Kalahari Typing School for Men (23 page)

“I understand you very well,” said Mr. Selelipeng. “You can be sure that I will try to make it easy for her.”

“That is what you must do, Rra.”

She rose to her feet, preparing to leave.

“And another thing, Rra,” she said. “I would like you to remember that in the future these things may not work out quite so easily for you. Bear that in mind.”

“There is not going to be a next time,” said Mr. Bernard Selelipeng.

BUT AS
she made her way back to the tiny white van, he was watching from his window, and he thought:
I have no happiness now. I am just a man who provides for that woman and her children
.
She does not love me, but she will not let me find somebody who
does love me. And I am too much of a coward to walk away and tell her that I have my own life, which will soon be gone anyway, because I am getting older. And now I no longer have that lady, who was so good to me. One day I will put a stop to all this. One day
.

And Mma Ramotswe, glancing up, saw him at his window before he retreated, and she thought:
Poor man! It could have been different for him, if he had not lied to Mma Makutsi. Why is it that there are always these problems and misunderstandings between men and women? Surely it would have been better if God had made only one sort of person, and the children had come by some other means, with the rain, perhaps
.

She thought about this as she started the van and began to drive away. But if there were only one sort of person, would this person be more like a man than a woman? The answer was obvious, thought Mma Ramotswe. One hardly even had to think about it.

I
T SEEMED
to Mma Ramotswe that the run of misfortune that had begun with the illness of Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, and which had continued through events such as the foreshortened affair of Mma Makutsi with Mr. Bernard Selelipeng and the establishing of the rival agency, was now coming to an end. She had still been concerned about the Selelipeng matter, but she need not have been. Shortly after Mma Ramotswe’s visit to No. 42 Limpopo Court, Mma Makutsi explained to her, quite spontaneously, that Mr. Selelipeng had unfortunately been called back to look after aged relatives in Mochudi. As a result of this, he was, most regrettably of course, not in a position to see her as regularly as he might have wished.

“A bit of a relief,” she said. “I liked him to begin with, but then, you know how it is, Mma, I rather went off him.”

For a moment Mma Ramotswe’s composure deserted her.

“You went off … you …”

“I was bored with him,” said Mma Makutsi airily. “He was a very nice man in many ways, but he was a bit too concerned about his appearance. He also just sat there and smiled at me all the time. He was definitely in love with me, which is nice, but you can get a bit bored with that sort of thing, can’t you?”

“Of course,” said Mma Ramotswe hurriedly.

“He would just sit there and look into my eyes,” went on Mma Makutsi. “After a while, it made me go cross-eyed.”

Mma Ramotswe laughed. “Some girls would like a man like that.”

“Perhaps,” said Mma Makutsi. “But then, I’m looking for somebody with a bit more …”

“Intelligence?”

“Yes.”

“You are very wise,” said Mma Ramotswe.

Mma Makutsi threw a hand in the air, as might one who could have her pick of men. “When he said that he was going off to Mochudi, I was very pleased. I said immediately that it would not be easy for us to see one another anymore and that perhaps it was best to say good-bye. He seemed surprised, but I tried to make it easy for him. So we agreed on that. He gave me a very nice present, too. A necklace with a very small diamond in it. He said that he could get them at a special price from the company.”

She took a silver chain out of a small packet and showed it to Mma Ramotswe. Suspended on the chain was a small chip of diamond, almost invisible. He could have been more generous, thought Mma Ramotswe, but at least he did it, which was the important thing.

Mma Ramotswe looked at Mma Makutsi. She wondered whether she was putting a brave face on it, or whether she really had been intending to get rid of Mr. Bernard Selelipeng. No, there
was only one possibility. Mma Makutsi was a scrupulously truthful person, and she would not—she could not—sit there and tell Mma Ramotswe a skein of lies. So she had made the first move after all. It was astonishing how life had a way of working out, even when every thing looked so complicated and unpromising.

EVEN MORE
astonishing, though, was the arrival later that day of Mr. Buthelezi, who knocked on the door, entered uninvited, and cheerfully extended a greeting to both Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi.

“So this is your place,” he said, looking about the office with a rather condescending air. “I wondered what sort of office you ladies would have. I thought there might be more feminine things. Curtains, you know, things like that.”

Mma Ramotswe looked at Mma Makutsi. If there was a limit to this man’s nerve, then they had yet to plumb it.

“You people are very busy, I hear,” he said. “Lots of cases. This and that.”

“Yes,” said Mma Ramotswe, adding: “Some clients even came from—”

“Oh, I know about that,” said Mr. Buthelezi. “That woman! I told her the truth, I told—”

Mma Ramotswe coughed loudly. She had inadvertently mentioned Mma Selelipeng, forgetting for a moment the careful steps she had taken to prevent Mma Makutsi from hearing anything about it. “Yes, yes, Rra. Let’s forget all about that. It was nothing. Now, what can we do for you today? Do you need a detective?”

At this Mma Makutsi burst out laughing but was silenced by a look from Mr. Buthelezi.

“Very funny, Mma,” he said. “The truth of the matter is that
you can keep the detective business. I have had enough of it. I do not think it is the right business for me.”

For a moment Mma Ramotswe was speechless. It was true: the natural order was indeed restoring itself after all these setbacks.

“It’s a very boring business, I’ve decided,” said Mr. Buthelezi. “This is a small town. People in this place lead very boring lives. They have no problems to sort out. It is not like Johannesburg.”

“Or New York?” interjected Mma Makutsi.

“Yes,” said Mr. Buthelezi. “It is not like New York, either.”

“So what are you going to do, Rra?” asked Mma Ramotswe. “Are you going to find another business?”

“I’ll try to think of something,” said Mr. Buthelezi. “Something will turn up.”

“What about a driving school?” asked Mma Makutsi. “You would be good at that.”

Mr. Buthelezi spun round to face Mma Makutsi’s desk. “That is a very good idea, Mma. It is a very good idea. My, my! You are a clever lady. Not just beautiful but clever, too.”

“You could call it
Learn to Drive with Jesus
,” Mma Makutsi suggested. “You would get many safe, religious people coming to you.”

“Hah!” said Mr. Buthelezi, his voice raised. And then, “Hah!” again.

They have such loud voices, these people
, thought Mma Ramotswe;
they are all like that. They just are
.

THE FOLLOWING
week, because life now seemed to be more ordered and satisfactory, Mma Ramotswe, Mma Makutsi, and Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni organised a gathering by the side of the dam. Not only did they invite the two apprentices, but they also asked Mma Potokwane and her husband, Mma Boko, who was fetched
from Molepolole by one of the apprentices, and Mr. Molefelo and his family. Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi worked hard at preparing fried chicken and sausages, together with ample quantities of rice and maize pap. At the picnic itself, the apprentices made a small fire on which thick slices of beef were grilled.

There were other groups picnicking there at the same time, including several families with teenage girls. The apprentices soon started talking to these girls and sat on a rock away from the others, exchanging jokes and conversation of a sort which Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni could only imagine.

“What do these young people talk about?” he said to Mma Ramotswe. “Just look at them. Even the religious one is talking to those girls and trying to touch them on the arm.”

“He has gone back to girls,” said Mma Makutsi, picking up a tempting bit of chicken and popping it into her mouth. “I have noticed that. He will not be religious for long.”

“I thought that might happen,” said Mma Ramotswe. “People do not change all that much.”

She looked at Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, who was poking at a piece of meat on the fire. It was good that people did not change, except, she supposed, where there was room for improvement. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni was perfect as he was, she thought; a good man, with a profound feeling for machinery and possessed of a nature made up of utter kindness. There were so few men like that around; how satisfactory it was, then, that she had one of them.

Mma Potokwane filled a plate with chicken and rice and passed it to her husband.

“How fortunate we are,” she said. “How fortunate that we have been given these kind friends, and that we are living in this place, which is so good to us. We are lucky people.”

“We are,” echoed her husband, who agreed with every thing rhis wife said, without exception.

“Mma Potokwane,” said Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, “is that new pump of yours working well?”

“Very well,” said Mma Potokwane. “But one of the housemothers says that the hot-water system in her house is making a gurgling noise. I was wondering—”

“I will come and fix it,” said Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. “I will come tomorrow.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled, but only to herself.

africa
africa africa
africa africa africa
africa africa
africa