MORALITYFORBEAUTIFUL

GIRLS

AlexanderMcCallSmith

AnchorBooks

ADivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.

NewYork

Contents

TitlePage

Dedication

Chapter1 THEWORLDASSEENBYANOTHERPERSON

Chapter2 ABOYINTHENIGHT

Chapter3 GARAGEAFFAIRS

Chapter4 AVISITTODRMOFFAT

Chapter5 THEGOVERNMENTMAN

Chapter6 UNDERNEWMANAGEMENT

Chapter7 THEGIRLWITHTHREELIVES

Chapter8 LOWSEROTONINLEVELS

Chapter9 ATTHEORPHANFARM

Chapter10 THECLERK’STALE

Chapter11 MMAPOTOKWANEOBLIGES

Chapter12 FAMILYBUSINESS

Chapter13 THECHIEFJUSTICEOFBEAUTY

Chapter14 GODDECIDEDTHATBOTSWANAWOULDBEADRYPLACE

Chapter15 WHATDOYOUWANTTODOWITHYOURLIFE?

Chapter16 THECOOK’STALE

Chapter17 ANEXCELLENTTYPEOFGIRL

Chapter18 THEFIRSTSTEP

Chapter19 THEWORDSFORAFRICA

AbouttheAuthor

AdCard

CopyrightPage

ThisbookisforJeanDenison

andRichardDenison

CHAPTERONE

THEWORLDASSEENBYANOTHERPERSON

MMARAMOTSWE,thedaughterofthelateObedRamotsweofMochudi,nearGaborone,Botswana,Africa,wastheannouncedfiancéeofMrJ.L.B.Matekoni,son of the late Pumphamilitse Matekoni, of Tlokweng, peasant farmer andlatterly chief caretaker of the Railway Head Office. It was a fine match,everybodythought;she,thefounderandownerofTheNo.1Ladies’DetectiveAgency,Botswana’sonlydetective agency for the concernsofboth ladies andothers; he, the proprietor of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, and by generalrepute one of the finest mechanics in Botswana. It was always a good thing,peoplesaid, tohave independent interests inamarriage.Traditionalmarriages,inwhich themanmadeall thedecisionsandcontrolledmostof thehouseholdassets,were all verywell forwomenwhowanted to spend their timecookingandlookingafterchildren,buttimeshadchanged,andforeducatedwomenwhowanted to make something of their lives, it was undoubtedly better for bothspousestohavesomethingtodo.

There were many examples of such marriages. There was that of MmaMaketetse, for example, who had set up a small factory specialising in themakingofkhakishortsforschoolboys.Shehadstartedwithacrampedandill-ventilatedsewingroomatthebackofherhouse,butbyemployinghercousinsto cut and sew for her she had built up one of Botswana’s best businesses,exporting khaki shorts to Namibia in the face of stiff competition from largeclothingfactories in theCape.ShehadmarriedMrCedricMaketetse,whorantwo bottle stores inGaborone, the capital, and had recently opened a third inFrancistown. There had been a faintly embarrassing article about them in thelocal paper,with the catchyheadline:Shortsmanufacturing lady buttons it upwithdrinkmerchant.Theywerebothmembersof theChamberofCommerce,

and it was clear to all thatMrMaketetsewas immensely proud of hiswife’sbusinesssuccess.

Ofcourse,awomanwithasuccessfulbusinesshad tobecareful thatamanwhocamecourtingherwasnotmerelylookingforawayofspendingtherestofhisdaysincomfort.Therehadbeenplentyofcasesofthathappening,andMmaRamotswe had noticed that the consequences of such unions were almostinevitablydire.Themanwould eitherdrinkorgamble away theprofitsofhiswife’s enterprise, or he would try to run the business and destroy it in theprocess.Menweregoodatbusiness,thoughtMmaRamotswe,butwomenwerejust as good. Women were thriftier by nature; they had to be, trying to runhouseholds on a tight budget and feed the ever-open mouths of children.Childrenatesomuch,itseemed,andonecouldnevercookenoughpumpkinorporridgetofilltheirhungrybellies.Andasformen,theyneverseemedhappierthan when eating large quantities of expensive meat. It was all ratherdiscouraging.

“That will be a good marriage,” people said, when they heard of herengagementtoMrJ.L.B.Matekoni.“Heisareliableman,andsheisaverygoodwoman. They will be very happy running their businesses and drinking teatogether.”

Mma Ramotswewas aware of this popular verdict on her engagement andshared the sentiment. After her disastrous marriage to Note Mokoti, the jazztrumpeter and incorrigible ladies’man, she had decided that shewould neverremarry, in spite of frequent offers. Indeed, she had initially turned downMrJ.L.B.Matekoniwhenhehadfirstproposed,onlytoaccepthimsomesixmonthslater. She had realised that the best test of a prospective husband involves nomorethantheaskingofaverysimplequestion,whicheverywoman—oratleasteverywomanwhohashadagoodfather—canposeandtowhichshewillknowthe answer in her bones. She had asked herself this question in respect ofMrJ.L.B.Matekoni,andtheanswerhadbeenunambiguous.

“Andwhatwouldmy lateDaddyhave thoughtofhim?”shesaid toherself.SheposedthequestionaftershehadacceptedMrJ.L.B.Matekoni,asonemightask oneself whether one had taken the right turning at a road junction. Sherememberedwhereshehadbeenwhensheaskedit.Shewastakinganeveningwalknearthedam,alongoneofthosepathsthatledthiswayandthatthrough

thethornbushes.Shehadsuddenlystopped,andlookedupatthesky,intothatfaint,washedoutblue thatwouldsuddenly,at theapproachof sunset,becomestreaked with copper-red. It was a quiet time of the day, and she was utterlyalone.Andsoshespokethequestionoutloud,asifthereweresomebodytheretohearit.

Shelookedupatthesky,half-expectingtheanswertobethere.Butofcourseit was not, and she knew it anyway, without the need to look. There was nodoubtinhermindthatObedRamotswe,whohadseeneverysortofmanduringthetimehehadworkedinthosedistantmines,andwhoknewthefoiblesofallofthem,wouldhaveapprovedofMrJ.L.B.Matekoni.Andifthatwerethecase,thensheshouldhavenofearsaboutherfuturehusband.Hewouldbekindtoher.

NOW,SITTING in theofficeof theNo.1Ladies’DetectiveAgencywithherassistant, Mma Makutsi, the most distinguished graduate of her year at theBotswana Secretarial College, she reflected on the decisions which herimpendingmarriagetoMrJ.L.B.Matekoniwouldobligehertotake.Themostimmediate issue, of course, had been where they might live. That had beendecided rather quickly; Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s house near the old BotswanaDefence Club, attractive though it undoubtedly was, with its old colonialverandahand itsshiny tin roof,wasnotassuitableasherownhouse inZebraDrive.Hisgardenwassparse;littlemorethanasweptyard,infact;whereasshehadagoodcollectionofpaw-paw trees, somevery shadyacacias, andawell-establishedmelonpatch.Moreover,whenitcametotheinteriors,therewaslittleto recommend Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s spartan corridors and unlived-in rooms,especiallywhencomparedwiththelayoutofherownhouse.Itwouldbeagreatwrench,shefelt,toabandonherlivingroom,withitscomfortablerugonthered-polished concrete floor, hermantelpiecewith her commemorative plate of SirSeresteKhama, ParamountChief, Statesman, and first President ofBotswana,and,inthecorner,hertreadlesewingmachinethatstillworkedsowell,eveninapowercutwhenmoremodernsewingmachineswouldfallsilent.

Shehadnothadtosayverymuchaboutit.Infact, thedecisioninfavourof

ZebraDrivedidnotevenhavetobespelledout.AfterMrJ.L.B.Matekonihadbeen persuaded byMmaPotokwane, thematron at the orphan farm, to act asfosterfathertoanorphanedboyandhiscrippledsister,thechildrenhadmovedinto her house and immediately settled in.After that, itwas accepted that thewholefamilywould,induecourse,liveinZebraDrive.Forthetimebeing,MrJ.L.B.Matekoniwould continue to live in his own house, butwould take hiseveningmealatZebraDrive.

Thatwas theeasypartof thearrangement.Nowthere remained the issueofthe business. As Mma Ramotswe sat at her desk, watching Mma Makutsishuffling papers in the filing cabinet of their small office, her thoughts weretaken upwith the difficult task that lay ahead of her. It had not been an easydecisiontomake,butshehadnowmadeitandshewouldhavetosteelherselfandputitintoeffect.Thatwaswhatbusinesswasallabout.

One of the most elementary rules of running a business was that facilitiesshouldnotbeneedlesslyduplicated.AftersheandMrJ.L.B.Matekonimarried,they would have two businesses with two offices. They were very differentconcerns,ofcourse,butTlokwengRoadSpeedyMotorshadalargeamountofofficespaceanditwouldmakeagreatdealofsenseforMmaRamotswetorunheragencyfromthere.ShehadmadeacloseinspectionofMrJ.L.B.Matekoni’sbuildingandhadevenobtainedadvicefromalocalbuilder.

“Therewillbenodifficulty,”hehadsaidafter inspecting thegarageand itsoffice.“Icanputinanewdooronthatsideoverthere.Thentheclientsforyourbusinesscancomeinandnothaveanythingtodowithallthosegreasygoings-onintheworkshop.”

CombiningthetwoofficeswouldenableMmaRamotswetoletoutherownoffice and the income derived from that would make all the difference. Atpresent,theuncomfortabletruthabouttheNo.1Ladies’DetectiveAgencywasthat it was simply not making enough money. It was not that there were noclients—therehadbeenareadysupplyofthose—itwasjustthatdetectiveworkwas immensely time-consumingandpeopleweresimplyunable topay forherservicesifshechargedatarealistichourlyrate.Acoupleofhundredpulafortheresolutionofuncertaintyorfor thefindingofamissingpersonwasaffordable,andusuallywellworthit,butseveralthousandpulaforthesamejobwasanothermatteraltogether.Doubtcouldbepreferabletosureknowledgeifthedifference

betweenthetwowasalargesumofmoney.

ThebusinessmighthavebrokenevenifitwerenotforthewageswhichMmaRamotswe had to pay Mma Makutsi. She had originally employed her as asecretary,onthegroundsthateverybusinesswhichwishedtobetakenseriouslyhad tohavea secretary,buthadsoon realised the talents that laybehind thoselarge spectacles. Mma Makutsi had been promoted to assistant detective, aposition that gave her the status she so craved. ButMma Ramotswe had feltobliged to raise her pay at the same time, thus plunging the agency’s currentaccountfurtherintothered.

ShehaddiscussedthematterwithMrJ.L.B.Matekoni,whohadagreedwithherthatshehadverylittlechoice.

“Ifyoucontinuelikethis,”hesaidgravely,“you’llendupbankrupt.I’veseenthathappentobusinesses.Theyappointsomebodycalledajudicialmanager.Heislikeavulture,circling,circling.Itisaverybadthingtohappentoabusiness.”

MmaRamotsweclickedhertongue.“Idonotwantthat,”shesaid.“Itwouldbeaverysadendtothebusiness.”

They had looked at one another glumly. Then Mr J.L.B. Matekoni spoke.“You’llhavetosackher,”hesaid.“I’vehadtosackmechanicsinthepast.Itisnoteasy,butthatiswhatbusinessisabout.”

“Shewas so happywhen I promoted her,” saidMmaRamotswe quietly. “Ican’tsuddenlytellherthatsheisnolongeradetective.ShehasnopeoplehereinGaborone.HerpeopleareupinBobonong.Theyareverypoor,Ithink.”

MrJ.L.B.Matekonishookhishead.“Therearemanypoorpeople,”hesaid.“Manyofthesepeoplearesufferingbadly.Butyoucannotkeepabusinessgoingonair.Thatiswell-known.Youhavetoaddwhatyougetinandthentakeawaywhatyouspend.Thedifferenceisyourprofit.Inyourcase,thereisaminussigninfrontofthatfigure.Youcannot…”

“Icannot,”broke inMmaRamotswe.“Icannot sackhernow. Iam likehermother.Shewantssomuchtobeadetectiveandsheishardworking.”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni looked down at his feet. He suspected that Mma

Ramotswewasexpectinghimtoproposesomething,buthewasnotquitesurewhatitwas.Didsheexpecthimtogivehermoney?DidshewanthimtomeetthebillsoftheNo.1Ladies’DetectiveAgency,eventhoughshehadmadeitsoclearthatsheexpectedhimtokeeptohisgaragebusinesswhilesheattendedtoherclientsandtheirunsettlingproblems?

“I do not want you to pay,” said Mma Ramotswe, looking at him with afirmnessthatmadehimbothfearandadmireher.

“Ofcoursenot,”hesaidhurriedly.“Iwasnotthinkingthatatall.”

“Ontheotherhand,”wentonMmaRamotswe,“youdoneedasecretaryatthegarage.Yourbillsarealwaysinamess,aretheynot?Youneverkeepanoteofwhatyoupaythoseuselessapprenticesofyours.Ishouldimaginethatyoumakeloanstothem,too.Doyoukeeparecord?”

MrJ.L.B.Matekonilookedshifty.Howhadshefoundoutthattheapprenticeseachowedhimoversixhundredpulaandhadshownnosignsofbeingabletorepayit?

“Do you want her to come and work for me?” he asked, surprised at thesuggestion.“Whataboutherdetectiveposition?”

MmaRamotswedidnotanswerforamoment.Shehadnotworkedanythingout,butaplanwasnowbeginningtotakeshape.Iftheymovedherofficetothegarage,thenMmaMakutsicouldkeepherjobasassistantdetectivewhileatthesame timeshecoulddo thesecretarialwork that thegarageneeded.MrJ.L.B.Matekoni could payher awage for that,whichwouldmean that the agency’saccountswouldberelievedofalargepartofthatburden.This,coupledwiththerentwhichshewouldreceivefortheexistingoffices,wouldmakethefinancialpositionlookconsiderablyhealthier.

Sheexplainedherproposal toMrJ.L.B.Matekoni.AlthoughhehadalwaysexpresseddoubtsastoMmaMakutsi’susefulness,hecouldseetheattractionsofMmaRamotswe’s scheme, not the least of which was that it would keep herhappy.Andthat,heknew,waswhathewantedaboveallelse.

MMARAMOTSWEclearedherthroat.

“MmaMakutsi,”shebegan.“Ihavebeenthinkingaboutthefuture.”

MmaMakutsi, who had finished her rearranging of the filing cabinet, hadmadethembothacupofbushteaandwassettlingdowntothehalf-hourbreakthat she usually took at eleven in the morning. She had started to read amagazine—an old copy of the National Geographic—which her cousin, ateacher,hadlenther.

“Thefuture?Yes,thatisalwaysinteresting.Butnotasinterestingasthepast,Ithink.Thereisaverygoodarticleinthismagazine,MmaRamotswe,”shesaid.“IwilllendittoyouafterIhavefinishedreadingit.Itisallaboutourancestorsup inEastAfrica.There is aDrLeakey there.He is a very famous doctor ofbones.”

“Doctor of bones?”MmaRamotswewas puzzled.MmaMakutsi expressedherself very well—both in English and Setswana—but occasionally she usedratherunusualexpressions.Whatwasadoctorofbones?Itsoundedratherlikeawitchdoctor,butsurelyonecouldnotdescribeDrLeakeyasawitchdoctor?

“Yes,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Heknowsallaboutveryoldbones.Hedigsthemupandtellsusaboutourpast.Here,lookatthisone.”

Sheheldupapicture,printedacrosstwopages.MmaRamotswesquintedtomake itout.Hereyeswerenotwhat theyoncewere,shehadnoticed,andshefeared that sooner or later she would end up like Mma Makutsi, with herextraordinary,largeglasses.

“IsthatDrLeakey?”

MmaMakutsi nodded. “Yes,Mma,” she said, “that is him.He is holding askullwhichbelongedtoaveryearlyperson.Thispersonlivedalongtimeagoandisverylate.”

MmaRamotswe foundherself beingdrawn in. “And this very late person,”shesaid.“Whowashe?”

“Themagazine says thathewasapersonwhen therewerevery fewpeople

about,”explainedMmaMakutsi.“WealllivedinEastAfricathen.”

“Everybody?”

“Yes.Everybody.Mypeople.Yourpeople.Allpeople.Weallcomefromthesamesmallgroupofancestors.DrLeakeyhasprovedthat.”

Mma Ramotswe was thoughtful. “So we are all brothers and sisters, in asense?”

“We are,” said Mma Makutsi. “We are all the same people. Eskimos,Russians,Nigerians.Theyarethesameasus.Sameblood.SameDNA.”

“DNA?”askedMmaRamotswe.“Whatisthat?”

“It issomethingwhichGodusedtomakepeople,”explainedMmaMakutsi.“WeareallmadeupofDNAandwater.”

Mma Ramotswe considered the implications of these revelations for amoment. She had no views on Eskimos and Russians, but Nigerians were adifferent matter. But Mma Makutsi was right, she reflected: if universalbrotherhood—and sisterhood—meant anything, it would have to embrace theNigeriansaswell.

“Ifpeopleknewthis,”shesaid,“iftheyknewthatwewereallfromthesamefamily,wouldtheybekindertooneanother,doyouthink?”

MmaMakutsi put down themagazine. “I’m sure theywould,” she said. “Ifthey knew that, then they would find it very difficult to do unkind things toothers.Theymightevenwanttohelpthemabitmore.”

MmaRamotswewassilent.MmaMakutsihadmadeitdifficulttogoon,butsheandMrJ.L.B.Matekonihad taken thedecisionandshehadnoalternativebuttobreakthebadnews.

“Thatisallveryinteresting,”shesaid,tryingtosoundfirm.“ImustreadmoreaboutDrLeakeywhenIhavemoretime.AtthemomentIamhavingtospendallmytimeonworkingouthowtokeepthisbusinessgoing.Theaccountsarenotgood,youknow.Ouraccountsarenotlikethoseaccountsyouseepublished

inthenewspapers—youknowtheones,wheretheyhavetwocolumns,incomeand expenditure, and the first is always bigger than the second. With thisbusinessitistheotherwayround.”

Shepaused,watchingtheeffectofherwordsonMmaMakutsi.Itwasdifficulttotellwhatshewasthinking,withthoseglasses.

“SoIamgoingtohavetodosomething,”shewenton.“IfIdonothing,thenweshallbeputunderjudicialmanagementorthebankmanagerwillcomeandtaketheofficefromus.That iswhathappenstobusinessesthatdonotmakeaprofit.Itisverybad.”

MmaMakutsiwasstaringatherdesk.ThenshelookedupatMmaRamotsweand for a moment the branches of the thorn tree outside the window werereflected in her glasses.MmaRamotswe found this disconcerting; itwas as ifonewere lookingat theworldas seenbyanotherperson.Asshe thought this,MmaMakutsi moved her head, andMma Ramotswe saw, for a moment, thereflectionofherownreddress.

“Iamdoingmybest,”saidMmaMakutsiquietly.“Ihopethatyouwillgivemeachance.Iamveryhappybeinganassistantdetectivehere.Idonotwanttobejustasecretaryfortherestofmylife.”

Shestoppedand lookedatMmaRamotswe.Whatwas it like, thoughtMmaRamotswe, to beMmaMakutsi, graduate of theBotswanaSecretarialCollegewith 97 percent in the final examination, but with nobody, except for somepeople far away up in Bobonong? She knew that Mma Makutsi sent themmoney,becauseshehadseenheronceinthePostOffice,buyingapostalorderforonehundredpula.Sheimaginedthattheyhadbeentoldaboutthepromotionandwereproudof the fact that their niece, orwhatever shewas to them,wasdoingsowellinGaborone.WhereasthetruthwasthattheniecewasbeingkeptasanactofcharityanditwasreallyMmaRamotswesupportingthosepeopleupinBobonong.

HergazeshiftedtoMmaMakutsi’sdesk,andtothestill-exposedpictureofDrLeakeyholdingtheskull.DrLeakeywaslookingoutofthephotograph,directlyather.WellMmaRamotswe?heseemedtobesaying.Whataboutthisassistantofyours?

She cleared her throat. “You must not worry,” she said. “You will still beassistantdetective.Butwewillneedyoutodosomeotherdutiesaswellwhenwemove over to Tlokweng Road SpeedyMotors.Mr J.L.B.Matekoni needshelpwithhispaperwork.Halfofyouwillbeasecretary,buthalfofyouwillbeanassistantdetective.”Shepaused,andthenaddedhurriedly,“Butyoucancallyourselfassistantdetective.Thatwillbeyourofficialtitle.”

Fortherestoftheday,MmaMakutsiwasquieterthanusual.ShemadeMmaRamotswe her afternoon tea in silence, handing the mug over to her withoutsayinganything,butattheendofthedaysheseemedtohaveacceptedherfate.

“IsupposethatMrJ.L.B.Matekoni’sofficeisamess,”shesaid.“Icannotseehimdoinghispaperworkproperly.Mendonotlikethatsortofthing.”

MmaRamotswewasrelievedby thechangeof tone.“It isa realmess,”shesaid.“Youwillbedoinghimaverygoodserviceifyousortitout.”

“Weweretaughthowtodothatatcollege,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Theysentusonedaytoanofficethatwasinaverybadway,andwehadtosortitout.Therewere four of us—myself and three pretty girls. The pretty girls spent all theirtimetalkingtothemenintheofficewhileIdidthework.”

“Ah!”saidMmaRamotswe.“Icanimaginethat.”

“Iworked until eight o’clock at night,”went onMmaMakutsi. “The othergirlsallwentoffwiththementoabaratfiveo’clockandleftmethere.Thenextmorning,thePrincipaloftheCollegesaidthatwehadalldoneaverygoodjobandthatwewereallgoingtogetatopmarkfortheassignment.Theothergirlswereverypleased.TheysaidthatalthoughIhaddonemostofthetidyingtheyhad had the more difficult part of the job, which was keeping the men fromgettingintheway.Theyreallythoughtthat.”

MmaRamotsweshookherhead.“Theyareuselessgirls,thosegirls,”shesaid.“Thereare toomanypeople like that inBotswana thesedays.Butat leastyouknowthatyouhavesucceeded.Youareanassistantdetectiveandwhatarethey?Nothing,Ishouldthink.”

MmaMakutsi tookoffher largespectaclesandpolishedthe lensescarefully

withthecornerofahandkerchief.

“Twoofthemaremarriedtoveryrichmen,”shesaid.“Theyhavebighousesover near the Sun Hotel. I have seen them walking about in their expensivesunglasses.ThethirdwentofftoSouthAfricaandbecameamodel.Ihaveseenherpictureinamagazine.Shehasgotahusbandwhoisaphotographerforthatmagazine. He has plenty ofmoney too and she is very happy. They call himPolaroidKhumalo.Heisveryhandsomeandwell-known.”

ShereplacedherglassesandlookedatMmaRamotswe.

“Therewillbeahusbandforyousomeday,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Andthatmanwillbeaveryfortunateman.”

MmaMakutsishookherhead.“Idonot think therewillbeahusband,”shesaid.“TherearenotenoughmeninBotswana.Thatisawell-knownfact.Allthemenaremarriednowandthereisnobodyleft.”

“Well,youdon’thavetogetmarried,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Singlegirlscanhaveaverygoodlifethesedays.Iamsingle.Iamnotmarried.”

“But you aremarryingMr J.L.B.Matekoni,” saidMmaMakutsi. “Youwillnotbesingleforlong.Youcould…”

“Ididn’thave tomarryhim,” interruptedMmaRamotswe.“Iwashappybymyself.Icouldhavestayedthatway.”

Shestopped.ShenoticedthatMmaMakutsihadtakenherspectaclesoffagainandwaspolishingthemoncemore.Theyhadmistedover.

Mma Ramotswe thought for a moment. She had never been able to seeunhappinessandnotdosomethingaboutit.Itwasadifficultqualityforaprivatedetective tohave,as therewas somuchunhappinessentailed inherwork,butshecouldnothardenherheart,howevermuchshetried.“Oh,andthere’sanotherthing,” she said. “I didn’t tell you that in this new job of yours you will bedescribedasAssistantManagerofTlokwengRoadSpeedyMotors.Itisnotjustasecretarialjob.”

MmaMakutsilookedupandsmiled.

“Thatisverygood,”shesaid.“Youareverykindtome,Mma.”

“And there will be more money,” said Mma Ramotswe, throwing cautionaside.“Notmuchmore,butalittlebitmore.YouwillbeabletosendabitmoreuptothosepeopleofyoursupinBobonong.”

MmaMakutsi appeared considerably cheeredby this information, and therewasazestinthewayinwhichsheperformedthelasttasksoftheday,thetypingof several letterswhichMmaRamotswehaddrafted in longhand. ItwasMmaRamotswewhonowseemedmorose.ItwasDrLeakey’sfault,shedecided.Ifhehadnotcomeintotheconversation,thenshemighthavebeenfirmer.Asitwas,notonlyhadshepromotedMmaMakutsiagain,butshehadgivenher,withoutconsultingMr J.L.B.Matekoni, a pay raise.Shewouldhave to tell himaboutthat, of course, but perhaps not just yet. There was always a time for thebreakingofdifficultnews,andonehadtowaitforone’smoment.Menusuallylettheirdefencesdownnowandthen,andtheartofbeingasuccessfulwoman,and beating men at their own game, was to wait your moment. When thatmomentarrived,youcouldmanipulateamanwithverylittledifficulty.Butyouhadtowait.

CHAPTERTWO

ABOYINTHENIGHT

THEYWERE camped in the Okavango, outside Maun, under a covering oftoweringmopanitrees.Tothenorth,barelyhalfamileaway,thelakestretchedout, a ribbonof blue in thebrownandgreenof thebush.The savannahgrassherewasthickandrich,andtherewasgoodcoverfortheanimals.Ifyouwantedtoseeelephant,youhadtobewatchful,asthelushnessofthevegetationmadeitdifficulttomakeouteventheirbulkygreyshapesastheymovedslowlythroughtheirforage.

The camp,whichwas a semipermanent collection of five or six large tentspitched in a semicircle, belonged to a man they knew as Rra Pula,Mr Rain,owingtothebelief,empiricallyverifiedonmanyanoccasion,thathispresencebrought much-needed rain. Rra Pula was happy to allow this belief to beperpetuated. Rainwas good luck; hence the cry Pula! Pula! Pula!when goodfortune was being celebrated or invoked. He was a thin-faced man with theleathery,sun-speckledskinofthewhitepersonwhohasspentallhislifeunderan African sun. The freckles and sun-spots had now become one, which hadmadehimbrownallover,likeapalebiscuitputintotheoven.

“Heisslowlybecominglikeus,”oneofhismensaidastheysatroundthefireonenight.“OnedayhewillwakeupandhewillbeaMotswana,samecolourasus.”

“YoucannotmakeaMotswana justbychanginghis skin,” saidanother. “AMotswanaisaMotswanainside.AZuluisthesameasusoutside,butinsideheis always a Zulu. You can’t make a Zulu into a Motswana either. They aredifferent.”

Therewassilenceroundthefireastheymulledoverthisissue.

“There are a lot of things that make you what you are,” said one of thetrackersat last. “But themost important thing isyourmother’swomb.That iswhereyougetthemilkthatmakesyouaMotswanaoraZulu.Motswanamilk,Motswanachild.Zulumilk,Zuluchild.”

“Youdonotgetmilk in thewomb,”saidoneof theyoungermen.“It isnotlikethat.”

Theoldermanglaredathim.“Thenwhatdoyoueatforthefirstninemonths,MrClever,MrBSc?Are you saying that you eat themother’s blood? Is thatwhatyouaresaying?”

Theyoungermanshookhishead.“Iamnotsurewhatyoueat,”hesaid.“Butyoudonotgetmilkuntilyouareborn.Iamcertainofthat.”

The olderman looked scornful. “You knownothing.You have no children,haveyou?Whatdoyouknowabout it?Amanwithnochildren talkingaboutchildrenasifhehadmany.Ihavefivechildren.Five.”

Heheldupthefingersofonehand.“Fivechildren,”herepeated.“Andallfiveweremadebytheirmother’smilk.”

Theyfellsilent.Attheotherfire,onchairsratherthanlogs,weresittingRraPulaandhistwoclients.Thesoundoftheirvoices,unintelligiblemumbling,haddriftedacrosstothemen,butnowtheyweresilent.SuddenlyRraPulastoodup.

“There’s something out there,” he said. “A jackal maybe. Sometimes theycomequiteclosetothefire.Theotheranimalskeeptheirdistance.”

One of the clients, amiddle-agedmanwearing awidebrimmed slouch hat,stoodupandstaredintothedarkness.

“Wouldaleopardcomeinthisclose?”heasked.

“Never,”saidRraPula.“Veryshycreatures.”

Awomansittingonacanvasfoldingstoolnowturnedherheadsharply.

“There’sdefinitelysomethingthere,”shesaid.“Listen.”

RraPulaputdownthemughehadbeenholdingandcalledacrosstohismen.

“Simon!Motopi!Oneofyoubringmeatorch.Doublequick!”

Theyoungermanstoodupandwalkedquicklyovertotheequipmenttent.Ashe walked across to give it to his employer, he too heard the noise and heswitchedonthepowerfullight,sweepingitsbeamthroughthecircleofdarknessaround the camp. They saw the shapes of the bushes and small trees, allcuriouslyflatandone-dimensionalintheprobingbeamoflight.

“Won’tthatscareitaway?”askedthewoman.

“Mightdo,”saidRraPula.“Butwedon’twantanysurprises,dowe?”

The light swung round and briefly moved up to illuminate the leaves of athorntree.Thenitdroppedtothebaseofthetree,andthatiswheretheysawit.

“It’sachild,”saidthemanintheslouchhat.“Achild?Outhere?”

Thechildwasonallfours.Caughtinthebeamoflight,hewaslikeananimalintheheadlightsofacar,frozeninindecision.

“Motopi!”calledRraPula.“Fetchthatchild.Bringhimhere.”

Themanwiththetorchmovedquicklythroughthegrass,keepingthebeamoflight on the small figure. When he reached him, the child suddenly movedsharplybackintothedarkness,butsomethingappearedtoslowhimdown,andhestumbledandfell.Themanreachedforward,droppingthetorchashedidso.Therewasasharpsoundasithitarockandthelightwentout.Butthemanhadthechildbythen,andhadliftedhimup,kickingandwriggling.

“Don’tfightme,littleone,”hesaidinSetswana.“I’mnotgoingtohurtyou.I’mnotgoingtohurtyou.”

Thechildkickedoutandhisfootcaughtthemaninhisstomach.

“Don’tdothat!”Heshookthechild,and,holdinghimwithonehand,slappedhimhardacrosstheshoulder.

“There!That’swhatyou’llgetifyoutrytokickyouruncle!Andthere’llbemoreifyoudon’twatchout!”

Thechild,surprisedbytheblow,stoppedresisting,andwentlimp.

“Andhere’sanotherthing,”mutteredtheman,ashewalkedovertowardsRraPula’sfire.“Yousmell.”

Heput theboydownon theground,beside the tablewhere theTilley lampstood;buthestillheldontothechild’swrist,incaseheshouldtrytorunawayoreventokickoneofthewhitepeople.

“Sothisisourlittlejackal,”saidRraPula,lookingdownattheboy.

“He’snaked,”saidthewoman.“Hehasn’tgotascrapofclothing.”

“Whatageishe?”askedoneofthemen.“Hecan’tbemorethansixorseven.Atthemost.”

RraPula now lifted up the lamp andheld it closer to the child, playing thelightoveraskinwhichseemedcriss-crossedwithtinyscarsandscratches,asifhehadbeendraggedthroughathornbush.Thestomachwasdrawnin,andtheribs showed; the tiny buttocks contracted andwithout flesh; and on one foot,stretchingrightacrossthearch,anopensore,whiterimmedaboutadarkcentre.

The boy looked up into the light and seemed to draw back from theinspection.

“Whoareyou?”askedRraPulainSetswana.“Wherehaveyoucomefrom?”

Thechildstaredatthelight,butdidnotreacttothequestion.

“TryinKalanga,”RraPulasaidtoMotopi.“TryKalanga,thentryHerero.Hecould be Herero. Or aMosarwa. You can make yourself understood in theselanguages,Motopi.Youseeifyoucangetanythingoutofhim.”

Themandroppedtohishaunchessoastobeatthechild’slevel.Hestartedinone language, enunciating the words carefully, and then, getting no reaction,movedtoanother.Theboyremainedmute.

“Idonotthinkthischildcanspeak,”hesaid.“IthinkthathedoesnotknowwhatIamsaying.”

Thewomanmovedforwardandreachedouttotouchthechild’sshoulder.

“Youpoorlittlething,”shesaid.“Youlookasif…”

Shegaveacryandwithdrewherhandsharply.Theboyhadbittenher.

Themansnatchedatthechild’srightarmanddraggedhimtohisfeet.Then,leaningforward,hestruckhimsharplyacrosstheface.“No,”heshouted.“Badchild!”

Thewoman,outraged,pushedthemanaway.“Don’thithim,”shecried.“He’sfrightened.Can’tyousee?Hedidn’tmeantohurtme.Ishouldn’thavetriedtotouchhim.”

“Youcannothaveachildbitingpeople,Mma,”saidthemanquietly.“Wedonotlikethat.”

Thewomanhadwrappedahandkerchiefaroundherhand,butasmallbloodstainhadseepedthrough.

“I’llgetyousomepenicillin for that,” saidRraPula. “Ahumanbitecangobad.”

They lookeddownat thechild,whohadnow laindown,as ifpreparing forsleep,butwaslookingupatthem,watchingthem.

“The child has a very strange smell,” saidMotopi. “Have you noticed that,RraPula?”

RraPulasniffed.“Yes,”hesaid.“Maybeit’sthatwound.It’ssuppurating.”

“No,” saidMotopi. “I have a very good nose. I can smell that wound, butthereisanothersmelltoo.Itisasmellthatyoudonotfindonachild.”

“What’sthat?”askedRraPula.“Yourecognisethatsmell?”

Motopinodded.“Yes,”hesaid.“Itisthesmellofalion.Thereisnothingelsethathasthatsmell.Onlylion.”

Foramomentnobodysaidanything.ThenRraPulalaughed.

“Somesoapandwaterwillsortallthatout,”hesaid.“Andsomethingonthatsoreonhisfoot.Sulphurpowdershoulddryitout.”

Motopipickedupthechild,gingerly.Theboystaredathim,andcowered,butdidnotresist.

“Wash him and then keep him in your tent,” saidRra Pula. “Don’t let himescape.”

The clients returned to their seats about the fire. The woman exchangedglanceswiththeman,wholiftedaneyebrowandshrugged.

“Whereonearthhashecomefrom?”sheaskedRraPula,ashepokedatthefirewithacharredstick.

“Oneofthelocalvillages,Iexpect,”hesaid.“Thenearestoneisabouttwentymilesover thatway.He’sprobablyaherdboywhogot lost andwanderedoffintothebush.Thathappensfromtimetotime.”

“Butwhyhashegotnoclothes?”

Heshrugged.“Sometimestheherdboysjustwearasmallapron.Heprobablylosthistoathornbush.Perhapsheleftitlyingsomewhere.”

Helookedupatthewoman.“ThesethingshappenalotinAfrica.Thereareplentyofchildrenwhogomissing.Theyturnup.Noharmcomestothem.Youaren’tworriedabouthim,areyou?”

Thewomanfrowned.“OfcourseIam.Anythingcouldhavehappenedtohim.What about thewild animals?He could have been taken by a lion.Anythingcouldhavehappenedtohim.”

“Yes,” saidRraPula. “It could.But it didn’t.We’ll takehim tomorrow intoMaunand leavehimwith thepolicedown there.Theycan sort it out.They’ll

workoutwherehe’scomefromandgethimhome.”

Thewomanseemedthoughtful.“Whydidyourmansaythathesmelledlikealion?Wasn’tthatratheranoddthingtosay?”

RraPulalaughed.“Peoplesayallsortsofoddthingsuphere.Theyseethingsdifferently.Thatman,Motopi,isaverygoodtracker.Buthetendstotalkaboutanimalsasif theywerehumanbeings.Hesaysthattheysaythingstohim.Heclaimsthathecansmellananimal’sfear.That’sthewayhetalks.Itjustis.”

Theysatinsilenceforawhile,andthenthewomanannouncedthatshewasgoingtobed.Theysaidgood-night,andRraPulaandthemansatbythefireforanotherhalfhourorso,sayingverylittle,watchingthelogsslowlyburnoutandthe sparks fly up into the sky. Inside his tent, Motopi lay still, stretched outacross the entrance so that the child couldnot get outwithout disturbinghim.But the child was not likely to do that; he had fallen asleep more or lessimmediatelyafterbeingputintothetent.NowMotopi,onthevergeofdriftingoff to sleep, watched him through one, heavy-lidded eye. The child, a lightkaross thrownoverhim,wasbreathingdeeply.Hehadeaten thepieceofmeattheyhadgivenhim,rippingatitgreedily,andhadeagerlydrunkthelargecupofwaterwhichtheyhadofferedhim,lickingatthewaterasananimalmightdoatadrinking hole. Therewas still that strange smell, he thought, thatmusty-acridsmell which reminded him so strongly of the smell of a lion. But why, hewondered,wouldachildsmellofalion?

CHAPTERTHREE

GARAGEAFFAIRS

ONHERwaytoTlokwengRoadSpeedyMotors,MmaRamotswehaddecidedthatshewouldsimplyhavetomakeacleanbreastofittoMrJ.L.B.Matekoni.SheknewthatshehadexceededherauthoritybypromotingMmaMakutsitobeAssistantManagerof thegarage—shewouldhaveresented itgreatly ifhehadattemptedtopromoteherownstaff—andsherealisedthatshewouldjusthavetotellhimexactlywhathadhappened.Hewasakindman,andalthoughhehadalwaysthoughtthatMmaMakutsiwasaluxurywhomMmaRamotswecouldillafford, he would surely understand how important it was for her to have aposition.Afterall, itwouldmakenodifference ifMmaMakutsicalledherselfAssistantManager,providedthatshewasdoingtheworkthatshewasmeanttodo. But then there was the problem of the raise in pay. That would be moredifficult.

Laterthatafternoon,drivinginthetinywhitevanwhichMrJ.L.B.Matekonihad recently fixed for her,MmaRamotswemade herway to TlokwengRoadSpeedy Motors. The van was performing well now that Mr J.L.B. Matekonispentsomuchofhissparetimetinkeringwithitsengine.Hehadreplacedmanyof itspartswithbrandnewspareswhichhehadorderedfromover theborder.Therewas a new carburettor, for example, and an entirely new set of brakes.MmaRamotswenowhadtodonomorethantouchthebrakepedalandthevanwouldscreechtoahalt.Inthepast,beforeMrJ.L.B.Matekonihadtakensuchaninterestinhervan,MmaRamotswehadbeenobligedtopumpthebrakepedalthreeorfourtimesbeforesheevenbegantoslowdown.

“I think I shall never again go into the back of somebody,” said MmaRamotswegratefullywhenshetriedthenewbrakesforthefirsttime.“IshallbeabletostopexactlywhenIwantto.”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni looked alarmed. “It is very important to have goodbrakes,”hesaid.“Youmustn’t letyourbrakesget like thatagain.Justyouaskme,andIshallmakesurethattheyareintip-toporder.”

“I shall do that,”Mma Ramotswe promised. She had very little interest incars, although she dearly loved her tiny white van, which had served her sofaithfully.Shecouldnotunderstandwhypeoplespentsomuchtimehankeringafter a Mercedes-Benz when there were many other cars which safelytransportedonetoone’sdestination,andbackagain,withoutrequiringafortuneto do so. This interest in cars was a male problem, she thought. One saw itdevelopinsmallboys,withthelittlewiremodelstheymadeofcars,anditneverreallywentaway.Whyshouldmenfindcarssointeresting?Acarwasnomorethanamachine, andonemight think thatmenwouldbe interested inwashingmachines or irons, for that matter. Yet they were not. You never saw menstandingaroundtalkingaboutwashingmachines.

ShedroveuptothefrontofTlokwengRoadSpeedyMotorsandalightedfromthetinywhitevan.Throughthesmallwindowthatgaveontotheforecourt,shecould see that there was nobody in the office, which meant that Mr J.L.B.Matekoniwouldprobablybeunderacarintheworkshop,orstandingoverhistwo difficult apprenticeswhile he attempted to convey to them some difficultpointofmechanics.HehadconfessedtoMmaRamotswehisdespairofmakinganythingoftheseboys,andshehadsympathisedwithhim.Itwasnoteasytryingtopersuadeyoungpeopleof theneed towork; theyexpectedeverything tobehandedtothemonaplate.NoneofthemseemedtounderstandthateverythingtheyhadinBotswana—anditwasagreatdeal—hadbeenacquiredthroughhardworkandself-denial.BotswanahadneverborrowedmoneyandthensunkintodebtashadhappenedinsomanyothercountriesinAfrica.Theyhadsavedandsaved and spent money very carefully; every cent, every thebe, had beenaccountedfor;nonehadgoneintothepocketsofpoliticians.Wecanbeproudofourcountry, thoughtMmaRamotswe;andIam. I’mproudofwhatmyfather,ObedRamotswedid;I’mproudofSeretseKhamaandofhowheinventedanewcountryoutofaplacethathadbeenignoredbytheBritish.Theymaynothavecaredmuchaboutus,shereflected,butnowtheyknowwhatwecando.Theyadmiredusforthat;shehadreadwhattheAmericanAmbassadorhadsaid.“WesalutethepeopleofBotswanaforwhattheyhavedone,”hehadannounced.Thewordshadmadeherglowwithpride.Sheknewthatpeopleoverseas,peoplein

thosedistant,ratherfrighteningcountries,thoughthighlyofBotswana.

ItwasagoodthingtobeanAfrican.TherewereterriblethingsthathappenedinAfrica,thingsthatbroughtshameanddespairwhenonethoughtaboutthem,but that was not all there was in Africa. However great the suffering of thepeople of Africa, however harrowing the cruelty and chaos brought about bysoldiers—smallboyswithguns,really—therewasstillsomuchinAfricafromwhichonecould take realpride.Therewas thekindness, forexample,and theabilitytosmile,andtheartandthemusic.

Shewalkedroundtotheworkshopentrance.Thereweretwocarsinside,oneupon theramp,and theotherparkedagainstawall, itsbatteryconnected toasmallchargerbythefrontwheel.Severalpartshadbeenleftlyingonthefloor—anexhaustpipeandanotherpartwhichshedidnotrecognise—andtherewasanopentoolboxunderneaththecarontheramp.ButtherewasnosignofMrJ.L.B.Matekoni.

ItwasonlywhenoneofthemstoodupthatMmaRamotswerealisedthattheapprenticeswerethere.Theyhadbeensittingontheground,proppedupagainstan empty oil drum, playing the traditional stone game.Now one of them, thetallerboywhosenameshecouldneverremember,roseandwipedhishandsonhisdirtyoverall.

“Hallo,Mma,”hesaid.“Heisnothere.Theboss.He’sgonehome.”

Theapprenticegrinnedatherinawaywhichshefoundslightlyoffensive.Itwas a familiar grin, of the sort that onemight imagine him giving a girl at adance.Sheknewtheseyoungmen.MrJ.L.B.Matekonihadtoldherthatalltheywere interested inwasgirls,andshecouldwellbelieve it.And thedistressingthingwas that therewouldbeplentyofgirlswhowouldbe interested in theseyoungmen,withtheirheavilypomadedhairandtheirflashingwhitegrins.

“Whyhashegonehome so early?” she asked. “Is thework all finished? Isthatwhyyoutwoaresittingabout?”

Theapprentice smiled.Hehad theair, she thought,of somebodywhoknewsomething,andshewonderedwhatitwas.Orwasitjusthissenseofsuperiority,thecondescendingmannerthatheprobablyadoptedtowardsallwomen?

“No,”hereplied,glancingdownathisfriend.“Anythingbutfinished.Westillhavetodealwiththatvehicleupthere.”Hegesturedcasuallytowardsthecarontheramp.

Nowtheotherapprenticearose.Hehadbeeneatingsomethingandtherewasathinlineofflourabouthismouth.Whatwouldthegirlsthinkofthat?thoughtMma Ramotswe mischievously. She imagined him turning on his charm forsome girl, blissfully unaware of the flour round hismouth.Hemay be good-looking,butawhiteoutlinearoundthelipswouldbringlaughterratherthananyracingoftheheart.

“Thebossisoftenawaythesedays,”saidthesecondapprentice.“Sometimeshegoesoffattwoo’clock.Heleavesustodoallthework.”

“But there’s a problem,” chipped in the other apprentice. “We can’t doeverything. We’re pretty good with cars, you know, but we haven’t learnedeverything,youknow.”

MmaRamotsweglancedupat the caron the ramp. Itwasoneof thoseoldFrenchstationwagonswhichweresopopularinpartsofAfrica.

“Thatone’sanexample,”saidthefirstapprentice.“It’smakingsteamoutofitsexhaust. Itcomesupinabigcloud.Thatmeans thatagaskethasgoneandthat the coolant’s getting into the piston chamber. So thatmakes steam.Hiss.Lotsofsteam.”

“Well,” said Mma Ramotswe, “why don’t you fix it? Mr J.L.B. Matekonican’tholdyourhandallthetime,youknow.”

Theyoungerapprenticepouted.“Youthinkthatit’ssimple,Mma?Youthinkit’s simple?You ever tried to take the cylinder headoff aPeugeot?Have youdonethat,Mma?”

MmaRamotswemadeacalminggesture.“Iwasnotcriticisingyou,”shesaid.“Whydon’tyougetMrJ.L.B.Matekonitoshowyouwhattodo?”

The older apprentice looked irritated. “That’s all very well, Mma. But thetroubleisthathewon’t.Andthenhegoesoffhomeandleavesustoexplaintothecustomers.Theydon’tlikeit.Theysay:Where’smycar?Howdoyouexpect

metogetaroundifyou’regoingtotakedaysanddaystofixmycar?AmItowalk,likeapersonwithnocar?That’swhattheysay,Mma.”

MmaRamotswe said nothing for amoment. It seemed so unlikely thatMrJ.L.B.Matekoni,whowasnormallysopunctilious,wouldallowthistohappeninhisownbusiness.Hehadbuilthisreputationongettingrepairsdonewell,andspeedily.Ifanybodywasdissatisfiedwithajobthathehaddone,theywerefullyentitled to bring the car back and hewould do thewhole thing againwithoutcharge. That was the way that he had always worked, and it seemedinconceivablethathewouldleaveacarupontherampinthecareofthesetwoapprenticeswhoseemed toknowso littleaboutenginesandwhocouldnotbetrustednottotakeshortcuts.

Shedecidedtopress theolderapprenticeabit further.“Doyoumeanto tellme,” she said, her voice lowered, “do you mean to tell me that Mr J.L.B.Matekonidoesn’tcareaboutthesecars?”

The apprentice stared at her, rudely allowing their eyes to lock. If he knewanythingaboutproperbehaviour,thoughtMmaRamotswe,hewouldn’tkeepeyecontactwithme; hewould look down, as befits a junior in the presence of asenior.

“Yes,” said the apprentice simply. “For the last ten days or so, Mr J.L.B.Matekoniseemstohavelost interest in thisgarage.Onlyyesterdayhetoldmethat he thought he would go away to his village and that I should be left incharge.HesaidIshoulddomybest.”

MmaRamotswedrew inher breath.She could tell that theyoungmanwastellingthetruth,butitwasatruthwhichwasverydifficulttobelieve.

“Andhere’sanotherthing,”saidtheapprentice,wipinghishandsonapieceofoilrag.“Hehasn’tpaidthesparepartssupplierfortwomonths.Theytelephonedtheotherday,whenhehadgoneawayearly,andItookthecall,didn’tI,Siletsi?”

Theotherapprenticenodded.

“Anyway,” hewent on. “Anyway, they said that unlesswe paidwithin tendays theywould not provide uswith any further spare parts. They said that I

shouldtellthattoMrJ.L.B.Matekoniandgethimtobuckuphisways.That’swhattheysaid.Metelltheboss.That’swhattheysaidIshoulddo.”

“Anddidyou?”askedMmaRamotswe.

“I did,” he said. “I said:Aword in your ear,Rra. Just aword.Then I toldhim.”

MmaRamotswewatchedhisexpression.Itwasclearthathewaspleasedtobecastintheroleoftheconcernedemployee,arole,shesuspected,whichhehadnothadoccasiontooccupybefore.

“Andthen?Whatdidhesaytoyouradvice?”

Theapprenticesniffed,wipinghishandacrosshisnose.

“Hesaidthathewouldtrytodosomethingaboutit.That’swhathesaid.ButyouknowwhatIthink?YouknowwhatIthinkishappening,Mma?”

MmaRamotswelookedathimexpectantly.

Hewenton,“I think thatMrJ.L.B.Matekonihas stoppedcaringabout thisgarage. I think thathehashadenough. I thinkhewants tohand itover tous.Thenhewantstogoofftohislandsoutthereandgrowmelons.Heisanoldmannow,Mma.Hehashadenough.”

MmaRamotswe drew in her breath. The sheer effrontery of the suggestionastonished her: here was this … this useless apprentice, best known for hisabilitytopesterthegirlswhowalkedpastthegarage,theveryapprenticewhomMr J.L.B.Matekonihadonce seenusingahammeronanengine,nowsayingthatMrJ.L.B.Matekonihimselfwasreadytoretire.

Ittookherthebestpartofaminutetocomposeherselfsufficientlytoreply.

“Youareaveryrudeyoungman,”shesaidat last.“MrJ.L.B.Matekonihasnotlostinterestinhisgarage.Andheisnotanoldman.Heisjustinhisearlyforties,whichisnotoldatall,whateveryoupeoplethink.Andfinally,hehasnointentionofhanding thegarageover toyoutwo.Thatwouldbe theendof thebusiness.Doyouunderstandme?”

Theolderof the apprentices looked for reassurance fromhis friend, but theotherwasstaringfixedlyattheground.

“Iunderstandyou,Mma.Iamsorry.”

“Aswellyoushouldbe,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Andhere’sabitofnewsforyou.MrJ.L.B.Matekonihasjustappointedanassistantmanagerforthisgarage.Thisnewmanagerwillbestartinghereverysoon,andyoutwohadbetterlookout.”

Herremarkshadthedesiredeffectontheolderapprentice,whodroppedhisoilypieceofclothandlookedanxiouslyattheother.

“Whendoeshestart?”heaskednervously.

“Nextweek,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Andit’sashe.”

“Ashe?Awoman?”

“Yes,” saidMma Ramotswe, turning to leave. “It is a woman calledMmaMakutsi,andsheisverystrictwithapprentices.Sotherewillbenomoresittingaroundplayingstones.Doyouunderstand?”

Theapprenticesnoddedglumly.

“Thengetonwithtryingtofixthatcar,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Ishallcomebackinacoupleofhoursandseehowit’sgoing.”

She walked back to the van and climbed into the driving seat. She hadsucceeded in sounding very determined when she gave the apprentices theirinstructions, but she felt far from certain inside. In fact, she felt extremelyconcerned. Inherexperience,whenpeoplebegan tobehaveoutofcharacter itwas a sign that something was very wrong. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni was athoroughly conscientious man, and thoroughly conscientious men did not lettheircustomersdownunlesstherewasaverygoodreason.Butwhatwasit?Wasit something to dowith their impendingmarriage?Hadhe changedhismind?Didhewishtoescape?

MMAMAKUTSIlockedthedooroftheNo.1Ladies’DetectiveAgency.MmaRamotswehadgoneofftothegaragetotalktoMrJ.L.B.Matekoniandhadlefthertofinishthelettersandgetthemtothepost.Norequestmadeofherwouldhaveseemedexcessive,sogreatwasMmaMakutsi’s joyatherpromotionandthenewsofherincreaseinwages.ItwasaThursday,andtomorrowwaspayday,evenifitwouldbeapaydayattheoldrate.Shewouldtreatherselftosomethingin anticipation, she thought—perhaps adoughnuton thewayhome.Her routetookherpastasmallstallthatsolddoughnutsandotherfriedfoodsandthesmellwas tantalising.Moneywas theproblem, though.A large, frieddoughnut costtwopula,whichmade itanexpensive treat,especially ifone thoughtwhat theeveningmealwouldcost.LivinginGaboronewasexpensive;everythingseemedtocosttwiceasmuchasitdidathome.Inthecountry,tenpulawouldgetonealongway;hereinGaboronetenpulanotesseemedtomeltinone’shand.

MmaMakutsirentedaroominthebackyardofahouseofftheLobatseRoad.The room formed half of a small, breezeblock shackwhich looked out to thebackfenceandameanderinglane,thehauntofthin-faceddogs.Thedogswerelooselyattachedtothepeoplewholivedinthehouses,butseemedtoprefertheirowncompanyandroamedaboutinpacksoftwoorthree.Somebodymusthavefedthem,atirregularintervals,buttheirribcagesstillshowedandtheyseemedconstantly to be scavenging for scraps from the rubbish bins.On occasion, ifMmaMakutsileftherdooropen,oneofthesedogswouldwanderinandgazeather with mournful, hungry eyes until she shooed it out. This was perhaps agreaterindignitythanthatwhichbefellheratwork,whenthechickenscameintotheofficeandstartedpeckingaboutherfeet.

Sheboughtherdoughnutatthestallandateitthereandthen,lickingthesugaroffherfingerswhenshehadfinished.Then,herhungerassuaged,shebeganthewalkhome.Shecouldhaveriddenhomeinaminibus—itwasacheapenoughformoftransport—butsheenjoyedthewalkinthecooloftheevening,andshewasusually innohurry to reachhome.Shewonderedhowhewas;whether ithadbeenagooddayforherbrother,orwhetherhiscoughingwouldhavetiredhimout.Hehadbeenquitecomfortableoverthelastfewdays,althoughhewasveryweaknow,andshehadenjoyedoneortwonightsofunbrokensleep.

He had come to livewith her twomonths earlier,making the long journeyfromtheirhomebybus.Shehadgonetomeethimatthebusstationdownbytherailway,andforabriefmomentshehadlookedathimwithoutrecognisinghim.Thelasttimeshehadseenhimhehadbeenwell-built,evenbulky;nowhewasstoopedandthinandhisshirtflappedlooselyabouthistorso.Whensherealisedthatitwashim,shehadrunupandtakenhishand,whichhadshockedher,foritwashotanddryand theskinwascracked.Shehad liftedhissuitcaseforhim,although he had tried to do that himself, and had carried it all theway to theminibusthatplieditstradedowntheLobatseRoad.

Afterthat,hehadsettledin,sleepingonthematwhichshehadsetupontheother side of her room. She had strung a wire fromwall to wall and hung acurtainoverit,togivehimprivacyandsomesenseofhavinghisownplace,butsheheardeveryraspingbreathhedrewandwasoftenwokenbyhismumblinginhisdreams.

“Youareakindsister to takeme in,”hesaid.“Iama luckyman tohaveasisterlikeyou.”

Shehadprotested that itwasno trouble,and thatshe likedhavinghimwithher, and that he could stay with her when he was better and found a job inGaborone,butsheknewthatthiswasnotgoingtohappen.Heknewtoo,shewassure,butneither spokeabout itor thecrueldiseasewhichwasendinghis life,slowly,likeadroughtdriesupalandscape.

Now, coming home, she had good news for him. He was always veryinterestedtohearwhathadhappenedattheagency,ashealwaysaskedherforallthedetailsofherday.HehadnevermetMmaRamotswe—MmaMakutsididnotwanthertoknowabouthisillness—buthehadaveryclearpictureofherinhisheadandhealwaysaskedafterher.

“Iwillmeetheroneday,maybe,”hesaid.“AndIwillbeabletothankherforwhatshehasdoneformysister.Ifithadn’tbeenforher,thenyouwouldneverhavebeenabletobecomeanassistantdetective.”

“Sheisakindwoman.”

“Iknowsheis,”hesaid.“Icanseethisnicewomanwithhersmileandherfat

cheeks.Icanseeherdrinkingteawithyou.Iamhappyjusttothinkaboutit.”

MmaMakutsiwishedthatshehadthoughttobuyhimadoughnut,butoftenhehadnoappetite and itwouldhavebeenwasted.Hismouthwaspainful,hesaid,andthecoughmadeitdifficultforhimtoeatverymuch.Sooftenhewouldtakeonlyafewspoonfulsofthesoupwhichshepreparedonhersmallparaffinstove,andeventhenhewouldsometimeshavedifficultyinkeepingthesedown.

Somebodyelsewasintheroomwhenshegothome.Sheheardastrangevoiceand for a moment she feared that something terrible had happened in herabsence,butwhensheenteredtheroomshesawthatthecurtainhadbeendrawnbackandthattherewasawomansittingonasmallfoldingstoolbesidehismat.Whensheheardthedooropen,thewomanstoodupandturnedtofaceher.

“IamthenursefromtheAnglicanhospice,”shesaid.“Ihavecometoseeourbrother.MynameisSisterBaleje.”

Thenursehadapleasantsmile,andMmaMakutsitooktoherimmediately.

“Youarekindtocomeandseehim,”MmaMakutsisaid.“Iwrotethatlettertoyoujusttoletyouknowthathewasnotwell.”

Thenursenodded.“Thatwastherightthingtodo.Wecancallintoseehimfrom time to time.Wecanbring food if youneed it.Wecando something tohelp,evenifit’snotagreatdeal.Wehavesomedrugswecangivehim.Theyarenotverystrong,buttheycanhelpabit.”

MmaMakutsithankedher,andlookeddownatherbrother.

“It is the coughing that troubles him,” she said. “That is theworst thing, Ithink.”

“Itisnoteasy,”saidthenurse.

Thenursesatdownonherstoolagainandtookthebrother’shand.

“Youmustdrinkmorewater,Richard,”shesaid.“Youmustnot letyourselfgettoothirsty.”

Heopenedhiseyesand lookedupather,butsaidnothing.Hewasnotsurewhyshewashere,butthoughtthatshewasafriendofhissister,perhaps,oraneighbour.

The nurse looked atMmaMakutsi and gestured for her to sit on the floorbeside them. Then, still holding his hand, she reached forward and gentlytouchedhischeek.

“Lord Jesus,” she said, “who helps us in our suffering. Look down on thispoormanandhavemercyonhim.Makehisdaysjoyful.Makehimhappyforhisgoodsisterhere,wholooksafterhiminhisillness.Andbringhimpeaceinhisheart.”

MmaMakutsiclosedhereyes,andputherhandontheshoulderofthenurse,whereitrested,astheysatinsilence.

CHAPTERFOUR

AVISITTODRMOFFAT

ASMMAMakutsisatatherbrother’sside,MmaRamotswewasdrivinghertinywhitevanuptothegateofMrJ.L.B.Matekoni’shouseneartheoldBotswanaDefence Force Club. She could see that he was in; the green truckwhich heinevitably drove—in spite of his having a rather better vehicle which he leftparkedatthegarage—stoodoutsidehisfrontdoor,whichhehadlefthalfopenfortheheat.Sheleftthevanoutside,tosaveherselffromgettinginandouttoopenandshut thegate,andwalkeduptothehousepast thefewscruffyplantswhichMrJ.L.B.Matekonicalledhisgarden.

“Ko!Ko!”shecalledatthedoor.“Areyouthere,MrJ.L.B.Matekoni?”

Avoicecamefromthelivingroom.“Iamhere.Iamin,MmaRamotswe.”

MmaRamotswewalked in,noticing immediatelyhowdustyandunpolishedwasthefloorofthehall.EversinceMrJ.L.B.Matekoni’ssullenandunpleasantmaid,Florence, hadbeen sent to prison for harbouring anunlicensedgun, thehouse had been allowed to get into an unkempt state. She had remindedMrJ.L.B. Matekoni on several occasions to engage a replacement maid, at leastuntil theygotmarried,andhehadpromised todoso.Buthehadneveracted,andMmaRamotswehaddecidedthatshewouldsimplyhavetobringhermaidinonedayandattemptaspringcleanofthewholeplace.

“Menwillliveinaveryuntidyway,ifyouletthem,”shehadremarkedtoafriend.“Theycannotkeepahouseorayard.Theydon’tknowhowtodoit.”

Shemadeherwaythroughthehallandintothelivingroom.Assheentered,MrJ.L.B.Matekoni,whohadbeenlyingfulllengthonhisuncomfortablesofa,rosetohisfeetandtriedtomakehimselflooklessdishevelled.

“It is good to see you,MmaRamotswe,” he said. “I have not seen you forseveraldays.”

“Thatistrue,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Perhapsthatisbecauseyouhavebeensobusy.”

“Yes,”hesaid,sittingdownagain,“Ihavebeenverybusy.Thereissomuchworktobedone.”

Shesaidnothing,butwatchedhimashespoke.Therewassomethingwrong;shehadbeenright.

“Arethingsbusyatthegarage?”sheasked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Things are always busy at the garage. All thetime.PeoplekeepbringingtheircarsinandsayingDothis,dothat.TheythinkIhavetenpairsofhands.That’swhattheythink.”

“Butdoyounotexpectpeople tobring theircars to thegarage?” sheaskedgently.“Isthatnotwhatagarageisfor?”

Mr J.L.B.Matekoni looked at her briefly and then shrugged. “Maybe. Butthereisstilltoomuchwork.”

MmaRamotsweglancedabout theroom,noticingthepileofnewspapersonthefloorandthesmallstackofwhatlookedlikeunopenedlettersonthetable.

“Iwent to thegarage,” she said. “I expected to seeyou there,but they saidthatyouhadleftearly.Theysaidyouoftenleftearlythesedays.”

MrJ.L.B.Matekonilookedather,andthentransferredhisgazetothefloor.“Ifind ithard tostay thereallday,withall thatwork,”hesaid.“Itwillgetdonesoonerorlater.Therearethosetwoboys.Theycandoit.”

MmaRamotswegasped.“Those twoboys?Thoseapprenticesofyours?Buttheyaretheveryonesyoualwayssaidcoulddonothing.Howcanyousaynowthattheywilldoeverythingthatneedstobedone?Howcanyousaythat?”

MrJ.L.B.Matekonididnotreply.

“Well,MrJ.L.B.Matekoni?”pressedMmaRamotswe.“What’syouranswertothat?”

“They’llbeallright,”hesaid,inacurious,flatvoice.“Letthemgetonwithit.”

MmaRamotswestoodup.Therewasnopointtalkingtohimwhenhewasinthissortofmood—anditcertainlywasamoodthatheseemedtobein.Perhapshewasill.Shehadheardthataboutofflucouldleaveonefeelinglethargicforaweek or two; perhaps thatwas the simple explanation of this out-of-characterbehaviour.Inwhichcase,shewouldjusthavetowaituntilhecameoutofit.

“I’vespokentoMmaMakutsi,”shesaidasshepreparedtoleave.“Ithinkthatshecanstartatthegaragesometimeinthenextfewdays.IhavegivenherthetitleofAssistantManager.Ihopethatyoudon’tmind.”

Hisreplyastonishedher.

“AssistantManager,Manager,ManagingDirector,Minister ofGarages,” hesaid.“Whateveryoulike.Itmakesnodifference,doesit?”

MmaRamotswecouldnotthinkofasuitablereply,soshesaidgoodbyeandstartedtowalkoutofthedoor.

“Oh,bytheway,”saidMrJ.L.B.Matekoniasshestartedtoleavethehouse,“IthoughtthatImightgoouttothelandsforalittlewhile.Iwanttoseehowtheplantingisgoing.Imightstayoutthereforawhile.”

MmaRamotswe stared at him. “And in themeantime,what happens to thegarage?”

MrJ.L.B.Matekonisighed.“Yourunit.Youandthatsecretaryofyours,theAssistantManager.Letherdoit.It’llbeallright.”

MmaRamotswepursedherlips.“Allright,”shesaid.“We’lllookafterit,MrJ.L.B.Matekoni,untilyoustarttofeelbetter.”

“I’mfine,”saidMrJ.L.B.Matekoni.“Don’tworryaboutme.I’mfine.”

SHEDIDnotdrivehometoZebraDrive,althoughsheknewthatthetwofosterchildrenwouldbewaitingthereforher.Motholeli,thegirl,wouldhavepreparedtheireveningmealbynow,andsheneededlittlesupervisionorhelp,inspiteofher wheelchair. And the boy, Puso, whowas inclined to be rather boisterous,would perhaps have expendedmost of his energy andwould be ready for hisbathandhisbed,bothofwhichMotholelicouldprepareforhim.

Insteadofgoinghome,sheturnedleftatKuduRoadandmadeherwaydownpast the flats to the house in OdiWay where her friend DrMoffat lived. DrMoffat,whousedtorunthehospitaloutatMochudi,hadlookedafterherfatherandhadalwaysbeenpreparedtolistentoherwhenshewasindifficulties.ShehadspokentohimaboutNotebeforeshehadconfidedinanybodyelse,andhehad told her, as gently as he could, that in his experience such men neverchanged.

“Youmustnotexpecthimtobecomeadifferentman,”hehadsaid.“Peoplelikethatrarelychange.”

Hewasabusyman,ofcourse,andshedidnotwishtointrudeonhistime,butshedecidedthatshewouldseeifhewasinandwhetherhecouldthrowanylightonthewayinwhichMrJ.L.B.Matekoniwasbehaving.Wastheresomestrangeinfectiondoingtheroundswhichmadepeoplealltiredandlistless?Ifthiswerethecase,thenhowlongmightoneexpectittolast?

DrMoffathadjustreturnedhome.HewelcomedMmaRamotsweatthedoorandledherintohisstudy.

“I amworried aboutMr J.L.B.Matekoni,” she explained. “Letme tell youabouthim.”

Helistenedforafewminutesandthenstoppedher.

“I think I know what the trouble might be,” he said. “There’s a conditioncalleddepression.Itisanillnesslikeanyotherillness,andquitecommontoo.It

soundstomeasifMrJ.L.B.Matekonicouldbedepressed.”

“Andcouldyoutreatthat?”

“Usually quite easily,” said Dr Moffat. “That is, provided that he hasdepression.Ifhehas,thenwehaveverygoodantidepressantsthesedays.Ifallwentwell,whichitprobablywould,wecouldhavehimstartingtofeelquiteabitbetter in threeweeksor so,maybeevena littlebit earlier.Thesepills takesometimetoact.”

“Iwilltellhimtocomeandseeyoustraightaway,”saidMmaRamotswe.

Dr Moffat looked doubtful. “Sometimes they don’t think there’s anythingwrongwiththem,”hesaid.“Hemightnotcome.It’sallverywellmytellingyouwhatthetroubleprobablyis;he’stheonewhohastoseektreatment.”

“Oh,I’llgethimtoyou,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Youcancountonthat.I’llmakesurethatheseekstreatment.”

Thedoctorsmiled.“Becareful,MmaRamotswe,”hesaid.“Thesethingscanbedifficult.”

CHAPTERFIVE

THEGOVERNMENTMAN

THE FOLLOWING morning Mma Ramotswe was at the No. 1 Ladies’Detective Agency before Mma Makutsi arrived. This was unusual, as MmaMakutsiwas normally first to arrive and alreadywould have opened themailandbrewedtheteabythetimethatMmaRamotswedroveupinhertinywhitevan.However,thiswasgoingtobeadifficultday,andshewantedtomakealistofthethingsthatshehadtodo.

“Youareveryearly,Mma,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Isthereanythingwrong?”

Mma Ramotswe thought for a moment. In a sense there was a great dealwrong,butshedidnotwanttodisheartenMmaMakutsi,andsosheputabravefaceonit.

“Notreally,”shesaid.“Butwemuststartpreparingforthemove.Andalso,itwill be necessary for you to go and get the garage sorted out. Mr J.L.B.Matekoni is feeling a bit unwell and might be going away for a while. ThismeansthatyouwillnotonlybeAssistantManager,butActingManager.Infact,thatisyournewtitle,asfromthismorning.”

MmaMakutsibeamedwithpleasure.“IshalldomybestasActingManager,”shesaid.“Ipromisethatyouwillnotbedisappointed.”

“OfcourseIwon’tbe,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Iknowthatyouareverygoodatyourjob.”

For the next hour they worked in companionable silence. Mma Ramotswedraftedherlistofthingstodo,thenscratchedsomeitemsoutandaddedothers.The early morning was the best time to do anything, particularly in the hot

season.Inthehotmonths,beforetherainsarrived,thetemperaturesoaredasthedayworeonuntiltheveryskyseemedwhite.Inthecoolofthemorning,whenthe sun barely warmed the skin and the air was still crisp, any task seemedpossible;later,inthefullheatofday,bothbodyandmindweresluggish.Itwaseasytothinkinthemorning—tomakelistsofthingstodo—intheafternoonallthatonecouldthinkaboutwastheendofthedayandtheprospectofrelieffromtheheat.ItwasBotswana’sonedrawback,thoughtMmaRamotswe.Sheknewthat itwastheperfectcountry—allBatswanaknewthat—but itwouldbeevenmoreperfectifthethreehottestmonthscouldbecooleddown.

Atnineo’clockMmaMakutsimadeacupofbushteaforMmaRamotsweandacupofordinaryteaforherself.MmaMakutsihadtriedtoaccustomherselftobushtea,loyallydrinkingitforthefirstfewmonthsofheremployment,buthadeventuallyconfessedthatshedidnotlikethetaste.Fromthattimeonthereweretwoteapots,oneforherandoneforMmaRamotswe.

“It’stoostrong,”shesaid.“AndIthinkitsmellsofrats.”

“It doesnot,” protestedMmaRamotswe. “This tea is for peoplewho reallyappreciatetea.Ordinaryteaisforanyone.”

Workstoppedwhileteawasserved.Thisteabreakwastraditionallyatimeforcatchinguponsmallitemsofgossipratherthanforthebroachingofanylargesubjects.MmaMakutsienquiredafterMrJ.L.B.Matekoni,andreceivedabriefreportofMmaRamotswe’sunsatisfactorymeetingwithhim.

“Heseemedtohavenointerestinanything,”shesaid.“Icouldhavetoldhimthathishousewasonfireandheprobablywouldn’thavebotheredverymuch.Itwasverystrange.”

“Ihaveseenpeoplelikethatbefore,”saidMmaMakutsi.“IhadacousinwhowassentofftothathospitalinLobatse.Ivisitedherthere.Therewereplentyofpeoplejustsittingandstaringupatthesky.Andtherewerealsopeopleshoutingoutatthevisitors,shoutingstrangethings,allaboutnothing.”

MmaRamotswe frowned. “That hospital is formad people,” she said. “MrJ.L.B.Matekoniisnotgoingmad.”

“Ofcoursenot,”saidMmaMakutsihurriedly.“Hewouldnevergomad.Ofcoursenot.”

MmaRamotswesippedathertea.“ButIstillhavetogethimtoadoctor,”shesaid.“Iwastoldthattheycantreatthissortofbehaviour.Itiscalleddepression.Therearepillswhichyoucantake.”

“Thatisgood,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Hewillgetbetter.Iamsureofit.”

Mma Ramotswe handed over her mug for refilling. “And what about yourfamilyupinBobonong?”sheasked.“Aretheywell?”

MmaMakutsipouredtherichredteaintothemug.“Theyareverywell,thankyou,Mma.”

MmaRamotswesighed.“IthinkthatitiseasiertoliveinBobonongthanhereinGaborone.Herewehaveall these troubles to thinkabout,but inBobonongthereisnothing.Justawholelotofrocks.”Shestoppedherself.“Ofcourse,it’saverygoodplace,Bobonong.Averyniceplace.”

MmaMakutsi laughed.“YoudonothavetobepoliteaboutBobonong,”shesaid.“Icanlaughaboutit.Itisnotagoodplaceforeverybody.Iwouldnotliketogoback,nowthatIhaveseenwhatitisliketoliveinGaborone.”

“Youwouldbewastedupthere,”saidMmaRamotswe.“What’stheuseofadiplomafromtheBotswanaSecretarialCollegeinaplacelikeBobonong?Theantswouldeatit.”

Mma Makutsi cast an eye up to the wall where her diploma from theBotswanaSecretarialCollegewas framed. “Wemust remember to take that tothenewofficewhenwemove,”shesaid.“Iwouldnotliketoleaveitbehind.”

“Ofcoursenot,”saidMmaRamotswe,whohadnodiplomas.“Thatdiplomaisimportantfortheclients.Itgivesthemconfidence.”

“Thankyou,”saidMmaMakutsi.

Theteabreakover,MmaMakutsiwenttowashthecupsunderthestandpipeatthebackofthebuilding,anditwasjustasshereturnedthattheclientarrived.

Itwasthefirstclientforoveraweek,andneitherofthemwaspreparedforthetall,well-builtmanwhoknocked at thedoor, in theproperBotswanamanner,andpolitelyawaitedhisinvitationtoenter.Norweretheypreparedforthefactthatthecarwhichbroughthimthere,completewithsmartlyattiredGovernmentdriver,wasanofficialMercedes-Benz.

YOUKNOWwho I am,Mma?” he said, as he took up the invitation to seathimselfinthechairbeforeMmaRamotswe’sdesk.

“Ofcourse,Ido,Rra,”saidMmaRamotswecourteously.“YouaresomethingtodowiththeGovernment.YouareaGovernmentMan.Ihaveseenyouinthenewspapersmanytimes.”

TheGovernmentManmadeanimpatientgesturewithhishand.“Yes,there’sthat, of course. But you knowwho I amwhen I am not being aGovernmentMan?”

MmaMakutsicoughedpolitely,andtheGovernmentManhalf-turnedtofaceher.

“Thisismyassistant,”explainedMmaRamotswe.“Sheknowsmanythings.”

“You are also the relative of a chief,” saidMmaMakutsi. “Your father is acousinofthatfamily.Iknowthat,asIcomefromthatparttoo.”

TheGovernmentMansmiled.“Thatistrue.”

“Andyourwife,”wentonMmaRamotswe,“sheissomerelativeoftheKingofLesotho,isshenot?Ihaveseenaphotographofher,too.”

TheGovernmentManwhistled.“My!My!IcanseethatIhavecometotherightplace.Youpeopleseemtoknoweverything.”

MmaRamotswenodded toMmaMakutsi and smiled. “It is ourbusiness toknowthings,”shesaid.“Aprivatedetectivewhoknowsnothingwouldbenouse

toanybody.Informationiswhatwedealin.Thatisourjob.Justasyourjobisgivingorderstocivilservants.”

“I don’t just give orders,” the GovernmentMan said peevishly. “I have tomakepolicy.Ihavetomakedecisions.”

“Ofcourse,”saidMmaRamotswehurriedly.“ItmustbeaverybigjobbeingaGovernmentMan.”

TheGovernmentMannodded.“It isnoteasy,”hesaid.“Andit isnotmadeanyeasierifoneisworriedaboutsomething.EverynightIwakeupattwo,threeandtheseworriesmakemesitupinmybed.AndthenIdon’tsleep,andwhenitcomes tomaking decisions in themorningmy head is all fuzzy and I cannotthink.Thatiswhathappenswhenyouareworried.”

Mma Ramotswe knew that they were now coming to the reason for theconsultation. Itwaseasier to reach it thisway, to allow theclient tobring thematterupindirectlyratherthantolaunchstraightintoanenquiry.Itseemedlessrude,somehow,toallowthemattertobeapproachedinthisway.

“Wecanhelpwithworries,”shesaid.“Sometimeswecanmakethemvanishaltogether.”

“SoIhaveheard,”saidtheGovernmentMan.“Peoplesaythatyouarealadywhocanworkmiracles.Ihaveheardthat.”

“Youareverykind,Rra.”Shepaused, runningover inhermind thevariouspossibilities. It was probably unfaithfulness, which was the most commonproblem of all the clients who consulted her, particularly if, as in theGovernmentMan’scase,theywereinbusyjobsthattookthemawayfromhomeagreatdeal.Oritcouldbesomethingpolitical,whichwouldbenewterrainforher. She knew nothing about theworkings of political parties, other than thatthey involved a great deal of intrigue. She had read all about Americanpresidents and thedifficulties that theyhadwith this scandal and that scandal,with ladies and burglars and the like. Could there be something like that inBotswana?Surelynot,andiftherewere,shewouldnotchoosetogetinvolved.She could not see herself meeting informants on dark corners in the dead ofnight, or talking in whispers to journalists in bars. On the other hand, Mma

Makutsimightappreciatetheopportunity…

TheGovernmentMan raised his hand, as if to command silence. Itwas animperious gesture, but then he was the scion of a well-connected family andperhapsthesethingscamenaturally.

“ItakeitthatIcanspeakincompleteconfidence,”hesaid,glancingbrieflyatMmaMakutsi.

“Myassistantisveryconfidential,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Youcantrusther.”

TheGovernmentMannarrowedhiseyes.“Ihopeso,”hesaid.“Iknowwhatwomenarelike.Theyliketotalk.”

MmaMakutsi’seyesopenedwidewithindignation.

“Icanassureyou,Rra,”saidMmaRamotswe,hertonesteely,“thattheNo.1Ladies’DetectiveAgency isboundby the strictest principleof confidentiality.Thestrictestprinciple.Andthatgoesnotonlyformebutalsoforthatladyoverthere,MmaMakutsi. If you are in any doubt as to this, then you should findsomeotherdetectives.Wewouldnotobjecttothat.”Shepaused.“Andanotherthing,Rra.Thereisalotoftalkingthatgoesoninthiscountry,andmostofit,inmyopinion,isdonebymen.Thewomenareusuallytoobusytotalk.”

Shefoldedherhandsonherdesk.Shehadsaiditnow,andsheshouldnotbesurprisedif theGovernmentManwalkedout.Amaninhispositionwouldnotbeusedtobeingspokentointhatwayandhepresumablywouldnottakewelltoit.

Foramoment theGovernmentMansaidnothing,butsimplystaredatMmaRamotswe.

“So,”hesaidatlast.“So.Youarequiteright.IamsorrythatIsuggestedthatyou would not be able to keep a secret.” Then, turning toMmaMakutsi, headded,“IamsorrythatIsuggestedthatthingaboutyou,Mma.Itwasnotagoodthingtosay.”

MmaRamotswefeltthetensionebbaway.“Good,”shesaid.“Nowwhydon’tyoutellusabouttheseworries?Myassistantwillboilthekettle.Wouldyoulike

bushteaorordinarytea?”

“Bush,”saidtheGovernmentMan.“It’sgoodforworries,Ithink.”

“BECAUSEYOUknowwhoIam,”saidtheGovernmentMan,“Idon’thavetostart at thebeginning,or at least at thebeginningof thebeginning.YouknowthatIamthesonofanimportantman.Youknowthat.AndIamthefirstborn,whichmeansthatIshallbetheonetoheadthefamilywhenGodcallsmyfathertojoinhim.ButIhopethatwillnotbeforalongtime.

“Ihave twobrothers.Onehadsomethingwrongwithhisheadanddoesnottalk to anybody.He never talked to anybody and took no interest in anythingfromthetimehewasalittleboy.Sowehavesenthimouttoacattlepostandheishappythere.Hestaysthereallthetimeandheisnotrouble.Hejustsitsandcountsthecattleandthen,whenhehasfinished,hestartsagain.Thatisallthathewantstodoinlife,eventhoughheisthirty-eightnow.

“Then there ismyotherbrother.He ismuchyounger than I am. I am fifty-four,andheisonlytwenty-six.Heismybrotherbyanothermother.Myfatherisold-fashionedandhehadtwowivesandhismotherwastheyounger.Thereweremanygirlchildren—Ihaveninesistersbyvariousmothers,andmanyof themhavemarriedandhavetheirownchildren.Soweareabigfamily,butsmallinthe number of important boys,who are really onlymyself and this brother oftwenty-six.HeiscalledMogadi.

“I am very fond of my brother. Because I am somuch older than he is, Irememberhimverywellfromwhenhewasbaby.Whenhegrewabit,Itaughthimmanythings.Ishowedhimhowtofindmopaniworms.Ishowedhimhowtocatchflyingantswhentheycomeoutoftheirholesatthefirstrains.Itoldhimwhichthingsyoucaneatinthebushandwhichyoucannot.

“Thenonedayhesavedmylife.Wewerestayingoutatthecattlepostwhereourfatherkeepssomeofhisherds.ThereweresomeBasarwathere,becausemyfather’scattlepostisnotfarfromtheplacewherethesepeoplecomeinfromthe

Kalahari.Itisaverydryplace,butthereisawindmillwhichmyfathersetuptopumpwaterforthecattle.Thereisalotofwaterdeepundergroundandittastesverygood.TheseBasarwapeoplelikedtocomeanddrinkthiswaterwhiletheywerewanderingaroundandtheywoulddosomeworkformyfatherinreturnforsomemilkfromthecowsand,iftheywerelucky,abitofmeat.Theylikedmyfather because he never beat them, unlike some peoplewho use sjamboks onthem.Ihaveneverapprovedofbeatingthesepeople,never.

“ItookmybrotherouttoseesomeBasarwa,whowerelivingunderatreenotfaraway.TheyhadsomeslingshotsoutofostrichleatherandIwantedtogetoneformybrother.Itooksomemeattogivetotheminexchange.Ithoughtthattheymightalsogiveusanostrichegg.

“Itwasjustaftertherains,andtherewasfreshgrassandflowers.Youknow,Mma,whatitislikedowntherewhenthefirstrainscome.Thelandissuddenlysoftandthereareflowers,flowersallaround.Itisverybeautiful,andforawhileyouforget justhowhotanddryandhard ithasbeen.Wewalkedalongapathwhichtheanimalshadmadewiththeirhooves,myselfinthefrontandmylittlebrother just behind me. He had a long stick which he was trailing along thegroundbesidehim.Iwasveryhappytobethere,withmylittlebrother,andwiththefreshgrassthatIknewwouldmakethecattlefatagain.

“Hesuddenlycalledouttome,andIstopped.Thereinthegrassbesideuswasasnake,withitsheadupoffthegroundanditsmouthopen,hissing.Itwasabigsnake,aboutaslongasIamtall,andithadraisedaboutanarm’slengthofitsbodyoff theground. I knew immediatelywhat sort of snake thiswas andmyheartstoppedwithinme.

“Iwasverystill,becauseIknewthatamovementcouldmakethesnakestrikeanditwasonlythisfarfromme.Itwasveryclose.Thesnakewaslookingatme,withthoseangryeyesthatthosemambashave,andIthoughtthatitwasgoingtostrikemeandtherewasnothingIcoulddo.

“AtthatmomenttherewasascrapingnoiseandIsawthatmylittlebrother,whowasonly elevenor twelve at the time,wasmoving the stick towards thesnake,pushing its tipalong theground.Thesnakemoved itshead,andbeforewe couldmake outwhatwas happening, it had struck at the end of the stick.Thatgaveme time to turn round,pickupmybrother, and rundown thepath.

Thesnakedisappeared.Ithadbittenthestickandperhapsithadbrokenafang.Whateverhappened,itdidnotchoosetofollowus.

“Hesavedmylife.Youknow,Mma,whathappensifapersonisbittenbyamamba.Thereisnochance.SofromthatdayIknewthatIowedmylifetothislittlebrotherofmine.

“Thatwasfourteenyearsago.Nowwedonotwalkthroughthebushtogetherveryoften,butIstilllovemybrotherverymuchandthatiswhyIwasunhappywhen he came to seeme here inGaborone and toldme that hewas going tomarryagirlhehadmetwhenhewasa studenthereat theuniversity.Hewasdoing a BSc there and while he was doing this he came across a girl fromMahalapye.Iknowherfatherbecauseheisaclerkinoneoftheministrieshere.Ihaveseenhimsittingunderthetreeswithotherclerksatlunchtime,andnowhewavestomeeverytimeheseesmycargopast.Iwavedbackatthebeginning,butnowIcannotbebothered.WhyshouldIwavetothisclerkallthetimejustbecausehisdaughterhasmetmybrother?

“MybrotherisstayingdownatthefarmthatwehaveupnorthofPilane.Herunsitverywellandmyfatherisverycontentwithwhatheisdoing.Myfatherhas given him the farm, in fact, and it is nowhis. Thismakes him awealthyman.Ihaveanotherfarmwhichalsobelongedtomyfather,soIamnotjealousofthat.Mogadimarriedthisgirlaboutthreemonthsagoandshemovedintothefarmhouse thatwehave.My father andmymother live there.Myaunts comeand stay for much of the year. It is a very big house and there is room foreverybody.

“Mymotherdidnotwantthiswomantomarrymybrother.Shesaidthatshewouldnotmakeagoodwifeandthatshewouldonlybringunhappinesstothefamily.Ialsothoughtthatitwasnotagoodidea,butinmycaseitwasbecauseIthoughtIknewwhyshewantedtomarrymybrother.Ididnotthinkthatitwasbecause she loved him, or anything like that; I think that she was beingencouragedbyherfathertomarrymybrotherbecausehecamefromarichandimportant family. I shall never forget,Mma, how her father looked about theplacewhenhe came to talk about themarriagewithmy father.His eyeswerewidewithgreed,andIcouldseehimaddingupthevalueofeverything.Heevenaskedmybrotherhowmanycattlehehad—thatfromamanwhohasnocattlehimself,Ishouldimagine!

“Iacceptedmybrother’sdecision,althoughIthoughtitwasabadone,andItriedtobeaswelcomingaspossibletothisnewwife.Butitwasnoteasy.Thiswas because all the time I could see that shewas plotting to turnmy brotheragainsthisfamily.Sheobviouslywantsmymotherandfatheroutofthathouseandhasmadeherselfveryunpleasanttomyaunts.Itislikeahouseinwhichawaspistrapped,alwaysbuzzingawayandtryingtostingtheothers.

“Thatwouldhavebeenbadenough,Isuppose,butthensomethinghappenedwhichmademeevenmoreconcerned.IwasdownthereafewweeksagoandIwenttoseemybrotheratthehouse.WhenIarrived,Iwastoldthathewasnotwell.Iwentthroughtohisroomandhewaslyinginbedholdinghisstomach.Hehadeatensomethingverybad,hesaid;perhapsitwasrottenmeat.

“Iaskedhimwhetherhehadseenadoctorandhesaidthatitwasnotseriousenoughforthat.Hewouldgetbettersoon,hethought,evenifhefeltveryillatthatpoint.Ithenwentandspoketomymother,whowassittingbyherselfontheverandah.

“Shebeckonedmetositbesideherand,havingcheckedtoseethattherewasnobodyelseabout,shetoldmewhatwasonhermind.

“‘Thatnewwifeistryingtopoisonyourbrother,’shesaid.‘Isawhergointothekitchenbeforehismealwas served. I sawher. I toldhimnot to finishhismeatasIthoughtitwasrotten.IfIhadn’ttoldhimthat,hewouldhaveeatenthewholehelpingandwouldhavedied.She’stryingtopoisonhim.’

“I asked her why she would do this. ‘If she has just married a nice richhusband,’Isaid,‘whyshouldshewanttogetridofhimsoquickly?’

“Mymother laughed. ‘Because she’ll bemuch richer as awidow than as awife,’shesaid.‘Ifhediesbeforeshehaschildren,thenhehasmadeawillwhichgiveseverythingtoher.Thefarm,thishouse,everything.Andonceshehasthat,thenshecanthrowusoutandalltheaunts.Butfirstshehastokillhim.’

“Ithoughtatfirstthatthiswasridiculous,butthemoreIponderedit,themoreIrealisedthatitprovidedaveryclearmotiveforthisnewwifeandthatitcouldwell be true. I could not talk to my brother about it, as he refuses to hearanythingsaidagainsthiswife,andsoI thoughtthatIhadbettergetsomebody

fromoutsidethefamilytolookintothismatterandseewhatwashappening.”

MmaRamotsweraisedahandtointerrupthim.“There’sthepolice,Rra.Thissounds like something for thepolice.They are used to dealingwithpoisonersandpeoplelikethat.Wearenotthatsortofdetective.Wehelppeoplewiththeproblemsintheirlives.Wearenotheretosolvecrimes.”

AsMmaRamotswe spoke, she noticedMmaMakutsi look crestfallen. Sheknew that her assistant had a different vision of their role; that was thedifference, thought Mma Ramotswe between being almost forty and beingtwenty-eight.Atalmostforty—orevenforty,ifonewerefussyaboutdates—onewasnotonthelookoutforexcitement;attwenty-eight,ifanyexcitementwastobe had, then one wanted to have it. Mma Ramotswe understood, of course.When shehadmarriedNoteMokoti, she hadyearned for all the glamour thatwentwithbeingthewifeofawell-knownmusician,amanwhoturnedtheheadsofallwhenheenteredaroom,amanwhoseveryvoiceseemedredolentofthethrillingnotesof jazz thathecoaxedoutofhis shiningSelmer trumpet.Whenthemarriageended,afterapitifullyshorttime,withitsonlymemorialbeingthatminute, sad stone thatmarked the short life of their premature baby, she hadyearnedforalifeofstabilityandorder.Certainly,excitementwasnotwhatshesought, and, indeed Clovis Andersen, author of her professional bible, ThePrinciplesofPrivateDetection,hadclearlywarned,onpagetwoifnotonpageoneitself,thatthosewhobecameprivatedetectivestofindamoreexcitinglifewere gravely mistaken as to the nature of the work.Our job, he wrote, in aparagraphwhichhadstuckinMmaRamotswe’smindandwhichshehadquotedinitsentiretytoMmaMakutsiwhenshehadfirstengagedher,istohelppeoplein need to resolve the unresolved questions in their lives. There is very littledrama in our calling; rather a process of patient observation, deduction, andanalysis. We are sophisticated watchmen, watching and reporting; there isnothingromanticinourjobandthosewhoarelookingforromanceshouldlaydownthismanualatthispointanddosomethingelse.

MmaMakutsi’seyeshadglazedoverwhenMmaRamotswehadquotedthistoher.Itwasobvious,then,thatshethoughtofthejobinaverydifferentway.Now,withnolessapersonthantheGovernmentMansittingbeforethemtalkingabout family intrigueandpossiblepoisonings, she felt that at lastherewasaninvestigation which could allow them to get their teeth into somethingworthwhile.And,justasthisarose,MmaRamotsweseemedintentonputtingoff

theclient!

The Government Man stared at Mma Ramotswe. Her intervention hadannoyed him, and it seemed that he was making an effort to control hisdispleasure.MmaMakutsinoticedthatthetopofhislipquiveredslightlyashelistened.

“I cannot go to the police,” he said, struggling to keep his voice normal.“WhatcouldIsaytothepolice?Thepolicewouldaskforsomeproof,evenfromme.Theywouldsaythattheycouldhardlygointothathouseandarrestawifewhowould say that shehaddonenothing,with thehusband there, too, sayingThiswomanhasnotdoneanything.Whatareyoutalkingabout?”

HestoppedandlookedatMmaRamotsweasifhehadmadeouthiscase.

“Well?”hesaidabruptly.“IfIcannotgotothepolice,thenitbecomesthejobofaprivatedetective.That’swhatyoupeoplearefor,isn’tit?Well,Mma?”

MmaRamotswereturnedhisgaze,whichinitselfwasagesture.Intraditionalsociety,sheshouldnothavelookedsohardintotheeyesofamanofhisrank.Thatwouldhavebeenveryrude.Buttimeshadchanged,andshewasacitizenof the modern Republic of Botswana, where there was a constitution whichguaranteedthedignityofallcitizens,ladyprivatedetectivesamongthem.Thatconstitutionhadbeenupheld from the very day in 1966when theUnion Jackhadbeentakendowninthestadiumandthatwonderfulblueflaghadbeenraisedtotheululatingofthecrowd.ItwasarecordwhichnoothercountryinAfrica,notone, couldmatch.And shewas, after all,PreciousRamotswe,daughterofthelateObedRamotswe,amanwhosedignityandworthwastheequalofanyman,whetherhewasfromachieflyfamilyornot.Hehadbeenabletolookintotheeyeofanyone,righttothedayofhisdeath,andsheshouldbeabletodosotoo.

“It is forme todecidewhether I takea case,Rra,” she said. “I cannothelpeverybody.ItrytohelppeopleasmuchasIcan,butifIcannotdoathing,thenIsaythatIamsorrybutIcannothelpthatperson.ThatishowweworkintheNo.1Ladies’DetectiveAgency. Inyourcase, I justdonotseehowwecouldfindoutwhatweneedtofindout.Thisisaprobleminsideafamily.Idonotseehowastrangercouldfindoutanythingaboutit.”

The Government Man was silent. He glanced at Mma Makutsi, but shedroppedhereyes.

“I see,”he said after a fewmoments. “I thinkyoudonotwant tohelpme,Mma.Wellnow,thatisverysadforme.”Hepaused.“Doyouhavealicenceforthisbusiness,Mma?”

MmaRamotswecaughtherbreath.“Alicence?Istherealawwhichrequiresalicencetobeaprivatedetective?”

TheGovernmentMansmiled,buthiseyeswerecold.“Probablynot.Ihaven’tchecked. But there could be. Regulation, you know. We have to regulatebusiness.That’swhywehave things likehawkers’ licencesorgeneraldealers’licences, which we can take away from people who are not suitable to behawkersorgeneraldealers.Youknowhowthatworks.”

ItwasObedRamotswewhoanswered;ObedRamotswethroughthelipsofhisdaughter,hisPrecious.

“Icannothearwhatyouaresaying,Rra.Icannothearit.”

MmaMakutsisuddenlynoisilyshuffledthepapersonherdesk.

“Ofcourse,you’reright,Mma,”shesaid.“Youcouldnotsimplygouptothatwomanandaskherwhethershewasplanning tokillherhusband.Thatwouldnotwork.”

“No,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Thatiswhywecannotdoanythinghere.”

“On the other hand,” saidMmaMakutsi quickly. “I have an idea. I think Iknowhowthismightbedone.”

TheGovernmentMantwistedroundtofaceMmaMakutsi.

“Whatisyouridea,Mma?”

MmaMakutsiswallowed.Herlargeglassesseemedtoshinewithbrightnessattheforceoftheidea.

“Well,” she began. “It is important to get into the house and listen towhatthose people are talking about. It is important to watch that woman who isplanningtodothesewickedthings.Itisimportanttolookintoherheart.”

“Yes,”saidtheGovernmentMan.“ThatiswhatIwantyoupeopletodo.Youlookintothatheartandfindtheevil.Thenyoushineatorchontheevilandsaytomy brother: See! See this bad heart in your wife. See how she is plotting,plottingallthetime!”

“Itwouldn’tbethatsimple,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Lifeisnotthatsimple.Itjustisn’t.”

“Please,Mma,”saidtheGovernmentMan.“Letuslistentothiscleverwomaninglasses.Shehassomeverygoodideas.”

MmaMakutsiadjustedherglassesandcontinued.“Thereareservants in thehouse,aren’tthere?”

“Five,”saidtheGovernmentMan.“Thenthereareservantsforoutside.Therearemenwholookafter thecattle.Andthereare theoldservantsofmyfather.They cannotwork anymore, but they sit in the sun outside the house andmyfatherfeedsthemwell.Theyareveryfat.”

“Soyousee,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Aninsideservantseeseverything.Amaidseesintothebedofthehusbandandwife,doesshenot?Acookseesintotheirstomachs. Servants are always there, watching, watching. They will talk toanotherservant.Servantsknoweverything.”

“Soyouwillgoandtalktotheservants?”askedtheGovernmentMan.“Butwill they talk toyou?Theywillbeworriedabout their jobs.Theywill justbequietandsaythatthereisnothinghappening.”

“ButMmaRamotsweknowshowtotalktopeople,”counteredMmaMakutsi.“People talk toher. Ihaveseenit.Canyounotgether tostay inyourfather’shouseforafewdays?Canyounotarrangethat?”

“OfcourseIcan,”saidtheGovernmentMan.“Icantellmyparentsthatthereis a womanwho has doneme a political favour. She needs to be away fromGaboroneforafewdaysbecauseofsometroubleshere.Theywilltakeher.”

MmaRamotsweglancedatMmaMakutsi.Itwasnotherassistant’splacetomakesuggestionsofthissort,particularlywhentheireffectwouldbetorailroadherintotakingacasewhichshedidnotwishtotake.ShewouldhavetospeaktoMmaMakutsiaboutthis,butshedidnotwishtoembarrassherinfrontofthisman with his autocratic ways and his pride. She would accept the case, notbecausehisthinlyveiledthreathadworked—thatshehadclearlystooduptobysayingthatshecouldnothearhim—butbecauseshehadbeenpresentedwithawayoffindingoutwhatneededtobefoundout.

“Verywell,”shesaid.“Wewilltakethison,Rra.Notbecauseofanythingyouhave said to me, particularly those things that I did not hear.” She paused,allowingtheeffectofherwordstobefelt.“ButIwilldecidewhattodoonceIamthere.Youmustnotinterfere.”

TheGovernmentMannoddedenthusiastically.“Thatisfine,Mma.Iamveryhappywiththat.AndIamsorrythatIsaidthingswhichIshouldnothavesaid.Youmustknowthatmybrotherisveryimportanttome.Iwouldnothavesaidanythingifithadnotbeenformyfearsformybrother.Thatisall.”

MmaRamotswelookedathim.Hedidlovehisbrother.Itcouldnotbeeasytoseehimmarried to awomanwhomhemistrusted so strongly. “Ihave alreadyforgottenwhatwassaid,Rra,”shesaid.“Youneednotworry.”

TheGovernmentManrosetohisfeet.“Willyoustarttomorrow?”hesaid.“Ishallmakethearrangements.”

“No,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Iwillstartinafewdays’time.IhavemuchtodohereinGaborone.Butdonotworry,ifthereisanythingthatcanbedoneforyourpoorbrother,Ishalldoit.Oncewetakeonacase,wedonottreatitlightly.Ipromiseyouthat.”

TheGovernmentManreachedacrossthedeskandtookherhandinhis.“Youareaverykindwoman,Mma.Whattheysayaboutyouistrue.Everyword.”

He turned toMmaMakutsi. “Andyou,Mma.You are a clever lady. If youeverdecidethatyouaretiredofbeingaprivatedetective,comeandworkfortheGovernment.TheGovernmentneedswomen likeyou.Mostof thewomenwehaveworkinginGovernmentarenogood.Theysitandpainttheirnails.Ihave

seenthem.Youwouldworkhard,Ithink.”

MmaRamotswewasabout to saysomething,but theGovernmentManwasalreadyonhiswayout.Fromthewindow,theysawhisdriveropenthecardoorsmartlyandslamitshutbehindhim.

“IfIdidgotoworkfortheGovernment,”saidMmaMakutsi,addingquickly,“and I’mnot going to do that, of course.But Iwonder how long itwould bebeforeIhadacarlikethat,andadriver.”

MmaRamotswelaughed.“Don’tbelieveeverythinghesays,”shesaid.“Menlikethatcanmakeallsortsofpromises.Andheisaverystupidman.Veryproudtoo.”

“Buthewastellingthetruthaboutthebrother’swife?”askedMmaMakutsianxiously.

“Probably,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I don’t think he made that up. ButrememberwhatClovisAndersensays.Everystoryhastwosides.Sofar,we’veonlyheardone.Thestupidside.”

LIFEWASbecomingcomplicated,thoughtMmaRamotswe.Shehadjustagreedtotakeonacasewhichcouldprovefarfromsimple,andwhichwouldtakeheraway from Gaborone. That in itself was problematic enough, but the wholesituation became much more difficult when one thought about Mr J.L.B.MatekoniandTlokwengRoadSpeedyMotors.Andthentherewasthequestionof the children; now that they had settled into her house at Zebra Drive shewould have to establish some sort of routine for them.Rose, hermaid,was agreathelpinthatrespect,butshecouldnotshoulderthewholeburdenherself.

The listshehadbegun tocomposeearlier thatmorninghadbeenheadedbythe task of preparing the office for amove.Now she thought that she shouldpromotetheissueofthegaragetothetopofthelistandputtheofficesecond.Thenshecouldfitthechildreninbelowthat:shewroteSCHOOLincapitalletters

and a telephone number beneath that. This was followed by GET MAN TO FIXFRIDGE.TAKEROSE’SSONTOTHEDOCTORFORHISASTHMA,andfinallyshewrote:DOSOMETHINGABOUTBADWIFE.

“MmaMakutsi,” she said. “I think that I am going to take you over to thegarage. We cannot let Mr J.L.B. Matekoni down, even if he is behavingstrangely.Youmust startyourdutiesasActingManager rightnow. Iwill takeyouinthevan.”

MmaMakutsinodded.“Iamready,Mma,”shesaid.“Iamreadytomanage.”

CHAPTERSIX

UNDERNEWMANAGEMENT

TLOKWENGROADSpeedyMotorsstoodashortdistanceofftheroad,halfamile beyond the two big stores that had been built at the edge of the districtknownas theVillage. Itwas in a clusterof threebuildings: ageneraldealer’sshopthatstockedeverythingfromcheapclothingtoparaffinandgoldensyrup,and a builder’s yard which dealt in timber and sheets of corrugated iron forroofs.Thegaragewasattheeasternend,withseveralthorntreesarounditandanoldpetrolpumptothefront.MrJ.L.B.Matekonihadbeenpromisedamoremodern pump, but the petrol companywas not keen for him to sell petrol incompetitionwith theirmoremodern outlets and they conveniently forgot thispromise.Theycontinued todeliverpetrol,as theywerecontractuallybound todo,buttheydiditwithoutenthusiasmandtendedtoforgetwhentheyhadagreedtocome.Asaresult,thefuelstoragetankswerefrequentlyempty.

None of thatmattered verymuch. Clients came to TlokwengRoad SpeedyMotorsbecausetheywantedtheircarstobefixedbyMrJ.L.B.Matekoniratherthantobuypetrol.Theywerepeoplewhounderstoodthedifferencebetweenagoodmechanic and onewhomerely fixed cars.A goodmechanic understoodcars; he could diagnose a problem just by listening to an engine running, inmuch the sameway as an experienced doctormay seewhat iswrong just bylookingatthepatient.

“Enginestalktoyou,”heexplainedtohisapprentices.“Listentothem.Theyaretellingyouwhatiswrongwiththem,ifonlyyoulisten.”

Of course, the apprentices did not understandwhat hemeant. They had anentirely different view ofmachinery andwere quite incapable of appreciatingthatenginesmighthavemoods,andemotions,thatanenginemightfeelstressedorunderpressure,orrelievedandatease.Thepresenceoftheapprenticeswas

an act of charity on the part ofMr J.L.B.Matekoni,whowas concerned thatthere shouldbeenoughproperly trainedmechanics inBotswana to replacehisgenerationwheniteventuallyretired.

“Africa will get nowhere until we have mechanics,” he once remarked toMmaRamotswe.“Mechanicsare thefirststonein thebuilding.Thenthereareotherpeopleontop.Doctors.Nurses.Teachers.Butthewholethingisbuiltonmechanics.Thatiswhyitisimportanttoteachyoungpeopletobemechanics.”

Now, driving up to Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, Mma Ramotswe andMmaMakutsisawoneof theapprenticesat thewheelofacarwhile theotherwas pushing it slowly forward into the workshop. As they approached, theapprenticewhowasdoing thepushingabandonedhis task to lookat themandthecarrolledbackwards.

Mma Ramotswe parked her tiny white van under a tree and she andMmaMakutsiwalkedovertotheofficeentrance.

“Good morning, Bomma,” the taller of the two apprentices said. “Yoursuspensiononthatvanofyoursisverybad.Youaretooheavyforit.Seehowitgoesdownononeside.Wecanfixitforyou.”

“There is nothing wrong with it,” retorted Mma Ramotswe. “Mr J.L.B.Matekoni himself looks after that van. He has never said anything aboutsuspension.”

“Butheissayingnothingaboutanythingthesedays,”saidtheapprentice.“Heisquitesilent.”

MmaMakutsistoppedandlookedattheboy.“IamMmaMakutsi,”shesaid,staringathimthroughherlargeglasses.“IamtheActingManager.Ifyouwanttotalkaboutsuspension,thenyoucancomeandtalktomeintheoffice.Inthemeantime,whatareyoudoing?Whosecaristhatandwhatareyoudoingtoit?”

Theapprenticelookedoverhisshoulderforsupportfromhisfriend.

“Itisthecarofthatwomanwholivesbehindthepolicestation.Ithinksheissomesortofeasylady.”Helaughed.“Sheusesthiscartopickupmenandnowitwillnotstart.Soshecangetnomen.Ha!”

MmaMakutsibristledwithanger.“Itwouldnotstart,wouldit?”

“Yes,” said the apprentice. “Itwould not start.And soCharlie and I had todriveoverwiththetruckandtowitin.Nowwearepushingitintothegaragetolookattheengine.Itwillbeabigjob,Ithink.Maybeanewstartermotor.Youknowthesethings.Theycostalotofmoneyanditisgoodthatthemengivethatwomanallthatmoneysoshecanpay.Ha!”

MmaMakutsimovedherglassesdownonhernoseandstaredattheboyoverthetopofthem.

“Andwhataboutthebattery?”shesaid.“Maybeit’sthebattery.Didyoutrytojump-startit?”

Theapprenticestoppedsmiling.

“Well?”askedMmaRamotswe.“Didyoutaketheleads?Didyoutry?”

Theapprenticeshookhishead.“Itisanoldcar.Therewillbesomethingelsewrongwithit.”

“Nonsense,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Openthefront.Haveyougotagoodbatteryintheworkshop?Puttheleadsonthatandtry.”

Theapprenticelookedattheother,whoshrugged.

“Comeon,” saidMmaMakutsi. “Ihavea lot todo in theoffice.Getgoingplease.”

Mma Ramotswe said nothing, but watched with Mma Makutsi as theapprenticesmovedthecarthelastfewyardsintotheworkshopandthenlinkedthebatteryleadstoafreshbattery.Then,sullenly,oneofthemclimbedintothedriver’sseatandtriedtheignition.Theenginestartedimmediately.

“Chargeitup,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Thenchangetheoilforthatwomanandtake the car back to her. Tell her that you are sorry it has taken longer thannecessarytofix,butthatwehavegivenheranoilchangefornothingtomakeupfor it.” She turned toMma Ramotswe, whowas standing smiling beside her.“Customerloyaltyisveryimportant.Ifyoudosomethingforthecustomer,then

the customer is going to stay with you forever. That is very important inbusiness.”

“Very,” agreed Mma Ramotswe. She had harboured doubts about MmaMakutsi’s ability to manage the garage, but these were well on their way tobeingallayed.

“Do you knowmuch about cars?” she asked her assistant casually, as theybegantosortoutthecrowdedsurfaceofMrJ.L.B.Matekoni’sdesk.

“Notverymuch,”answeredMmaMakutsi.“ButIamgoodwithtypewriters,andonemachineisverymuchlikeanother,don’tyouthink?”

THEIRIMMEDIATEtaskwastofindoutwhatcarswerewaitingtobeattendedto and which were booked in for future attention. The elder of the twoapprentices,Charlie,was summoned into theofficeandasked togivea listofoutstandingwork.Therewereeightcars,ittranspired,whichwereparkedatthebackofthegaragewaitingforparts.Someofthesehadbeenorderedandothershadnot.Oncealisthadbeenmade,MmaMakutsi telephonedeachsupplier inturnandenquiredaboutthepart.

“MrJ.L.B.Matekoniisverycross,”shesaidsharply.“Andwewillnotbeabletopayyou forpastorders ifyoudonot letusgetonwithnewwork.Doyouunderstandthat?”

Promisesweremade,and,forthemostpart,kept.Partsbegantoarriveseveralhourslater,broughtroundbythesuppliersthemselves.Theseweredulylabelled—somethingwhichhadnothappenedbefore,said theapprentices—andplacedon a bench, in order of urgency. In the meantime, their work coordinated byMmaMakutsi,theapprenticesbusilyfittedparts,testedengines,andeventuallyhandedovereachvehicletoMmaMakutsifortesting.Sheinterrogatedthemastowhathadbeendone, sometimes asking to inspect thework itself, and then,beingunabletodrive,shehandedthevehicleovertoMmaRamotsweforatestrun before she telephoned the owner to tell them that theworkwas finished.

Onlyhalfthebillwouldbecharged,sheexplained,tocompensateforthelengthof the delay. Thismollified every owner, except one, who announced that hewouldbegoingelsewhereinfuture.

“Thenyouwillnotbeable to takeadvantageofourfreeserviceoffer,”saidMmaMakutsiquietly.“Thatisapity.”

This brought the necessary change of mind, and at the end of the dayTlokweng Road Speedy Motors had returned six cars to their owners, all ofwhomhadappearedtohaveforgiventhem.

“Ithasbeenagoodfirstday,”saidMmaMakutsi,assheandMmaRamotswewatched the exhausted apprentices walking off down the road. “Those boysworked very hard and I have rewarded themwith a bonus of fifty pula each.They are very happy and I’m sure that they will become better apprentices.You’llsee.”

MmaRamotswewas bemused. “I think youmay be right,Mma,” she said.“Youareanexceptionalmanager.”

“Thankyou,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Butwemustgohomenow,aswehavealottodotomorrow.”

Mma Ramotswe drove her assistant home in the tiny white van, along theroads that were crowded with people returning from work. There wereminibuses, overloaded and listing alarmingly to one side with their burden,bicycles with passengers perched on the carriers, and people simply walking,arms swinging, whistling, thinking, hoping. She knew the road well, havingdriven Mma Makutsi home on many occasions, and was familiar with theramshacklehouseswiththeirknotsofstaring, inquisitivechildrenwhoseemedtopopulatesuchareas.Shedroppedherassistantatherfrontgateandwatchedherwalkroundtothebackofthebuildingandthebreeze-blockshackinwhichshelived.Shethoughtshesawafigure in thedoorway,ashadowperhaps,butthenMmaMakutsiturnedroundandMmaRamotswe,whocouldnotbeseentobewatchingher,hadtodriveoff.

CHAPTERSEVEN

THEGIRLWITHTHREELIVES

NOTEVERYBODYhadamaid,ofcourse,but ifyouwere inawell-paid jobandhad a house of the sizewhichMmaRamotswedid, then not to employ amaid—or indeed not to support several domestic servants—would have beenseen as selfishness. Mma Ramotswe knew that there were countries wherepeople had no servants, even when they were well enough off to do so. Shefoundthisinexplicable.Ifpeoplewhowereinapositiontohaveservantschosenottodoso,thenwhatweretheservantstodo?

InBotswana,everyhouse inZebraDrive—or indeedeveryhousewithovertwobedrooms—wouldbelikelytohaveaservant.Therewerelawsabouthowmuchdomesticservantsshouldbepaid,butthesewereoftenflouted.Therewerepeople who treated their servants very badly, who paid them very little andexpected them towork all hours of the day, and these people, as far asMmaRamotsweknew,wereprobablyinthemajority.ThiswasBotswana’sdarksecret—thisexploitation—whichnobodylikedtotalkabout.CertainlynobodylikedtotalkabouthowtheMasarwahadbeen treated in thepast,asslaveseffectively,andifonementionedit,peoplelookedshiftyandchangedthesubject.Butithadhappened,anditwasstillhappeninghereandthereforallthatanybodyknew.Ofcourse,thissortofthinghappenedthroughoutAfrica.Slaveryhadbeenagreatwrong perpetrated against Africa, but there had always been willing Africanslavers,whosoldtheirownpeople,andtherewerestillvastlegionsofAfricansworking for a pittance in conditions of near-slavery. These people were quietpeople,weakpeople,andthedomesticservantswereamongstthem.

MmaRamotswewasastonishedthatpeoplecouldbehavesocallouslytotheirservants.Sheherselfhadbeen in thehouseofafriendwhohadreferred,quitecasually,tothefactthathermaidwasgivenfivedaysholidayayear,andunpaidat that. This friend boasted that she had managed to cut the maid’s wages

recentlybecauseshethoughtherlazy.

“Butwhydoesn’tshego,ifyoudosuchathing?”askedMmaRamotswe.

Thefriendhadlaughed.“Gowhere?Thereareplentyofpeoplewantingherjob,andsheknows it.Sheknows that I couldget somebody todoher job forhalfthewagesshe’sgetting.”

MmaRamotswe had said nothing, but hadmentally ended the friendship atthat point. This had given her cause for thought. Can one be the friend of apersonwho behaves badly?Or is the case that bad people can only have badfriends,becauseonlyotherbadpeoplewillhavesufficientincommonwiththemtobefriends?MmaRamotswethoughtofnotoriouslybadpeople.TherewasIdiAmin, for example, or HenrikVerwoerd. Idi Amin, of course, had somethingwrongwithhim;perhapshewasnotbadinthesamewayasMrVerwoerd,whohad seemed quite sane, but who had a heart of ice. Had anybody loved MrVerwoerd?Hadanybodyheldhishand?MmaRamotsweassumedthattheyhad;therehadbeenpeopleathisfuneral,hadtherenot,anddidtheynotweep,justaspeople weep at the funerals of goodmen?Mr Verwoerd had his people, andperhapsnot all ofhispeoplewerebad.Now that thingshadchangedover theborderinSouthAfrica,thesepeoplestillhadtogoonliving.Perhapstheynowunderstood the wrong they had done; even if they did not, they had beenforgiven, for themost part. The ordinary people ofAfrica tended not to haveroom in their hearts for hatred. They were sometimes foolish, like peopleanywhere,buttheydidnotbeargrudges,asMrMandelahadshowntheworld.As had Seretse Khama, thought Mma Ramotswe; though nobody outsideBotswanaseemedtorememberhimanymore.YethewasoneofAfrica’sgreatmen, and had shaken the hand of her father, Obed Ramotswe, when he hadvisited Mochudi to talk to the people. And she, Precious Ramotswe, then ayounggirl,had seenhimstepoutofhis car and thepeoplehad flockedabouthimandamong them,holdinghisoldbatteredhat inhishand,washer father.AndastheKhamahadtakenherfather’shand,herownhearthadswelledwithpride;andsherememberedtheoccasioneverytimeshelookedatthephotographofthegreatstatesmanonhermantelpiece.

Herfriendwhotreatedhermaidbadlywasnotawickedperson.Shebehavedwell towardsherfamilyandshehadalwaysbeenkindtoMmaRamotswe,butwhenitcametohermaid—andMmaRamotswehadmetthismaid,whoseemed

anagreeable,hardworkingwomanfromMolepolole—sheseemedtohavelittleconcernforherfeelings.ItoccurredtoMmaRamotswethatsuchbehaviourwasnomorethanignorance;aninabilitytounderstandthehopesandaspirationsofothers.That understanding, thoughtMmaRamotswe,was the beginning of allmorality.Ifyouknewhowapersonwasfeeling,ifyoucouldimagineyourselfinherposition,thensurelyitwouldbeimpossibletoinflictfurtherpain.Inflictingpaininsuchcircumstanceswouldbelikehurtingoneself.

MmaRamotsweknewthattherewasagreatdealofdebateaboutmorality,butinherview itwasquite simple. In the firstplace, therewas theoldBotswanamorality,whichwas simply right. If a person stuck to this, then hewould bedoingtherightthingandneednotworryaboutit.Therewereothermoralities,ofcourse; therewere theTenCommandments,whichshehad learnedbyheartatSundaySchoolinMochudiallthoseyearsago;thesewerealsorightinthesame,absoluteway.ThesecodesofmoralitywereliketheBotswanaPenalCode;theyhad to be obeyed to the letter. It was no good pretending youwere theHighCourt of Botswana and deciding which parts you were going to observe andwhichyouwerenot.Moralcodeswerenotdesignedtobeselective,norindeedweretheydesignedtobequestioned.Youcouldnotsaythatyouwouldobservethisprohibitionbutnotthat.Ishallnotcommittheft—certainlynot—butadulteryisanothermatter:wrongforotherpeople,butnotforme.

Most morality, thought Mma Ramotswe, was about doing the right thingbecause it had been identified as such by a long process of acceptance andobservance. You simply could not create your own morality because yourexperiencewouldneverbeenoughtodoso.Whatgivesyoutherighttosaythatyouknowbetterthanyourancestors?Moralityisforeverybody,andthismeansthat theviewsofmore thanonepersonareneeded tocreate it.Thatwaswhatmadethemodernmorality,withitsemphasisonindividualsandtheworkingoutofan individualposition, soweak. Ifyougavepeople thechance toworkouttheirmorality,thentheywouldworkouttheversionwhichwaseasiestforthemand which allowed them to do what suited them for as much of the time aspossible. That, in Mma Ramotswe’s view, was simple selfishness, whatevergrandnameonegavetoit.

MmaRamotswehad listened toaWorldServicebroadcastonher radioonedaywhich had simply taken her breath away. It was about philosophers whocalled themselves existentialists and who, as far as Mma Ramotswe could

ascertain, lived in France. These French people said that you should live in awaywhichmadeyoufeelreal,andthattherealthingtodowastherightthingtoo.MmaRamotswe had listened in astonishment.You did not have to go toFrancetomeetexistentialists,shereflected;thereweremanyexistentialistsrighthere in Botswana. Note Mokoti, for example. She had been married to anexistentialistherself,withoutevenknowingit.Note,thatselfishmanwhoneveronceputhimselfoutforanother—notevenforhiswife—wouldhaveapprovedofexistentialists,andtheyofhim.Itwasveryexistentialist,perhaps,togoouttobars every night while your pregnant wife stayed at home, and even moreexistentialisttogooffwithgirls—youngexistentialistgirls—youmetinbars.Itwasagood lifebeinganexistentialist, althoughnot toogood forall theother,nonexistentialistpeoplearoundone.

MMARAMOTSWEdidnottreathermaid,Rose,inanexistentialistway.RosehadworkedforherfromthedaythatshefirstmovedintoZebraDrive.Therewasanetworkofunemployedpeople,MmaRamotswediscovered,andthissentout word of anybody who was moving into a new house and who might beexpectedtoneedaservant.RosehadarrivedatthehousewithinanhourofMmaRamotsweherself.

“Youwillneedamaid,Mma,”shehadsaid.“AndIamaverygoodmaid.Iwillworkveryhardandwillnotbeatroubletoyoufortherestofyourlife.Iamreadytostartnow.”

Mma Ramotswe hadmade an immediate judgement. She saw before her arespectable-lookingwoman,neatlypresented,ofaboutthirty.Butshesaw,too,amother,oneofwhosechildrenwaswaitingbythegate,staringather.Andshewondered what the mother had said to her child.We shall eat tonight if thiswomantakesmeashermaid.Letushope.Youwaithereandstandonyourtoe.Stand on your toe. That is what one said in Setswana if one hoped thatsomethingwouldhappen.Itwasthesameastheexpressionwhichwhitepeopleused:crossyourfingers.

MmaRamotsweglancedtowardsthegateandsawthat thechildwasindeed

standingonhertoe,andsheknewthenthattherewasonlyoneanswershecouldgive.

Shelookedatthewoman.“Yes,”shesaid.“Ineedamaid,andIwillgivethejobtoyou,Mma.”

Thewomanclappedherhandstogetheringratitudeandwavedtothechild.Iam lucky, thoughtMmaRamotswe. I am lucky that I canmake somebody sohappyjustbysayingsomething.

Rosemoved in immediatelyand rapidlyprovedherworth.ZebraDrivehadbeenleftinabadwaybyitspreviousowners,whohadbeenuntidypeople,andtherewasdustineverycorner.Overthreedaysshesweptandpolished,untilthehousesmelledoffloorwaxandeverysurfaceshone.Notonlythat,butshewasanexpertcookandamagnificentironer.MmaRamotswewaswelldressed,butshealwaysfounditdifficulttofindtheenergytoironherblousesasmuchasshemight have wished. Rose did this with a passion that was soon reflected instarchedseamsandexpansestowhichcreaseswerequitealien.

Rose took up residence in the servants’ quarters in the back yard. Thisconsistedofasmallblockoftworooms,withashowerandtoilettoonesideandacoveredporchunderwhichacookingfiremightbemade.Shesleptinoneofthe rooms, while her two small children slept in the other. There were other,olderchildren,includingonewhowasacarpenterandearningagoodwage.Buteven with that, the expenses of living were such as to leave very little over,particularlysinceheryoungersonhadasthmaandneededexpensiveinhalerstohelphimbreathe.

NOW,COMINGhomeafterdroppingoffMmaMakutsi,MmaRamotswefoundRose in the kitchen, scouring a blackened cooking pot. She enquired politelyafterthemaid’sdayandwastoldthatithadbeenaverygoodone.

“IhavehelpedMotholeliwithherbath,”shesaid.“Andnowshe is throughthere,readingtoherlittlebrother.Hehasbeenrunningroundalldayandistired,

tired.Hewillbeasleepverysoon.Onlythethoughtofhissupperiskeepinghimawake,Ithink.”

Mma Ramotswe thanked her and smiled. It had been a month since thechildrenhadarrivedfromtheorphanage,bywayofMrJ.L.B.Matekoni,andshewasstillgettingused to theirpresence in thehouse.Theyhadbeenhis idea—andindeedhehadnotconsultedherbeforehehadagreedtoactas theirfosterfather—but she had accepted the situation and had quickly taken to them.Motholeli,whowasinawheelchair,hadprovedherselfusefulaboutthehouseandhadexpressedaninterest inmendingcars—muchtoMrJ.L.B.Matekoni’sdelight.Herbrother,whowasmuchyounger,wasmoredifficult tofathom.Hewasactiveenough,andspokepolitelywhenspokento,butseemedtobekeeneron his own company, or that of his sister, than on that of other children.Motholelihadmadesomefriendsalready,buttheboyseemedshyofdoingso.

ShehadstartedatGaboroneSecondarySchool,whichwasnotfaraway,andwas happy there. Each morning, one of the other girls from her class wouldarriveatthedoorandvolunteertopushthewheelchairtoschool.

MmaRamotswehadbeenimpressed.

“Dotheteacherstellyoutodothis?”sheaskedoneofthem.

“Theydonot,Mma,”camethereply.“Wearethefriendsofthisgirl.Thatiswhywedothis.”

“Youarekindgirls,” saidMmaRamotswe. “Youwill bekind ladies induecourse.Welldone.”

The boy had been found a place at the local primary school, but MmaRamotswehopedthatMrJ.L.B.MatekoniwouldpaytosendhimtoThornhill.Thiscostagreatdealofmoney,andnowshewonderedwhetheritwouldeverbepossible.Thatwas justoneof themany thingswhichwouldhave tobesortedout. There was the garage, the apprentices, the house near the old BotswanaDefenceForceClub,andthechildren.Therewasalso thewedding—wheneverthatwouldbe—althoughMmaRamotswehardlydaredthinkofthatatpresent.

Shewentthroughtothelivingroom,toseetheboyseatedbesidehissister’s

wheelchair,listeningtoherassheread.

“So,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Youarereadingastorytoyourlittlebrother.Isitagoodone?”

Motholelilookedroundandsmiled.

“It isnotastory,Mma,”shesaid.“Orrather, it isnotaproperstoryfromabook.ItisastoryIhavewrittenatschool,andIamreadingittohim.”

MmaRamotswejoinedthem,perchingonthearmofthesofa.

“Whydon’tyoustartoffagain?”shesaid.“Iwouldliketohearyourstory.”

MYNAMEisMotholeliandIamthirteenyearsold,almostfourteen.Ihaveabrother,whoisseven.Mymotherandfatherarelate.Iamverysadaboutthis,butIamhappythatIamnotlatetooandthatIhavemybrother.

Iamagirlwhohashad three lives.Myfirst lifewaswhenI livedwithmymotherandmyauntsanduncles,upintheMakadikadi,nearNata.Thatwaslongago,andIwasverysmall.Theywerebushpeopleandtheymovedfromplacetoplace.Theyknewhowtofindfoodinthebushbydiggingforroots.Theywereverycleverpeople,butnobodylikedthem.

Mymothergavemeabraceletmadeoutofostrichskin,withpiecesofostricheggshell stitched into it. I still have that. It is the only thing I have frommymother,nowthatsheislate.

After shedied, I rescuedmy littlebrother,whohadbeenburied in the sandwithher.Hewasjustunderthesand,andsoIscrapeditoffhisfaceandsawthathewasstillbreathing.IrememberpickinghimupandrunningthroughthebushuntilIfoundaroad.AmancamedowntheroadinatruckandwhenhesawmehestoppedandtookmetoFrancistown.Idonotrememberwhathappenedthere,butIwasgiventoawomanwhosaidthatIcouldliveinheryard.Theyhada

smallshed,whichwasveryhotwhenthesunwasonit,butwhichwascoolatnight.Islepttherewithmybabybrother.

IfedhimwiththefoodthatIwasgivenfromthathouse.Iusedtodothingsforthosekindpeople.Ididtheirwashingandhungitoutontheline.Icleanedsomepots for them too, as theydidnothavea servant.Therewas adogwholived in theyard too,and itbitmeoneday,sharply, inmyfoot.Thewoman’shusbandwas very crosswith the dog after that and he beat itwith awoodenpole.Thatdogislatenow,afterallthatbeatingforbeingwicked.

Ibecameverysick,andthewomantookmetothehospital.Theyputneedlesintomeandtheytookoutsomeofmyblood.Buttheycouldnotmakemebetter,andafterawhileIcouldnotwalkanymore.Theygavemecrutches,butIwasnotverygoodatwalkingwiththem.Thentheyfoundawheelchair;whichmeantthat I could go home again. But the woman said that she could not have awheelchairgirllivinginheryard,asthatwouldnotlookgoodandpeoplewouldsay:Whatareyoudoinghavingagirlinawheelchairinyouryard?Thatisverycruel.

Thenamancamebywhosaidthathewaslookingfororphanstotaketohisorphanfarm.TherewasaladyfromtheGovernmentwithhimwhotoldmethatIwas very lucky to get a place on such a fine orphan farm. I could takemybrother,andwewouldbeveryhappylivingthere.ButImustalwaysremembertoloveJesus,thiswomansaid.IrepliedthatIwasreadytoloveJesusandthatIwouldmakemylittlebrotherlovehimtoo.

Thatwas the end ofmy first life.My second life started on the day that Iarrivedattheorphanfarm.WehadcomedownfromFrancistowninatruck,andIwasveryhotanduncomfortablein theback.Icouldnotgetout,as thetruckdriverdidnotknowwhattodowithagirlinawheelchair.SowhenIarrivedattheorphanfarm,mydresswaswetandIwasveryashamed,especiallysincealltheotherorphanswerestanding therewatchinguscometo theirplace.Oneoftheladiestheretoldtheotherchildrentogooffandplay,andnottostareatus,buttheyonlywentalittlewayandtheywatchedmefrombehindthetrees.

All theorphans lived inhouses.Eachhousehadabout tenorphans in itandhadamotherwholookedafterthem.Myhousemotherwasakindlady.Shegavemenewclothesandacupboardtokeepmythingsin.Ihadneverhadacupboard

beforeandIwasveryproudof it. IwasalsogivensomespecialclipswhichIcouldput inmyhair. Ihadneverhad suchbeautiful things, and Iwouldkeepthemundermypillow,wheretheyweresafe.SometimesatnightIwouldwakeupandthinkhowluckyIwas.ButIwouldalsocrysometimes,becauseIwasthinkingofmyfirstlifeandIwouldbethinkingaboutmyunclesandauntsandwonderingwhere theywerenow.Icouldsee thestars frommybed, throughagap in the curtain, and I thought: if they looked up, theywould see the samestars,andwewouldbelookingatthematthesametime.ButIwonderediftheyrememberedme,becauseIwasjustagirlandIhadrunawayfromthem.

Iwas very happy at the orphan farm. Iworkedhard, andMmaPotokwane,whowasthematron,saidthatoneday,ifIwaslucky,shewouldfindsomebodywho would be new parents for us. I did not think that this was possible, asnobodywouldwanttotakeagirlinawheelchairwhentherewereplentyoffirst-class orphangirlswho couldwalk verywell andwhowould be looking for ahometoo.

But shewas right. Ididnot think that itwouldbeMrJ.L.B.Matekoniwhotook us, but Iwas very pleasedwhen he said thatwe could go to live in hishouse.Thatishowmythirdlifebegan.

Theymadeusaspecialcakewhenwelefttheorphanfarm,andweateitwiththehousemother.Shesaidthatshealwaysfeltverysadwhenoneoftheorphanswent, as itwas like amember of the family leaving.But she knewMr J.L.B.Matekoni very well, and she told me that he was one of the best men inBotswana.Iwouldbeveryhappyinhishouse,shesaid.

So Iwent tohishouse,withmysmallbrother, andwe soonmethis friend,MmaRamotswe,who isgoing tobemarried toMr J.L.B.Matekoni.She saidthat shewould bemynewmother, and she brought us to her house,which isbetterforchildrenthanMrJ.L.B.Matekoni’shouse.Ihaveaverygoodbedroomthere,andIhavebeengivenmanyclothes.Iamveryhappythattherearepeoplelike this in Botswana. I have had a very fortunate life and I thank MmaRamotsweandMrJ.L.B.Matekonifrommyheart.

I would like to be a mechanic when I grow up. I shall help Mr J.L.B.Matekoni inhisgarageandatnightIwillmendMmaRamotswe’sclothesandcookhermeals.Then,whentheyareveryold,theywillbeabletobeproudof

me and say that I have been a good daughter for them and a good citizen ofBotswana.

Thatisthestoryofmylife.IamanordinarygirlfromBotswana,butitisveryluckytohavethreelives.Mostpeopleonlyhaveonelife.

Thisstoryistrue.Ihavenotmadeanyofitup.Itisalltrue.

AFTERTHEgirl had finished, theywere all silent.The boy looked up at hissisterandsmiled.He thought: I ama luckyboy tohavesuchaclever sister. IhopethatGodwillgiveherbackherlegsoneday.MmaRamotswelookedatthegirl and laid a handgentlyonher shoulder.She thought: Iwill look after thischild. I am now hermother. Rose, who had been listening from the corridor,lookeddownathershoesand thought:Whatastrangewayofputting it: threelives.

CHAPTEREIGHT

LOWSEROTONINLEVELS

THE FIRST thing that Mma Ramotswe did the following morning was totelephoneMrJ.L.B.MatekoniinhishouseneartheoldBotswanaDefenceForceClub. They often telephoned one another early in themorning—at least sincetheyhadbecomeengaged—butitwasusuallyMrJ.L.B.Matekoniwhocalled.HewouldwaituntilthetimeMmaRamotswewouldhavehadhercupofbushtea,whichshelikedtodrinkoutinthegarden,beforehewoulddialhernumberand declare himself formally, as he always liked to do: “This is Mr J.L.B.Matekoni,Mma.Haveyousleptwell?”

Thetelephonerangforoveraminutebeforeitwaspickedup.

“MrJ.L.B.Matekoni?Thisisme.Howareyou?Haveyousleptwell?”

Thevoiceattheotherendofthelinesoundedconfused,andMmaRamotswerealisedthatshehadwokenhimup.

“Oh.Yes.Oh.Iamawakenow.Itisme.”

MmaRamotswepersistedwiththeformalgreeting.Itwasimportanttoaskapersonifhehadsleptwell;anoldtradition,butonewhichhadtobemaintained.

“Buthaveyousleptwell,Rra?”

Mr J.L.B.Matekoni’s voicewas flatwhen he replied. “I do not think so. Ispent all night thinking and there was no sleep. I only went to sleep wheneverybodyelsewaswakingup.Iamverytirednow.”

“Thatisapity,Rra.I’msorrythatIwokeyouup.Youmustgobacktobedandgetsomesleep.Youcannotlivewithoutsleep.”

“Iknowthat,”saidMrJ.L.B.Matekoniirritably.“Iamalwaystryingtosleepthesedays,but Idonotsucceed. It isas if there issomestrangeanimal inmyroomwhichdoesnotwantmetosleepandkeepsnudgingme.”

“Animal?”askedMmaRamotswe.“Whatisthisanimal?”

“Thereisnoanimal.OratleastthereisnoanimalwhenIturnonthelight.It’sjust thatI thinkthere isonetherewhodoesnotwantmetosleep.That isall Isaid.Thereisreallynoanimal.”

Mma Ramotswe was silent. Then she asked, “Are you feeling well, Rra?Maybeyouareill.”

MrJ.L.B.Matekonisnorted.“Iamnotill.Myheartisthumpingawayinsideme.Mylungsarefillingupwithair.Iamjustfedupwithalltheproblemsthatthereare.Iamworriedthattheywillfindoutaboutme.Theneverythingwillbeover.”

Mma Ramotswe frowned. “Find out about you? Who will find out aboutwhat?”

Mr J.L.B.Matekoni dropped his voice. “You knowwhat I’m talking about.Youknowverywell.”

“I knownothing,Rra.All I know is that you are saying some very strangethings.”

“Ha!Yousaythat,Mma,butyouknowverywellwhatIamtalkingabout.Ihave done verywicked things inmy life and now they are going to find outaboutmeandarrestme.Iwillbepunished,andyouwillbeveryashamedofme,Mma.Icantellyouthat.”

MmaRamotswe’svoicewassmallnowasshestruggledtocometotermswithwhat she had heard.Could it be true thatMr J.L.B.Matekoni had committedsome terrible crimewhich he had concealed fromher?And had he nowbeenfound out? It seemed impossible that this could be true; he was a fine man,incapableofdoinganythingdishonourable,butthensuchpeoplesometimeshada murky secret in their past. Everybody has done at least one thing to beashamedof,orsoshehadheard.BishopMakhuluhimselfhadgivenatalkabout

thisoncetotheWomen’sClubandhehadsaidthathehadnevermetanybody,evenintheChurch,whohadnotdonesomethingwhichheorshelaterregretted.Eventhesaintshaddonesomethingbad;StFrancis,perhaps,hadstampedonapigeon—no,surelynot—butperhapshehaddonesomethingelsewhichcausedhimregret.Forherownpart,thereweremanythingswhichshewouldrathershehadnotdone,startingfromthetimethatshehadputtreacleonthebestdressofanothergirlwhenshewassixbecauseshedidnothavesuchadressherself.Shestillsawthatpersonfromtimetotime—shelivedinGaboroneandwasmarriedto a man who worked at the diamond-sorting building. Mma Ramotswewonderedwhethersheshouldconfess,evenoverthirtyyearslater,andtell thiswomanwhatshehaddone,butshecouldnotbringherself todoso.Buteverytime that this woman greeted her in a friendly manner, Mma Ramotsweremembered how she had taken the tin of treacle and poured it over the pinkmaterialwhenthegirlhadleftthedressintheirclassroomoneday.Shewouldhave to tell heroneday;orperhaps she could askBishopMakhulu towrite aletter on her behalf. One of my flock seeks your forgiveness, Mma. She isgrievouslyburdenedwithawrongwhichshecommittedagainstyoumanyyearsago.Doyourememberyourfavouritepinkdress…

IfMrJ.L.B.Matekonihaddonesomethinglikethat—perhapspouredengineoiloversomebody—thenheshouldnotworryaboutit.Therewerefewwrongs,shortofmurder,whichcouldnotbeputrightagain.Manyofthem,indeed,weremoreminorthanthetransgressorimagined,andcouldbesafelyleftwheretheylay in the past. And even themore serious onesmight be forgiven once theywere acknowledged. She should reassureMr J.L.B.Matekoni; it was easy toinflatesometinymatterifonespentthenightworryingaboutit.

“Wehaveall done somethingwrong inour lives,Rra,” she said. “You,me,MmaMakutsi, the Pope even.None of us can say thatwe have been perfect.Thatisnothowpeopleare.Youmustnotworryaboutit.Justtellmewhatitwas.I’msurethatI’llbeabletosetyourmindatrest.”

“Oh,Icannotdothat,Mma.Icannotevenstarttotellyou.Youwouldbeveryshocked.Youwouldneverwant to seemeagain.Yousee, Iamnotworthyofyou.Youaretoogoodforme,Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe felt herself becoming exasperated. “You are not talkingsense.Ofcourseyouareworthyofme.Iamjustanordinaryperson.Youarea

perfectlygoodman.Youaregoodatyour jobandpeople thinkagreatdealofyou.WheredoestheBritishHighCommissionertakehiscartobeserviced?Toyou. Where does the orphan farm turn when it needs somebody to fixsomething?Toyou.YouhaveaverygoodgarageandIamhonouredthatIamgoingtomarryyou.Thatisallthereistoit.”

Herremarksweregreetedwithsilence.Then:“ButyoudonotknowhowbadIam.Ihavenevertoldyouofthesewickedthings.”

“Thentellme.Tellmenow.Iamstrong.”

“OhIcannotdothat,Mma.Youwouldbeshocked.”

MmaRamotswe realised that the conversationwas getting nowhere, and soshechangedhertack.

“And speakingofyourgarage,” she said. “Youwerenot thereyesterday,orthe day before. Mma Makutsi is running it for you. But that cannot go onforever.”

“Iampleasedthatsheisrunningit,”saidMrJ.L.B.Matekoniflatly.“Iamnotfeelingverystrongat themoment.I thinkthatIshouldstayhereinmyhouse.Shewilllookaftereverything.Pleasethankherforme.”

MmaRamotswetookadeepbreath.“Youarenotwell,MrJ.L.B.Matekoni.IthinkthatIcanarrangeforyoutoseeadoctor.IhavespokentoDrMoffat.Hesaysthathewillseeyou.Hethinksitisagoodidea.”

“Iamnotbroken,”saidMrJ.L.B.Matekoni.“IdonotneedtoseeDrMoffat.Whatcanhedoforme?Nothing.”

ITHADnotbeena reassuringcall,andMmaRamotswespentananxiousfewminutespacingaboutherkitchenaftershehadrungoff.ItwascleartoherthatDrMoffathadbeenright;thatMrJ.L.B.Matekoniwassufferingfromanillness

—depression,hehadcalledit—butnowshewasmoreworriedabouttheterriblethingthathesaidhehaddone.TherewasnolesslikelymurdererthanMrJ.L.B.Matekoni,butwhatifittranspiredthatthiswaswhathewas?Woulditchangeherfeelingsforhimifshediscoveredthathehadkilledsomebody,orwouldshetellherselfthatitwasnotreallyhisfault,thathewasdefendinghimselfwhenhehit his victim over the head with a spanner? This is what the wives andgirlfriendsofmurderersinevitablydid.Theyneveracceptedthattheirmancouldbe capable of being a murderer.Mothers were like that, too. Themothers ofmurderers always insisted that their sons were not as bad as people said. Ofcourse, for a mother, the man remained a small boy, no matter how old hebecame,andsmallboyscanneverbeguiltyofmurder.

Ofcourse,NoteMokoticouldhavebeenamurderer.Hewasquitecapableofkillingamanincoldblood,becausehehadnofeelings.ItwaseasytoimagineNote stabbing somebody and walking away as casually as if he had done nomore than shake his victim’s hand.When he had beaten her, as he had on somanyoccasionsbeforehe left, hehad shownno emotion.Once,whenhehadsplittheskinabovehereyebrowwithaparticularlysavageblow,hehadstoppedtoexaminehishandiworkasifhewereadoctorexaminingawound.

“Youwillneedtotakethattothehospital,”hehadsaid,hisvoicequiteeven.“Thatisabadcut.Youmustbemorecareful.”

TheonethingthatshewasgratefulforinthewholeNoteepisodewasthatherDaddywasstillalivewhenshelefthim.Atleasthehadthepleasureofknowingthathisdaughterwasno longerwith thatman,even ifhehadhadalmost twoyearsofsufferingwhileshewaswithhim.Whenshehadgonetohimandtoldhim thatNote had left, he had said nothing about her foolishness inmarryinghim,evenifhemighthavethoughtaboutit.Hesimplysaidthatshemustcomebacktohishouse,thathewouldalwayslookafterher,andthathehopedthatherlifewouldbebetternow.Hehadshownsuchdignity,ashealwaysdid.Andshehadwept,andgonetohimandhehadtoldherthatshewassafewithhimandthatsheneednotfearthatmanagain.

ButNoteMokoti andMr J.L.B.Matekoniwere totally differentmen.Notewas theonewhohadcommitted thecrimes,notMrJ.L.B.Matekoni.Andyet,why did he insist that he had done something terrible if he had not? MmaRamotswefoundthispuzzling,and,aseverwhenpuzzled,shedecidedtoturnto

thatfirstlineofinformationandconsolationonallmattersofdoubtordispute:theBotswanaBookCentre.

She breakfasted quickly, leaving the children to be cared for by Rose. Shewouldhavelikedtogivethemsomeattention,butherlifenowseemedundulycomplicated.DealingwithMrJ.L.B.Matekonihadmovedtothetopofherlistof tasks, followedby thegarage, the investigation into theGovernmentMan’sbrother’sdifficulties,andthemovetothenewoffice.Itwasadifficultlist:everytaskonithadanelementofurgencyandyettherewasalimitednumberofhoursinherday.

ShedrovetheshortdistanceintotownandfoundagoodparkingplaceforthetinywhitevanbehindtheStandardBank.Then,greetingoneortwoknownfacesin thesquare,shemadeherway to thedoorsof theBotswanaBookCentre. Itwasherfavouriteshopintown,andsheusuallyallowedherselfagoodhourforthesimplestpurchase,whichgaveplentyof timeforbrowsingtheshelves;butthismorning,withsuchaclearandworryingmissiononhermind,shesetherfacefirmlyagainstthetemptationsofthemagazineshelveswiththeirpicturesofimprovedhousesandglamorousdresses.

“IwouldliketospeaktotheManager,”shesaidtooneofthestaff.

“Youcanspeaktome,”ayoungassistantsaid.

MmaRamotswewasadamant.Theassistantwaspolite,butveryyounganditwouldbebettertospeaktoamanwhoknewalotaboutbooks.“No,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Iwishtospeaktothemanager,Mma.Thisisanimportantmatter.”

TheManagerwassummoned,andgreetedMmaRamotswepolitely.

“Itisgoodtoseeyou,”hesaid.“Areyouhereasadetective,Mma?”

MmaRamotswelaughed.“No,Rra.ButIwouldliketofindabookwhichwillhelpmedealwithaverydelicatematter.MayIspeaktoyouinconfidence?”

“Ofcourseyoumay,Mma,”hesaid.“Youwillneverfindabooksellertalkingaboutthebooksthathiscustomersarereadingiftheywishtokeepitprivate.Weareverycareful.”

“Good,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I am looking for a book about an illnesscalleddepression.Haveyouheardofsuchabook?”

TheManagernodded.“Donotworry,Mma.Ihavenotonlyheardofsuchabook,butIhaveoneintheshop.Icansellthattoyou.”Hepaused.“Iamsorryaboutthis,Mma.Depressionisnotahappyillness.”

MmaRamotswelookedoverhershoulder.“It isnotme,”shesaid.“It isMrJ.L.B.Matekoni.Ithinkthatheisdepressed.”

TheManager’sexpressionconveyedhissympathyasheledhertoashelfinthecornerandextractedathinred-coveredbook.

“Thisisaverygoodbookonthatillness,”hesaid,handingherthebook.“Ifyoureadwhatiswrittenonthebackcover,youwillseethatmanypeoplehavesaidthatthisbookhashelpedthemgreatlyindealingwiththisillness.IamverysorryaboutMr J.L.B.Matekoni,by theway. Ihope that thisbookmakeshimfeelbetter.”

“Youareaveryhelpfulman,Rra,”shesaid.“Thankyou.Weareveryluckytohaveyourgoodbookshopinthiscountry.Thankyou.”

Shepaidforthebookandwalkedbacktothetinywhitevan,leafingthroughthe pages as she did so. One sentence in particular caught her eye and shestoppedinhertrackstoreadit.

Acharacteristicfeatureofacutedepressiveillnessisthefeelingthatonehasdone some terrible thing, perhaps incurred a debt one cannot honour orcommittedacrime.This isusuallyaccompaniedbya feelingof lackofworth.Needless to say, the imagined wrong was normally never committed, but noamountofreasoningwillpersuadethesuffererthatthisisso.

MmaRamotswerereadthepassage,herspiritsrisinggloriouslyasshedidso.Abookondepressionmightnotnormallybeexpectedtohavethateffectonthereader,butitdidnow.OfcourseMrJ.L.B.Matekonihaddonenothingterrible;hewas,asshehadknownhimtobe,amanofunbesmirchedhonour.Nowallthatshehadtodowastogethimtoseeadoctorandbetreated.Sheclosedthebookandglancedatthesynopsisonthebackcover.Thisverytreatabledisease

…itsaid.Thischeeredherevenfurther.Sheknewwhatshehadtodo,andherlist,evenifithadappearedthatmorningtobealongandcomplicatedone,wasnowlessmountainous,lessdaunting.

SHEWENTstraightfromtheBotswanaBookCentretoTlokwengRoadSpeedyMotors. To her relief, the garage was open and Mma Makutsi was standingoutside the office, drinking a cup of tea. The two apprenticeswere sitting ontheiroildrums,theonesmokingacigaretteandtheotherdrinkingasoftdrinkfromacan.

“It’s rather early for a break,” said Mma Ramotswe, glancing at theapprentices.

“Oh,Mma,wealldeserveabreak,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Wehavebeenherefortwoandhalfhoursalready.Weallcameinatsixandwehavebeenworkingveryhard.”

“Yes,”saidoneoftheapprentices.“Veryhard.Andwehavedonesomeveryfinework,Mma.Youtellher,Mma.Youtellherwhatyoudid.”

“ThisActingManagerisaNo.1mechanic,”interjectedtheotherapprentice.“Evenbetterthantheboss,Ithink.”

Mma Makutsi laughed. “You boys are too used to saying nice things towomen.Thatwillnotworkwithme. Iamhereasanactingmanager,notasawoman.”

“Butit’strue,Mma,”saidtheelderapprentice.“Ifshewon’ttellyou,thenIwill.Wehadacarhere,onewhichhadbeensittingforfour,fivedays.Itbelongstoa seniornurseat thePrincessMarinaHospital.She isaverystrongwomanandIwouldnotliketohavetodancewithher.Ow!”

“Thatwomanwouldneverdancewithyou,” snappedMmaMakutsi. “Whatwould she be doing dancingwith a greasy boy like you,when she can dance

withsurgeonsandpeoplelikethat?”

Theapprenticelaughedofftheinsult.“Anyway,whenshebroughtthecarinshe said that it stopped from time to time in themiddle of the traffic and shewouldhavetowaitforawhileandthenstartitagain.Thenitwouldstartagainandgoforawhileandthenstop.

“Welookedatit.Itrieditanditstarted.IdroveitovertotheoldairportandevenoutontheLobatseRoad.Nothing.Nostopping.Butthiswomansaidthatitwasalwaysstopping.SoIreplacedthesparkplugsandtrieditagain.ThistimeitstoppedrightatthecircleneartheGolfClub.Juststopped.Thenitstartedagain.And a very funny thing happened,which that woman had told us about. Thewindscreenwiperscameonwhenthecarstopped.Ididn’ttouchthem.

“So,early thismorningIsaid toMmaMakutsihere: ‘This isaverystrangecar,Mma.Itstopsandthenstarts.’

“MmaMakutsicameandlookedatthecar.Shelookedintheengineandsawthat theplugswerenewandtherewasanewbatterytoo.Thensheopenedthedoorandgotin,andshemadeafacelikethis,see.Justlikethis,withhernoseallturnedup.Andshesaid:‘Thiscarsmellsofmice.Icantellthatithasamousesmell.’

“Shebegantolookabout.Shepeeredundertheseatsandshefoundnothingthere.Thenshelookedunderthedashandshestartedtoshoutouttomeandmybrotherhere.Shesaid:‘Thereisanestofmiceinthiscar.Andtheyhaveeatentheinsulationoffthewiresrighthere.Look.’

“Sowelookedatthosewires,whichareveryimportantwiresforacar—theoneswhich are connected to the ignition, andwe saw that two of themweretouching,oralmosttouching,justwherethemicehadgnawedoffthecovering.Thiswouldmeanthattheenginewouldthinkthattheignitionwasoffwhenthewirestouchedandpowerwouldgotothewipers.Sothatiswhathappened.Inthemeantime, themice had run out of the car because they had been found.MmaMakutsi tookout theirnestandthrewitaway.Thensheboundthewireswith some tape that we gave her and now the car is fixed. It has a mouseproblemnolonger,allbecausethiswomanissuchagooddetective.”

“Sheisamechanicdetective,”saidtheotherapprentice.“Shewouldmakeamanveryhappy,butverytired,Ithink.Ow!”

“Quiet,”saidMmaMakutsi,playfully.“Youboysmustgetbacktowork.IamtheActingManagerhere.Iamnotoneofthegirlsyoupickupinbars.Getbacktoyourwork.”

MmaRamotswelaughed.“Youobviouslyhaveatalentforfindingthingsout,Mma.Perhapsbeingadetectiveandbeingamechanicarenotsodifferentafterall.”

They went into the office.Mma Ramotswe immediately noticed thatMmaMakutsi had made a great impression on the chaos. Although Mr J.L.B.Matekoni’s desk was still covered with papers, these appeared to have beensortedintopiles.Billstobesentouthadbeenplacedinonepile,whilebillstobepaidhadbeenputinanother.Cataloguesfromsuppliershadbeenstackedontopof a filing cabinet, and carmanuals had been replaced on the shelf above hisdesk.Andatoneendof the room, leaningagainst thewall,wasashinywhiteboardonwhichMmaMakutsihaddrawntwocolumnsheadedCARSINandCARSOUT.

“They taught us at the Botswana Secretarial College,” said MmaMakutsi,“thatitisveryimportanttohaveasystem.Ifyouhaveasystemwhichtellsyouwhereyouare,thenyouwillneverbelost.”

“That is true,”agreedMmaRamotswe.“Theyobviouslyknewhowtorunabusinessthere.”

MmaMakutsibeamedwithpleasure.“Andthereisanotherthing,”shesaid.“IthinkthatitwouldbehelpfulifImadeyoualist.”

“Alist?”

“Yes,”saidMmaMakutsi,handingheralargeredfile.“Ihaveputyourlistinthere.EachdayIshallbringthislistuptodate.Youwillseethattherearethreecolumns.URGENT,NOTURGENT,andFUTURESOMETIME.”

MmaRamotswesighed.Shedidnotwantanotherlist,butequallyshedidnotwanttodiscourageMmaMakutsi,whocertainlyknewhowtorunagarage.

“Thankyou,Mma,” she said, opening the file. “I see that youhave alreadystartedmylist.”

“Yes,” said Mma Makutsi. “Mma Potokwane telephoned from the orphanfarm.ShewantedtospeaktoMrJ.L.B.Matekoni,butItoldherthathewasnothere.Soshesaidthatshewasgoingtogetintouchwithyouanywayandcouldyoutelephoneher.You’llseethatIhaveputitintheNOTURGENTcolumn.”

“Ishallphoneher,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Itmustbesomething todowiththechildren.Ihadbetterphoneherstraightaway.”

MmaMakutsiwentbackto theworkshop,whereMmaRamotsweheardhercallingoutsomeinstructionstotheapprentices.Shepickedupthetelephone—covered, she noticed, with greasy fingerprints, and dialled the number whichMmaMakutsi hadwritten on her list.While the telephone rang, she placed alargeredtickoppositethesolitaryitemonthelist.

MmaPotokwaneanswered.

“Verykindofyoutotelephone,MmaRamotswe.Ihopethatthechildrenarewell?”

“Theyareverysettled,”saidMmaRamotswe.

“Good.Now,Mma,couldIaskyouafavour?”

MmaRamotswe knew that this is how the orphan farm operated. It neededhelp,andofcourseeverybodywaspreparedtohelp.NobodycouldrefuseMmaSilviaPotokwane.

“Iwillhelpyou,Mma.Justtellmewhatitis.”

“I would like you to come and drink tea with me,” saidMma Potokwane.“Thisafternoon,ifpossible.Thereissomethingyoushouldsee.”

“Canyounottellmewhatitis?”

“No, Mma,” said Mma Potokwane. “It is difficult to describe over thetelephone.Itwouldbebettertoseeforyourself.”

CHAPTERNINE

ATTHEORPHANFARM

THE ORPHAN farm was some twenty minutes’ drive out of town. MmaRamotswehadbeenthereonseveraloccasions,althoughnotasfrequentlyasMrJ.L.B. Matekoni, who paid regular visits to deal with bits and pieces ofmachinerythatseemedalwaystobegoingwrong.Therewasaboreholepumpinparticular that requiredhis regular attention, and then therewas theirminibus,thebrakesofwhichconstantlyneededattention.Heneverbegrudged themhistime,andtheythoughthighlyofhim,aseverybodydid.

Mma Ramotswe liked Mma Potokwane, to whom she was very distantlyconnectedthroughhermother’ssideofthefamily.Itwasnotuncommontobeconnected to somebody inBotswana, a lessonwhich foreignerswere quick tolearnwhen they realised that if theymadea critical remarkof somebody theywereinevitablyspeakingtothatperson’sdistantcousin.

MmaPotokwanewasstandingoutside theoffice, talking tooneof thestaff,whenMma Ramotswe arrived. She directed the tiny white van to a visitors’parkingplaceunderashadysyringatree,andtheninvitedherguestinside.

“It is so hot these days, Mma Ramotswe,” she said. “But I have a verypowerfulfaninmyoffice.IfIturnitontoitshighestsetting,itcanblowpeopleoutoftheroom.Itisaveryusefulweapon.”

“Ihopethatyouwillnotdothattome,”saidMmaRamotswe.Foramomentshe had a vision of herself being blown out ofMma Potokwane’s office, herskirtsallabouther,upintotheskywhereshecouldlookdownonthetreesandthepathsandthecattlestaringupatherinastonishment.

“Of course not,” saidMmaPotokwane. “You’re the sort of visitor I like to

receive.The sort I don’t like are interferingpeople.Peoplewho try to tellmehowtobethematronofanorphanfarm.Sometimeswegetthesepeople.Peoplewhostick theirnoses in.They think theyknowaboutorphans,but theydon’t.Thepeoplewhoknow themostaboutorphansare those ladiesout there.”Shepointedoutofherwindow,towhere twoof thehousemothers,stoutwomeninbluehousecoats,weretakingtwotoddlersforawalkalongapath,thetinyhandsfirmlygrasped,thehesitant,wobblystepsgentlyencouraged.

“Yes,”wentonMmaPotokwane.“Thoseladiesknow.Theycandealwithanysortofchild.Averysadchild,whocriesforitslatemotherallthetime.Averywicked child,who has been taught to steal.A very cheeky childwho has notlearnedtorespectitseldersandwhousesbadwords.Thoseladiescandealwithallthosechildren.”

“Theyareverygoodwomen,”saidMmaRamotswe.“ThetwoorphanswhomMr J.L.B. Matekoni and I took say that they were very happy here. Onlyyesterday,Motholelireadmeastorywhichshehadwrittenatschool.Thestoryofherlife.Shereferredtoyou,Mma.”

“I amglad that shewashappyhere,” saidMmaPotokwane. “She is a verybravegirl, thatone.”Shepaused.“ButIdidnotaskyououtheretotalkaboutthose children,Mma. Iwanted to tell you about a very strange thing that hashappenedhere. It issostrange thateven thehousemotherscannotdealwith it.ThatiswhyIthoughtthatIwouldaskyou.IwasphoningMrJ.L.B.Matekonitogetyournumber.”

ShereachedacrossherdeskandpouredMmaRamotsweacupof tea.Thenshe cut into a large fruitcakewhichwas on a plate to the side of the tea tray.“Thiscakeismadebyourseniorgirls,”shesaid.“Wetrainthemtocook.”

MmaRamotsweacceptedher largesliceofcakeand lookedat therichfruitwithinit.Therewereatleastsevenhundredcaloriesinthat,shethought,butitdidnotmatter;shewasatraditionallybuiltladyandshedidnothavetoworryaboutsuchthings.

“You know that we take all sorts of children,” continuedMma Potokwane.“Usually theyarebrought touswhen themotherdiesandnobodyknowswhothe father is.Often thegrandmother cannot cope, because she is too ill or too

poor, and then the children have nobody.We get them from the social workpeople or from the police sometimes. Sometimes they might just be leftsomewhereandamemberofthepublicgetsintouchwithus.”

“Theyareluckytogethere,”saidMmaRamotswe.

“Yes.Andusually,whateverhashappenedtotheminthepast,wehaveseensomething like it before. Nothing shocks us. But every now and then a veryunusualcasecomesinandwedon’tknowwhattodo.”

“Andthereissuchachildnow?”

“Yes,”saidMmaPotokwane.“AfteryouhavefinishedeatingthatbigpieceofcakeIwilltakeyouandshowyouaboywhoarrivedwithnoname.Iftheyhavenoname,wealwaysgivethemone.WefindagoodBotswananameandtheygetthat.But that isusuallyonlywithbabies.Olderchildrennormally tellus theirnames.Thisboydidn’t.Infact,hedoesn’tseemtohavelearnedhowtospeakatall.SowedecidedtocallhimMataila.”

Mma Ramotswe finished her cake and drained the dregs of her tea. Then,togetherwithMmaPotokwane,shewalkedovertooneofthehousesattheveryedge of the circle of buildings in which the orphans lived. There were beansgrowingthere,andthesmallyardinfrontofthedoorwasneatlyswept.Thiswasahousemotherwhoknewhowtokeepahouse,thoughtMmaRamotswe.Andifthatwasthecase,thenhowcouldshebedefeatedbyamereboy?

Thehousemother,MmaKerileng,wasinthekitchen.Dryingherhandsonherapron,shegreetedMmaRamotswewarmlyandinvitedthetwowomenintothelivingroom.Thiswasacheerfullydecoratedroom,withpicturesdrawnbythechildrenpinneduponalargenoticeboard.Aboxinonecornerwasfilledwithtoys.

MmaKerilengwaiteduntilherguestswereseatedbeforesheloweredherselfintooneofthebulkyarmchairswhichwerearrangedaroundalowcentraltable.

“Ihaveheardofyou,Mma,”shesaidtoMmaRamotswe.“Ihaveseenyourpictureinthenewspaper.AndofcourseIhavemetMrJ.L.B.Matekoniwhenhehas been out here fixing all themachines that are always breaking.You are a

luckyladytobemarryingamanwhocanfixthings.Mosthusbandsjustbreakthings.”

MmaRamotsweinclinedherheadatthecompliment.“Heisagoodman,”shesaid.“Heisnotwellatthemoment,butIamhopingthathewillbebetterverysoon.”

“I hope so too,” said Mma Kerileng. She looked expectantly at MmaPotokwane.

“I wantedMma Ramotswe to seeMataila,” she said. “Shemay be able toadviseus.Howishetoday?”

“It is thesameasyesterday,”saidMmaKerileng.“And thedaybefore that.Thereisnochangeinthatboy.”

MmaPotokwanesighed.“Itisverysad.Ishesleepingnow?Canyouopenthedoor?”

“Ithinkthathe’sawake,”saidthehousemother.“Letusseeanyway.”

Shearosefromherchairandledthemdownahighlypolishedcorridor.MmaRamotswe noticed, with approval, how clean the house was. She knew howmuch hardwork therewould be in this woman; throughout the country therewerewomenwhoworked andworked andwhowere rarely given any praise.Politicians claimed the credit for buildingBotswana, but howdare they?HowdaretheyclaimthecreditforallthehardworkofpeoplelikeMmaKerileng,andwomenlikeher.

TheystoppedoutsideadoorattheendofthecorridorandMmaKerilengtookakeyoutofherhousecoatpocket.

“Icannotrememberwhenwelastlockedachildinaroom,”shesaid.“Infact,Ithinkithasneverhappenedbefore.Wehaveneverhadtodosuchathing.”

TheobservationseemedtomakeMmaPotokwanefeeluncomfortable.“Thereisnootherway,”shesaid.“Hewouldrunoffintothebush.”

“Ofcourse,”saidMmaKerileng.“Itjustseemsverysad.”

Shepushed thedooropen, to reveal a room furnishedonlywithamattress.Therewasnoglassinthewindow,whichwascoveredwithalargelatticeworkwrought-ironscreenofthesortusedasburglarbars.Sittingonthemattress,hislegssplayedoutbeforehim,wasaboyoffiveorsix,completelynaked.

Theboy lookedat thewomenas theyenteredand forabriefmomentMmaRamotswesawanexpressionoffear,ofthesortonemightseeintheeyesofafrightenedanimal.Butthislastedonlyforashorttimebeforeitwasreplacedbyalookofvacancy,orabsence.

“Mataila,”saidMmaPotokwane,speakingveryslowlyinSetswana.“Mataila,howareyou today?This ladyhere is calledMmaRamotswe.Ramotswe.Canyouseeher?”

TheboylookedupatMmaPotokwaneasshespoke,andhisgazeremainedwithheruntilshestoppedspeaking.Thenhelookeddownattheflooragain.

“Idon’t thinkheunderstands,”saidMmaPotokwane.“Butwespeaktohimanyway.”

“Haveyoutriedotherlanguages?”askedMmaRamotswe.

Mma Potokwane nodded. “Everything we can think of.We had somebodycome out from the Department of African Languages at the university. Theytriedsomeof therarerones, just incasehehadwandereddownfromZambia.WetriedHerero.WetriedSan,althoughhe’sobviouslynotaMosarwatolookat.Nothing.Absolutelynothing.”

MmaRamotswetookastepforwardtogetacloserlookattheboy.Heraisedhisheadslightly,butdidnothingelse.Shesteppedforwardagain.

“Becareful,”saidMmaPotokwane.“Hebites.Notalways,butquiteoften.”

MmaRamotswestoodstill.BitingwasanotuncommonmethodoffightinginBotswana,anditwouldnotbesurprisingtofindachildthatbit.Therehadbeena recent case reported in Mmegi of assault by biting. A waiter had bitten acustomerafteranargumentovershortchanging,andthishadledtoaprosecutionintheLobatseMagistrate’sCourt.Thewaiterhadbeensentencedtoonemonth’simprisonmentandhad immediatelybitten thepolicemanwhowas leadinghim

off to the cells; a further example, thought Mma Ramotswe, of theshortsightednessofviolentpeople.Thissecondbitehadcosthimanotherthreemonthsinprison.

MmaRamotswelookeddownatthechild.

“Mataila?”

Theboydidnothing.

“Mataila?” She stretched out towards the boy, ready to withdraw her handsharplyifnecessary.

Theboygrowled.Therewasnootherwordforit,shethought.Itwasagrowl,alow,gutturalsoundthatseemedtocomefromhischest.

“Didyouhearthat?”askedMmaPotokwane.“Isn’tthatextraordinary?Andifyou’rewonderingwhyhe’snaked,it’sbecauseherippeduptheclotheswegavehim.He ripped themwith his teeth and threw them down on the ground.Wegavehimtwopairsofshorts,andhedidthesamethingtobothofthem.”

MmaPotokwanenowmovedforward.

“Now,Mataila,”shesaid.“Yougetupandcomeoutside.MmaKerilengwilltakeyououtforsomefreshair.”

Shereacheddownandtooktheboy,gingerly,bythearm.Hisheadturnedforamoment,andMmaRamotswethoughtthathewasabouttobite,buthedidnotandhemeeklyrosetohisfeetandallowedhimselftobeledoutoftheroom.

Outside thehouse,MmaKerileng took theboy’shandandwalkedwithhimtowardsaclumpof treesat theedgeof thecompound.Theboywalkedwitharatherunusualgait,observedMmaRamotswe,betweenarunandawalk,asifhemightsuddenlyboundoff.

“So that’s our Mataila,” said Mma Potokwane, as they watched thehousemotherwalkoffwithhercharge.“Whatdoyouthinkofthat?”

MmaRamotswegrimaced.“It isverystrange.Something terriblemusthave

happenedtothatchild.”

“Nodoubt,” saidMmaPotokwane. “I said that to thedoctorwho lookedathim.Hesaidmaybeyes,maybeno.Hesaidthattherearesomechildrenwhoarejustlikethat.Theykeeptothemselvesandtheyneverlearntotalk.”

MmaRamotswewatchedasMmaKerilengbrieflyletgoofthechild’shand.

“Wehavetowatchhimallthetime,”saidMmaPotokwane.“Ifweleavehim,herunsoff into thebushandhides.Hewentmissingforfourhours lastweek.They eventually foundhimover by the sewerageponds.Hedoes not seem toknowthatanakedchildrunningasfastashecanislikelytoattractattention.”

MmaPotokwaneandMmaRamotswebegan towalkback together towardstheoffice.MmaRamotswefeltdepressed.Shewonderedhowonewouldmakeastart with a child like that. It was easy to respond to the needs of appealingorphans—ofchildrensuchasthetwowhohadcometoliveinZebraDrive—butthereweresomanyotherchildren,childrenwhohadbeendamagedinsomewayorother,andwhowouldneedpatienceandunderstanding.Shecontemplatedherlife,withits listsanditsdemands,andshewonderedhowshewouldeverfindthetimetobethemotherofachildlikethat.SurelyMmaPotokwanecouldnotbe planning that she andMr J.L.B.Matekoni should take this child too? Sheknewthatthematronhadareputationfordeterminationandfornottakingnoforananswer—whichofcoursemadeherapowerfuladvocateforherorphans—butshecouldnotimaginethatshewouldtrytoimposeinthisway,forinanyviewitwouldbeagreatimpositiontofoistthischildoffonher.

“Iamabusywoman,”shestartedtosay,astheynearedtheoffice.“I’msorry,butIcannottake…”

Agroupoforphanswalkedpast themandgreeted thematronpolitely.Theyhadwiththemasmall,undernourishedpuppy,whichoneofthemwascradlinginherarms;oneorphanhelpsanother,thoughtMmaRamotswe.

“Becarefulwiththatdog,”warnedMmaPotokwane.“Iamalwaystellingyouthatyoushouldnotpickupthesestrays.Willyounotlisten…”

SheturnedtoMmaRamotswe.“ButMmaRamotswe!Ihopethatyoudidnot

think…OfcourseIdidnotexpectyoutotakethatboy!Wecanbarelymanagehimhere,withallourresources.”

“Iwasworried,” saidMmaRamotswe. “I am always prepared to help, butthereisalimittowhatIcando.”

MmaPotokwanelaughed,andtouchedherguestreassuringlyontheforearm.“Ofcourseyouare.Youarealreadyhelpingusbytakingthosetwoorphans.No,Iwantedonlytoaskyouradvice.Iknowthatyouhaveaverygoodreputationforfindingmissingpeople.Couldyoutellus—justtellus—howwemightfindout about this boy? If we could somehow discover something about his past,aboutwherehecamefrom,wemightbeabletogetthroughtohim.”

MmaRamotsweshookherhead.“Itwillbetoodifficult.Youwouldhavetotalk to people near where he was found. You would have to ask a lot ofquestions,andIthinkthatpeoplewillnotwanttotalk.Iftheydid,theywouldhavesaidsomething.”

“Youare rightabout that,”saidMmaPotokwanesadly.“Thepoliceaskedalotofquestionsupthere,outsideMaun.Theyaskedinallthelocalvillages,andnobodyknewofachildlikethat.Theyshowedhisphotographandpeoplejustsaidno.Theyknewnothingofhim.”

Mma Ramotswe was not surprised. If anybody wanted the child, thensomebodywouldhavesaidsomething.Thefactthattherewasasilenceprobablymeantthatthechildhadbeendeliberatelyabandoned.Andtherewasalwaysthepossibilityofsomesortofwitchcraftwithachildlikethat.Ifalocalspiritdoctorhadsaidthatthechildwaspossessed,orwasatokolosi, thennothingcouldbedoneforhim:hewasprobablyfortunatetobealive.Suchchildrenoftenmetaquitedifferentfate.

Theywerenowstandingbesidethetinywhitevan.Thetreehadshedafrondon thevehicle’s top, andMmaRamotswepicked itup.Theywere sodelicate,theleavesofthistree;withtheirhundredsoftinyleavesattachedtothecentralstem,liketheintricatetracingofaspider’sweb.Behindthemwasthesoundofchildren’s voices; a song which Mma Ramotswe remembered from her ownchildhood,andwhichmadehersmile.

Thecattlecomehome,one,two,three,

Thecattlecomehome,thebigone,thesmallone,theonewithonehorn,

Ilivewiththecattle,one,two,three,

Ohmother,lookoutforme.

ShelookedintoMmaPotokwane’sface;afacewhichsaid,ineverylineandineveryexpression:Iamthematronofanorphanfarm.

“Theyarestillsingingthatsong,”saidMmaRamotswe.

Mma Potokwane smiled. “I sing it too. We never forget the songs of ourchildhood,dowe?”

“Tellme,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Whatdidtheysayaboutthatboy?Didthepeoplewhofoundhimsayanything?”

MmaPotokwanethoughtforamoment.“Theytoldthepolicethattheyfoundhim in thedark.Theysaid thathewasverydifficult tocontrol.And theysaidthathehadastrangesmellabouthim.”

“Whatstrangesmell?”

MmaPotokwanemadeadismissivegesturewithahand.“Oneofthemensaidthat he smelled of lion. The policeman remembered it because it was such astrangethingtosay.Hewroteitdowninhisreport,whichcametouseventuallywhenthetribaladministrationpeopleuptheresenttheboydowntous.”

“Likelion?”askedMmaRamotswe.

“Yes,”saidMmaPotokwane.“Ridiculous.”

MmaRamotswesaidnothingforamoment.SheclimbedintothetinywhitevanandthankedMmaPotokwaneforherhospitality.

“Ishallthinkaboutthisboy,”shesaid.“MaybeIshallbeabletocomeupwithanidea.”

Theywaved to one another asMmaRamotswedrovedown thedusty road,through the orphanage gates, with their large ironwork sign proclaiming:Childrenlivehere.

Shedroveslowly,asthereweredonkeysandcattleontheroad,andtheherdboyswholookedafterthem.Someoftheherdboyswereveryyoung,nomorethansixorseven,likethatpoor,silentboyinhislittleroom.

What ifayoungherdboygot lost, thoughtMmaRamotswe.What ifhegotlostinthebush,farfromthecattlepost?Wouldhedie?Ormightsomethingelsehappentohim?

CHAPTERTEN

THECLERK’STALE

MMARAMOTSWErealised that somethingwouldhave tobedoneabout theNo.1Ladies’DetectiveAgency.Itdidnottakelongtomovethecontentsoftheold office to the new quarters at the back ofTlokwengRoadSpeedyMotors;therewasnotmuchmore thanone filingcabinetand itscontents,a fewmetaltraysinwhichpapersawaitingfilingcouldbeplaced,theoldteapotanditstwochippedmugs,andofcoursetheoldtypewriter—whichhadbeengiventoherbyMrJ.L.B.Matekoniandwasnowgoinghome.Theseweremanhandledintotheback of the tiny white van by the two apprentices, after only themost tokencomplaintthatthiswasnotpartoftheirjob.ItwouldappearthattheywoulddoanythingrequestedofthembyMmaMakutsi,whohadonlytowhistlefromtheofficetofindoneofthemrunningintofindoutwhatsheneeded.

ThiscompliancewasasurprisetoMmaRamotswe,andshewonderedwhatitwas thatMmaMakutsihadover these twoyoungmen.MmaMakutsiwasnotbeautiful in a conventional sense. Her skin was too dark for modern tastes,thoughtMmaRamotswe,andthelighteningcreamthatsheusedhadleftpatches.Thentherewasherhair,whichwasoftenbraided,butbraidedinaverystrangeway. And then there were her glasses, of course, with their large lenses thatwouldhaveservedtheneedsofatleasttwopeople,inMmaRamotswe’sview.Yetherewasthispersonwhowouldneverhavegotintoroundoneofabeautycompetition, commanding the slavish attentions of these two notoriouslydifficultyoungmen.Itwasverypuzzling.

It could be, of course, that there was something more than mere physicalappearancebehindthis.MmaMakutsimaynothavebeenagreatbeauty,butshecertainly had a powerful personality, and perhaps these boys recognised that.Beautyqueenswereoftendevoidofcharacter,andmenmustsurelytireofthatafter a while. Those dreadful competitionswhich they held—theMiss Lovers

SpecialTimeCompetitionor theMissCattle IndustryCompetition—brought tothe fore the most vacuous of girls. These vacuous girls then attempted topronounce on all sorts of issues, and to Mma Ramotswe’s utterincomprehension,theywereoftenlistenedto.

Sheknewthattheseyoungmenfollowedthebeautycompetitions,forshehadheard them talking about them. But now their main concern seemed to be toimpressMmaMakutsi, and to flatter her.Onehad even attempted to kiss her,andhadbeenpushedawaywithamusedindignation.

“Sincewhendoesamechanickissthemanager?”askedMmaMakutsi.“GetbacktoworkbeforeIbeatyouruselessbottomwithabigstick.”

Theapprenticeshadmadeshortworkofthemove,loadingtheentirecontentswithinhalfanhour.Then,withthetwoyoungmentravellinginthebacktoholdthe filingcabinet inplace, theNo.1Ladies’DetectiveAgency, completewithpaintedsign,madeitswaytoitsnewpremises.Itwasasadmoment,andbothMmaRamotsweandMmaMakutsiwereclosetotearsastheylockedthefrontdoorforthelasttime.

“It is just amove,Mma,” saidMmaMakutsi, in an attempt to comfort heremployer.“Itisnotasifwearegoingoutofbusiness.”

“Iknow,”saidMmaRamotswe,looking,forthelasttimeperhaps,attheviewfromthefrontofthebuilding,overtherooftopsofthetownandthetopsofthethorntrees.“Ihavebeenveryhappyhere.”

Wearestillinbusiness.Yes,butonlyjust.Overthelastfewdays,withalltheturmoilandthelists,MmaRamotswehaddevotedverylittletimetotheaffairsof theagency. In fact, shehaddevotedno timeatall,whenshecame to thinkabout it. Therewas only one outstanding case, and nothing else had come in,although it undoubtedlywould. Shewould be able to charge theGovernmentManaproperfeeforhertime,butthatwoulddependonasuccessfuloutcome.Shecould sendhimanaccount even if she foundnothing,but she always feltembarrassedaskingforpaymentwhenshewasunabletohelptheclient.PerhapsshewouldjusthavetosteelherselftodothisintheGovernmentMan’scase,ashewasawealthymanandcouldwell afford topay. Itmustbeveryeasy, shethought,tohaveadetectiveagencythatcateredonlytotheneedsofrichpeople,

theNo.1RichPerson’sDetectiveAgency,asthechargingoffeeswouldalwaysbepainless.But thatwasnotwhatherbusinesswas,andshewasnotsurethatshe would be happy with that. Mma Ramotswe liked to help everybody, nomatterwhattheirstationwasinlife.Shehadoftenbeenoutofpocketonacase,simplybecauseshecouldnotrefusetohelpapersoninneed.ThisiswhatIamcalledtodo,shesaidtoherself.Imusthelpwhomsoeverasksformyhelp.Thatismyduty: tohelpotherpeoplewith theproblems in their lives.Not thatyoucoulddoeverything.Africawasfullofpeopleinneedofhelpandtherehadtobe a limit. You simply could not help everybody; but you could at least helpthose who came into your life. That principle allowed you to deal with thesuffering you saw. Thatwas your suffering.Other peoplewould have to dealwiththesufferingthatthey,intheirturn,cameacross.

BUTWHAT to do, here and now, with the problems of the business? MmaRamotswedecidedthatshewouldhavetoreviseherlistandputtheGovernmentMan’s case at the top. This meant that she should start making enquiriesimmediately,andwherebettertostartthanwiththesuspectwife’sfather?Therewereseveralreasonsforthis,themostimportantbeingthatiftherereallywereaplottodisposeoftheGovernmentMan’sbrother,thenthiswouldprobablynotbe the wife’s idea, but would have been dreamed up by the father. MmaRamotswewasconvincedthatpeoplewhogotuptoreallyseriousmischiefveryrarely acted entirely on their own initiative.Therewas usually somebody elseinvolved,somebodywhowouldstandtobenefitinsomeway,orsomebodyclosetotheperpetratorofthedeedwhowasbroughtinformoralsupport.Inthiscase,themostlikelypersonwouldbethewife’sfather.If,astheGovernmentManhadimplied, this man was aware of the social betterment which the marriageentailed, and made much of it, then he was likely to be socially ambitioushimself.Andinthatcase,itwouldbehighlyconvenientforhimtohavetheson-in-law out of theway, so that he could, through his daughter, lay hands on asubstantialpartof thefamilyassets.Indeed, themoreMmaRamotswethoughtabout it, themore likely it seemed that the poisoning attemptwas the clerk’sidea.

Shecould imaginehis thoughts, ashe sat athis smallgovernmentdeskandreflectedonthepowerandauthoritywhichhesawallabouthimandofwhichhehadonlysuchasmallpart.HowgallingitmustbeforamanofthisstripetoseetheGovernmentMan drive past him in his official car; theGovernmentManwhowas, infact, thebrother-in-lawofhisowndaughter.Howdifficult itmustbeforhimnottohavetherecognitionthatheundoubtedlyfeltthathewouldgetif only more people knew that he was connected in such a way with such afamily. If the money and the cattle came to him—or to his daughter, whichamounted to thesame thing—thenhewouldbeable togiveuphisdemeaningpostinthecivilserviceandpursuethelifeofarichfarmer;he,whonowhadnocattle,wouldhavecattleaplenty.He,whonowhadtoscrimpandsaveinordertoaffordatripuptoFrancistowneachyear,wouldbeabletoeatmeateverydayand drink Lion Lagerwith his friends on Friday evenings, generously buyingroundsforall.Andallthatstoodbetweenhimandallthiswasonesmall,beatingheart.Ifthatheartcouldbesilenced,thenhisentirelifewouldbetransformed.

TheGovernmentManhadgivenMmaRamotswethewife’sfamilynameandhad told her that the father liked to spend his lunch hour sitting under a treeoutside theMinistry.Thisgaveherall the informationsheneededtofindhim:hisnameandhistree.

“Iamgoingtobeginthisnewcase,”shesaidtoMmaMakutsi,asthetwoofthemsatintheirnewoffice.“Youarebusywiththegarage.Ishallgetbacktobeingadetective.”

“Good,”saidMmaMakutsi.“It isademandingbusinessrunningagarage.Ishallcontinuetobeverybusy.”

“I am glad to see that the apprentices are working so hard,” said MmaRamotswe.“Youhavethemeatingoutofyourhand.”

MmaMakutsismiledconspiratorially.“Theyareverysillyyoungmen,”shesaid.“Butweladiesareusedtodealingwithsillyyoungmen.”

“SoIsee,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Youmusthavehadmanyboyfriends,Mma.Theseboysseemtolikeyou.”

MmaMakutsi shook her head. “I have had almost no boyfriends. I cannot

understandwhy these boys are like this tomewhen there are all these prettygirlsinGaborone.”

“You underestimate yourself, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. “You areobviouslyanattractiveladytomen.”

“Doyouthinkso?”askedMmaMakutsi,beamingwithpleasure.

“Yes,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Someladiesbecomemoreattractivetomentheolder they get. I have seen this happen. Then, while all the young girls, thebeauty queens, get less and less attractive as they get older, these other ladiesbecomemoreandmoreso.Itisaveryinterestingthing.”

Mma Makutsi looked thoughtful. She adjusted her glasses, and MmaRamotswenoticedher glancing surreptitiously at her reflection in thewindowpane.Shewasnotsureifwhatshehadsaidwastrue,butevenifitwerenot,shewouldbegladthatshehadsaiditifithadtheeffectofboostingMmaMakutsi’sconfidence.Itwoulddohernoharmatalltobeadmiredbythesetwofecklessboys, as longas shedidnotget involvedwith them, and itwas clear toMmaRamotswethattherewaslittlechanceofthat—atleastforthetimebeing.

SheleftMmaMakutsiintheofficeanddroveoffinthetinywhitevan.Itwasnowhalfpast twelve; thedrivewould take tenminutes,whichwouldgivehertime to find a parkingplace and tomakeherway to theMinistry and to startlooking for the wife’s father, Mr Kgosi Sipoleli, ministry clerk and, if herintuitionswerecorrect,would-bemurderer.

SheparkedthetinywhitevanneartheCatholicchurch,asthetownwasbusyandtherewerenoplacestobehadanycloser.Shewouldhaveawalk—abriefone—andshedidnotmindthis,asshewasboundtoseepeoplewhomsheknewandshehadafewminutesinhandforachatonherway.

Shewasnotdisappointed.BarelyhadsheturnedthecornerfromherparkingplacethansheranintoMmaGloriaBopedi,motherofChembaBopedi,whohadbeen at school withMma Ramotswe inMochudi. Chemba had married PilotMatanyani,who had recently become headmaster of a school at Selibi-Pikwe.She had seven children, the oldest of whom had recently become championunder-fifteensprinterofBotswana.

“Howisyourveryfastgrandson,Mma?”askedMmaRamotswe.

Theelderlywomanbeamed.Shehadfewteethleft,noticedMmaRamotswe,whothoughtthatitwouldbebetterforhertohavetheremainingonesoutandbefittedwithfalseteeth.

“Oh!Heisfast,thatone,”saidMmaBopedi.“Butheisanaughtyboytoo.Helearnedtorunfastsothathecouldgetoutoftrouble.Thatishowhecametobesofast.”

“Well,”saidMmaRamotswe,“somethinggoodhascomeoutofit.MaybehewillbeintheOlympicsoneday,runningforBotswana.ThatwillshowtheworldthatthefastrunnersarenotallinKenya.”

Againshefoundherselfreflectingonthefactthatwhatshesaidwasnottrue.ThetruthofthematterwasthatthebestrunnersdidallcomefromKenya,wherethepeoplewereverytallandhadlonglegs,verysuitablydesignedforrunning.The problem with the Batswana was that they were not very tall. Their mentended tobestocky,whichwas fine for lookingaftercattle,butwhichdidnotlend itself to athleticism. Indeed,most SouthernAfricanswere not very goodrunners,althoughtheZulusandtheSwazissometimesproducedsomebodywhomadeamarkonthetrack,suchasthatgreatSwazirunner,Richard“Concorde”Mavuso.

Of course, the Boers were quite good at sports. They produced these verylargemenwithgreat thighsand thicknecks, likeBrahmancattle.Theyplayedrugbyandseemedtodoverywellatit,althoughtheywerenotverybright.ShepreferredaMotswanaman,whomaynotbeasbigasoneofthoserugbyplayers,norasswiftasoneofthoseKenyanrunners,butatleasthewouldbereliableandastute.

“Don’tyouthinkso,Mma?”shesaidtoMmaBopedi.

“Don’tIthinkwhat,Mma?”askedMmaBopedi.

MmaRamotswerealisedthatshehadincludedtheotherwomaninherreverie,andapologised.

“Iwasjustthinkingaboutourmen,”shesaid.

MmaBopediraisedaneyebrow.“Oh,really,Mma?Well,totellyouthetruth,I also think about ourmen from time to time.Not very often, but sometimes.Youknowhowitis.”

MmaRamotswebadeMmaBopedifarewellandcontinuedwithherjourney.Now, outside the optician’s shop, she came acrossMrMotheti Pilai, standingquitestill,lookingupatthesky.

“Dumela,Rra,”shesaidpolitely.“Areyouwell?”

MrPilailookeddown.“MmaRamotswe,”hesaid.“Pleaseletmelookatyou.Ihavejustbeengiventhesenewspectacles,andIcanseetheworldclearlyforthefirst timeinyears.Ow!It isawonderfulthing.Ihadforgottenwhatitwasliketoseeclearly.Andthereyouare,Mma.Youarelookingverybeautiful,veryfat.”

“Thankyou,Rra.”

Hemovedthespectaclestotheendofhisnose.“MywifewasalwaystellingmethatIneedednewglasses,butIwasalwaysafraidtocomehere.Idonotlikethatmachinethathehaswhichshineslightintoyoureyes.AndIdonotlikethatmachinewhichpuffsair intoyoureyeball.So Iput itoffandput itoff. Iwasveryfoolish.”

“Itisneveragoodthingtoputsomethingoff,”saidMmaRamotswe,thinkingofhowshehadputofftheGovernmentMan’scase.

“Oh,Iknowthat,”saidMrPilai.“Buttheproblemis thatevenifyouknowthatisthebestthingtodo,youoftendon’tdoit.”

“That isverypuzzling,”saidMmaRamotswe.“But it is true.It’sas if thereweretwopeopleinsideyou.Onesays:dothis.Anothersays:dothat.Butboththesevoicesareinsidethesameperson.”

MrPilaistaredatMmaRamotswe.“Itisveryhottoday,”hesaid.

Sheagreedwithhim,andtheybothwentabouttheirbusiness.Shewouldstopnomore,sheresolved; itwasnowalmostoneo’clockandshewanted tohaveenough time to locateMrSipoleli and to have the conversationwith him that

wouldstartherenquiry.

THE TREE was easily identified. It stood a short distance from the mainentrancetotheMinistry,alargeacaciatreewithawidecanopythatprovidedawidecircleof shadeon thedustygroundbelow. Immediatelybeside the trunkwere several strategically placed stones—comfortable seats for anyone whomightwishtositunderthetreeandwatchthedailybusinessofGaboroneunfoldbeforehim.Now,atfiveminutestoone,thestoneswereunoccupied.

MmaRamotswechosethelargestofthestonesandsettledherselfuponit.Shehadbroughtwithheralargeflaskoftea,twoaluminummugs,andfourcornedbeefsandwichesmadewiththicklycutslicesofbread.Shetookoutoneofthemugsandfilleditwithbushtea.Thensheleanedbackagainstthetrunkofthetreeandwaited. Itwaspleasant tobeseated there in theshade,withamugoftea,watchingthepassingtraffic.Nobodypaidtheslightestattentiontoher,asitwasanentirelynormalthingtosee:awell-builtwomanunderatree.

Shortlyaftertenpastone,whenMmaRamotswehadfinishedherteaandwasonthepointofdozingoff inhercomfortableplace,afigureemergedfromthefrontoftheMinistryandwalkedovertowardsthetree.Ashedrewnear,MmaRamotswejoltedherselftofullwakefulness.Shewasondutynow,andshemustmakethemostoftheopportunitytotalktoMrSipoleli,ifthat,assheexpected,wasthepersonnowapproachingher.

Themanwaswearingapairofneatlypressedblue trousers,a short-sleevedwhiteshirt,andadarkbrowntie.Itwasexactlywhatonewouldexpectajuniorcivilservant, in theclericalgrade, towear.Andas if toconfirmthediagnosis,therewasarowofpenstuckedneatlyintohisshirtpocket.Thiswasclearlytheuniformofthejuniorclerk,evenifitwasbeingwornbyamaninhislateforties.This, then, was a clerk whowas stuckwhere he was andwas not going anyfurther.

Themanapproachedthetreecautiously.StaringatMmaRamotswe,itseemedasifhewantedtosaysomethingbutcouldnotquitebringhimselftospeak.

MmaRamotswe smiled at him. “Good afternoon, Rra,” she said. “It is hottoday,isitnot?ThatiswhyIamunderthistree.Itisclearlyagoodplacetositintheheat.”

Themannodded.“Yes,”hesaid.“Inormallysithere.”

MmaRamotsweaffectedsurprise.“Oh?Ihope that Iamnotsittingonyourrock,Rra.Ifoundithereandtherewasnobodysittingonit.”

Hemadeanimpatientgesturewithhishands.“Myrock?Yesitis,asamatteroffact.That ismyrock.But this isapublicplaceandanybodycansitonit, Isuppose.”

MmaRamotswerosetoherfeet.“ButRra,youmusthavethisrock.Ishallsitonthatoneoveronthatside.”

“No, Mma,” he said hurriedly, his tone changing. “I do not want toinconvenienceyou.Icansitonthatrock.”

“No.Yousitonthisrockhere.Itisyourrock.IwouldnothavesatonitifIhadthoughtthatitwasanotherperson’srock.Icansitonthisrock,whichisagoodrocktoo.Yousitonthatrock.”

“No,”hesaidfirmly.“Yougobackwhereyouwere,Mma. Icansiton thatrockanyday.Youcan’t.Ishallsitonthisrock.”

Mma Ramotswe, with a show of reluctance, returned to her original rock,whileMrSipolelisettledhimselfdown.

“Iamdrinkingtea,Rra,”shesaid.“ButIhaveenoughforyou.Iwouldlikeyoutohavesome,sinceIamsittingonyourrock.”

MrSipolelismiled.“Youareverykind,Mma.Ilovetodrinktea.Idrinkalotofteainmyoffice.Iamacivilservant,yousee.”

“Oh?”saidMmaRamotswe.“Thatisagoodjob.Youmustbeimportant.”

MrSipoleli laughed.“No,”hesaid.“Iamnotatall important.Iamajuniorclerk.ButIamluckytobethat.Therearepeoplewithdegreesbeingrecruited

intomy levelof job. IhavemyCambridgeCertificate, that is all. I feel that Ihavedonewellenough.”

MmaRamotswe listened to thisasshepouredhis tea.Shewassurprisedbywhatshehadheard;shehadexpectedaratherdifferentsortofperson,aminorofficial puffed up with his importance and eager for greater status. Here, bycontrast,wasamanwhoseemedtobequitecontentwithwhathewasandwherehehadgothimself.

“Couldyounotbepromoted,Rra?Woulditnotbepossibletogofurtherup?”

MrSipoleli consideredher question carefully. “I suppose itwould,”he saidafterafewmoments’thought.“TheproblemisthatIwouldhavetospendalotoftimegettingontherightsideofmoreseniorpeople.ThenIwouldhavetosaythe right thingsandwritebad reportsonmy juniors.That isnotwhat Iwouldliketodo.Iamnotanambitiousman.IamhappywhereIam,reallyIam.”

MmaRamotswe’shandfalteredintheactofpassinghimhistea.Thiswasnotatallwhatshehadexpected,andsuddenlysherememberedClovisAndersen’swords of advice. Never make any prior assumptions, he had written. Neverdecideinadvancewhat’swhatorwho’swho.Thismaysetyouoffonthewrongtrackaltogether.

Shedecidedtoofferhimasandwich,whichshepulledoutofherplasticbag.Hewas pleased, but chose the smallest of the sandwiches; another indication,she thought, of amodest personality.TheMrSipoleli of her imaginingwouldhavetakenthelargestsandwichwithouthesitation.

“DoyouhavefamilyinGaborone,Rra?”sheaskedinnocently.

MrSipoleli finished hismouthful of corned beef before answering. “I havethreedaughters,”hesaid.“Twoarenurses,oneat thePrincessMarinaand theotheroutatMolepolole.Thenthereismyfirstborn,whodidverywellatschoolandwenttotheuniversity.Weareveryproudofher.”

“She lives in Gaborone?” asked Mma Ramotswe, passing him anothersandwich.

“No,”hereplied.“Sheislivingsomewhereelse.Shemarriedayoungmanshe

metwhileshewasstudying.Theyliveoutthatway.Overthere.”

“Andthisson-in-lawofyours,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Whatabouthim?Ishegoodtoher?”

“Yes,”saidMrSipoleli.“Heisaverygoodman.Theyareveryhappy,andIhope that they have many children. I am looking forward to being agrandfather.”

MmaRamotswethoughtforamoment.Thenshesaid:“Thebestthingaboutseeingone’schildrenmarriedmustbethethoughtthattheywillbeabletolookafteryouwhenyouareold.”

MrSipolelismiled.“Well,thatisprobablytrue.Butinmycase,mywifeandIhave different plans.We intend to go back toMahalapye. I have some cattlethere—justa few—andsome lands.Wewillbehappyup there.That isallwewant.”

MmaRamotswewassilent.Thispatentlygoodmanwasobviouslytellingthetruth.Hersuspicionthathecouldbebehindaplottokillhisson-in-lawwasanabsurdconclusiontohavereached,andshefeltthoroughlyashamedofherself.Tohide her confusion, she offeredhimanother cupof tea,whichhe acceptedgratefully.Then, after fifteenminutes of further conversation aboutmatters ofthe day, she stoodup, dusted downher skirt, and thankedhim for sharing hislunchhourwithher.Shehadfoundoutwhatshewantedtoknow,atleastabouthim.Butthemeetingwiththefatheralsothrewsomedoubtonhersurmisesastothedaughter.Ifthedaughterwasatalllikethefather,thenshecouldnotpossiblybeapoisoner.Thisgoodunassumingmanwasunlikelytohaveraisedadaughterwho would do a thing like that. Or was he? It was always possible for badchildren to spring from the loins of good parents; it did not require muchexperienceoflifetorealisethat.Yet,atthesametime,ittendedtobeunlikely,and this meant that the next stage of the investigation would require aconsiderablymoreopenmindthanhadcharacterisedtheinitialstage.

Ihavelearnedalesson,MmaRamotswetoldherselfasshewalkedbacktothetinywhitevan.Shewasdeep in thought,andshebarelynoticedMrPilai, stillstandingoutsidetheoptician’sshop,gazingatthebranchesofthetreeabovehishead.

“Ihavebeenthinkingaboutwhatyousaidtome,Mma,”heremarked,asshewalkedpast.“Itwasaverythought-provokingremark.”

“Yes,”saidMmaRamotswe,slightlytakenaback.“AndIamafraidIdonotknowwhattheansweris.Isimplydonot.”

MrPilaishookhishead.“Thenweshallhavetothinkaboutitsomemore,”hesaid.

“Yes,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Weshall.”

CHAPTERELEVEN

MMAPOTOKWANEOBLIGES

THE GOVERNMENT Man had given Mma Ramotswe a telephone numberwhichshecoulduseatanytimeandwhichwouldcircumventhissecretariesandassistants.Thatafternoonshetriedthenumberforthefirsttime,andgotstraightthrough toher client.He soundedpleased tohear fromher, and expressedhispleasurethattheinvestigationhadbegun.

“I would like to go down to the house next week,” said Mma Ramotswe.“Haveyoucontactedyourfather?”

“Ihavedonethat,”saidtheGovernmentMan.“Ihavetoldhimthatyouwillbecomingtostayforarest.ItoldhimthatyouhavefoundmanyvotesformeamongstthewomenandthatImustrepayyou.Youwillbewelllookedafter.”

Detailswere agreed, andMmaRamotswewas givendirections to the farm,whichlayofftheFrancistownRoad,tothenorthofPilane.

“Iamsure thatyouwill findevidenceofwickedness,”said theGovernmentMan.“Thenwecansavemypoorbrother.”

MmaRamotswewasnoncommittal.“Weshallsee.Ican’tguaranteeanything.Ishallhavetosee.”

“Ofcourse,Mma,”theGovernmentMansaidhurriedly.“ButIhavecompleteconfidenceinyourabilitytofindoutwhatishappening.Iknowthatyouwillbeabletofindevidenceagainstthatwickedwoman.Let’sjusthopethatyouareintime.”

Afterthetelephonecall,MmaRamotswesatatherdeskandstaredatthewall.

She had just taken awholeweek out of her diary, and thatmeant that all theother tasksonher listwereconsignedtoanuncertainfuture.At leastsheneednotworryaboutthegarageforthetimebeing,norindeedneedsheworryaboutdealingwithenquiriesat theagency.MmaMakutsicoulddoall thatand if,aswasincreasinglyoftenthecasethesedays,shewasunderacaratthetime,thentheapprenticeshadbeentrainedtoanswerthetelephoneonherbehalf.

Butwhat aboutMr J.L.B.Matekoni?Thatwas theone reallydifficult issuewhich remained untouched, and she realised that she would have to dosomething quickly. She had finished reading the book on depression and shenowfeltmoreconfident indealingwith itspuzzling symptoms.But therewasalwaysadangerwiththatillnessthatthesufferermightdosomethingrash—thebook had been quite explicit about that—and she dreaded the thought ofMrJ.L.B.Matekonibeingdriven to suchextremesbyhis feelingsof lowness andself-disesteem. She would have to get him to Dr Moffat somehow, so thattreatmentcouldbegin.Butwhenshehadtoldhimthathewastoseeadoctor,hehadflatlyrefused.Ifshetriedagain,shewouldprobablygetthesameresponse.

Shewonderedwhethertherewasanywayofgettinghimtotakethepillsbytrickery.Shedidnot like the ideaofusingunderhandmethodswithMrJ.L.B.Matekoni,butwhenaperson’sreasonwasdisturbed,thenshethoughtthatanymeans were justified in getting them better. It was as if a person had beenkidnappedbysomeevilbeingandheldransom.Youwouldnothesitate,shefelt,toresorttotrickerytodefeattheevilbeing.Inherview,thatwasperfectlyinlinewiththeoldBotswanamorality,orindeedwithanyothersortofmorality.

She had wondered whether she could conceal the tablets in his food. Thismighthavebeenpossible if shehadbeenattending tohis everymeal, but shewasnot.Hehadstoppedcomingroundtoherhouseforhiseveningmeal,anditwould lookvery strange if she suddenly arrived at his house to cater for him.Anyway, she suspected that he was not eating very much in his state ofdepression—the book had warned about this—as he appeared to be losingweightquitemarkedly.Itwouldbeimpossible,then,toadministerthedrugstohiminthisway,evenifshedecidedthatthiswastheproperthingtodo.

Shesighed.Itwasunlikehertositandstareatawall,andforamomentthethought crossedhermind that she, too,mightbebecomingdepressed.But thethoughtpassedquickly; itwouldbeoutof thequestionforMmaRamotsweto

becomeill.Everythingdependedonher:thegarage,theagency,thechildren,MrJ.L.BMatekoni,MmaMakutsi—not tomentionMmaMakutsi’s people up inBobonong.Shesimplycouldnotaffordthetimetobeill.Sosherosetoherfeet,straightenedherdress,andmadeherwayto the telephoneon theothersideofthe room. She took out the small book in which she noted down telephonenumbers.Potokwane,Silvia.Matron.OrphanFarm.

MMAPOTOKWANEwas interviewingaprospectivefosterparentwhenMmaRamotswe arrived. Sitting in the waiting room, Mma Ramotswe watched asmall,palegeckostalkaflyontheceilingaboveherhead.Boththegeckoandtheflywereupsidedown;thegeckorelyingonminutesuctionpadsoneachofits toes, the fly on its spurs. The gecko suddenly darted forward, butwas tooslowfor thefly,which launched itself intoavictoryrollbeforesettlingon thewindowsill.

MmaRamotswe turned to themagazines that littered the table.TherewasaGovernmentbrochurewithapictureofseniorofficials.Shelookedatthefaces—sheknewmanyof these people, and in one or two cases knew rathermoreabout them thanwouldbepublished inGovernmentbrochures.And therewasthefaceofherGovernmentMan,smilingconfidentlyintothecamera,whileallthe time,assheknew,hewaseatenupbyanxietyforhisyoungerbrotherandimaginingplotsagainsthislife.“MmaRamotswe?”

Mma Potokwane had ushered the foster parent out and now stood lookingdownonMmaRamotswe.“I’msorrytohavekeptyouwaiting,Mma,butIthinkIhavefoundahomeforaverydifficultchild.Ihadtomakesurethatthewomanwastherightsortofperson.”

Theywentintothematron’sroom,whereacrumb-litteredplateborewitnesstothelastservingoffruitcake.

“Youhavecomeabouttheboy?”askedMmaPotokwane.“Youmusthavehadanidea.”

MmaRamotsweshookherhead.“Sorry,Mma. Ihavenothad time to thinkaboutthatboy.Ihavebeenverybusywithotherthings.”

MmaPotokwanesmiled.“Youarealwaysabusyperson.”

“I’vecometoaskyouafavour,”saidMmaRamotswe.

“Ah!”MmaPotokwanewasbeamingwithpleasure.“Usually it is Iwhodothat.Nowitisdifferent,andIampleased.”

“MrJ.L.B.Matekoniisill,”explainedMmaRamotswe.“Ithinkthathehasanillnesscalleddepression.”

“Ow!”interruptedMmaPotokwane.“Iknowallaboutthat.RememberthatIused tobeanurse. I spent ayearworkingat thementalhospital atLobatse. Ihaveseenwhatthatillnesscando.Butatleastitcanbetreatedthesedays.Youcangetbetterfromdepression.”

“Ihavereadthat,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Butyouhavetotakethedrugs.MrJ.L.B.Matekoniwon’tevenseeadoctor.Hesayshe’snotill.”

“That’s nonsense,” said Mma Potokwane. “He should go to the doctorimmediately.Youshouldtellhim.”

“Itried,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Hesaidtherewasnothingwrongwithhim.Ineedtogetsomebodytotakehimtothedoctor.Somebody…”

“Somebodylikeme?”cutinMmaPotokwane.

“Yes,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Hehasalwaysdonewhatyouhaveaskedhimtodo.Hewouldn’tdarerefuseyou.”

“Buthe’llneedtotakethedrugs,”saidMmaPotokwane.“Iwouldn’tbetheretostandoverhim.”

“Well,”musedMmaRamotswe, “if you brought himhere, you could nursehim.Youcouldmakesurethathetookthedrugsandbecamebetter.”

“YoumeanthatIshouldbringhimtotheorphanfarm?”

“Yes,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Bringhimhereuntilhe’sbetter.”

MmaPotokwane tappedherdesk. “And if he says that hedoesnotwant tocome?”

“He would not dare to contradict you, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Hewouldbetooscared.”

“Oh,”saidMmaPotokwane.“AmIlikethat,then?”

“Alittlebit,”saidMmaRamotswe,gently.“Butonlytomen.Menrespectamatron.”

MmaPotokwanethoughtforamoment.Thenshespoke.“MrJ.L.B.Matekonihasbeenagoodfriendtotheorphanfarm.Hehasdoneagreatdealforus.Iwilldothisthingforyou,Mma.WhenshallIgotoseehim?”

“Today,”saidMmaRamotswe.“TakehimtoDrMoffat.Thenbringhimrightbackhere.”

“Verywell,”saidMmaPotokwane,warmingtohertask.“Ishallgoandfindout what all this nonsense is about. Not wanting to go to the doctor? Whatnonsense!Ishallsortallthisoutforyou,Mma.Youjusttrustme.”

MmaPotokwaneshowedMmaRamotswetohercar.

“Youwon’tforgettheboy,willyou,Mma?”sheasked.“Youwillremembertothinkabouthim?”

“Don’tworry,Mma,”shereplied.“Youhavetakenabigweightoffmymind.NowIshalltrytotakeoneoffyours.”

DRMOFFATsawMrJ.L.B.Matekoniinthestudyat theendofhisverandah,whileMmaPotokwanedrankacupofteawithMrsMoffatinthekitchen.Thedoctor’swife,whowasalibrarian,knewagreatdeal,andMmaPotokwanehad

occasionallyconsultedherforpiecesofinformation.Itwasevening,andinthedoctor’s study insects which had penetrated the fly screens were drunkenlycircling thebulbof thedesk lamp, throwing themselves against the shade andthen, singed by the heat, fluttering wing-injured away. On the desk were astethoscope and a sphygmomanometer, with its rubber bulb hanging over theedge;onthewall,anoldengravingofKurumanMissioninthemid-nineteenthcentury.

“Ihavenotseenyouforsometime,Rra,”DrMoffatsaid.“Mycarhasbeenbehavingitselfwell.”

MrJ.L.B.Matekoni started to smile,but theeffort seemed todefeathim.“Ihavenot…”Hetailedoff.DrMoffatwaited,butnothingmorecame.

“Youhavenotbeenfeelingverywell?”

MrJ.L.B.Matekoninodded.“Iamverytired.Icannotsleep.”

“Thatisveryhard.Ifwedonotsleep,thenwefeelbad.”Hepaused.“Areyoutroubledbyanythinginparticular?Aretherethingsthatworryyou?”

MrJ.L.B.Matekonithought.Hisjawsworked,asifhewastryingtoarticulateimpossiblewords,andthenhereplied.“IamworriedthatbadthingsIdidalongtimeagowillcomeback.ThenIshallbeindisgrace.Theywillallthrowstonesatme.Itwillbetheend.”

“Andthesebad things?Whatare they?Youknowthatyoucanspeak tomeaboutthemandIshallnottellanybody.”

“TheyarebadthingsIdidalongtimeago.Theyareverybadthings.Icannotspeaktoanybodyaboutthem,notevenyou.”

“Andisthatallyouwanttotellmeaboutthem?”

“Yes.”

DrMoffatwatchedMrJ.L.B.Matekoni.Henoticedthecollar,fastenedatthewrongbutton;hesawtheshoes,withtheirbrokenlaces;hesawtheeyes,almostlachrymoseintheiranguish,andheknew.

“I amgoing to give you somemedicine thatwill help you to getwell,” hesaid.“MmaPotokwaneouttheresaysthatshewilllookafteryouwhileyouaregettingbetter.”

MrJ.L.B.Matekoninoddeddumbly.

“Andyouwillpromisemethatyouwilltakethismedicine,”DrMoffatwenton.“Willyougivemeyourwordthatyouwilldothat?”

MrJ.L.B.Matekoni’sgaze,firmlyfixedonthefloor,didnotmoveup.“Mywordisworthnothing,”hesaidquietly.

“That is the illnessspeaking,”DrMoffatsaidgently.“Yourword isworthagreatdeal.”

MMAPOTOKWANEledhimtohercarandopenedthepassengerdoorforhim.She lookedatDrMoffatandhiswife,whowere standingat thegate, andshewavedtothem.Theywavedbackbeforereturningtothehouse.Thenshedroveoff,backtotheorphanfarm,passingTlokwengRoadSpeedyMotorsasshedidso. The garage, deserted and forlorn in the darkness, got no glance from itsproprietor,itsbegetter,asherodepast.

CHAPTERTWELVE

FAMILYBUSINESS

SHELEFT in the cool of themorning, although the journeywould take littlemorethananhour.Rosehadpreparedbreakfast,andsheateitwiththechildren,sittingontheverandahofherhouseonZebraDrive.Itwasaquiettime,aslittletraffic passed along their roadbefore seven,whenpeoplewould start to go towork.Therewerea fewpeoplewalkingby—a tallman,with shabby trousers,eatinga fire-charredcorn cob, awomancarryingababy, strapped toherbackwithitsshawl,thebaby’sheadnoddinginsleep.Oneofherneighbour’syellowdogs,leanandundernourished,slunkby,occupiedinsomemysterious,butquitepurposefulcaninebusiness.MmaRamotswetolerateddogs,butshehadastrongdistaste for the foul-smelling yellow creatures that lived next door. Theirhowling at night disturbed her—theywould bark at shadows, at themoon, atgusts ofwind—and shewas sure that they deterred birds,which she did like,fromcomingtohergarden.Everyhouse,excepthers,seemedtohaveitsquotaof dogs, and occasionally these dogs, overcoming the restrictions of imposedloyalties,wouldriseabovetheirmutualanimosityandwalkdownthestreetinapack,chasingcarsandfrighteningcyclists.

MmaRamotswepouredbush tea for herself andMotholeli;Puso refused togetused to teaandhadaglassofwarmmilk, intowhichMmaRamotswehadstirredtwogenerousspoonsofsugar.Hehadasweettooth,possiblyasaresultofsweetfoodswhichhissisterhadgivenhimwhenshewascaringforhiminthatyardup inFrancistown.Shewould try toweanhimontohealthier things,but that changewould require patience.Rose hadmade themporridge,whichstoodinbowls,darkmolassestrailedacrossitssurface,andthereweresectionsof paw-paw on a plate. It was a healthy breakfast for a child, thought MmaRamotswe.What would these children have eaten had they stayed with theirpeople,shewondered?Thosepeoplesurvivedonnexttonothing;rootsdugup

from theground, grubs, the eggsof birds; yet they couldhunt as nobody elsecould, and there would have been ostrich meat and duiker, which people intownscouldrarelyafford.

Sherememberedhow,whentravellingnorth,shehadstoppedbesidetheroadtoenjoyaflaskoftea.Thestoppingplacewasaclearingatthesideoftheroad,whereabatteredsignindicatedthatonewasatthatpointcrossingtheTropicofCapricorn. She had thought herself alone, and had been surprisedwhen thereemergedfrombehindatreeaMosarwa,orBushman,astheyusedtobecalled.Hewaswearingasmallleatherapronandcarryingaskinbagofsomesort;andhad approached her, whistling away in that curious language they use. For amomentshehadbeenfrightened;althoughshewastwicehissize,thesepeoplecarriedarrows,andpoisons,andwerenaturallyveryquick.

Shehadrisenuncertainlytoherfeet,readytoabandonherflaskandseekthesafety of the tiny white van, but he had simply pointed to his mouth insupplication.Understanding,MmaRamotswehadpassedhercuptohim,buthehad indicated that it was food, not drink, that he wanted. All that MmaRamotswehadwithherwasacoupleofeggsandwiches,whichhetookgreedilywhenofferedandbitintohungrily.Whenhehadfinished,helickedhisfingersandturnedaway.Shewatchedhimashedisappearedintothebush,mergingwithitasnaturallyaswouldawildcreature.Shewonderedwhathehadmadeoftheeggsandwichandwhetherittastedbettertohim,orworse,thantheofferingsoftheKalahari;therodentsandtubers.

The childrenhadbelonged to thatworld, but there couldbenogoingback.Thatwas a life towhich one simply could not return, becausewhat had beentaken forgranted thenwouldseem impossiblyhard,and theskillswouldhavegone. Their place nowwas with Rose, andMmaRamotswe, in the house onZebraDrive.

“Iamgoingtohavetobeawayforfourorfivedays,”sheexplainedtothemoverbreakfast.“Rosewillbelookingafteryou.Youwillbeallright.”

“Thatisfine,Mma,”saidMotholeli.“Iwillhelpher.”

MmaRamotswe smiled at her encouragingly. She had brought up her littlebrother,anditwasinhernaturetohelpthosewhowereyoungerthanshewas.

Shewouldbeafinemothereventually,she thought,but thensheremembered.Couldshebeamotherinawheelchair?Itwouldprobablybeimpossibletobeara child if one could not walk, Mma Ramotswe thought, and even if it werepossible, she was not sure that anyman would want to marry a woman in awheelchair.Itwasveryunfair,butyoucouldnothideyourfacefromthetruth.Itwouldalwaysbemoredifficultforthatgirl,always.Ofcoursethereweresomegood men around who would not think that such a thing mattered, and whowouldwanttomarrythegirlforthefine,pluckypersonthatshewas,butsuchmenwereveryrare,andMmaRamotswehadtroubleinthinkingofmany.Ordidshe?TherewasMrJ.L.B.Matekoni,ofcourse,whowasaverygoodman—eveniftemporarilyalittlebitodd—andtherewastheBishop,andtherehadbeenSirSeretseKhama,statesmanandParamountChief.DrMerriweather,whorantheScottishHospitalatMolepolole;hewasagoodman.Andtherewereothers,whowerelesswell-known,nowthatshecametothinkofit.MrPotolani,whohelpedverypoorpeopleandgaveawaymostofthemoneyhehadmadefromhisstores;and themanwho fixed her roof andwho repairedRose’s bicycle for nothingwhen he saw that it needed fixing. There were many goodmen, in fact, andperhapstherewouldbeagoodmaninduecourseforMotholeli.Itwaspossible.

Thatis,ofcourse,ifshewantedtofindahusband.Itwasperfectlypossibletobehappywithoutahusband,oratleastabithappy.Sheherselfwashappyinhersingle state, but she thought, onbalance, that itwouldbepreferable tohaveahusband.She lookedforward to thedaywhenshewouldbeable tomakesurethatMrJ.L.B.Matekoniwasproperlyfed.Shelookedforwardtothedaywhen,iftherewasanoiseinthenight—asthereoftenwasthesedays—itwouldbeMrJ.L.B.Matekoni who would get up to investigate, rather than herself.We doneed somebody else in this life, thought Mma Ramotswe; we need a personwhomwecanmakeourlittlegodonthisearth,astheoldKgatlasayinghadit.Whetheritwasaspouse,orachild,oraparent,oranybodyelseforthatmatter,theremustbesomebodywhogivesour livespurpose.Shehadalwayshad theDaddy, the late Obed Ramotswe, miner, cattle farmer, and gentleman. It hadgivenherpleasuretodothingsforhiminhislifetime,andnowitwasapleasuretodothingsforhismemory.Butthememoryofafatherwentonlysofar.

Ofcourse,therewerethosewhosaidthatnoneofthisrequiredmarriage.Theywere right, to an extent.Youdidnothave tobemarried tohave somebody inyourlife,butthenyouwouldhavenoguaranteeofpermanence.Marriageitself

didnotofferthat,butatleastbothpeoplesaidthattheywantedalifelongunion.Eveniftheyprovedtobewrong,atleasttheyhadtried.MmaRamotswehadnotimeforthosewhodecriedmarriage.Intheolddays,marriagehadbeenatrapfor women, because it gavemenmost of the rights and left womenwith theduties.Tribalmarriagehadbeenlikethat,althoughwomenacquiredrespectandstatus as they grew older, particularly if theywere themothers of sons.MmaRamotswe did not support any of that, and thought that themodern notion ofmarriage,whichwasmeanttobeaunionofequals,wasaverydifferentthingfora woman. Women had made a very bad mistake, she thought, in allowingthemselves to be tricked into abandoning a belief in marriage. Some womenthoughtthatthiswouldbeareleasefromthetyrannyofmen,andinawayithadbeenthat,butthenithadalsobeenafinechanceformentobehaveselfishly.Ifyouwereamanandyouweretoldthatyoucouldbewithonewomanuntilyougot tiredofher and thenyoucouldeasilygoon toayoungerone, andall thetime nobody would say that your behaviour was bad—because you were notcommittingadulteryandsowhatwrongwereyoudoing?—thenthatwouldsuityouverywellindeed.

“Whoisdoingallthesufferingthesedays?”MmaRamotswehadaskedMmaMakutsioneday,astheysatintheirofficeandwaitedforaclienttoappear.“Isitnotwomenwhohavebeenleftbytheirmengoingoffwithyoungergirls?Isthatnotwhathappens?Amangetstoforty-fiveanddecidesthathehashadenough.Sohegoesoffwithayoungerwoman.”

“Youareright,Mma,”saidMmaMakutsi.“ItisthewomenofBotswanawhoaresuffering,notthemen.Themenareveryhappy.Ihaveseenitwithmyowneyes.IsawitattheBotswanaSecretarialCollege.”

MmaRamotswewaitedformoredetails.

“Thereweremany glamorous girls at theCollege,”went onMmaMakutsi.“Theseweretheoneswhodidnotdoverywell.Theygotfiftypercent,or justover.Theyusedtogooutthreeorfournightsaweek,andmanyofthemwouldmeetoldermen,whowouldhavemoremoneyandanicecar.Thesegirlsdidnotcarethatthesemenweremarried.Theywouldgooutwiththesemenanddanceinthebars.Then,whatwouldhappen,Mma?”

MmaRamotsweshookherhead.“Icanimagine.”

MmaMakutsi took off her glasses and polished themon her blouse. “Theywouldtellthesementoleavetheirwives.Andthemenwouldsaythatthiswasagood idea, and theywould go offwith these girls.And therewould bemanyunhappywomenwho nowwould not be able to get anotherman because themenonlygoforyoungglamorousgirlsandtheydonotwantanolderwoman.That iswhat I sawhappening,Mma, and I could give you a list of names.Awholelist.”

“Youdonot need to,” saidMmaRamotswe. “I havegot a very long list ofunhappyladies.Verylong.”

“Andhowmanyunhappymendoyouknow?”wentonMmaMakutsi.“Howmanymendoyouknowwhoaresittingathomeand thinkingwhat todonowthattheirwifehasgoneoffwithayoungerman?Howmany,Mma?”

“None,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Notone.”

“Thereyouare,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Womenhavebeentricked.Theyhavetrickedus,Mma.Andwewalkedintotheirtraplikecattle.”

THE CHILDREN dispatched to school, Mma Ramotswe packed her smallbrownsuitcaseandbeganthedriveoutoftown,outpastthebreweriesandthenew factories, the new low-cost suburb, with its rows of small, breeze-blockhouses,overtherailwaylinewhichledtoFrancistownandBulawayo,andontotheroadthatwouldleadhertothetroubledplacethatwasherdestination.Thefirst rains had come, and the parched brown veld was turning green, givingsweetgrass to thecattleand thewanderingherdsofgoats.The tinywhitevanhadno radio—orno radio thatworked—butMmaRamotsweknewsongs thatshecouldsing,andshesangthem,thewindowopen,thecrispairofmorninginherlungs,thebirdsflyingupfromthesideoftheroad,plumageglistening;andaboveher,emptybeyondemptiness, thatskythatwentonformilesandmiles,thepalestofblues.

Shehadfeltuneasyabouthermission,largelybecausewhatshewasaboutto

do,shefelt,wasabreachofthefundamentalprinciplesofhospitality.Youdonotgointoahouse,asaguest,underfalsecolours;andthiswaspreciselywhatshewasdoing.Certainly,shewastheguestofthefatherandmother,buteventheydidnot know the true purposeof her visit.Theywere receivingher as one towhomtheirsonowedafavour;whereasshewasreallyaspy.Shewasaspyinagood cause, naturally, but that did not change the fact that her goal was topenetratethefamilytofindoutasecret.

Butnow,inthetinywhitevan,shedecidedtoputmoraldoubtsaside.Itwasoneofthosesituationswherethereweresoundpointstobemadeonbothsides.Shehaddecided thatshewoulddo it,because itwas,onbalance,better toactoutaliethantoallowalifetobelost.Doubtsshouldnowbeputawayandthegoalpursuedwholeheartedly.Therewasnopointinagonisingoverthedecisionyou had made and wondering whether it was the right one. Besides, moralscruples would prevent the part from being played with conviction, and thismightshow.Itwouldbe likeanactorquestioning thepart thathewasplayingmid-role.

Shepassedamandrivingamulecart,andwaved.He tookahandfromtherein andwavedback, as didhis passengers on the cart, two elderlywomen, ayounger woman, and a child. They would be going out to the lands, thoughtMmaRamotswe;a littlebit late,perhaps,as theyshouldhaveploughedbythetime that the first rains came, but theywould sow their seed in time and theywouldhavecorn,andmelons,andbeans,perhapsbyharvest time.Therewereseveralsacksonthecart,andthesewouldcontaintheseedandthefamily’sfood,aswell,whiletheywereoutonthelands.Thewomenwouldmakeporridgeandif theboyswere lucky theymightcatchsomething for thepot—aguinea fowlwouldmakeadeliciousstewforthewholefamily.

MmaRamotswesawthecartandthefamilyretreatingintherearviewmirror,as if theyweregoingback into thepast, getting smaller and smaller.Onedaypeoplewouldnolongerdothis;theywouldnolongergoouttothelandsfortheplanting, and theywould buy their food in stores, as people did in town.Butwhat a loss for the country thatwouldbe;what friendship, and solidarity, andfeelingforthelandwouldbesacrificedifthatweretohappen.Shehadgoneoutto the landsasagirl, travellingwithheraunts,andhadstayed therewhile theboys had been sent to the cattle posts, where they would live for months inalmostcompleteisolation,supervisedbyafewoldmen.Shehadlovedthetime

atthelands,andhadnotbeenbored.Theyhadswepttheyardsandwovengrass;they had weeded the melon patches and told one another long stories aboutevents that never happened, but could happen, perhaps, in another Botswana,somewhereelse.

And then, when it had rained, they had cowered in the huts and heard thethunder roll above the land and smelled the lightningwhen it came too close,thatacridsmellofburnedair.Whentherainshadletup,theyhadgoneoutsideand waited for the flying ants, which would emerge from their holes in themoistened ground and which could be picked up before they took flight, orpluckedfromtheairastheybegantheirjourney,andeatenthereandthen,forthetasteofbutter.

ShepassedPilane,andglanceddowntheroadtoMochudi,toherright.Thiswasagoodplaceforher,andabadonetoo.Itwasagoodplace,becauseitwasthe village of her girlhood; a bad place because right there, not far from theturnoff,wastheplacewhereapathcrossedtherailroadandhermotherhaddiedon that awful night, when the train had struck her. And although PreciousRamotswewasonlyababy,thathadbeentheshadowacrossherlife;themotherwhomshecouldnotremember.

Now she was getting close to her destination. She had been given exactdirections,andthegatewasthere,inthecattlefence,exactlywhereshehadbeentolditwouldbe.Shedrewofftheroadandgotouttodealwiththegate.Then,setting off on the dirt track that led west, she made her way to the smallcompound of houses that she could see about a mile or so distant, tuckedamongstacoverofbushandoverlookedbythetowerofametalwindmill.Thiswasasubstantialfarm,thoughtMmaRamotswe,andshefeltamomentarypang.ObedRamotswewouldhavelovedtohavehadaplacelikethis,butalthoughhehad donewellwith his cattle, he had never been quite rich enough to have alargefarmofthistype.Thiswouldbesixthousandacres,atleast;maybemore.

Thefarmcompoundwasdominatedbyalarge,ramblinghouse,toppedbyared tin roof and surrounded on all sides by shady verandahs. This was theoriginal farmhouse, and it had been encircled, over the years, by furtherbuildings,twoofwhichwerehousesthemselves.Thefarmhousewasframedoneither side by a luxuriant growth of purple-flowered bougainvillaea, and therewere paw-paw trees behind it and to one side. An effort had been made to

provide asmuch shade as possible—for not far to thewest, perhaps just a bitfarther than the eye could see, the land changed and theKalahari began. Buthere,still,therewaswater,andthebushwasgoodforcattle.Indeed,nottoofartotheeast,theLimpopobegan,notmuchofariveratthatpoint,butcapableofflowingintherainyseason.

Therewasatruckparkedupagainstanoutbuilding,andMmaRamotsweleftthetinywhitevanthere.Therewasanenticingplaceundertheshadeofoneofthelargesttrees,butitwouldhavebeenrudeofMmaRamotswetochoosesuchaspot,whichwouldbelikelytobetheparkingplaceofaseniormemberofthefamily.

Shelefthersuitcaseonthepassengerseatbesideherandwalkedtowardsthegatethatgaveaccesstothefrontyardofthemainhouse.Shecalledout;itwouldhavebeendiscourteoustobargeinwithoutaninvitation.Therewasnoreply,andso she called out again. This time, a door opened and amiddle-aged womancameout,dryingherhandsonherapron.ShegreetedMmaRamotswepolitelyandinvitedhertocomeintothehouse.

“Sheisexpectingyou,”shesaid.“Iamtheseniormaidhere.Ilookaftertheoldwoman.Shehasbeenwaitingforyou.”

It was cool under the eaves of the verandah, and even cooler in the diminterior of the house. It tookMmaRamotswe’s eyes amoment or two to getaccustomedtothechangeinlight,andatfirstthereseemedtobemoreshadowsthatshapes;butthenshesawthestraight-backedchaironwhichtheoldwomanwassitting,andthetablebesideherwiththejugofwaterandtheteapot.

They exchanged greetings, andMmaRamotswe curtsied to the oldwoman.Thispleasedherhostess,whosawthatherewasawomanwhounderstoodtheoldways,unlikethosecheekymodernwomenfromGaboronewhothoughttheykneweverythingandpaidnoattentiontotheelders.Ha!Theythoughttheywereclever;theythoughttheywerethisandthat,doingmen’sjobsandbehavinglikefemaledogswhenitcametomen.Ha!Butnothere,out in thecountry,wheretheoldwaysstillcountedforsomething;andcertainlynotinthishouse.

“Youareverykind tohaveme tostayhere,Mma.Yourson isagoodman,too.”

Theoldwomansmiled.“No,Mma.That isall right. Iamsorry tohear thatyouarehaving troubles inyour life.These troubles thatseembig,big in townaresmalltroubleswhenyouareouthere.Whatmattersouthere?Therain.Thegrassforthecattle.Noneofthethingsthatpeoplearefrettingoverintown.Theymeannothingwhenyouareouthere.You’llsee.”

“Itisaniceplace,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Itisverypeaceful.”

The old woman looked thoughtful. “Yes, it is peaceful. It has always beenpeaceful,andIwouldnotwantthattochange.”ShepouredoutaglassofwaterandpassedittoMmaRamotswe.

“Youshoulddrinkthat,Mma.Youmustbeverythirstyafteryourjourney.”

MmaRamotswetooktheglass,thankedher,andputittoherlips.Asshedidso,theoldwomanwatchedhercarefully.

“Where are you from, Mma?” she said. “Have you always lived inGaborone?”

MmaRamotswewasnotsurprisedbythequestion.Thiswasapolitewayoffindingoutwhereallegiances lay.Therewereeightmain tribes inBotswana—andsomesmallerones—andalthoughmostyoungerpeopledidnotthinkthesethings should be too important, for the older generation they counted a greatdeal.Thiswoman,withherhighstatus in tribalsociety,wouldbe interested inthesematters.

“IamfromMochudi,”shesaid.“ThatiswhereIwasborn.”

The old woman seemed visibly to relax. “Ah! So you are Kgatla, like us.Whichwarddidyoulivein?”

MmaRamotsweexplainedherorigins,andtheoldwomannodded.Sheknewthatheadman,yes,andsheknewhiscousin,whowasmarried toherbrother’swife’ssister.Yes,shethoughtthatshehadmetObedRamotswealongtimeago,and then,dredging intomemory,shesaid,“Yourmother is late, isn’t she?Shewastheonewhowaskilledbyatrainwhenyouwereababy.”

Mma Ramotswe was mildly surprised, but not astonished, that she should

knowthis.Therewerepeoplewhomadeittheirbusinesstoremembertheaffairsof the community, and this was obviously one. Today they called them oralhistorians,shebelieved;whereas inreality, theywereoldwomenwholiked torememberthethingsthatinterestedthemmost:marriages,deaths,children.Oldmenrememberedcattle.

Theirconversationwenton,theoldwomanslowlyandsubtlyextractingfromMmaRamotswethefullstoryofherlife.ShetoldheraboutNoteMokoti,andtheoldwomanshookherheadinsympathy,butsaidthatthereweremanymenlikethatandthatwomenshouldlookoutforthem.

“Myfamilychosemyhusbandforme,”shesaid.“Theystartednegotiations,althoughtheywouldnothavepressedthematter ifIhadsaidthatIdidn’t likehim.Buttheydidthechoosingandtheyknewwhatsortofmanwouldbegoodforme.And theywere right.My husband is a very fine husband, and I havegiven him three sons. There is one who is very interested in counting cattle,whichishishobby;heisaverycleverman,inhisway.Thenthereistheoneyouknow,Mma,whoisaverybigmanintheGovernment,andthenthereistheonewholiveshere.Heisaverygoodfarmerandhaswonprizesforhisbulls.Theyareallfinemen.Iamproud.”

“And have you been happy, Mma?” asked Mma Ramotswe. “Would youchange your life at all if somebody came and said: here is somemedicine tochangeyourlife.Wouldyoudoit?”

“Never,”saidtheoldwoman.“Never.Never.Godhasgivenmeeverythingapersoncouldaskfor.Agoodhusband.Threestrongsons.Stronglegsthateventodaycantakemewalkingfive,sixmileswithoutanycomplaint.Andyouseehere, look. All my teeth are still in my head. Seventy-six years and no teethgone.My husband is the same. Our teeth will last until we are one hundred.Maybelonger.”

“Thatisverylucky,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Everythingisverygoodforyou.”

“Almosteverything,”saidtheoldwoman.

MmaRamotswewaited.Was she due to say somethingmore? Perhaps shemight reveal something she had seenher daughter-in-lawdo.Perhaps she had

seenherpreparingthepoison,orhadwordofitsomehow,butallshesaidwas:“When the rainscome, I find thatmyarmsache in thewetair.Here, and justhere.Fortwomonths,threemonths,Ihaveverysorearmsthatmakeitdifficulttodoanysewing.Ihavetriedeverymedicine,butnothingworks.SoIthink,ifthisisallthatGodhassentmetocarryinthislife,thenIamstillaveryluckywoman.”

THEMAIDwhohadshownMmaRamotswe inwassummoned to takeher toher room,whichwasat thebackof thehouse. Itwassimplyfurnished,withapatchwork bedcover and a framed picture ofMochudiHill on thewall. Therewasatable,withacrochetedwhitedoily,andasmallchestofdrawersinwhichclothescouldbestored.

“Thereisnocurtaininthisroom,”saidthemaid.“Butnobodyevergoespastthiswindowandyouwillbeprivatehere,Mma.”

She left Mma Ramotswe to unpack her clothes. There would be lunch attwelveo’clock,themaidexplained,anduntilthensheshouldentertainherself.

“There is nothing todohere,” said themaid, adding,wistfully, “This is notGaborone,youknow.”

Themaidstartedtoleave,butMmaRamotsweprolongedtheconversation.Inher experience, the best way of getting somebody to talk was to get them tospeakaboutthemselves.Thismaidwouldhaveviews,shefelt;shewasclearlynotastupidwoman,andshespokegood,well-enunciatedSetswana.

“Who else lives here,Mma?” she asked. “Are there other members of thefamily?”

“Yes,”saidthemaid.“Thereareotherpeople.Thereistheirsonandhiswife.They have three sons, you see. Onewho has got a very small head andwhocountscattleallday,allthetime.Heisalwaysoutatthecattlepostandhenevercomeshere.He is likeasmallboy,yousee,and that iswhyhestayswith the

herdboysoutthere.Theytreathimlikeoneofthem,althoughheisagrownman.Thatisone.ThenthereistheoneinGaborone,whereheisveryimportant,andtheonehere.Thosearethesons.”

“Andwhatdoyouthinkofthosesons,Mma?”

Itwasadirectquestionandprobablyposedprematurely,whichwasrisky;thewomancouldbecomesuspiciousatsuchprying.Butshedidnot;insteadshesatdownonthebed.

“Letmetellyou,Mma,”shebegan.“Thatsonwhoisoutatthecattlepostisaverysadman.Butyoushouldhearthewaythathismothertalksabouthim.Shesaysheisclever!Clever!Him!Heisalittleboy,Mma.Itisnothisfault,butthatiswhatheis.Thecattlepost is thebestplaceforhim,but theyshouldnotsaythatheisclever.Thatisjustalie,Mma.Itislikesayingthatthereisraininthedryseason.Thereisn’t.”

“No,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Thatistrue.”

Themaidbarelyacknowledgedherinterventionbeforecontinuing.“AndthenthatoneinGaborone;whenhecomesoutherehemakestroubleforeverybody.He asks us all sorts of questions.Hepokes his nose into everything.He evenshoutsathisfather,wouldyoubelieveit?Butthenthemothershoutsathimandputshiminhisplace.HemaybeabigmaninGaborone,buthereheisjustthesonandheshouldnotshoutathiselders.”

MmaRamotswewasdelighted.Thiswasexactlythesortofmaidshelikedtointerview.

“Youareright,Mma,”shesaid.“Therearetoomanypeopleshoutingatotherpeoplethesedays.Shout.Shout.Youhearitallthetime.Butwhydoyouthinkheshouts?Isitjusttoclearhisvoice?”

Themaid laughed. “Hehasabigvoice, thatone!No,he shoutsbecausehesaysthatthereissomethingwronginthisplace.Hesaysthatthingsarenotbeingdoneproperly.Andthenhesays…”Sheloweredhervoice.“Andthenhesaysthatthewifeofhisbrotherisabadwoman.Hesaidthattothefather,insomanywords. I heard him. People think thatmaids don’t hear, butwe have ears the

sameasanybody.Iheardhimsaythat.Hesaidwickedthingsabouther.”

MmaRamotsweraisedaneyebrow.“Wickedthings?”

“He says that she is sleepingwith othermen.He says thatwhen they havetheirfirstbornitwillnotbeofthishouse.Hesaysthattheirsonswillbelongtoothermenanddifferentbloodwillgetthisfarm.That’swhathesays.”

Mma Ramotswe was silent. She looked out of her window. There wasbougainvillaeadirectlyoutside,anditsshadowwaspurple.Beyondit, the topsofthethorntrees,stretchingouttothelowhillsonthehorizon;alonelyland,atthebeginningoftheemptiness.

“Anddoyouthinkthat’strue,Mma?Isthereanytruthinwhathesaysaboutthatwoman?”

Themaidcrumpledupherfeatures.“Truth,Mma?Truth?Thatmandoesnotknowwhattruthmeans.Ofcourseitisnottrue.Thatwomanisagoodwoman.She is the cousin of my mother’s cousin. All the family, all of them, areChristians.Theyread theBible.TheyfollowtheLord.Theydonotsleepwithothermen.Thatisonethingwhichistrue.”

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

THECHIEFJUSTICEOFBEAUTY

MMA MAKUTSI, Acting Manager of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors andassistantdetectiveattheNo.1Ladies’DetectiveAgency,wenttoworkthatdayinsometrepidation.Althoughshewelcomedresponsibilityandhaddelightedinher two promotions, she had nonetheless always had Mma Ramotswe in thebackground,apresencetowhomshecouldturnifshefoundherselfoutofherdepth. Now, with Mma Ramotswe away, she realised that she was solelyresponsiblefortwobusinessesandtwoemployees.EvenifMmaRamotswewasplanningtobenomorethanfourorfivedaysonthefarm,thatwaslongenoughfor things to gowrong and, sinceMmaRamotswe could not be contacted bytelephone,MmaMakutsiwouldhavetohandleeverything.Asfarasthegaragewasconcerned,sheknewthatMrJ.L.B.Matekoniwasnowbeinglookedafteratthe orphan farm and that she should not attempt to contact him until he wasbetter.Restandacompletebreakfromtheworriesofworkhadbeenadvisedbythedoctor,andMmaPotokwane,notaccustomedtocontradictingdoctors,wouldbefiercelyprotectiveofherpatient.

MmaMakutsisecretlyhopedthattheagencywouldgetnoclientsuntilMmaRamotswecameback.Thiswasnotbecauseshedidnotwanttoworkonacase—she certainly did—but she did not wish to be solely and completelyresponsible.But,ofcourse,aclientdidcomein,and,whatwasworse,itwasaclientwithaproblemthatrequiredimmediateattention.

Mma Makutsi was sitting at Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s desk, preparing garagebills,whenoneoftheapprenticesputhisheadroundthedoor.

“Thereisaverysmart-lookingmanwantingtoseeyou,Mma,”heannounced,wipinghisgreasyhandsonhisoveralls.“Ihaveopenedtheagencydoorandtoldhimtowait.”

MmaMakutsifrownedattheapprentice.“Smart-looking?”

“Big suit,” said the apprentice. “Youknow.Handsome, same asmebut notquite.Shinyshoes.Averysmartman.Youwatchyourself,Mma.Menlikethattrytocharmladieslikeyou.Youjustsee.”

“Don’twipeyourhandsonyouroveralls,”snappedMmaMakutsi,assherosefromherchair.“Wepayforthelaundering.Youdon’t.Wegiveyoucottonwastetouse for thatpurpose.That iswhat it’s for.HasMrJ.L.B.Matekoninot toldyouthat?”

“Maybe,”saidtheapprentice.“Maybenot.Thebosssaidlotsofthingstous.Wecan’tremembereverythinghesays.”

MmaMakutsibrushedpasthimonherwayout.Theseboysare impossible,she thought, but at least they were proving to be harder workers than sheexpected.PerhapsMrJ.L.B.Matekonihadbeentoosoftontheminthepast;hewassuchakindmananditwasnotinhisnaturetocriticisepeopleunduly.Well,it was in her nature at least. She was a graduate of the Botswana SecretarialCollege,andtheCollegeteachershadalwayssaid:Donotbeafraidtocriticize—inaconstructiveway,ofcourse—yourownperformanceand,ifnecessary,theperformanceofothers.Well,MmaMakutsihadcriticised,andithadbornefruit.Thegaragewasdoingwell and there seemed tobemoreandmoreworkeachday.

Shepausedat thedoorof the agency, just round the cornerof thebuilding,and looked at the car parked under the tree behind her. Thisman—this smartman,astheapprenticehaddescribedhim—certainlydroveanattractivecar.Sheran her eye for amoment over the smooth lines of the vehicle and its doubleaerials,frontandback.Whywouldsomebodyneedsomanyaerials?Itwouldbeimpossibletolistentomorethanoneradiostationatatime,ormakemorethanone telephone callwhile driving.Butwhatever the explanation, they certainlyaddedtotheairofglamourandimportancewhichsurroundedthecar.

Shepushedthedooropen.Inside,seatedinthechairfacingMmaRamotswe’sdesk,kneescrossedinrelaxedelegance,wasMrMoemedi“TwoShots”Pulani,immediately recognisable to any reader of the Botswana Daily News, acrosswhosecolumnshishandsome,self-assuredfacehadsooftenbeenprinted.Mma

Makutsi’s immediate thought was that the apprentice should have recognisedhim, and she felt momentarily annoyed at his failure to do so, but then shereminded herself that the apprentice was an apprentice mechanic and not anapprentice detective, and, furthermore, she had never seen the apprenticesreading the newspapers anyway. They read a South African motorcyclemagazine,whichtheyporedoverinfascination,andapublicationcalledFancyGirls which they attempted to hide from Mma Makutsi whenever she cameacross thempeering at it during their lunchhour.So therewasno reason, sherealised, for them to knowaboutMrPulani, his fashion empire, andhiswell-knownworkforlocalcharities.

MrPulanirosetohisfeetassheenteredandgreetedherpolitely.Theyshookhands, and then Mma Makutsi walked round the desk and sat in MmaRamotswe’schair.

“Iamgladthatyoucouldseemewithoutanappointment,MmaRamotswe,”saidMrPulani,takingasilvercigarettecaseoutofhisbreastpocket.

“IamnotMmaRamotswe,Rra,”shesaid,declininghisofferofacigarette.“IamtheAssistantManageroftheagency.”Shepaused.ItwasnotstrictlytruethatshewastheAssistantManageroftheagency;infact,itwasquiteuntrue.Butshewas certainly managing it in Mma Ramotswe’s absence, and so perhaps thedescriptionwasjustified.

“Ah,”saidMrPulani,lightinghiscigarettewithalargegoldplatedlighter.“IwouldliketospeaktoMmaRamotsweherself,please.”

MmaMakutsiflinchedasthecloudofsmokedriftedoverthetabletoher.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That will not be possible for some days. MmaRamotsweisinvestigatingaveryimportantcaseabroad.”Shepausedagain.Theexaggeration had come so easily, and without any thought. It sounded moreimpressive that Mma Ramotswe should be abroad—it gave the agency aninternationalfeel—butsheshouldnothavesaidit.

“Isee,”saidMrPulani.“Well,Mma,inthatcaseIshallspeaktoyou.”

“Iamlistening,Rra.”

MrPulani leanedback inhis seat. “This isveryurgent.Willyoubeable tolookintosomethingtoday,straightaway?”

MmaMakutsitookadeepbreathbeforethenextcloudofsmokeengulfedher.

“Weareatyourdisposal,”shesaid.“Ofcourse,itismoreexpensivetohandlethingsurgently.You’llunderstandthat,Rra.”

Hebrushedherwarningaside.“Expenseisnottheissue,”hesaid.“WhatisatissueisthewholefutureoftheMissBeautyandIntegritycontest.”

Hepausedfortheeffectofhiswordstobefelt.MmaMakutsiobliged.

“Oh!Thatisaveryseriousmatter.”

MrPulaninodded.“Indeedit is,Mma.Andwehavethreedaystodealwiththisissue.Justthreedays.”

“Tellmeaboutit,Rra.Iamreadytolisten.”

“THEREISaninterestingbackgroundtothis,Mma,”beganMrPulani.“Ithinkthatthestorybeginsalongtimeago,alongtime.Infact,thestorybeginsintheGardenofEden,whenGodmadeAdamandEve.YouwillrememberthatEvetemptedAdambecauseshewassobeautiful.Andwomenhavecontinuedtobebeautifulintheeyesofmensincethattime,andtheystillare,asyouknow.

“Now, themen of Botswana like pretty ladies. They are always looking atthem,evenwhentheyareelders,andthinkingthatisaprettywoman,orthatthiswomanisprettierthanthatwoman,andsoon.”

“Theyarelikethatwithcattle,too,”interjectedMmaMakutsi.“Theysaythiscowisagoodcowandthisoneisnotsogood.Cattle.Women.It’sallthesametomen.”

MrPulanicastherasidewaysglance.“Maybe.Thatisonewayoflookingat

it.Perhaps.”Hepausedbrieflybeforecontinuing.“Anyway,itisthisinterestofmen in pretty ladies that makes beauty competitions so popular here inBotswana.WeliketofindthemostbeautifulladiesinBotswanaandgivethemtitlesandprizes.Itisaveryimportantformofentertainmentformen.AndIamonesuchman,Mma.Ihavebeeninvolvedinthebeautyqueenworldforfifteenyears, nonstop. I am maybe the most important person in the beauty side ofthings.”

“Ihaveseenyourpictureinthepapers,Rra,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Ihaveseenyoupresentingprizes.”

MrPulaninodded.“IstartedtheMissGlamorousBotswanacompetitionfiveyearsago,andnowitisthetopone.TheladywhowinsourcompetitionalwaysgetsintotheMissBotswanacompetitionandsometimesintotheMissUniversecompetition.WehavesentladiestoNewYorkandPalmSprings;theyhavebeengiven high marks for beauty. Some say that they are our best export afterdiamonds.”

“Andcattle,”addedMmaMakutsi.

“Yes, and cattle,” Mr Pulani agreed. “But there are some people who arealwayssnipingatus.Theywritetothenewspapersandtellusthatitiswrongtoencourageladiestodressupandwalkinfrontofalotofmenlikethat.Theysaythatitencouragesfalsevalues.Pah!Falsevalues?Thesepeoplewhowritetheselettersarejustjealous.Theyareenviousofthebeautyofthesegirls.Theyknowthattheywouldneverbeabletoenteracompetitionlikethat.Sotheycomplainandcomplainandtheyareveryhappywhensomethinggoeswrongforabeautycompetition. They forget, by the way, that these competitions raise a lot ofmoneyforcharity.Lastyear,Mma,weraisedfivethousandpulaforthehospital,twenty thousand pula for drought relief—twenty thousand,Mma—and almosteight thousandpula foranursingscholarship fund.Thosearebigsums,Mma.Howmuch money have our critics raised? I can tell you the answer to that.Nothing.

“But we have to be careful.We get a lot of money from sponsors, and ifsponsorswithdraw,thenweareintrouble.Soifsomethinggoeswrongforourcompetition,thenthesponsorsmaysaythattheydonotwanttohaveanythingmore todowithus.Theysay that theydonotwant tobeembarrassedbybad

publicity.Theysaythattheyarepayingforgoodpublicity,notforbad.”

“Andhassomethinggonewrong?”

MrPulani tappedhis fingerson thedesk. “Yes.Someverybad thingshavehappened.Lastyear,twoofourbeautyqueenswerefoundtobebadgirls.Onewasarrestedforprostitutioninoneofthebighotels.Thatwasnotgood.Anotherwas shown to have obtained goods under false pretences and to have used acredit card without authorisation. There were letters in the paper. There wasmuchcrowing.Theysaidthingslike:ArethesegirlstherightsortofgirlstobeambassadorsforBotswana?Whynotgostraighttotheprisonandpicksomeofthewomenprisonersandmakethembeautyqueens?Theythoughtthatwasveryfunny, but it was not. Some of the companies saw this and said that if thishappenedagain,theywouldwithdrawsponsorship.Ihadfourletters,allsayingthesamething.

“SoIdecidedthatthisyearthethemeofourcompetitionwouldbeBeautyandIntegrity. I told our people thatwemust choose beauty queenswho are goodcitizens,whowillnot embarrassus in thisway. It is theonlyway thatwearegoingtokeepoursponsorshappy.

“So for the first round, all the ladieshad to fill in a formwhich I designedmyself.Thisaskedallsortsofquestionsabouttheirviews.Itaskedthingslike:Wouldyouliketoworkforcharity?Thenitasked:WhatarethevalueswhichagoodcitizenofBotswanashoulduphold?And:Isitbettertogivethanreceive?

“All thegirlsfilledin thesequestions,andonlythosewhoshowedthat theyunderstoodthemeaningofgoodcitizenshipwereallowedtogoontothefinals.Fromthesegirlswemadeashortlistoffive.Iwenttothepapersandtoldthemthatwehadfoundfiveverygoodcitizenswhobelievedinthebestvalues.TherewasanarticleintheBotswanaDailyNewswhichsaid:Goodgirlsseekbeautytitle.

“Iwasveryhappy,andtherewassilencefromourcritics,whohadtositontheir hands because they could not come out and criticise these ladies whowantedtobegoodcitizens.Thesponsorstelephonedmeandsaidthattheywerecontent tobeidentifiedwiththevaluesofgoodcitizenshipandthat ifallwentwell they would continue to provide their sponsorship next year. And the

charitiesthemselvessaidtomethatthiswasthewayofthefuture.”

MrPulanipaused.HelookedatMmaMakutsi,andforamomenthisurbanemannerdesertedhimandhelookedcrestfallen.“Then,yesterdayIheardthebadnews.Oneofourshort-listedgirlswasarrestedbythepoliceandchargedwithshoplifting.Iheardaboutit throughoneofmyemployeesandwhenIcheckedwithafriendwhoisaninspectorofpolice,hesaidthatitwastrue.ThisgirlhadbeenfoundshopliftingintheGamestore.Shetriedtostealalargecookingpotby slipping it under her blouse. But she did not notice that the handle wasstickingoutofthesideandthestoredetectivestoppedher.Fortunatelyithasnotgot into the newspapers, andwith any luck it will not, at least until the casecomesupintheMagistrate’sCourt.”

MmaMakutsifeltapangofsympathyforMrPulani.Inspiteofhisflashiness,therewasnodoubt thathedidagreatdeal forcharity.Thefashionworldwasinevitably flashy,andhewasprobablynoworse thananyof theothers,butatleasthewasdoinghisbestforpeopleintrouble.Andbeautycompetitionswerea fact of life,which you could notwish out of existence. If hewas trying tomakehiscompetitionmoreacceptable,thenhedeservedsupport.

“Iamsorrytohearthat,Rra,”shesaid.“Thatmusthavebeenverybadnewsforyou.”

“Yes,” he said,miserably. “And it ismademuchworse by the fact that thefinalsareinthreedays.Therearenowonlyfourgirlsonthelist,buthowdoIknow that theyarenotgoing toembarrassme?Thatonemusthave liedwhenshefilledinherquestionnaireandmadeoutthatshewasagoodcitizen.HowdoIknowthattherestofthemaren’tlyingwhentheysaythattheywouldliketodothingsforcharity?HowdoIknowthat?Andifwechooseagirlwhoisaliar,thenshemaywellprovetobeathieforwhatever.Andthatmeansthatweareboundtofaceembarrassmentonceshegetsgoing.”

MmaMakutsinodded.“Itisverydifficult.Youreallyneedtobeabletolookintotheheartsoftheremainingfour.Ifthereisagoodonethere…”

“Ifthereissuchalady,”saidMrPulaniforcefully,“thenshewillwin.Icanarrangeforhertowin.”

“Butwhatabouttheotherjudges?”askedMmaMakutsi.

“I am the chief judge,” he said. “You might call me the Chief Justice ofBeauty.Myvoteistheonethatcounts.”

“Isee.”

“Yes.Thatisthewayitworks.”

MrPulanistubbedouthiscigaretteonthesoleofhisshoe.“Soyousee,Mma.That iswhat Iwantyou todo. Iwillgiveyou thenamesandaddressesof thefourladies.Iwouldlikeyoutofindoutifthereisonereallygoodladythere.Ifyoucan’tfindthat,thenatleasttellmewhichisthemosthonestofthelot.Thatwouldbesecondbest.”

MmaMakutsi laughed. “How can I look into the hearts of these girls thatquickly?” she asked. “Iwould have to talk tomany,many people to find outaboutthem.Itcouldtakeweeks.”

MrPulani shrugged. “Youhaven’t gotweeks,Mma.You’vegot threedays.Youdidsaythatyoucouldhelpme.”

“Yes,but…”

MrPulanireachedintoapocketandtookoutapieceofpaper.“Thisisalistofthefournames.Ihavewrittentheaddressofeachladyafterhername.Theyalllive in Gaborone.” He slipped the piece of paper across the desk and thenextracted a thin leather folder from another pocket. As he opened it, MmaMakutsi saw that it containedachequebook.Heopened itandbegan towrite.“Andhere,Mma,isachequefortwothousandpula,madepayabletotheNo.1Ladies’ Detective Agency. There. It’s postdated. If you can give me theinformationIneedthedayaftertomorrow,youcanpresentthisatthebankthenextday.”

MmaMakutsistaredatthecheque.SheimaginedhowitwouldfeeltobeabletosaytoMmaRamotswewhenshereturned,“Iearnedtheagencytwothousandpula in fees, Mma, already paid.” She knew that Mma Ramotswe was not agreedywoman,butshealsoknewthatsheworriedaboutthefinancialviabilityoftheagency.Afeeofthatsizewouldhelpagreatdeal,andwouldbeareward,

thoughtMmaMakutsi, for the confidence thatMmaRamotswe had shown inher.

Sheslippedthechequeintoadrawer.Asshedidso,shesawMrPulanirelax.

“Iamcountingonyou,Mma,”hesaid.“Everything that IhaveheardabouttheNo.1Ladies’DetectiveAgencyhasbeengood.IhopethatIshallseethatformyself.”

“Ihopesotoo,Rra,”saidMmaMakutsi.Butshewasalreadyfeelingdoubtfulabouthowshecouldpossiblyfindoutwhichofthefourshort-listedladieswerehonest.Itseemedanimpossibletask.

She escortedMr Pulani to the door, noticing for the first time that he waswearingwhiteshoes.Sheobserved,too,hislargegoldcufflinksandhistiewithitssheenofsilk.Shewouldnot like tohaveamanlike that,she thought.Onewouldhave tospendallone’s timeatabeautyparlour inorder tokeepup theappearancehewouldnodoubtexpect.Ofcourse, reflectedMmaMakutsi, thatwouldsuitsomeladiesperfectlywell.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

GODDECIDEDTHATBOTSWANAWOULDBEADRYPLACE

THEMAIDhadsaidthatthemiddaymealwouldbeatoneo’clock,whichwasseveralhoursaway.MmaRamotswedecidedthatthebestwayofspendingthistimewouldbetofamiliariseherselfwithhersurroundings.Shelikedfarms—asmostBatswanadid—becausetheyremindedherofherchildhoodandofthetruevaluesofherpeople.They shared the landwith cattle, andwithbirds and themanyothercreaturesthatcouldbeseenifoneonlywatched.Itwaseasyperhapsnottothinkaboutthisinthetown,wheretherewasfoodtobehadfromshopsandwhererunningwatercamefromtaps,butformanypeoplethiswasnothowlifewas.

Afterher revealingconversationwith themaid, she lefther roomandmadeher way out of the front door. The sunwas hot overhead, and shadowswereshort.To theeast,over the low,distanthills,blueunder theirheathaze,heavyraincloudswerebuildingup.Therecouldberainlateronifthecloudsbuiltupfurther,oratleasttherewouldberainforsomebody,outthere,alongtheborder.Itlookedasiftherainswouldbegoodthisyear,whichiswhateverybodywaspraying for. Good rains meant full stomachs; drought meant thin cattle andwiltedcrops.Theyhadexperiencedabaddroughta fewyearspreviously, andtheGovernment,itsheartheavy,hadinstructedpeopletostartslaughteringtheircattle.Thatwastheworstthingforanybodytohavetodo,andthesufferinghadcutdeep.

MmaRamotswe looked about her. Therewas a paddock some distance off,andcattlewerecrowdedaroundadrinkingtrough.Apiperanfromthecreakingwindmill and its concrete storage tank over the surface of the ground to thetroughandthethirstycattle.MmaRamotswedecidedthatshewouldgoandtake

alookat thecattle.Shewas,afterall, thedaughterofObedRamotswe,whoseeyeforcattlewassaidbymanytohavebeenoneofthebestinBotswana.Shecouldtellagoodbeastwhenshesawone,andsometimes,whenshedrovepastaparticularlyhandsomespecimenontheroad,shewouldthinkofwhattheDaddywouldhavesaidaboutit.Goodshoulders,perhaps;or,thatisagoodcow;lookat thewayshe iswalking;or, thatbull isall talk, Idonot think thathewouldmakemanycalves.

Thisfarmwouldhavealargenumberofcattle,perhapsfiveorsixthousand.Formost people, that was riches beyond dreaming; ten or twenty cattle werequiteenoughtomakeonefeelthatonehadatleastsomewealth,andshewouldbehappywith that.ObedRamotswehadbuiltuphisherdby judiciousbuyingandsellingandhadendedupwithtwothousandcattleat theendofhis life.Itwas this thathadprovidedherwithher legacyandwith themeans tobuy thehouseinZebraDriveandstarttheagency.Andtherewerecattleleftover,somewhichshehaddecidednottosellandwhichwerelookedafterbyherdboysatadistantcattlepostwhichacousinvisitedforher.Thereweresixtyofthem,shethought;all finedescendantsof the lumberingBrahmanbullswhichher fatherhad so painstakingly selected and bred. One day she would go out there,travellingon theox-wagon, and see them; itwouldbe an emotional occasion,because theywerea linkwith theDaddyandshewouldmisshimacutely,sheknew,and shewouldprobablyweepand theywouldwonderwhy thiswomanstillweptforherfatherwhohaddiedlongagonow.

We still have tears to shed, she thought. We still have to weep for thosemorningswhenwewentoutearlyandwatchedthecowsamblealongthecattlepathsandthebirdsflyinghighinthethermalcurrents.

“Whatareyouthinkingof,Mma?”

She lookedup.Amanhadappearedbesideher, a stockwhip inhishand,abatteredhatonhishead.

MmaRamotswegreetedhim.“Iamthinkingofmylatefather,”shesaid.“Hewouldhavelikedtoseethesecattlehere.Doyoulookafterthem,Rra?Theyarefinebeasts.”

He smiled in appreciation. “I have looked after these cattle all their lives.

Theyarelikemychildren.Ihavetwohundredchildren,Mma.Allcattle.”

MmaRamotswelaughed.“Youmustbeabusyman,Rra.”

Henodded,andtookasmallpaperpacketoutofhispocket.HeofferedMmaRamotsweapieceofdriedbeef,whichsheaccepted.

“Youarestayingatthehouse?”heasked.“Theyoftenhavepeoplecominguphereandstaying.SometimesthesonwhoisinGaboronebringshisfriendsfromtheGovernment.Ihaveseenthemwithmyowneyes.Thosepeople.”

“Heisverybusythatone,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Doyouknowhimwell?”

“Yes,”saidtheman,chewingonapieceofbeef.“Hecomesouthereandtellsuswhattodo.Heworriesaboutthecattleallthetime.Hesaysthisoneissick,thatoneislame.Whereisthatotherone?Allthetime.Thenhegoesawayandthingsgetbacktonormal.”

Mma Ramotswe frowned sympathetically. “That cannot be easy for hisbrother,theotherone,canit?”

Thecattlemanopenedhiseyeswide.“Hestandstherelikeadogandletshisbrothershoutathim.Heisagoodfarmer,thatyoungerone,butthefirstbornstillthinksthatheistheonewhoisrunningthisfarm.Butweknowthattheirfatherhadspokentothechiefandithadbeenagreedthattheyoungeronewouldgetmost of the cattle and the older one could have money. That is what wasdecided.”

“Buttheolderonedoesn’tlikeit?”

“No,”saidthecattleman.“AndIsupposeIcanseehowhefeels.Buthehasdone very well in Gaborone and he has another life. The younger one is thefarmer.Heknowscattle.”

“Andwhataboutthethirdone?”askedMmaRamotswe.“Theonewhoisoutthatway?”ShepointedtowardstheKalahari.

The cattleman laughed. “He is just a boy. It is very sad.There is air in hishead,theysay.Itisbecauseofsomethingthatthemotherdidwhenhewasinher

womb.Thatishowthesethingshappen.”

“Oh?” said Mma Ramotswe. “What did she do?” She knew of the beliefwhichpeopleinthecountryhadthatahandicappedchildwastheresultofsomebad act on the parents’ part. If a woman had an affair with anotherman, forexample, then thatcould lead to thebirthofasimpleton. Ifamanrejectedhiswifeandwentoffwithanotherwomanwhileshewasexpectinghischild,that,too,couldleadtodisasterforthebaby.

The cattleman lowered his voice.Butwhowas there to hear, thoughtMmaRamotswe,butthecattleandthebirds?

“Sheistheonetowatch,”saidtheman.“Sheistheone.Theoldwoman.Sheisawickedwoman.”

“Wicked?”

Henodded.“Watchher,”hesaid.“Watchhereyes.”

THEMAIDcame toherdoor shortlybefore twoo’clockand toldher that themealwasready.

“Theyareeatingintheporchonthatside,”shesaid,pointingtotheothersideofthehouse.

MmaRamotswethankedherandleftherroom.Theporchwasonthecoolersideof thehouse, shadedbyanawningofnettingandaprofusionofcreepersthathadbeentrainedacrossaroughwoodentrellis.Twotableshadbeendrawnupalongsideoneanotherandcoveredwithastarchedwhite tablecloth.Atoneend of the large table, several dishes of food had been placed in a circle:steamingpumpkin,abowlofmaizemeal,aplateofbeansandothergreens,andalargetureenofheavymeatstew.Thentherewasaloafofbreadandadishofbutter. Itwasgoodfood,of the typewhichonlyawealthyfamilycouldaffordeveryday.

Mma Ramotswe recognised the old woman, who was sitting slightly backfromthetable,asmallginghamclothspreadoverherlap,butothermembersofthe familywere there too:achildofabout twelve,ayoungwoman ina smartgreenskirtandawhiteblouse—thewife,MmaRamotsweassumed—andamanather side,dressed in longkhaki trousersanda short-sleevedkhaki shirt.Theman stood upwhenMmaRamotswe appeared and came out from behind thetabletowelcomeher.

“Youareourguest,”hesaid,smilingashespoke.“Youareverywelcomeinthishouse,Mma.”

Theoldwomannoddedather.“Thisismyson,”shesaid.“Hewaswiththecattlewhenyouarrived.”

Themanintroducedhertohiswife,whosmiledatherinafriendlyway.

“Itisveryhottoday,Mma,”saidtheyoungwoman.“Butitisgoingtorain,Ithink.Youhavebroughtusthisrain,Ithink.”

Itwasacompliment,andMmaRamotsweacknowledgedit.“Ihopeso,”shesaid.“Thelandisstillthirsty.”

“Itisalwaysthirsty,”saidthehusband.“GoddecidedthatBotswanawouldbeadryplacefordryanimals.Thatiswhathedecided.”

MmaRamotswe sat down between thewife and the oldwoman.While thewifestartedtoservethemeal,thehusbandpouredwaterintotheglasses.

“I saw you looking at the cattle,” said the oldwoman. “Do you like cattle,Mma?”

“WhatMotswanadoesnotlikecattle?”repliedMmaRamotswe.

“Perhapstherearesome,”saidtheoldwoman.“Perhapstherearesomewhodonotunderstandcattle.Idon’tknow.”

Sheturnedawayasshegaveheranswerandwasnowlookingoutthroughthetall, unglazed windows of the porch, out across the expanse of bush that ranawaytothehorizon.

“They tellme thatyouare fromMochudi,”said theyoungwoman,handingMmaRamotsweherplate.“Iamfromthere,too.”

“Thatwas some time ago,” saidMmaRamotswe. “I am inGaborone now.Likesomanypeople.”

“Like my brother,” said the husband. “You must know him well if he issendingyououthere.”

Therewasamomentofsilence.Theoldwomanturnedtolookatherson,wholookedawayfromher.

“Idonotknowhimwell,” saidMmaRamotswe.“Buthe invitedme to thishouseasafavour.Ihadhelpedhim.”

“Youareverywelcome,”saidtheoldwomanquickly.“Youareourguest.”

The last remarkwas aimed at her son, but hewas busywith his plate andaffectednot tonoticewhathismotherhad said.Thewife, though,hadcaughtMma Ramotswe’s eye when this exchange took place, and had then quicklylookedawayagain.

Theyate in silence.Theoldwomanhadherplateonher lap,andwasbusyexcavatingapileofmaizemealsoakedingravy.Sheplacedthemixtureinhermouthandchewedslowlyonit,herrheumyeyesfixedontheviewofthebushandthesky.Forherpart,thewifehadhelpedherselfonlytobeansandpumpkin,whichshepickedathalfheartedly.Lookingdownatherplate,MmaRamotswenoticed that she and the husbandwere the only peoplewhowere eating stew.Thechild,whohadbeenintroducedasacousinofthewife’s,waseatingathicksliceofbreadontowhichsyrupandgravyhadbeenladled.

MmaRamotswe lookedather food.She sankher fork into thepileof stewwhichnestledbetweenalargehelpingofpumpkinandasmallmoundofmaizemeal.Thestewwasthickandglutinous,andwhenshetookupherforkittrailedathintrailofglycerine-likesubstanceacrosstheplate.Butwhensheputtheforkinto her mouth, the food tasted normal, or almost normal. There was slightflavour,shethought,aflavourwhichshemighthavedescribedasmetallic,likethetasteoftheironpillswhichherdoctorhadoncegivenher,orperhapsbitter,

likethetasteofasplitlemonpip.

Shelookedatthewife,whosmiledather.

“Iamnotthecook,”theyoungwomansaid.“Ifthisfoodtastesgood,itisnotbecauseIcookedit.ThereisSamuelinthekitchen.Heisaverygoodcook,andweareproudofhim.Heistrained.Heisachef.”

“Itiswoman’swork,”saidthehusband.“Thatiswhyyoudonotfindmeinthekitchen.Amanshouldbedoingotherthings.”

HelookedatMmaRamotsweashespoke,andshesensedthechallenge.

Shetookamomentortwotoanswer.Then:“Thatiswhatmanypeoplesay,Rra.Oratleast,thatiswhatmanymensay.Iamnotsurewhethermanywomensayit,though.”

Thehusbandputdownhisfork.“Youaskmywife,”hesaid,quietly.“Youaskherwhethershesaysit.Goon.”

Thewifedidnothesitate.“Whatmyhusbandsaysisright,”shesaid.

TheoldwomanturnedtoMmaRamotswe.“Yousee?”shesaid.“Shesupportsherhusband.Thatishowitishereinthecountry.Inthetownitmaybedifferent,butinthecountrythatishowitis.”

SHERETURNEDtoherroomafterthemealandlaydownonherbed.Theheathadgotnobetter,although thecloudshadcontinued tobuildup in theeast. Itwasclearnowthat therewasgoing toberain,even if itwouldnotcomeuntilnighttime.Therewouldbeawindsoon,andwithitwouldcomethatwonderful,unmistakablesmellofrain,thatsmellofdustandwatermeetingthatlingeredfora few seconds in the nostrils and then was gone, and would be missed,sometimesformonths,beforethenexttimethatitcaughtyouandmadeyoustopandsaytothepersonwithyou,anyperson:Thatisthesmellofrain,there,right

now.

Shelayonherbedandstaredupatthewhiteceilingboards.Theyhadbeenwell dusted, which was a sign of good housekeeping. In many houses, theceilingswerefly-spottedormarked,attheedges,withthefoundationsoftermitetrails. Sometimes large spiders could be seen looping across what must haveseemedtothemupside-downwhitetundras.Buthere,therewasnothing,andthepaintworkwasunsullied.

MmaRamotswewaspuzzled.Allthatshehadlearnedtodaywasthatthestaffhadviews,butthattheyalldislikedtheGovernmentMan.Hethrewhisweightaround,itseemed,butwasthereanythinguntowardinthat?Ofcoursetheolderbrotherwouldhaveviewsonhowthecattleshouldbehandled,andofcourseitwasnaturalforhimtogivetheseviewstohisyoungerbrother.Ofcoursetheoldwoman would think that her handicapped son was clever; and of course shewould believe that city people lost interest in cattle.MmaRamotswe realisedthatsheknewverylittleabouther.Thecattlemanthoughtshewaswicked,buthegavenoreasontobackuphisassessment.Hehadtoldhertowatchhereyes,whichshehaddone, tonoeffect.All thatshehadnoticedwas thatshe lookedaway,intothedistance,whiletheyallhadlunchtogether.Whatdidthismean?

MmaRamotswesatup.Therewassomethingtobelearnedthere,shethought.Ifsomebodylookedaway,intothedistance,thenitmeantthatheorshedidnotwanttobethere.Andthemostcommonreasonfornotwantingtobesomewherewas because one did not like the company onewas in. Thatwas always true.Now,ifshewasalwayslookingaway,thatmeantthatshedidnotlikesomebodythere.Shedoesnotdislikeme, thoughtMmaRamotswe,because shegavenoindication of this when I saw her earlier and she has not had the chance todevelopadislike.Thechildwouldhardlyhavegivenrisetothatsortofreaction,and indeed she had treated him quite fondly, patting his head on one or twooccasionsduringthemeal.Thatleftthesonandhiswife.

No mother dislikes her son. Mma Ramotswe understood that there werewomenwhowereashamedoftheirsons,andtherewerealsowomenwhowereangrywiththeirsons.Butnomotheractuallydislikedasonatheart.Asoncoulddoanything,andwouldbeforgivenbyhismother.Thisoldwoman, therefore,disliked her daughter-in-law and disliked her intensely enough to want to besomewhereelsewhenshewasinhercompany.

Mma Ramotswe lay back on her bed, the immediate excitement of herconclusionhavingpassed.Nowshehadtoestablishwhytheoldwomandislikedthedaughter-in-law,andif itwasbecauseherotherson, theGovernmentMan,hadsaidsomethingtoherabouthissuspicions.Perhapsmoreimportant,though,was the question ofwhether thewoman knew that hermother-in-law dislikedher.Ifshedid,thenshewouldhaveamotivefordoingsomethingaboutit,butifshe were a poisoner—and she did not look like it, and there were also thecontraryviewsofthemaidtobetakenintoaccount—thensurelyshewouldhaveattemptedtopoisontheoldwomanratherthanherhusband.

MmaRamotswefeltdrowsy.Shehadnotsleptwellthepreviousevening,andthedriveandtheheatandtheheavylunchwerehavingtheireffect.Thestewhadbeenveryrich; richandviscous,with thatglutinous trail.Sheclosedhereyes,but did not see darkness. There was a white aura, a faint luminous line, thatseemedtocrossherinnervision.Thebedmovedslightly,asifwiththewindthathadnowstarted toblowfromover theborder, faraway.The rain smell came,andthenthehot,urgentdrops,punishingtheground,stingingit,andbouncingbackupliketinygreyworms.

MmaRamotswe slept, but her breathingwas shallow, and her dreamswerefevered.When she awokeand felt thepain inher stomach, itwas almost fiveo’clock.Themainstormhadpassed,buttherewasstillrain,beatingonthetinroof of the house like a troopof insistent drummers.She sat up, and then laydownagainfromthenausea.Sheturnedonthebedanddroppedherfeettothefloor.Then she rose, unsteadily, and stumbledonherway to thedoor and thebathroom at the end of the corridor outside. There she was sick, and almostimmediatelyfeltbetter.Bythetimeshehadreachedherroom,theworstofthenauseahadpassedandshewasabletoreflectonhersituation.Shehadcometothe home of a poisoner and had been poisoned herself. She should not besurprisedatthat.Indeeditwasentirelyandcompletelypredictable.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

WHATDOYOUWANTTODOWITHYOURLIFE?

MMAMAKUTSIhadonlythreedays.Itwasnotalongtime,andshewonderedwhether she couldpossibly findout enoughabout eachof the four finalists toenablehertoadviseMrPulani.Shelookedattheneatlytypedlistwhichhehadprovided,butneitherthenames,northeaddresseswhichfollowedthem,toldheranything.Sheknew that therewerepeoplewhoclaimed that theycould judgepeopleontheirnames,thatgirlscalledMarywereinevitablyhonestandhome-loving, thatyoushouldnever trustaSipho,andsoon.But thiswasanabsurdnotion, very much less helpful than the notion that you could tell whether apersonwasacriminalbylookingattheshapeofhishead.MmaRamotswehadshownheranarticleaboutthattheoryandshehadjoinedherinherlaughter.Butthe idea—even if clearly not a very appropriate one for amodern person likeherselftohold—hadintriguedherandshehaddiscreetlyembarkedonherownresearches. The ever-helpful librarian of the British Council Library hadproducedabookwithinminutesandhadpressedit intoherhands.TheoriesofCrime was a considerably more scholarly work than Mma Ramotswe’sprofessionalbible,ThePrinciplesofPrivateDetectionbyClovisAndersen.Thatwas perfectly adequate for tips on dealing with clients, but it was weak ontheory.ItwasobvioustoMmaMakutsi thatClovisAndersenwasnoreaderofTheJournalofCriminology;whereastheauthorofTheoriesofCrimewasquitefamiliarwiththedebateswhichtookplaceastowhatcausedcrime.Societywasonepossibleculprit,MmaMakutsi read;badhousingandableak futuremadecriminalsofyoungmen,andweshouldremember,thebookwarned,thatthosetowhomevilwasdonedidevilinreturn.

Mma Makutsi read this with astonishment. It was absolutely correct, shereflected,butshehadneverthoughtaboutitinthoseterms.Ofcoursethosewho

did wrong had been wronged themselves—that very much accorded with herownexperience.Inherthirdyearatschool,allthoseyearsagoinBobonong,sherememberedaboywhohadbulliedthesmallerboysandhaddelightedintheirterror.Shehadneverbeenable tounderstandwhyhehaddone it—perhapshewasjustevil—butthen,oneevening,shehadpassedbyhishouseandhadseenhimbeingbeatenbyhisdrunkenfather.Theboywriggledandcriedout,buthadbeenunabletoescapetheblows.Thefollowingday,onthewaytoschool,shehad seen him striking a smaller boy and push him into a painfulwagenbikkiebushwithitscruelthorns.Ofcourseshehadnotlinkedcauseandeffectatthatage,butnowitcamebacktoherandshereflectedonthewisdomrevealedinthetextofTheoriesofCrime.

SittingaloneintheofficeoftheNo.1Ladies’DetectiveAgency,it tookherseveral hours of reading to reach what she was looking for. The section onbiological explanations of crime was shorter than the other sections, largelybecausetheauthorwasclearlyuncomfortablewiththem.

“The nineteenth century Italian criminologist, Cesare Lombroso,” she read,“although liberal inhisviewsofprisonreform,wasconvinced thatcriminalitycouldbedetectedby the shapeof thehead.Thushe expended agreat deal ofenergy on charting the physiognomy of criminals, in a misguided attempt toidentify those facial and cranial features that were indicative of criminality.Thesequaint illustrations (reproducedbelow) are a testament to themisplacedenthusiasmwhichcouldsoeasilyhavebeendirectedintomorefruitfullinesofresearch.”

MmaMakutsi looked at the illustrations taken from Lombroso’s book. Anevil-lookingmanwithanarrowforeheadandfieryeyeslookedoutatthereader.Underneath thispicturewas the legend:Typicalmurderer (Sicilian type).Thentherewasapictureofanotherman,elaboratelymoustachioedbutwithnarrow,pinched eyes. This, she read, was a Classic thief (Neapolitan type). Othercriminal “types” stared out at the reader, all of them quite unambiguouslymalign.MmaMakutsigaveashudder.Thesewereclearlyextremelyunpleasantmenandnobodywould trust anyof them.Why, then, describe the theories ofLombroso as “misguided”?Not onlywas that rude, in her opinion, but itwaspatentlywrong.Lombrosowas right; youcould tell (somethingwhichwomenhad known for a very long time—they could tell whatmenwere like just bylookingat them,but theydidnotneed tobe Italian todo so; they coulddo it

righthereinBotswana).Shewaspuzzled;ifthetheorywassoclearlyright,thenwhy should the author of this criminologicalwork deny it? She thought for amomentandthentheexplanationcametoher:hewasjealous!Thatmustbethereason.HewasjealousbecauseLombrosohadthoughtaboutthisbeforehehadandhewantedtodevelophisownideasaboutcrime.Well!Ifthatwerethecase,thenshewouldbothernomorewithTheoriesofCrime.Shehadfoundoutabitmoreaboutthissortofcriminology,andnowallshehadtodowasapplyit.ShewouldusethetheoriesofLombrosancriminologytodetectwho,ofthefourgirlsonthelist,wastrustworthyandwhowasnot.Lombroso’sillustrationhadsimplyconfirmed thatsheshould trusther intuition.Abrief timewith thesegirls,andperhapsadiscreetinspectionoftheircranialstructures—shewouldnotwanttostare—wouldbeenoughtoprovideherwithananswer.Itwouldhavetosuffice;therewasnothingelsethatshecoulddointheshorttimeavailableandshewasparticularlykeenthatthemattershouldbesatisfactorilyresolvedbythetimeofMmaRamotswe’sreturn.

FOUR NAMES, none of them known to Mma Makutsi: Motlamedi Matluli,GladysTlhapi,MakitaPhenyonini,andPatriciaQuatleneni;andbeneath them,theiragesandtheiraddresses.Motlamediwastheyoungest,atnineteen,andthemost readily accessible—she was a student at the university. Patricia was theoldest at twenty-four, and possibly themost difficult to contact, at her vagueaddress in Tlokweng (plot 2456).MmaMakutsi decided that she would visitMotlamedifirst,asitwouldbeasimplemattertofindherinherstudents’hallontheneatlylaid-outuniversitycampus.Ofcourse,itwouldnotnecessarilybeeasytointerviewher;MmaMakutsiknewthatgirlslikethat,withtheirplaceattheuniversityandagoodjobvirtuallyguaranteedforthem,tendedtolookdownonpeoplewhohadnot had their advantages, particularly thosewhohad attendedtheBotswanaSecretarialCollege.Herown97percentinthefinalexaminations,theresultofsuchhardwork,wouldbemockedbyonesuchasMotlamedi.Butshe would speak to her and treat any condescension with dignity. She hadnothingtobeashamedof;shewasnowtheActingManagerofagarage,wasshenot,andanassistantdetectiveaswell.Whatofficialtitlesdidthisbeautifulgirlhave? She was not even Miss Beauty and Integrity, even if she was in the

runningforthatparticularhonour.

Shewouldgotoseeher.Butwhatwouldshesay?Shecouldhardlyseekoutthisgirlandthensaytoher:Excuseme,Ihavecometolookatyourhead.Thatwould invite a hostile response, even if it had themerits of being completelytrue.Andthentheideacametoher.Shecouldpretendtobedoingasurveyofsome sort, andwhile the girlswere answering, she could look closely at theirhead and facial features to see if any of the telltale signs of dishonesty waspresent. And the idea became even better. The survey need not be somemeaninglessmarketingsurveyofthesortwhichpeoplewereusedtorespondingto;itcouldbeasurveyofmoralattitudes.Itcouldposecertainquestionswhich,inaverysubtleway,woulduncoverthegirls’attitudes.Thequestionswouldbecarefullyphrased,sothatthegirlswouldnotsuspectatrap,buttheywouldbeasrevealing as searchlights.What do you really want to do with your life? forexample.Or:Isitbettertomakealotofmoneythantohelpothers?

Theideasfellneatlyintoplace,andMmaMakutsismiledwithdelightaseachnewpossibilityrevealeditselftoher.Shewouldclaimtobeajournalist,sentbytheBotswanaDailyNews towrite a feature article on the competition—smalldeceptionsarepermissible,ClovisAndersenhadwritten,providedthattheendsjustified themeans.Well, the ends in this casewere clearly important, as thereputationofBotswana itself couldbe in thebalance.ThegirlwhowonMissBeauty and Integrity could find herself in the running for the title of MissBotswana, and that post was every bit as important as being an ambassador.Indeed, a beauty queenwas a sort of ambassador for her country, and peoplewouldjudgethecountryonhowsheconductedherself.Ifshehadtotellasmalllieinordertopreventawickedgirlfromseizingthetitleandbringingshametothe country, then that was a small price to pay. Clovis Andersen wouldundoubtedlyhaveagreedwithher,eveniftheauthorofTheoriesofCrime,whoseemed to take a very high moral tone on all issues, might have had somemisplacedreservations.

MmaMakutsisettotypingoutthequestionnaire.Thequestionsweresimple,butprobing:

1.WhatarethemainvalueswhichAfricacanshowtotheworld?

Thisquestionwasdesignedtoestablishwhetherthegirlsknewwhatmorality

was all about.Amorally aware girlwould answer something along the lines:Africa can show the world what it is to be human. Africa recognises thehumanityofallpeople.

Once they had negotiated this or, rather if they negotiated this, the nextquestionwouldbecomemorepersonal:

2.Whatdoyouwanttodowithyourlife?

ThiswaswhereMmaMakutsi would trap any dishonest girl. The standardanswerwhichanybeautycontestantgavetothisquestionwasthis:Ishouldliketo work for charity, possibly with children. I would like to leave the world abetterplacethanitwaswhenIcameintoit.

That was all very well, but they had all learned that answer from a booksomewhere,possiblyabookbysomebodylikeClovisAndersen.GoodPracticeforBeautyQueens,perhaps,orHowtoWinintheWorldofBeautyCompetitions.

An honest girl, thoughtMmaMakutsi,would answer in something like thefollowing fashion: I wish to work for charity, possibly with children. If nochildrenareavailable,Ishallbehappytoworkwitholdpeople;Idonotmind.ButIamalsokeentogetagoodjobwithalargesalary.

3.Isitbettertobebeautifulthantobefullofintegrity?

Therewasnodoubt,again, that theanswerwhichwasexpectedofabeautycontestantwas that integritywasmore important.All thegirlswouldprobablyfeel that they had to say that, but therewas a remote possibility that honestywouldpropelone intosaying thatbeingbeautifulhad itsadvantages.ThiswassomethingthatMmaMakutsihadnoticedaboutsecretarial jobs;beautifulgirlsweregivenallthejobsandtherewasverylittleleftoverfortherest,evenifonehad achieved 97 percent in the final examination. The injustice of this hadalways rankled, although in her own case, hardwork had eventually paid off.Howmanyofhercontemporarieswhomayhavehadabettercomplexionthanherselfwere now actingmanagers?The answerwas undoubtedly none.Thosebeautifulgirlsmarriedrichmen,andlivedincomfortthereafter,buttheycouldhardlyhaveclaimedtohavehadcareers—unlesswearingexpensiveclothesandgoingtopartiescouldbedescribedasacareer.

MmaMakutsitypedherquestionnaire.Therewasnophotocopierintheoffice,butshehadusedcarbonpaperand therewerenowfourcopiesof thequestionsheet,withBotswanaDailyNewsFeaturesDepartmentmeretriciously typedatthe top of the page. She looked at her watch; it was noon, and the day hadwarmedupuncomfortably.Therehadbeensomerainafewdayspreviously,butthishadrapidlybeensoakedupbytheearthandthegroundwascryingoutformore.Ifraincame,asitprobablywould,thetemperatureswouldfallandpeoplewould feel comfortable again. Tempers became frayed in the hot season andargumentsbrokeoutaboutlittlethings.Rainbroughtpeacebetweenpeople.

Shewent out of the office and closed the door behind her. The apprenticeswerebusywithanoldvanwhichhadbeendriveninbyawomanwhobroughtvegetablesupfromLobatsetoselltothesupermarkets.Shehadheardaboutthegaragefromafriend,whohadsaidthatitwasagoodplaceforawomantotakehervehicle.

“It isa ladies’garage, I think,” the friendhadsaid.“Theyunderstand ladiesandtheylookafterthemwell.Itisthebestplaceforaladytotakehercar.”

The acquisition of a reputation for looking after ladies’ cars had kept theapprenticesbusy.UnderMmaMakutsi’smanagement,theyhadrespondedwellto the challenge, working late hours and taking much greater care with theirwork.Shecheckeduponthemfromtimetotime,andinsistedthattheyexplainto her exactlywhat theywere doing. They enjoyed this, and it also helped tofocus their thoughts on the problem before them. Their diagnostic power—soimportant a weapon in the armoury of any good mechanic—had improvedgreatlyandtheyalsowastedlesstimeinidlechatteraboutgirls.

“We like working for a woman,” the older apprentice had said to her onemorning.“Itisagoodthingtohaveawomanwatchingyouallthetime.”

“Iamveryhappyaboutthat,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Yourworkisgettingbetterandbetterallthetime.OnedayyoumaybeafamousmechaniclikeMrJ.L.B.Matekoni.Thatisalwayspossible.”

Nowshewalkedover to theapprenticesandwatched themmanipulatinganoilfilter.

“Whenyouhavefinishedthat,”shesaid,“Iwouldlikeoneofyoutodrivemeovertotheuniversity.”

“Weareverybusy,Mma,”complainedtheyoungerone.“Wehavetwomorecarstoseetotoday.Wecannotgooffhereandthereallthetime.Wearenottaxidrivers.”

Mma Makutsi sighed. “In that case I shall have to get a taxi. I have thisimportantbusinesstodowithabeautycompetition.Ihavetospeaktosomeofthegirls.”

“Icandriveyou,”saidtheolderapprenticehurriedly.“Iamalmostready.Mybrotherherecanfinishthisoff.”

“Good,”saidMmaMakutsi.“IknewthatIcouldcallonyourfinernature.”

THEYPARKEDunderatreeontheuniversitycampus,notfarfromthelarge,white-paintedblocktowhichMmaMakutsihadbeendirectedwhensheshowedthe address to the man on the gate. A small group of female students stoodchatting beneath a sun shelter that shaded the front door to the three-storeybuilding.Leavingtheapprenticeinthevan,MmaMakutsimadeherwayovertothisgroupandintroducedherself.

“Iam looking forMotlamediMatluli,” she said. “Ihavebeen told she liveshere.”

Oneofthestudentsgiggled.“Yes,sheliveshere,”shesaid.“AlthoughIthinkthatshewouldliketolivesomewhereabitgrander.”

“LiketheSunHotel,”saidanother,causingthemalltolaugh.

MMAMAKUTSIsmiled.“Sheisaveryimportantgirl,then?”

Thisbroughtforthmorelaughter.“Shethinkssheis,”saidone.“JustbecauseshehasalltheboysrunningafterhershethinkssheownsGaborone.Youshouldjustseeher!”

“Iwouldliketoseeher,”saidMmaMakutsisimply.“ThatiswhyIamhere.”

“Youwill find her in front of hermirror,” said another. “She is on the firstfloor,inroom114.”

Mma Makutsi thanked her informants and made her way up the concretestaircase to the first floor.Shenoticed that somebodyhadscribbledsomethinguncomplimentaryon thewallof the staircase, a remarkaboutoneof thegirls.One of the male students, no doubt, had been rebuffed and had vented hisfeelings in graffiti. She felt annoyed; these people were privileged—ordinarypeople inBotswanawouldneverhave thechance toget thissortofeducation,whichwasallpaidforbytheGovernment,everypulaandthebeof it—andalltheycouldthinkofdoingwaswritingonwalls.AndwhatwasMotlamedidoing,spending time preening herself and entering beauty competitions when sheshouldhavebeenworkingonherbooks?IfsheweretheRectoroftheuniversityshewouldtellpeoplelikethattomakeuptheirminds.Youcanbeonethingortheother.Youcancultivateyourmind,oryoucancultivateyourhairstyle.Butyoucannotdoboth.

Shefoundroom114andknockedloudlyonthedoor.Thereweresoundsofaradiowithinandsosheknockedagain,louderthistime.

“Allright!”shoutedavoicefromwithin.“I’mcoming.”

ThedoorwasopenedandMotlamediMatlulistoodbeforeher.Thefirstthingthat struckMmaMakutsi about herwas her eyes, whichwere extraordinarilylarge.Theydominated the face,giving it agentle, innocentquality, rather likethefaceofthosesmallnightcreaturestheycalledbushbabies.

Motlamedilookedhervisitorupanddown.

“YesMma?”sheaskedcasually.“WhatcanIdoforyou?”

Thiswasvery rude,andMmaMakutsi smartedat the insult. If thisgirlhadanymanners,shewouldhave invitedme in,she thought.She is toobusywithhermirrorwhich,as thestudentsbelowhadpredicted,wasproppeduponherdeskandwassurroundedbycreamsandlotions.

“I am a journalist,” saidMmaMakutsi. “I am writing an article about thefinalistsforMissBeautyandIntegrity.IhavesomequestionsIwouldlikeyoutoanswer.”

Thechange inMotlamedi’sattitudewas immediatelyapparent.Quickly,andrather effusivelyaskingMmaMakutsi in, shecleared someclothesoff a chairandinvitedhervisitortositdown.

“My room is not often this untidy,” she laughed, gesturing to the piles ofclothesthathadbeentosseddownhereandthere.“ButIamjustinthemiddleofsortingthingsout.Youknowhowitis.”

Mma Makutsi nodded. Taking the questionnaire out of her briefcase, shepasseditovertotheyoungwomanwholookedatitandsmiled.

“These questions are very easy,” she said. “I have seen questions like thisbefore.”

“Pleasefillthemin,”askedMmaMakutsi.“ThenIwouldliketotalktoyouforaveryshorttimebeforeIleaveyoutogetonwithyourstudies.”

Thelastremarkwasmadeasshelookedabouttheroom;itwas,asfarasshecouldmakeout,devoidofbooks.

“Yes,”saidMotlamedi,applyingherselftothequestionnaire,“westudentsareverybusywithourstudies.”

WhileMotlamediwroteoutheranswers,MmaMakutsiglanceddiscreetlyatherhead.Unfortunatelythestyleinwhichthefinalisthadarrangedherhairwassuchthatitwasimpossibletoseetheshapeofthehead.EvenLombrosohimself,thought MmaMakutsi, might have found it difficult to reach a view on thisperson.Yet this did not reallymatter; everything she had seen of this person,from her rudeness at the door to her look of near-disdain (concealed at themomentwhenMmaMakutsihaddeclaredherselftobeajournalist),toldherthat

thiswomanwouldbeabadchoiceforthepostofMissBeautyandIntegrity.Shewasunlikely tobechargedwith theft,of course,but therewereotherways inwhichshecouldbringdisgrace to thecompetitionand toMrPulani.Themostlikelyofthesewasinvolvementinsomescandalwithamarriedman;girlsofthissortwerenorespectersofmatrimonyandcouldbeexpectedtoseekoutanymanwho could advance her career, irrespective ofwhether he already had awife.What sortof examplewould thatbe to theyouthofBotswana?MmaMakutsiaskedherself.Themerethoughtofitmadeherfeelangryandshefoundherselfinvoluntarilyshakingherheadwithdisapproval.

Motlamedilookedupfromherform.

“Whatareyoushakingyourheadabout,Mma?”sheasked.“AmIwritingthewrongthing?”

“No,youarenot.”Herreplycamehurriedly.“Youmustwritethetruth.ThatisallIaminterestedin.”

Motlamedi smiled. “I always tell the truth,” she said. “I have told the truthsinceIwasachild.Icannotstandpeoplewhotelllies.”

“Ohyes?”

ShefinishedwritingandhandedtheformtoMmaMakutsi.

“IhopeIhavenotwritten toomuch,”shesaid.“Iknowthatyou journalistsareverybusypeople.”

MmaMakutsitooktheformandranhereyedowntheresponses.

Question 1: Africa has a very great history, although many people pay noattention to it.Africacan teach theworldabouthow tocare forotherpeople.Thereareotherthings,too,thatAfricacanteachtheworld.

Question2:Itismygreatestambitiontoworkforthebenefitofotherpeople.IlookforwardtothedaywhenIcanhelpmorepeople.ThatisoneofthereasonswhyIdeservetowinthiscompetition:Iamagirlwholikestohelppeople.Iamnotoneoftheseselfishgirls.

Question3:Itisbettertobeapersonofintegrity.Anhonestgirlisrichinherheart.Thatisthetruth.Girlswhoworryabouttheirlooksarenotashappyasgirlswhothinkaboutotherpeoplefirst.Iamoneoftheselattergirls,andthatishowIknowthisthing.

MotlamediwatchedasMmaMakutsiread.

“Well,Mma?” she said. “Would you like to askme about anything I havewritten?”

MmaMakutsifoldedthesheetofpaperandslippeditintoherbriefcase.

“No thank you, Mma,” she said. “You have told me everything I need toknow.Idonotneedtoaskyouanyotherquestions.”

Motlamedilookedanxious.

“What about a photograph?” she said. “If the paper would like to send aphotographer I think that I could let aphotographbe taken. I shallbehereallafternoon.”

MmaMakutsimovedtowardsthedoor.

“Perhaps,” she said. “But I do not know. You have given me very usefulanswershereandIshallbeable toput theminto thenewspaper. I feel Iknowyouquitewellnow.”

Motlamedifeltthatshecouldnowaffordtobegracious.

“Iamgladthatwehavemet,”shesaid.“Ilookforwardtoournextmeeting.Maybeyouwillbeatthecompetition…youcouldbringthephotographer.”

“Perhaps,”saidMmaMakutsi,assheleft.

THE APPRENTICE was talking to a couple of young women when Mma

Makutsi emerged. He was explaining something about the car and they werelistening tohimavidly.MmaMakutsididnothear theentireconversation,butshedidpickuptheend:“…atleasteightymilesanhour.Andtheengineisveryquiet.Ifaboyissittingwithagirlinthebackandwantstokissherinthatcarhehastobeveryquietbecausetheywillhearitinthefront.”

Thestudentsgiggled.

“Do not listen to him, ladies,” saidMmaMakutsi. “This youngman is notallowedtoseegirls.Healreadyhasawifeandthreechildrenandhiswifegetsverycrossifshehearsthatgirlsaretalkingtohim.Verycross.”

The students moved back. One of them now looked at the apprenticereproachfully.

“Butthatisnottrue,”protestedtheyoungman.“Iamnotmarried.”

“That’s what all you men say,” said one of the students, angry now. “Youcomeroundhereandtalktogirlslikeuswhileallthetimeyouarethinkingofyourwives.Whatsortofbehaviouristhat?”

“Verybad,”chippedinMmaMakutsi,assheopenedthepassengerdoorandpreparedtogetin.“Anyway,itistimeforustogo.Thisyoungmanhastodrivemesomewhereelse.”

“Youbecarefulofhim,Mma,”saidoneofthestudents.“Weknowaboutboyslikethat.”

Theapprenticestartedthecar,tight-lipped,anddroveoff.

“Youshouldnothavesaidthat,Mma.Youmademelookfoolish.”

MmaMakutsisnorted.“Youmadeyourselflookfoolish.Whyareyoualwaysrunningaftergirls?Whyareyoualwaystryingtoimpressthem?”

“Because that’showIenjoymyself,”said theapprenticedefensively.“I liketalking to girls.We have all these beautiful girls in this country and there isnobodytotalktothem.Iamdoingaservicetothecountry.”

MmaMakutsi looked at him scornfully.Although the youngmen had beenworkinghardforherandhadrespondedwelltohersuggestions,thereseemedtobe a chronic weakness in their character—this relentless womanising. Couldanythingbedoneaboutit?Shedoubtedit,butitwouldpassintime,shethought,andtheywouldbecomemoreserious.Orperhapstheywouldnot.Peopledidnotchangeagreatdeal.MmaRamotswehadsaidthattoheronceandithadstuckinhermind.Peopledonot change, but that doesnotmean that theywill alwaysremain the same.Whatyoucando is findout thegoodsideof theircharacterandthenbringthatout.Thenitmightseemthat theyhadchanged,whichtheyhad not; but theywould be different afterwards, and better. That’swhatMmaRamotswe had said—or something like that. And if there was one person inBotswana—oneperson—towhomoneshouldlistenverycarefully,itwasMmaRamotswe.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

THECOOK’STALE

MMA RAMOTSWE lay on her bed and gazed up at the whiteboards of theceiling.Herstomachfeltlessdisturbednow,andtheworstofthedizzinesshadpassed.Butwhensheshuthereyes,and thenopenedthemagainfairlyshortlythereafter,therewasawhiteringabouteverything,ahalooflightwhichdancedfor amoment and then dimmed. In other circumstances itmight have been apleasantsensation,buthere,at themercyofapoisoner, itwasalarming.Whatsubstance would produce such a result? Poisons could attack eyesight, MmaRamotswe knew that well. As a child they had been taught about the plantswhichcouldbeharvested in thebush, theshrubs thatcouldproducesleep, thetreebarkwhichcouldbringanunwantedpregnancytoasuddenend, therootsthatcureditching.Buttherewereothers,plantsthatproducedthemutiusedbythewitchdoctors,innocent-lookingplantswhichcouldkillatatouch,orsotheyweretold.Itwasoneofthese,nodoubt,thathadbeenslippedontoherplatebyherhost’swife,or,morelikely,putintoanentiredishoffood,indiscriminately,butavoidedbythepoisonerherself.Ifapersonwaswickedenoughtopoisonahusband,thenshewouldnotstopattakingotherswithhim.

MmaRamotswelookedatherwatch.Itwaspastseven,andthewindowsweredark.Shehadsleptthroughthesunsetandnowitwastimefortheeveningmeal,not thatshefelt likeeating.Theywouldbewonderingwhereshewas, though,and so she should tell them that shewas unwell and could not join them forsupper.

She sat up in her bed and blinked. Thewhite lightwas still there, butwasfadingnow.Sheputherfeetovertheedgeofthebedandwriggledhertoesintohershoes,hopingthatnoscorpionshadcrawledintothemduringherrest.Shehad always checked her shoes for scorpions since, as a child, she had put herfoot into her school shoes onemorning and had been badly stung by a large

brown scorpion which had sheltered there for the night. Her entire foot hadswollenup, sobadly, in fact, that theyhadcarriedher to theDutchReformedHospitalatthefootofthehill.Anursetherehadputonadressingandgivenhersomethingforthepain.Thenshehadwarnedheralwaystocheckhershoesandthewarninghadremainedwithher.

“Weliveuphere,”saidthenurse,holdingherhandatchestheight.“Theylivedownthere.Rememberthat.”

Later, ithadseemedtoher that thiswasawarningthatcouldapplyinmoresenses thanone.Notonlydid it refer toscorpionsandsnakes—aboutwhich itwaspatently true—but it could applywith equal force topeople.Therewas aworldbeneath theworld inhabitedbyordinary, law-abidingpeople;aworldofselfishness and mistrust occupied by scheming and manipulative people. Onehadtocheckone’sshoes.

She withdrew her toes from the shoes before they had reached the end.Reaching down, she picked up the right shoe and tipped it up. There wasnothing. She picked up the left shoe and did the same. Out dropped a tinyglisteningcreature,whichdancedon the floor foramoment,as if indefiance,andthenscuttledoffintothedarkofacorner.

MmaRamotswemade herway down the corridor.As she reached the end,wherethecorridorbecamealivingroom,themaidcameoutofadoorwayandgreetedher.

“Iwascomingtofindyou,Mma,”saidthemaid.“Theyhavemadefoodanditisalmostready.”

“Thank you, Mma. I have been sleeping. I have not been feeling well,althoughIambetternow.IdonotthinkthatIcouldeattonight,butIwouldlikesometea.I’mverythirsty.”

Themaid’shandsshotuptohermouth.“Aiee!Thatisverybad,Mma!Allofthepeoplehavebeenill.Theoldladyhasbeensick,sick,allthetime.Themanandhiswifehavebeenshoutingoutandholding theirstomachs.Eventheboywassick,althoughhewasnotsobad.Themeatmusthavebeenbad.”

MMARAMOTSWEstaredatthemaid.“Everybody?”

“Yes. Everybody. The man was shouting that he would go and chase thebutcherwhosoldthatmeat.Hewasverycross.”

“Andthewife?Whatwasshedoing?”

Themaidlookeddownatthefloor.Thesewereintimatemattersofthehumanstomachanditembarrassedhertotalkaboutthemsoopenly.

“Shecouldkeepnothingdown.Shetriedtotakewater—Ibroughtittoher—butitcamestraightupagain.Herstomachisnowempty,though,andIthinksheisfeelingbetter.Ihavebeenanurseallafternoon.Here,there.Ievenlookedinthrough your door to see that you were all right and I saw you sleepingpeacefully.Ididnotknowthatyouhadbeensicktoo.”

MmaRamotswewas silent for amoment. The informationwhich themaidhadgivenherchangedthesituationentirely.Theprincipalsuspect,thewife,hadbeenpoisoned,ashadtheoldwoman,whowasalsoasuspect.Thismeanteitherthattherehadbeenanaccidentinthedistributionofthepoison,orthatneitherofthese had anything to do with it. Of the two possibilities, Mma Ramotswethoughtthatthesecondwasthemorelikely.Whenshehadbeenfeelingillsheimaginedthatshehadbeendeliberatelypoisoned,butwasthislikely?Onsoberreflection, beyond the waves of nausea that had engulfed her, it seemedridiculoustothinkthatapoisonerwouldstrikesoquickly,andsoobviously,onthearrivalofaguest.Itwouldhavebeensuspiciousandunsubtle,andpoisoners,shehadread,wereusuallyextremelysubtlepeople.

Themaid looked atMmaRamotswe expectantly, as if she thought that theguestmightnowtakeovertherunningofthehousehold.

“Noneofthemneedsadoctor,dothey?”askedMmaRamotswe.

“No.Theyareallgettingbetter,Ithink.ButIdonotknowwhattodo.TheyshoutatmealotandIcannotdoanythingwhentheyareallshouting.”

“No,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Thatwouldnotbeeasyforyou.”

She looked at the maid. They shout at me a lot. Here was another with amotive, she reflected,but the thoughtwasabsurd.Thiswasanhonestwoman.Herfacewasopenandshesmiledasshespoke.Secretsleftshadowsontheface,andtherewerenonethere.

“Well,”saidMmaRamotswe,“youcouldmakemesometea,perhaps.Then,after that,I thinkyoushouldgooff toyourroomandleavethemtogetbetter.Perhapstheywillshoutlessinthemorning.”

Themaidsmiledappreciatively.“Iwilldothat,Mma.Iwillbringyouyourteainyourroom.Thenyoucangobacktosleep.”

SHESLEPT,butfitfully.Fromtimetotimesheawoke,andheardvoicesfromwithinthehouse,orthesoundsofmovement,adoorslamming,awindowbeingopened,thecreakingnoisesofanoldhousebynight.Shortlybeforedawn,whensherealisedthatshewouldnotfallasleep,shearose,slippedonherhousecoat,andmadeherwayoutofthehouse.Adogatthebackdoorrosetoitsfeet,stillgroggywithsleep,andsniffedsuspiciouslyatherfeet;a largebird,whichhadbeenperchedontheroof,launcheditselfwithaneffortandflewaway.

MmaRamotswelookedabouther.Thesunwouldnotbeupforhalfanhourorso, but there was enough light to make things out and it grew stronger andclearer every moment. The trees were still indistinct, dark shapes, but thebranchesandtheleaveswouldsoonappearindetail,likeapaintingrevealed.Itwasatimeofdaythatsheloved,andhere,inthislonelyspot,awayfromroadsandpeopleandthenoisetheymade,thelovelinessofherlandappeareddistilled.The sunwould come before too long and coarsen theworld; for themoment,though,thebush,thesky,theearthitself,seemedmodestandunderstated.

MmaRamotswe tookadeepbreath.Thesmellof thebush, thesmellof thedustandthegrass,caughtatherheart,asitalwaysdid;andnowtherewasaddedawhiffofwoodsmoke,thatmarvellous,acridsmellthatinsinuatesitselfthrough

thestillairofmorningaspeoplemaketheirbreakfastandwarmtheirhandsattheflames.Sheturnedaround.Therewasafirenearby;themorningfiretoheatthehotwaterboiler,orthefire,perhaps,ofawatchmanwhohadspentthenighthoursaroundafewburningembers.

Shewalkedroundtothebackofthehouse,followingasmallpathwhichhadbeenmarkedoutwithwhitewashedstones,ahabitpickedupfromthecolonialadministratorswhohadwhitewashedthestonessurroundingtheirencampmentsand quarters. They had done this throughout Africa, even whitewashing thelower trunks of the trees they had planted in long avenues.Why?Because ofAfrica.

Sheturnedthecornerofthehouseandsawthemancrouchedbeforetheoldbrick-encasedboiler.Suchboilerswerecommonfeaturesofolderhouses,whichhadnoelectricity,andofcoursetheywerestillnecessaryouthere,wheretherewasnopowerapartfromthatprovidedbythegenerator.Itwouldbefarcheapertoheat thehousehold’swater in such aboiler than touse thediesel-generatedcurrent.Andherewastheboilerbeingstokedupwithwoodtomakehotwaterforthemorningbaths.

Themansawherapproachingandstoodup,wipinghiskhaki trousersashedid so. Mma Ramotswe greeted him in the traditional way and he repliedcourteously.Hewasatallmaninhisearlyforties,well-built,andhehadstrong,good-lookingfeatures.

“Youaremakingagoodfire there,Rra,”sheobserved,pointingto theglowthatcamefromthefrontoftheboiler.

“The trees here are good for burning,” he said simply. “There aremany ofthem.Weneverlackforfirewood.”

MmaRamotswenodded.“Sothisisyourjob?”

Hefrowned.“Thatandotherthings.”

“Oh?”Thetoneofhisremarkintriguedher.These“otherthings”wereclearlyunwelcome.“Whatotherthings,Rra?”

“Iamthecook,”hesaid.“IaminchargeofthekitchenandImakethefood.”

Helookedatherdefensively,asifexpectingaresponse.

“Thatisgood,”saidMmaRamotswe.“It isagoodthingtobeabletocook.They have got some very finemen cooks down inGaborone. They call themchefsandtheywearpeculiarwhitehats.”

Themannodded.“IusedtoworkinahotelinGaborone,”hesaid.“Iwasacookthere.Nottheheadcook,butoneofthejuniorones.Thatwasafewyearsago.”

“Whydidyoucomehere?”askedMmaRamotswe.Itseemedanextraordinarythingtohavedone.CookslikethatinGaboronewouldhavebeenpaidfarmore,sheassumed,thancooksinthefarmhouses.

Thecook stretchedout a legandpushedapieceofwoodback into the firewithhisfoot.

“Ineverlikedit,”hesaid.“Ididnotlikebeingacookthen,andIdonotlikeitnow.”

“Thenwhydoit,Rra?”

Hesighed.“Itisadifficultstory,Mma.Totellitwouldtakealongtime,andIhavetogetbacktoworkwhenthesuncomesup.ButIcantellyousomeofitnow,ifyoulike.Yousitdownthere,Mma,onthatlog.Yes.Thatisfine.Ishalltellyousinceyouaskme.

“Icomefromover thatway,bythathill,over there,butbehindit, tenmilesbehind it. There is a village there which nobody knows because it is notimportantandnothingeverhappens there.Nobodypaysattention to itbecausethepeoplethereareveryquiet.Theynevershoutandtheynevermakeafuss.Sonothingeverhappens.

“Therewasaschoolinthevillagewithaverywiseteacher.Hehadtwootherteachers tohelphim,buthewas themainone, andeverybody listened tohimrather than theother teachers.Hesaid tomeoneday, ‘Samuel,youareaverycleverboy.Youcanrememberthenamesofall thecattleandwhothemothersand fathersof thecattlewere.Youarebetter thananybodyelseat that.AboylikeyoucouldgotoGaboroneandgetajob.’

“IdidnotfinditstrangethatIshouldremembercattleasIlovedcattlemorethananythingelse.Iwantedtoworkwithcattleoneday,buttherewasnoworkwith cattlewherewewere and so I had to think of something else. I did notbelievethatIwasgoodenoughtogotoGaborone,butwhenIwassixteentheteachergavemesomemoneywhichtheGovernmenthadgivenhimandIuseditto buy a bus ticket toGaborone.My father had nomoney, but he gaveme awatchwhichhehad foundoneday lyingbeside theedgeof the tarred road. Itwashisprizepossession,buthegaveittomeandtoldmetosellitformoneytobuyfoodonceIreachedGaborone.

“Ididnotwant to sell thatwatch,buteventually,whenmystomachwas soempty that it was sore, I had to do so. I was given one hundred pula for it,becauseitwasagoodwatch,andIspentthatonfoodtomakemestrong.

“It tookmemanydaystofindwork,andmymoneyforfoodwouldnotlastforever.At last I foundwork inahotel,where theymademecarry thingsandopen doors for guests. Sometimes these guests came from very far away, andthey were very rich. Their pockets were full of money. They gave me tipssometimes, and I saved the money in the post office. I wish I still had thatmoney.

“Afterawhile, they transferredme to thekitchen,whereIhelped thechefs.Theyfoundout that Iwasagoodcookand theygavemeauniform. Icookedtherefortenyears,althoughIhatedit.Ididnotlikethosehotkitchensandallthosesmellsoffood,but itwasmyjob,andIhadtodoit.AnditwaswhileIwasdoingthat,workinginthathotel,thatImetthebrotherofthemanwholiveshere.YoumayknowtheoneIamtalkingabout—heis the importantonewholives inGaborone.He said that hewould giveme a job up here, asAssistantManager of the farm, and Iwas very happy. I told him that I knew all aboutcattle,andthatIwouldlookafterthefarmwell.

“Icameupherewithmywife.Sheisfromthispart,andshewasveryhappytobeback.Theygaveusaniceplacetolive,andmywifeisnowverycontented.Youwillknow,Mma,how important it is tohaveawifeorahusbandwho iscontented.Ifyoudonot,thenyouwillneverhaveanypeace.Never.Ialsohaveacontentedmother-in-law.Shemovedinandlivesatthebackofthehouse.Sheis always singing because she is so happy that she has her daughter and mychildrenthere.

“Iwas looking forward toworkingwith thecattle, but as soonas Imet thebrotherwho livesuphere,he askedmewhat Ihaddoneand I said that I hadbeenacook.Hewasverypleasedtohear thisandhesaid thatIshouldbe thecook in the house. They were always having big, important people up fromGaboroneanditwouldimpressthemiftherewasarealcookinthehouse.Isaidthat Ididnotwant todo this,butheforcedme.Hespoke tomywifeandshetook his side. She said that thiswas such a good place to be that only a foolwouldnotdowhatthesepeoplewantedmetodo.Mymother-in-lawstartedtowail.Shesaidthatshewasanoldwomanandshewoulddieifwehadtomove.My wife said to me: ‘Do you want to kill my mother? Is that what you arewantingtodo?’

“So I have had to be the cook in this place, and I am still surrounded bycookingsmellswhenIwouldratherbeoutwiththecattle.ThatiswhyIamnotcontented,Mma,whenallmyfamilyisverycontented.Itisastrangestory,doyounotthink?”

HEFINISHEDthestoryandlookedmournfullyatMmaRamotswe.Shemethisgaze,andthenlookedaway.Shewasthinking,hermindracingaheadofitself,thepossibilitiesjostlingoneanotheruntilahypothesisemerged,wasexamined,andaconclusionreached.

Shelookedathimagain.Hehadrisentohisfeetandwasclosingthedooroftheboiler.Withinthewatertank,anoldpetroldrumconvertedforthepurpose,sheheardthebubblingofheatingwater.Shouldshespeak,orshouldsheremainsilent?Ifshespoke,shecouldbewrongandhecouldtakeviolentexceptiontowhatshesaid.Butifsheheldback,thenshewouldhavelostthemoment.Soshedecided.

“There’ssomethingthatI’vebeenwantingtoaskyou,Rra,”shesaid.

“Yes?”Heglancedupatherbriefly,and thenbusiedhimselfagainwith thetidyingofthewoodstack.

“Isawyouputtingsomethingintothefoodyesterday.Youdidn’tseeme,butIsawyou.Whydidyoudoit?”

He froze.Hewas on the point of lifting up a large log, his hands stretchedaroundit,hisbackbent,readytotaketheweight.Then,quiteslowly,hishandsunclaspedandhestraightenedhimselfup.

“Yousawme?”Hisvoicewasstrained,almostinaudible.

MmaRamotsweswallowed.“Yes.Isawyou.Youputsomethinginthefood.Somethingbad.”

He looked at her now, and she saw that the eyes had dulled. The face,animatedbefore,wasdevoidofexpression.

“Youarenottryingtokillthem,areyou?”

Heopenedhismouthtoanswer,butnosoundcame.

MmaRamotswe felt emboldened.Shehadmade the rightdecisionandnowshehadtofinishwhatshehadbegun.

“You justwanted them to stopusingyouasacook,didn’tyou? If they feltthatyourfoodtastedbad,thentheywouldjustgiveuponyouasacookandyoucouldgetbacktotheworkthatyoureallywantedtodo.That’sright,isn’tit?”

Henodded.

“Youwereveryfoolish,Rra,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Youcouldhaveharmedsomebody.”

“NotwithwhatIused,”hesaid.“Itwasperfectlysafe.”

MmaRamotsweshookherhead.“Itisneversafe.”

Thecooklookeddownathishands.

“Iamnotamurderer,”hesaid.“Iamnotthatsortofman.”

Mma Ramotswe snorted. “You are very lucky that I worked out what you

were doing,” she said. “I didn’t see you, of course, but your story gave youaway.”

“Andnow?”saidthecook.“Youwill tell themandtheywillcall thepolice.Please,Mma,rememberthatIhaveafamily.IfIcannotworkforthesepeopleitwillbehardformetofindanotherjobnow.Iamgettingolder.Icannot…”

MmaRamotsweraisedahandtostophim.“Iamnotthatsortofperson,”shesaid.“Iamgoingtotellthemthatthefoodyouusedwasbad,butthatyoucouldnottellit.Iamgoingtotellthebrotherthatheshouldgiveyouanotherjob.”

“Hewillnotdothat,”saidthecook.“Ihaveaskedhim.”

“But I am awoman,” saidMmaRamotswe. “I knowhow tomakemen dothings.”

Thecooksmiled.“Youareverykind,Mma.”

“Tookind,”saidMmaRamotswe,turningtogobacktowardsthehouse.Thesunwasbeginningtocomeupandthetreesandthehillsandtheveryearthweregolden.Itwasabeautifulplacetobe,andshewouldhavelikedtohavestayed.But now there was nothing more to do. She knew what she had to tell theGovernmentManandshemightaswellreturntoGaboronetodoit.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

ANEXCELLENTTYPEOFGIRL

ITHADnotbeendifficulttoidentifyMotlamediasunsuitablefortheimportantofficeofMissBeautyandIntegrity.Therewerethreefurthernamesonthelist,though,andeachof themwouldhave tobe interviewedfora judgement tobemade.Theymight not be so transparent; itwas rare forMmaMakutsi to feelsureaboutsomebodyonafirstmeeting,buttherewasnodoubtinhermindthatMotlamediwas,quitesimply,abadgirl.Thisdescriptionwasveryspecific; ithad nothing to do with badwomen or bad ladies—they were quite differentcategories. Bad women were prostitutes; bad ladies were manipulative olderladies,usuallymarried tooldermen,whointerfered in theaffairsofothersfortheir own selfish ends. The expression bad girl, by contrast, referred tosomebodywhowas usually rather younger (certainly under thirty) andwhoseinterestwasinhavingagoodtime.Thatwastheessenceofit, infact—agoodtime.Indeedtherewasasubcategoryofbadgirls,thatofgood-timegirls.Theseweregirlswhoweremainly tobe found inbarswith flashymen,havingwhatappeared to be a good time. Some of these flashy men, of course, sawthemselvesasmerelybeingoneof theboys,which they thoughtgave themanexcuseforallsortsofselfishbehaviour.ButnotinMmaMakutsi’sbook.

Attheotherendofthespectrum,thereweregoodgirls.Theseweregirlswhoworked hard andwhowere appreciated by their families. Theywere the oneswhovisited theelders;who lookedafter the smaller children, sitting forhoursunder a treewatching the children play; andwho in due course trained to benursesor,asinMmaMakutsi’scase,undertookageneralsecretarialtrainingattheBotswanaSecretarialCollege.Unfortunately, thesegoodgirls,whocarriedhalftheworldupontheirshoulders,didnothavemuchfun.

Therewasnodoubt thatMotlamediwasnot a goodgirl, butwas there anypossibility,MmaMakutsinowglumlyaskedherself,thatanyoftheothersmight

prove to be much better? The difficulty was that good girls were unlikely toenterabeautycompetition in the firstplace. Itwas, ingeneral,not the sortofthing that good girls thought of doing. And if her pessimism were to provejustified,thenwhatwouldshebeabletosaytoMrPulaniwhenhecametoherforherreport?Itwouldnotbeveryusefultosaythatallthegirlswereasbadasoneanother,thatnoneofthemwasworthyofthetitle.Thatwouldbesingularlyunhelpful,andshesuspectedthatshewouldnotevenbeabletoputinafeenoteforthatsortofinformation.

She sat in her carwith the apprentice and lookeddespairingly at her list ofnames.

“Wheretonow?”askedtheapprentice.Histonewassurly,butonlyjustso;herealised that she was, after all, still Acting Manager, and both he and hiscolleaguehadahealthyrespectforthisremarkablewomanwhohadcometothegarageandturnedtheirworkingpracticesupsidedown.

MmaMakutsi sighed. “I have three girls to see,” she said. “And I cannotdecidewhichonetogotonext.”

Theapprenticelaughed.“Iknowalotaboutgirls,”hesaid.“Icouldtellyou.”

MmaMakutsicastascornfulglanceinhisdirection.“Youandyourgirls!”shesaid.“That’sallyouthinkof, isn’t it?Youandthat lazyfriendofyours.Girls,girls,girls…”

Shestoppedherself.Yes,hewasanexpertingirls—itwaswell-known—andGaboronewasnotsuchalargeplace.Therewasachance,probablyquiteagoodchance,thatheactuallyknewsomethingaboutthesegirls.Iftheywerebadgirls,as they almost certainly were, or, more specifically, good-time girls, then hewouldprobablyhaveencounteredthemonhisroundsofthebars.Shesignalledforhimtodrawovertothesideoftheroad.

“Stop.Stophere.Iwanttoshowyouthislist.”

TheapprenticedrewinandtookthelistfromMmaMakutsi.Ashereadit,hebrokeintoasmile.

“This isafine listofgirls!”hesaidenthusiastically.“Thesearesomeof the

bestgirlsintown.Oratleastthreeofthemarethebestgirlsintown.Biggirls,youknowwhatImean,big,excellentgirls.Thesearegirlsthatweboysareveryappreciativeof.Weapproveofthesegirls.Ohyes!Toomuch!”

MmaMakutsi’sheartskippedabeat.Herintuitionhadbeenright;hehadtheanswertoherquestandnowallthatshehadtodowastocoaxitoutofhim.

“Sowhichgirlsdoyouknow?”sheasked.“Whicharethethreeyouknow?”

The apprentice laughed. “This one here,” he said. “This one who is calledMakita.Iknowher.Sheisverygoodfun,andshelaughsalot,especiallywhenyoutickleher.Thenthisone,Gladys,my,my!Ow!One,two,three!AndIalsoknowthisonehere,thisgirlcalledMotlamedi,orrathermybrotherknowsher.Hesaysthatsheisaveryclevergirlwhoisastudentat theuniversitybutshedoesn’twaste toomuch timeonherbooks.Lotsofbrains,butalsoaverybigbottom.Sheismoreinterestedinbeingglamorous.”

MmaMakutsinodded.“Ihavejustbeenspeakingtothatgirl,”shesaid.“Yourbrother is rightabouther.Butwhatabout thatothergirl,Patricia, theonewholivesinTlokweng?Doyouknowthatgirl?”

The apprentice shook his head. “She is an unknowngirl that one,” he said,addingquickly,“ButIamsurethatsheisaverycharminggirl,too.Youneverknow.”

MmaMakutsi took thepieceofpaperawayfromhimand tucked it into thepocketofherdress.“WearegoingtoTlokweng,”shesaid.“IneedtomeetthisPatricia.”

TheydroveouttoTlokwenginsilence.Theapprenticeappearedtobelostinthought—possiblythinkingaboutthegirlsonthelist—whileMmaMakutsiwasthinking about the apprentice. It was very unfair—but entirely typical of theinjusticeoftherelationsbetweenthesexes—thattherewasnoexpressionquitelikegood-timegirlthatcouldbeappliedtoboyslikethisridiculousapprentice.Theywereeverybit asbad—ifnotworse—as thegood-timegirls themselves,but nobody seemed to blame them for it. Nobody spoke of bar boys, forexample, and nobody would describe any male over twelve as a bad boy.Women, as usual, were expected to behave better than men, and inevitably

attractedcriticismfordoingthingsthatmenwerelicensedtodowithimpunity.Itwasnot fair; ithadneverbeen fair,and itwouldprobablyneverbe fair in thefuture.Menwouldwriggle out of it somehow, even if you tied them up in aconstitution.Menjudgeswouldfind that theconstitutionreallysaidsomethingratherdifferentfromwhatwaswrittenonthepageandinterpretitinafavourofmen.All people, bothmen and women, are entitled to equal treatment in theworkplace becameWomen canget some jobs, but they cannot do certain jobs(fortheirownprotection)asmenwilldothesejobsbetteranyway.

Whydidmenbehavelikethis?IthadalwaysbeenamysterytoMmaMakutsialthough latterlyshehadbegun toglimpse themakingsofanexplanation.Shethought that it might have something to do with the way in which motherstreatedtheirsons.Ifthemothersallowedtheboystothinkthattheywerespecial—andallmothersdid that, as far asMmaMakutsi couldmakeout—then thatencouragedboystodevelopattitudeswhichneverleftthem.Ifyoungboyswereallowed to think that women were there to look after them, then they wouldcontinuetothinkthiswhentheygrewup—andtheydid.MmaMakutsihadseenso many examples of it that she could not imagine anybody seriouslychallengingthetheory.Thisveryapprenticewasanexample.Shehadseenhismothercome to thegarageoncewithawholewatermelonforhersonandshehadseenhercutitforhimandgiveittohiminthewayinwhichonewouldfeedasmallchild.Thatmothershouldnotbedoingthat;sheshouldbeencouraginghersontobuyhisownwatermelonsandcutthemuphimself.Itwasexactlythissortoftreatmentwhichmadehimsoimmatureinhistreatmentofwomen.Theywereplaythingstohim;hewersofwatermelon;eternalsubstitutemothers.

THEYARRIVEDatplot2456,at thegateof theneat,mud-brownlittlehousewithitsouthouseforthechickensand,unusually,twotraditionalgrainbinsattheback.Thechickenfoodwouldbekeptthere,shethought;thesorghumgrainthatwouldbescatteredeachmorningontheneatlysweptyard,tobepeckedatbythehungrybirdsontheirreleasefromthecoop.ItwasobvioustoMmaMakutsithatanolderwoman livedhere,asonlyanolderwomanwould take the trouble tokeep the yard in such a traditional and careful way. She would be Patricia’s

grandmother, perhaps—one of those remarkable African women who workedandworked intohereighties, andbeyond,andwhowere theveryheartof thefamily.

TheapprenticeparkedthecarwhileMmaMakutsimadeherwayupthepaththatledtothehouse.Shehadcalledout,aswaspolite,butshethoughtthattheyhadnotheardher;nowawomanappearedat thedoor,wipingherhandsonaclothandgreetingherwarmly.

MmaMakutsiexplainedhermission.Shedidnotsaythatshewasajournalist,asshehaddoneonthevisittoMotlamedi;itwouldhavebeenwrongtodothathere, in this traditional home, to the woman who had revealed herself to bePatricia’smother.

“Iwant to find out about the people in this competition,” she said. “I havebeenaskedtotalktothem.”

Thewomannodded.“Wecansitatthedoorway,”shesaid.“Itisshady.Iwillcallmydaughter.Thatisherroomthere.”

Shepointedtoadooratthesideofthehouse.Thegreenpaintwhichhadoncecovered it was peeling off and the hinges looked rusty. Although the yardappearedwellkept, thehouse itself seemed tobe inneedof repair.Therewasnot a great deal ofmoney about, thoughtMmaMakutsi, and pondered, for amoment, what the cash prize for the eventually elected Miss Beauty andIntegrity could mean in circumstances such as these. That prize was fourthousand pula, and a voucher to spend in a clothing store. Not much of themoneywouldbewasted,thoughtMmaMakutsi,noticingthefrayedhemofthewoman’sskirt.

Shesatdownandtookthemugofwaterwhichthewomanhadofferedher.

“It ishot today,”said thewoman.“But therewillberainsoon.Iamsureofthat.”

“Therewillberain,”agreedMmaMakutsi.“Weneedtherain.”

“Wedoneedit,Mma,”saidthewoman.“Thiscountryalwaysneedsrain.”

“Youareright,Mma.Rain.”

Theyweresilentforamoment,thinkingaboutrain.Whentherewasnorain,youthoughtaboutit,hardlydaringtohopeforthemiracletobegin.Andwhenthe rain came, all you could think about was how long it would last.God iscrying.Godiscryingforthiscountry.See,children,therearehistears.Therainishis tears.That iswhat the teacheratBobononghadsaidoneday,whenshewasyoung,andshehadrememberedherwords.

“Hereismydaughter.”

Mma Makutsi looked up. Patricia had appeared silently and was standingbeforeher.Shesmiledattheyoungerwoman,whodroppedhereyesandgaveaslightcurtsey.Iamnotthatold! thoughtMmaMakutsi,butshewasimpressedbythegesture.

“Youcansitdown,”saidhermother.“Thisladywantstotalktoyouaboutthebeautycompetition.”

Patricianodded.“Iamveryexcitedabout it,Mma.IknowthatIwon’twin,butIamstillveryexcited.”

Don’tbetoosureaboutthat,thoughtMmaMakutsi,butdidnotsayanything.

“Her aunt has made her a very nice dress for the competition,” said themother.“Shehasspenta lotofmoneyonitandit isveryfinematerial. It isaverygooddress.”

“But the other girls will be more beautiful,” said Patricia. “They are verysmart girls.They live inGaborone.There is even onewho is a student at theuniversity.Sheisaveryclevergirlthatone.”

Andbad,thoughtMmaMakutsi.

“Youmustnot think thatyouwill lose,” interjected themother.“That isnotthewaytogointoacompetition.Ifyouthinkthatyouwill lose, thenyouwillneverwin.WhatifSeretseKhamahadsaid:Wewillnevergetanywhere.ThenwherewouldBotswanabetoday?Wherewoulditbe?”

MmaMakutsi noddedher agreement. “That is noway to setout,” she said.“Youmustthink:Icanwin.Thenyoumaywin.Youneverknow.”

Patriciasmiled.“Youareright.Ishalltrytobemoredetermined.Ishalldomybest.”

“Good,” saidMmaMakutsi. “Now tellme,whatwouldyou like todowithyourlife?”

Therewasasilence.BothMmaMakutsiandthemotherlookedexpectantlyatPatricia.

“IwouldliketogototheBotswanaSecretarialCollege,”repliedPatricia.

MmaMakutsilookedather,watchinghereyes.Shewasnotlying.Thiswasawonderfulgirl,atruthfulgirl,oneofthefinestgirlsinBotswana,quitebeyondanydoubt.

“That is a very fine college,” she said. “I am a graduate of itmyself.” Shepaused,andthendecidedtogoahead.“Infact,Igot97percentthere.”

Patriciasuckedinherbreath.“Ow!Thatisaveryhighmark,Mma.Youmustbeveryclever.”

MmaMakutsilaugheddismissively.“Ohno,Iworkedhard.Thatwasall.”

“But it isverygood,” saidPatricia. “Youarevery lucky,Mma, tobeprettyandclevertoo.”

MmaMakutsiwasatalossforwords.Shehadnotbeencalledprettybefore,ornotbyastranger.Herauntshadsaidthatsheshouldtrytomakesomethingofwhatlooksshehad,andhermotherhadmadeasimilarremark;butnobodyhadcalled her pretty, except this young woman, still in her late teens, who washerselfsoobviouslypretty.

“Youareverykind,”shesaid.

“Sheisakindgirl,”saidthemother.“Shehasalwaysbeenakindgirl.”

MmaMakutsi smiled. “Good,” she said. “And do you know something? Ithinkthatshehasaverygoodchanceofwinningthatcompetition.Infact,Iamsurethatsheisgoingtowin.Iamsureofit.”

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

THEFIRSTSTEP

MMARAMOTSWEreturnedtoGaboroneonthemorningofherconversationwiththecook.Therehadbeenfurtherconversations—prolongedinonecase—withothermembersofthehousehold.Shehadtalkedtothenewwife,whohadlistenedgravely,andhadhungherhead.Shehadspokentotheoldwoman,whohadbeenproudat first, andunbending,butwhohadeventuallyacknowledgedthe truthofwhatMmaRamotswehad toldherandhadagreedwithher in theend. And then she had confronted the brother, who had stared at her open-mouthed,butwhohadtakenhiscuefromhismother,whohadintrudedintotheconversation and told him sharply where his duty lay. At the end of itMmaRamotswe felt raw; shehad taken such risks, buther intuitionhadprovedhercorrectandherstrategyhadpaidoff.Therewasonlyonemorepersontospeaktonow,andthatpersonwasbackinGaboroneandhe,shefeared,mightnotbesoeasy.

Thedrivebackwasapleasantone.Thepreviousday’srainshadalreadyhadaneffectand therewasa tingeofgreenacross the land. Inoneor twoplaces,therewerepuddlesofwaterinwhichtheskywasreflectedinpatchesofsilverblue.Andthedusthadbeenlaid,whichwasperhapsmostrefreshingofall;thatomnipresent, fine dust that towards the end of the dry season would geteverywhere, clogging everything up and making one’s clothes stiff anduncomfortable.

She drove straight back to Zebra Drive, where the children greeted herexcitedly,theboyrushingroundthetinywhitevanwithwhoopsofdelightandthe girl propelling her wheelchair out onto the drive to meet her. And in thekitchenwindow,staringoutather,thefaceofRose,hermaid,whohadlookedafterthechildrenoverherbriefabsence.

RosemadeteawhileMmaRamotsweheardthechildrentellherofwhathadhappenedat school.Therehadbeena competitionanda classmatehadwonaprizeofafiftypulabooktoken.Oneoftheteachershadbrokenhisarmandhadappearedwiththeinjuredlimbinasling.Agirlinoneofthejuniorclasseshadeaten a whole tube of toothpaste and had been sick, which was only to beexpected,wasitnot?

Buttherewasothernews.MmaMakutsihadtelephonedfromtheofficeandhadaskedMmaRamotswetocallbackthemomentshearrivedhome,whichshehadthoughtwouldbethefollowingday.

“She sounded very excited,” said Rose. “She said there was somethingimportantshewantedtotalktoyouabout.”

Asteamingcupofbushteabeforeher,MmaRamotswedialledthenumberofTlokweng Road Speedy Motors, the number shared by the two offices. Thetelephone rang for some time before she heard the familiar voice of MmaMakutsi.

“TheNo.1TlokwengRoad…”shebegan.“No.TheNo.1SpeedyLadies’…”

“It’sjustme,Mma,”saidMmaRamotswe.“AndIknowwhatyoumean.”

“Iamalwaysgettingthetwomixedup,”saidMmaMakutsi,laughing.“That’swhatcomesoftryingtoruntwobusinessesatthesametime.”

“Iamsurethatyouhavebeenrunningbothverywell,”saidMmaRamotswe.

“Well,yes,” saidMmaMakutsi.“In fact, I telephonedyou to tellyou that Ihavejustcollectedaverylargefee.Twothousandpulaforonecase.Theclientwasveryhappy.”

“Youhavedoneverywell,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Ishallcomeinlaterandsee just how well you have done. But first I would like you to arrange anappointmentforme.TelephonethatGovernmentManandtellhimthathemustcomeandseemeatfouro’clock.”

“Andifhe’sbusy?”

“Tellhimthathecannotbebusy.Tellhimthatthismatteristooimportanttowait.”

She finished her tea and then ate a large meat sandwich which Rose hadprepared for her.MmaRamotswe had got out of the habit of a cooked lunch,exceptatweekends,andwashappywithasnackoraglassofmilk.Shehadatasteforsugar,however,andthismeantthatadoughnutoracakemightfollowthesandwich.Shewasatraditionallybuiltlady,afterall,andshedidnothavetoworry about dress size, unlike those poor, neurotic people who were alwayslooking in mirrors and thinking that they were too big. What was too big,anyway?Whowastotellanotherpersonwhatsizetheyshouldbe?Itwasaformofdictatorship,bythethin,andshewasnothavinganyofit.Ifthesethinpeoplebecame anymore insistent, then themore generously sized peoplewould justhavetositonthem.Yes,thatwouldteachthem!Hah!

It was shortly before three when she arrived at the office. The apprenticeswere busy with a car, but greeted her warmly and with none of the sullenresentmentwhichhadsoannoyedherinthepast.

“You’reverybusy,”shesaid.“Thatisaverynicecarthatyou’refixingthere.”

Theolderapprenticewipedhismouthwithhissleeve.“Itisawonderfulcar.Itbelongs to a lady.Doyouknow that all the ladies arebringing their carsherenow?Wearesobusy thatwewillneed to takeonapprenticesourselves!Thatwill be a fine thing! We shall have desks and an office and there will beapprenticesrunningrounddoingwhatwetellthemtodo.”

“Youareaveryamusingyoungman,”saidMmaRamotswe,smiling.“Butdonotgettoobigforyourboots.Rememberthatyouarejustanapprenticeandthattheladyintherewiththeglassesisthebossnow.”

Theapprentice laughed.“She isagoodboss.We likeher.”Hepaused foramoment, looking intently at Mma Ramotswe. “But what about Mr J.L.B.Matekoni?Ishegettingbetter?”

“It is too early to say,”MmaRamotswe replied. “DrMoffat said that thesepillscouldtaketwoweeks.Wehaveafewdaystowaitbeforewecantell.”

“Heisbeingwelllookedafter?”

MmaRamotswenodded.Thefactthattheapprenticehadaskedthatquestionwas a good sign. It suggested that hewas beginning to take an interest in thewelfareofothers.Perhapshewasgrowingup.Perhaps itwassomething todowithMmaMakutsi,whomighthavebeenteachingthemabitaboutmoralityaswellasabitabouthardwork.

Sheentered theoffice, to findMmaMakutsion the telephone.She finishedtheconversationquicklyandrosetogreetheremployer.

“Hereitis,”saidMmaMakutsi,handingapieceofpapertoMmaRamotswe.

MmaRamotswelookedatthecheque.Twothousandpula,itseemed,awaitedtheNo.1Ladies’DetectiveAgencyattheStandardBank.Andatthebottomofthe chequewas thewell-known name thatmadeMmaRamotswe draw in herbreath.

“Thebeautycontestman…?”

“That’shim,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Hewastheclient.”

Mma Ramotswe tucked the cheque safely away in her bodice. Modernbusiness methods were all very well, she thought, but when it came to thesafeguardingofmoneythereweresomeplaceswhichhadyettobebettered.

“Youmusthaveworkedveryquickly,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Whatwastheproblem?Wifedifficulties?”

“No,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Itwasallaboutbeautifulgirlsandthefindingofabeautifulgirlwhocouldbetrusted.”

“Veryintriguing,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Andyouobviouslyfoundone.”

“Yes,”saidMmaMakutsi.“Ifoundtherightonetowinhiscompetition.”

MmaRamotswewaspuzzled,buttherewasnotenoughtimetogointoitasshehadtoprepareherselfforherfouro’clockappointment.Overthenexthour,shedealtwiththemail,helpedMmaMakutsifilepapersrelatingtothegarage,

anddrankaquickcupofbushtea.Bythetimethatthelargeblackcardrewupoutside theofficeanddisgorged theGovernmentMan, theofficewas tidyandorganisedandMmaMakutsi,seatedprimlybehindherdesk,waspretendingtotypealetter.

“SO!” SAID the GovernmentMan, leaning back in the chair and folding hishandsacrosshisstomach.“Youdidn’tstayverylongupthere.Itakeitthatyoumanagedtocatchthatpoisoner.Iverymuchhopethatyoudid!”

MmaRamotsweglancedatMmaMakutsi.Theywereusedtomalearrogance,butthisfarsurpassedthenormalsuchdisplay.

“IspentexactlyasmuchtimeupthereasIneededto,Rra,”shesaidcalmly.“ThenIcamebacktodiscussthecasewithyou.”

TheGovernmentMan’slipcurled.“Iwantananswer,Mma.Ihavenotcometoconductalongconversation.”

The typewriter clicked sharply in thebackground. “In that case,” saidMmaRamotswe,“youcangobacktoyouroffice.YoueitherwanttohearwhatIhavetosay,oryoudon’t.”

TheGovernmentManwassilent.Thenhespoke,hisvoicelowered.“Youareaveryinsolentwoman.Perhapsyoudonothaveahusbandwhocanteachyouhowtospeaktomenwithrespect.”

Thenoisefromthetypewriterrosemarkedly.

“And perhaps you need awifewho can teach you how to speak towomenwithrespect,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Butdonotletmeholdyouup.Thedooristhere,Rra.Itisopen.Youcangonow.”

TheGovernmentMandidnotmove.

“DidyouhearwhatIsaid,Rra?AmIgoingtohavetothrowyouout?Ihave

got two young men out there who are very strong from all that work withengines.Thenthere isMmaMakutsi,whomyoudidn’tevengreetby theway,and there isme. Thatmakes four people.Your driver is an oldman.You areoutnumbered,Rra.”

StilltheGovernmentMandidnotmove.Hiseyesnowwerefixedonthefloor.

“Well,Rra?”MmaRamotswedrummedherfingersonthetable.

TheGovernmentManlookedup.

“Iamsorry,Mma.Ihavebeenrude.”

“Thank you,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Now, after you have greeted MmaMakutsiproperly,inthetraditionalway,please,thenweshallbegin.”

“IAMgoingtotellyouastory,”saidMmaRamotswetotheGovernmentMan.“Thisstorybeginswhentherewasafamilywiththreesons.Thefatherwasverypleasedthathisfirstbornwasasonandhegavehimeverythingthathewanted.The mother of this boy was also pleased that she had borne a boy for herhusband,andshealsomadeafussofthisboy.Thenanotherboywasborn,anditwas very sad for themwhen they realised that this boy had somethingwrongwithhishead.Themotherheardwhatpeopleweresayingbehindherback,thatthe reasonwhy theboywas like thatwas that shehadbeenwithanothermanwhileshewaspregnant.Thiswasnottrue,ofcourse,butallthosewickedwordscutandcutatherandshewasashamedtobeseenout.Butthatboywashappy;he liked tobewithcattleand tocount them,althoughhecouldnotcountverywell.

“The firstborn was very clever and did well. Hewent to Gaborone and hebecame well-known in politics. But as he became more powerful and well-known,hebecamemoreandmorearrogant.

“Butanothersonhadbeenborn.Thefirstbornwasveryhappywiththis,and

helovedthatyoungerboy.Butunderneaththelove,therewasfearthatthisnewboywould take away the love that he himself had in the family and that thefatherwouldpreferhim.Everythingthatthefatherdidwasseenasasignthathepreferredthisyoungestson,whichwasnottrue,ofcourse,becausetheoldmanlovedallhissons.

“Whentheyoungestsontookawife,thefirstbornwasveryangry.Hedidnottellanybodythathewasangry,butthatangerwasbubblingawayinsidehim.Hewastooproudtotalktoanybodyaboutit,becausehehadbecomesoimportantandsobig.Hethoughtthatthisnewwifewouldtakehisbrotherawayfromhim,and thenhewouldbe leftwithnothing.He thought that shewould try to takeawaytheirfarmandalltheircattle.Hedidnotbothertoaskhimselfwhetherthiswastrue.

“He began to believe that she was planning to kill his brother, the brotherwhomhelovedsomuch.Hecouldnotsleepforthinkingofthis,becausetherewassomuchhategrowingupwithinhim.Soatlasthewenttoseeacertainlady—andIamthatlady—andaskedhertogoandfindproofthatthiswaswhatwashappening. He thought in this way that she might help him to get rid of thebrother’swife.

“Theladydidnotknowthenwhatlaybehindallthis,andsoshewentuptostaywiththisunhappyfamilyontheirfarm.Shespoketothemallandshefoundoutthatnobodywastryingtokillanybodyandthatallthistalkaboutpoisonhadcomeuponlybecausetherewasanunhappycookwhogothisherbsmixedup.Thismanhadbeenmadeunhappybythebrotherbecausehehadbeenforcedtodothingsthathedidnotwanttodo.SotheladyfromGaboronespoketoallthemembersofthefamily,onebyone.ThenshecamebacktoGaboroneandspoketo the brother. He was very rude to her, because he had developed habits ofrudenessandbecausehealwaysgothisownway.Butsherealisedthatundertheskinofabullythereisalwaysapersonwhoisfrightenedandunhappy.Andthisladythoughtthatshewouldspeaktothatfrightenedandunhappyperson.

“She knew, of course, that hewould be unable to speak to his own familyhimself, andsoshehaddoneso forhim.She told the familyhowhe felt, andhowhisloveforhisbrotherhadmadehimactjealously.Thewifeofhisbrotherunderstoodandshepromisedthatshewoulddoeverythinginherpowertomakehim feel that she had not taken his beloved brother away fromhim.Then the

motherunderstoodtoo;sherealisedthatsheandherhusbandhadmadehimfeelanxious about losing his share of the farm and that theywould attend to that.They said that theywouldmake sure that everythingwas divided equally andthatheneedhavenofearforwhatwouldhappeninthefuture.

“Then this lady said to the family that she would talk to the brother inGaborone and that she was sure that he would understand. She said that shewouldpassontohimanywordsthat theymightwishtosay.Shesaidthat therealpoisonwithinfamilies isnot thepoison thatyouput inyour food,but thepoison that growsup in theheartwhenpeople are jealousof one another andcannotspeakthesefeelingsanddrainoutthepoisonthatway.

“Soshecameback toGaboronewithsomewords that the familywanted tosay.And thewordsof theyoungestbrotherwere these: I lovemybrotherverymuch.Iwillnever forgethim.Iwouldnever takeanything fromhim.The landandthecattleareforsharingwithhim.Andthewifeofthismansaid:IadmirethebrotherofmyhusbandandIwouldnevertakeawayfromhimthebrother’slovethathedeservestohave.Andthemothersaid:Iamveryproudofmyson.There is room here for all of us. I have beenworried thatmy sonswill growapartandthattheirwiveswillcomebetweenthemandbreakupourfamily.Iamnotworriedaboutthatanymore.Pleaseaskmysontocomeandseemesoon.Idonot havemuch time.And the old father did not say verymuch except:Nomancouldaskforbettersons.”

THE TYPEWRITER was silent. NowMma Ramotswe stopped speaking andwatchedtheGovernmentMan,whosatquitestill,onlyhischestmovingslightlyashebreathed inandout.Thenhe raisedahand slowly tohis face, and leantforward.Heraisedhisotherhandtohisface.

“Do not be ashamed to cry,Rra,” saidMmaRamotswe. “It is theway thatthingsbegintogetbetter.Itisthefirststep.”

CHAPTERNINETEEN

THEWORDSFORAFRICA

THEREWASrainoverthenextfourdays.Everyafternoonthecloudsbuiltupandthen,amidboltsoflightningandgreatclashesofthunder,therainfellupontheland.Theroads,normallysodryanddusty,werefloodedandthefieldswereshimmering expanses. But the thirsty land soon soaked up the water and thegroundreappeared;butatleastthepeopleknewthatthewaterwasthere,safelystoredinthedam,andpercolatingdownintothesoilintowhichtheirwellsweresunk.Everybodyseemedrelieved;anotherdroughtwouldhavebeentoomuchtobear, although people would have put up with it, as they always had. Theweather,theysaid,waschangingandeverybodyfeltvulnerable.InacountrylikeBotswana, where the land and the animals were on such a narrowmargin, aslight change could be disastrous. But the rains had come, and that was theimportantthing.

TlokwengRoadSpeedyMotorsbecamebusierandbusier,andMmaMakutsidecided that the only thing to do, asActingManager,was to employ anothermechanic for a fewmonths, to see how things developed. She placed a smalladvertisement in the newspaper, and amanwho hadworked on the diamondminesasadieselmechanic,butwhohadnowretired,cameforwardandofferedtoworkthreedaysaweek.Hewasstartedimmediately,andhegotonwellwiththeapprentices.

“MrJ.L.B.Matekoniwill likehim,”saidMmaRamotswe,“whenhecomesbackandmeetshim.”

“Whenwillhecomeback?”askedMmaMakutsi.“Itisovertwoweeksnow.”

“He’llbebackoneday,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Let’snotrushhim.”

Thatafternoon,shedroveouttotheorphanfarm,parkinghertinywhitevandirectlyoutsideMmaPotokwane’swindow.MmaPotokwane,whohadseenhercoming up the drive, had already put on the kettle by the time that MmaRamotsweknockedatherdoor.

“Well,MmaRamotswe,”shesaid.“Wehavenotseenyouforalittlewhile.”

“Ihavebeenaway,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Thentherainscameandtheroadoutherehasbeenverymuddy.Ididnotwanttogetstuckinthemud.”

“Verywise,”saidMmaPotokwane.“Wehadtogetthebiggerorphansouttopushoneortwotrucksthatgotstuckjustoutsideourdrive.Itwasverydifficult.Alltheorphanswerecoveredinredmudandwehadtohosethemdownintheyard.”

“It looks likewewillgetgoodrains thisyear,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Thatwillbeaverygoodthingforthecountry.”

ThekettleinthecorneroftheroombegantohissandMmaPotokwanearosetomaketea.

“Ihavenocaketogiveyou,”shesaid.“Imadeacakeyesterday,butpeoplehaveeateneverylastcrumbofit.Itisasifthelocustshadbeenhere.”

“Peopleareverygreedy,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Itwouldhavebeennicetohavesomecake.ButIamnotgoingtosithereandthinkaboutit.”

Theydranktheirteaincomfortablesilence.ThenMmaRamotswespoke.

“I thought I might takeMr J.L.B.Matekoni out for a run in the van,” sheventured.“Doyouthinkhemightlikethat?”

MmaPotokwanesmiled.“Hewouldlikeitverymuch.Hehasbeenveryquietsincehecamehere,butIhavefoundoutthatthereissomethingthathehasbeendoing.Ithinkitisagoodsign.”

“Whatisthat?”

“Hehasbeenhelpingwiththatlittleboy,”saidMmaPotokwane.“Youknow

theonethatIaskedyoutofindoutsomethingabout?Yourememberthatone?”

“Yes,”saidMmaRamotswe,hesitantly.“Irememberthatlittleboy.”

“Didyoufindoutanything?”askedMmaPotokwane.

“No,”saidMmaRamotswe.“IdonotthinkthatthereismuchthatIcanfindout.ButIdohaveanideaaboutthatboy.Itisjustanidea.”

MmaPotokwane slipped a further spoon of sugar into her tea and stirred itgentlywithateaspoon.

“Ohyes?What’syouridea?”

MmaRamotswefrowned.“Idonotthinkthatmyideawouldhelp,”shesaid.“Infact,Ithinkitwouldnotbehelpful.”

MmaPotokwaneraisedherteacuptoherlips.Shetookalongsipofteaandthenreplacedthecupcarefullyonthetable.

“IthinkIknowwhatyoumean,Mma,”shesaid.“IthinkthatIhavehadthesameidea.ButIcannotbelieveit.Surelyitcannotbetrue.”

MmaRamotsweshookherhead.“ThatiswhatIhavesaidtomyself.Peopletalkaboutthesethings,buttheyhaveneverprovedit,havethey?Theysaythattherearethesewildchildrenandthateverysooftensomebodyfindsone.Butdotheyeveractuallyprovethattheyhavebeenbroughtupbyanimals?Isthereanyproof?”

“Ihaveneverheardofany,”saidMmaPotokwane.

“Andifwetoldanybodywhatwethinkaboutthislittleboy,thenwhatwouldhappen? The newspapers would be full of it. There would be people comingfrom all over the world. Theywould probably try to take the boy off to livesomewhere where they could look at him. They would take him outsideBotswana.”

“No,”saidMmaPotokwane.“TheGovernmentwouldneverallowthat.”

“Idon’tknowabout that,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Theymight.Youcan’tbesure.”

They sat silently.ThenMmaRamotswe spoke. “I think that there are somematters that are best left undisturbed,” she said. “We don’t want to know theanswertoeverything.”

“I agree,” saidMmaPotokwane. “It is sometimes easier tobehappy if youdon’tknoweverything.”

MmaRamotswethoughtforamoment.Itwasaninterestingproposition,andshewasnotsureifitwasalwaystrue;itwouldrequirefurtherthought,butnotjust then. She had a more immediate task in hand, and that was to driveMrJ.L.B.MatekoniouttoMochudi,wheretheycouldclimbthekopjeandlookoutover the plains. Shewas sure that hewould like the sight of all thatwater; itwouldcheerhimup.

“Mr J.L.B. Matekoni has been helping a bit with that boy,” said MmaPotokwane.“Ithasbeengoodforhimtohavesomethingtodo.Ihaveseenhimteachinghimhow touseacatapult.And Ialsohear thathehasbeen teachinghimwords—teachinghimhowtospeak.Heisbeingverykindtohim,andthat,Ithink,isagoodsign.”

MmaRamotswesmiled.SheimaginedMrJ.L.B.Matekoniteachingthewildboythewordsforthethingsthathesawabouthim;teachinghimthewordsforhisworld,thewordsforAfrica.

MRJ.L.B.Matekoniwasnotverycommunicativeon thewayup toMochudi,sittinginthepassengerseatofthetinywhitevan,staringoutofthewindowattheunfoldingplainsandtheothertravellersontheroad.Hemadeafewremarks,though, andheevenaskedaboutwhatwashappeningat thegarage,whichhehadnotdoneatallwhenshehadlastgonetoseehiminhisquiet roomat theorphanfarm.

“IhopethatMmaMakutsiiscontrollingthoseapprenticesofmine,”hesaid.“Theyaresuchlazyboys.Alltheythinkaboutiswomen.”

“There are still those problemswithwomen,” she said. “But she ismakingthemworkhardandtheyaredoingwell.”

They reached theMochudi turnoff and soon theywere on the road that ranstraightuptowardsthehospital,thekgotla,andtheboulder-strewnkopjebehindit.

“I think we should climb up the kopje,” saidMma Ramotswe. “There is agoodviewfromupthere.Wecanseethedifferencethattherainshavemade.”

“Iamtootiredtoclimb,”saidMrJ.L.B.Matekoni.“Yougoup.Ishallstaydownhere.”

“No,”saidMmaRamotswe,firmly.“Weshallbothgoup.Youtakemyarm.”

The climbdid not take long, and soon theywere standingon the edgeof alargeexpanseofelevatedrock,lookingdownonMochudi:onthechurch,withits red tin roof, on the tiny hospital,where the heroic daily battlewas fought,withsmallresourcesagainstsuchpowerfulenemies,andout,overtheplainstothesouth.Theriverwasflowingnow,broadlyandlazily,windingitswaypastclumps of trees and bush and the clusters of compounds that made up thestragglingvillage.Asmallherdofcattlewasbeingdrivenalongapathneartheriver,andfromwheretheystoodthecattle lookedtiny, liketoys.Butthewindwasintheirdirection,andthesoundoftheirbellscouldbemadeout,adistant,softsound,soredolentoftheBotswanabushland,somuchthesoundofhome.MmaRamotswestoodquitestill;awomanonarockinAfrica,whichwaswho,andwhere,shewantedtobe.

“Look,”saidMmaRamotswe.“Lookdownthere.That is thehousewhereIlivedwithmyfather.Thatismyplace.”

MrJ.L.B.Matekonilookeddownandsmiled.Hesmiled;andshenoticed.

“Ithinkyouarefeelingabitbetternow,aren’tyou,”shesaid.

MrJ.L.B.Matekoninoddedhishead.

ALEXANDERMcCALLSMITH

MORALITYFORBEAUTIFULGIRLS

AlexanderMcCallSmith is a professor ofmedical lawatEdinburghUniversity. He was born in what is now known as Zimbabwe andtaughtlawattheUniversityofBotswana.Heistheauthorofoverfiftybooksonawide rangeof subjects, including specialist titles suchasForensic Aspects of Sleep and The Criminal Law of Botswana,children’sbookssuchasThePerfectHamburger, andacollectionofstoriescalledPortugueseIrregularVerbs.

THENO.1LADIES’DETECTIVEAGENCYBYALEXANDERMCCALLSMITH

TheNo.1Ladies’DetectiveAgency

TearsoftheGiraffe

MoralityforBeautifulGirls

FIRSTANCHORBOOKSEDITION,NOVEMBER2002

Copyright©2001byAlexanderMcCallSmith

AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.PublishedintheUnitedStatesby

AnchorBooks,adivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.,NewYork,andsimultaneouslyinCanadabyRandomHouseofCanada

Limited,Toronto.OriginallypublishedinsoftcoverinScotlandbyPolygon,Edinburgh,in2001.

AnchorBooksandcolophonareregisteredtrademarksofRandomHouse,Inc.

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData

McCallSmith,R.A.

Moralityforbeautifulgirls/AlexanderMcCallSmith.

p.cm.

1.Ramotswe,Precious(Fictitiouscharacter)—Fiction.2.Womenprivateinvestigators—Botswana—Fiction.3.Beautycontests—Fiction.

4.Botswana—Fiction.I.Title.

PR6063.C326M672002

823'.914—dc212002071712

www.anchorbooks.com

eISBN:978-1-4000-7766-3

v3.0