lower the cover, and the other comes down with it.