The housemother, Mma Kerileng, was in the kitchen. Drying her hands on her apron, she greeted Mma Ramotswe warmly and invited the two women into the living room. This was a cheerfully decorated room, with pictures drawn by the children pinned up on a large notice board. A box in one corner was filled with toys.
Mma Kerileng waited until her guests were seated before she lowered herself into one of the bulky armchairs which were arranged around a low central table.
"I have heard of you, Mma," she said to Mma Ramotswe. "I have seen your picture in the newspaper. And of course I have met Mr J.L.B. Matekoni when he has been out here fixing all
the machines that are always breaking. You are a lucky lady to be marrying a man who can fix things. Most husbands just break things."
Mma Ramotswe inclined her head at the compliment. "He is a good man," she said. "He is not well at the moment, but I am hoping that he will be better very soon."
"I hope so too," said Mma Kerileng. She looked expectantly at Mma Potokwane.
"I wanted Mma Ramotswe to see Mataila," she said. "She may be able to advise us. How is he today?"
"It is the same as yesterday," said Mma Kerileng. "And the day before that. There is no change in that boy."
Mma Potokwane sighed. "It is very sad. Is he sleeping now? Can you open the door?"
"I think that he's awake," said the housemother. "Let us see anyway."
She arose from her chair and led them down a highly polished corridor. Mma Ramotswe noticed, with approval, how clean the house was. She knew how much hard work there would be in this woman; throughout the country there were women who worked and worked and who were rarely given any praise. Politicians claimed the credit for building Botswana, but how dare they? How dare they claim the credit for all the hard work of people like Mma Kerileng, and women like her.
They stopped outside a door at the end of the corridor and Mma Kerileng took a key out of her housecoat pocket.
"I cannot remember when we last locked a child in a room," she said. "In fact, I think it has never happened before. We have never had to do such a thing."
The observation seemed to make Mma Potokwane feel
L
1 06
Alexander McCall Smith
MORALITY FOR BEAUTIFUL GIRLS
1 07
uncomfortable. "There is no other way," she said. "He would run off into the bush."
"Of course," said Mma Kerileng. "It just seems very sad." She pushed the door open, to reveal a room furnished only with a mattress. There was no glass in the window, which was covered with a large latticework wrought-iron screen of the sort used as burglar bars. Sitting on the mattress, his legs splayed out before him, was a by of five or six, completely naked.
The boy looked at the women as they entered and for a brief moment Mma Ramotswe saw an expression of fear, of the sort one might see in the eyes of a frightened animal. But this lasted only for a short time before it was replaced by a look of vacancy, or absence.
"Mataila," said Mma Potokwane, speaking very slowly in Setswana. "Mataila, how are you today? This lady here is called Mma Ramotswe. Ramotswe. Can you see her?"
The boy looked up at Mma Potokwane as she spoke, and his gaze remained with her until she stopped speaking. Then he looked down at the floor again.
"I don't think he understands," said Mma Potokwane. "But we speak to him anyway."
"Have you tried other languages?" asked Mma Ramotswe. Mma Potokwane nodded. "Everything we can think of. We had somebody come out from the Department of African Languages at the university. They tried some of the rarer ones, just in case he had wandered down from Zambia. We tried Herero. We tried San, although he's obviously not a Mosarwa to look at. Nothing. Absolutely nothing."
Mma Ramotswe took a step forward to get a closer look at
the boy. He raised his head slightly, but did nothing else. She stepped forward again.
"Be careful," said Mma Potokwane. "He bites. Not always, but quite often."
Mma Ramotswe stood still. Biting was a not uncommon method of fighting in Botswana, and it would not be surprising to find a child that bit. There had been a recent case reported in Mmegi of assault by biting. A waiter had bitten a customer after an argument over shortchanging, and this had led to a prosecution in the Lobatse Magistrate's Court. The waiter had been sentenced to one month's imprisonment and had immediately bitten the policeman who was leading him off to the cells; a further example, thought Mma Ramotswe, of the shortsightedness of violent people. This second bite had cost him another three months in prison.
Mma Ramotswe looked down at the child.
"Mataila?"
The boy did nothing.
"Mataila?" She stretched out towards the boy, ready to withdraw her hand sharply if necessary.
The boy growled. There was no other word for it, she thought. It was a growl, a low, guttural sound that seemed to come from his chest.
"Did you hear that?" asked Mma Potokwane. "Isn't that extraordinary? And if you're wondering why he's naked, it's because he ripped up the clothes we gave him. He ripped them with his teeth and threw them down on the ground. We gave him two pairs of shorts, and he did the same thing to both of them."
Mma Potokwane now moved forward.
1 08
Alexander McCall Smith
MORALITY FOR BEAUTIFUL GIRLS
1 09
"Now, Mataila," she said. "You get up and come outside. Mma Kerileng will take you out for some fresh air."
She reached down and took the boy, gingerly, by the arm. His head turned for a moment, and Mma Ramotswe thought that he was about to bite, but he did not and he meekly rose to his feet and allowed himself to be led out of the room.
Outside the house, Mma Kerileng took the boy's hand and walked with him towards a clump of trees at the edge of the compound. The boy walked with a rather unusual gait, observed Mma Ramotswe, between a run and a walk, as if he might cuJdenly bound off.
"So that's our Mataila," said Mma Potokwane, as they watched the housemother walk off with her charge. "What do you think of that?"
Mma Ramotswe grimaced. "It is very strange. Something terrible must have happened to that child."
"No doubt," said Mma Potokwane. "I said that to the doctor who looked at him. He said maybe yes, maybe no. He said that there are some children who are just like that. They keep to themselves and they never learn to talk."
Mma Ramotswe watched as Mma Kerileng briefly let go of the child's hand.
"We have to watch him all the time," said Mma Potokwane. "If we leave him, he runs off into the bush and hides. He went missing for four hours last week. They eventually found him over by the sewerage ponds. He does not seem to know that a naked child running as fast as he can is likely to attract attention."
Mma Potokwane and Mma Ramotswe began to walk back together towards the office. Mma Ramotswe felt depressed. She wondered how one would make a start with a child like
that. It was easy to respond to the needs of appealing orphans-- of children such as the two who had come to live in Zebra Drive--but there were so many other children, children who had been damaged in some way or other, and who would need patience and understanding. She contemplated her life, with its lists and its demands, and she wondered how she would ever find the time to be the mother of a child like that. Surely Mma Potokwane could not be planning that she and Mr J.L.B. Matekoni should take this child too? She knew that the matron had a reputation for determination and for not taking no for an answer--which of course made her a powerful advocate for her orphans--but she could not imagine that she would try to impose in this way, for in any view it would be a great imposition to foist this child off on her.
"I am a busy woman," she started to say, as they neared the office. "I'm sorry, but I cannot take..."
A group of orphans walked past them and greeted the matron politely. They had with them a small, undernourished puppy, which one of them was cradling in her arms; one orphan helps another, thought Mma R
amotswe.
"Be careful with that dog," warned Mma Potokwane. "I am always telling you that you should not pick up these strays. Will you not listen..."
She turned to Mma Ramotswe. "But Mma Ramotswe! I hope that you did not think... Of course I did not expect you to take that boy! We can barely manage him here, with all our resources."
"I was worried," said Mma Ramotswe. "I am always prepared to help, but there is a limit to what I can do."
Mma Potokwane laughed, and touched her guest reassurlnglv on the forearm. "Of course you are. You are already help
1 1 0
Alexander McCall Smith
MORALITY FOR BEAUTIFUL GIRLS
1 1 1
ing us by taking those two orphans. No, I wanted only to asl your advice. I know that you have a very good reputation foi finding missing people. Could you tell us--just tell us--hov we might find out about this boy? If we could somehow di& cover something about his past, about where he came from we might be able to get through to him."
Mma Ramotswe shook her head. "It will be too difficult. Yoi would have to talk to people near where he was found. Yoi would have to ask a lot of questions, and I think that peopl will not want to talk. If they did, they would have said some thing."
"You are right about that," said Mma Potokwane sadly. "Th police asked a lot of questions up there, outside Maun. Thei asked in all the local villages, and nobody knew of a child lik( that. They showed his photograph and people just said no They knew nothing of him."
Mma Ramotswe was not surprised. If anybody wanted the child, then somebody would have said something. The faci that there was a silence probably meant that the child had been deliberately abandoned. And there was always the possibility of some sort of witchcraft with a child like that. If a local spirit doctor had said that the child was possessed, or was a tokolosi, then nothing could be done for him: he was probably fortunate to be alive. Such children often met a quite different fate.
They were now standing beside the tiny white van. The tree had shed a frond on the vehicle's top, and Mma Ramotswe picked it up. They were so delicate, the leaves of this tree; with their hundreds of tiny leaves attached to the central stem, like the intricate tracing of a spider's web. Behind them was the sound of children's voices; a song which Mma Ramotswe
remembered from her own childhood, and which made her smile.
The cattle come home, one, two, three,
The cattle come home, the big one, the small one, the one
with one horn,
I live with the cattle, one, two, three, Oh mother, look out for me.
She looked into Mma Potokwane's face; a face which said, in every line and in every expression: I am the matron of an orphan farm.
"They are still singing that song," said Mma Ramotswe.
Mma Potokwane smiled. "I sing it too. We never forget the songs of our childhood, do we?"
"Tell me," said Mma Ramotswe. "What did they say about that boy? Did the people who found him say anything?"
Mma Potokwane thought for a moment. "They told the police that they found him in the dark. They said that he was very difficult to control. And they said that he had a strange smell about him."
"What strange smell?"
Mma Potokwane made a dismissive gesture with a hand. One of the men said that he smelled of lion. The policeman remembered it because it was such a strange thing to say. He wrote it down in his report, which came to us eventually when the tribal administration people up there sent the boy down to us."
Like lion?" asked Mma Ramotswe. Yes," said Mma Potokwane. "Ridiculous."
Mma Ramotswe said nothing for a moment. She climbed
1 1 2
Alexander McCall Smith
into the tiny white van and thanked Mma Potokwane for h hospitality.
"I shall think about this boy," she said. "Maybe I shall be able to come up with an idea."
They waved to one another as Mma Ramotswe drove down the dusty road, through the orphanage gates, with their large ironwork sign proclaiming: Children live here.
She drove slowly, as there were donkeys and cattle on the road, and the herd boys who looked after them. Some of the herd boys were very young, no more than six or seven, like that poor, silent boy in his little room.
What if a young herd boy got lost, thought Mma Ramotswe. What if he got lost in the bush, far from the cattle post? Would he die? Or might something else happen to him?
CHAPTER TEN
TH E CLERK'S TALE
MA RAMOTSWE realised that something would have to be done about the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. It did not take long to move the contents of the old office to the new quarters at the back of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors; there was not much more than one filing cabinet and its contents, a few metal trays in which papers awaiting filing could be placed, the old teapot and its two chipped mugs, and of course the old typewriter--which had been given to her by Mr J.L.B. Matekoni and was now going home. These were manhandled into the back of the tiny white van by the two apprentices, after only the most token complaint that this was not part of their job. It would appear that they would do anything requested of them by Mma Makutsi, who had only to whistle from the office to find one of them running in to find out what she needed.
1 1 4
Alexander McCall Smith
MORALITY FOR BEAUTIFUL GIRLS
1 1 5
This compliance was a surprise to Mm a Ramotsvve, and sh wondered what it was that Mma Makutsi had over these tvv young men. Mma Makutsi was not beautiful in a convention; sense. Her skin was too dark for modern tastes, thought Mm Ramotswe, and the lightening cream that she used had lei patches. Then there was her hair, which was often braidec but braided in a very strange way And then there were h( glasses, of course, with their large lenses that would have served the needs of at least two people, in Mma Ramotswe view. Yet here was this person who would never have got int round one of a beauty competition, commanding the slavis attentions of these two notoriously difficult young men. It wj very puzzling.
It could be, of course, that there was something more than mere physical appearance behind this. Mma Makutsi may not have been a great beauty, but she certainly had a powerful personality, and perhaps these boys recognised that. Beauty queens were often devoid of character, and men must surely tire of that after a while. Those dreadful competitions which they held--the Miss Lovers Special Time Competition or the Miss Cattle Industry Competition--brought to the fore the most vacuous of girls. These vacuous girls then attempted to pronounce on all sorts of issues, and to Mma Ramotswe's utter incomprehension, they were often listened to.
She knew that these young men followed the beauty competitions, for she had heard them talking about them. But now their main concern seemed to be to impress Mma Makutsi, and to flatter her. One had even attempted to kiss her, and had been pushed away with amused indignation.
"Since when does a mechanic kiss the manager?" asked
ivlma Makutsi. "Get back to work before I beat your useless bottom with a big stick."
The apprentices had made short work of the move, loading the entire contents within half an hour. Then, with the two oung men travelling in the back to hold the filing cabinet in place, the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, complete with painted sign, made its way to its new premises. It was a sad moment, and both Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi were close to tears as they locked the front door for the last time.
"It is just a move, Mma," said Mma Makutsi, in an attempt to comfort her employer. "It is not as if we are going out of business."
"I know," said Mma Ramotswe, looking, for the last time perhaps, at the view from the front of the building, over the rooftops of the town and the tops of the thorn trees. "I have been very happy here.
We are still in business. Yes, but only just. Over the last few days, with all the turmoil and the lists, Mma Ramotswe had devoted very little time to the affairs of the agency. In fact, she had devoted no time at all, when she came to think about it. There
was only one outstanding case, and nothing else had come in, although it undoubtedly would. She would be able to charge the Government Man a proper fee for her time, but that would depend on a successful outcome. She could send him an account even if she found nothing, but she always felt embarrassed asking for payment when she was unable to help the client. Perhaps she would just have to steel herself to do this in the Government Man's case, as he was a wealthy man and could well afford to pay. It must be very easy, she thought, to have a detective agency that catered only to the needs of
Alexander McCall Smith - No 1 LDA 3 - Morality for Beautiful Girls Page 10
