Alexander McCall Smith - No 1 LDA 3 - Morality for Beautiful Girls
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rich people, the No. 1 Rich Person's Detective Agency, as th charging of fees would always be painless. But that was not what her business was, and she was not sure that she would be happy with that. Mm a Ramotswe liked to help everybody, no matter what their station was in life. She had often been out of pocket on a case, simply because she could not refuse to help a person in need. This is what I am called to do, she said to herself. I must help whomsoever asks for my help. That is my duty: to help other people with the problems in their lives. Not that you could do everything. Africa was full of people in need of help and there had to be a limit. You simply could not help everybody; but you could at least help those who came into your life. That principle allowed you to deal with the suffering you saw. That was your suffering. Other people would have to deal with the suffering that they, in their turn, came across.
BUT WHAT to do, here and now, with the problems of the business? Mma Ramotswe decided that she would have to revise her list and put the Government Man's case at the top. This meant that she should start making enquiries immediately, and where better to start than with the suspect wife's father? There were several reasons for this, the most important being that if there really were a plot to dispose of the Government Man's brother, then this would probably not be the wife's idea, but would have been dreamed up by the father. Mma Ramotswe was convinced that people who got up to really serious mischief very rarely acted entirely on their own initiative. There was usually somebody else involved, somebody who would; stand to benefit in some way, or somebody close to the perpetrator of the deed who was brought in for moral support. In;
this case, the most likely person would be the wife's father. If, the Government Man had implied, this man was aware of the social betterment which the marriage entailed, and made much of it, then he was likely to be socially ambitious himself. And in that case, it would be highly convenient for him to have the son-in-law out of the way, so that he could, through his daughter, lay hands on a substantial part of the family assets. Indeed, the more Mma Ramotswe thought about it, the more likely it seemed that the poisoning attempt was the clerk's idea.
She could imagine his thoughts, as he sat at his small government desk and reflected on the power and authority which he saw all about him and of which he had only such a small part. How galling it must be for a man of this stripe to see the Government Man drive past him in his official car; the Government Man who was, in fact, the brother-in-law of his own daughter. How difficult it must be for him not to have the recognition that he undoubtedly felt that he would get if only more people knew that he was connected in such a way with such a family. If the money and the cattle came to him--or to his daughter, which amounted to the same thing--then he would be able to give up his demeaning post in the civil service and pursue the life of a rich farmer; he, who now had no cattle, would have cattle aplenty. He, who now had to scrimp and save in order to afford a trip up to Francistown each year, would be able to eat meat every day and drink Lion Lager with his friends on Friday evenings, generously buying rounds for all. And all that stood between him and all this was one small, beating heart. If that heart could be silenced, then his entire life would be transformed. The Government Man had given Mma Ramotswe the wife's
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family name and had told her that the father liked to spend his lunch hour sitting under a tree outside the Ministry. This gave her all the information she needed to find him: his name and his tree.
"I am going to begin this new case," she said to Mrna Makutsi, as the two of them sat in their new office. "You are busy with the garage. I shall get back to being a detective."
"Good," said Mma Makutsi. "It is a demanding business running a garage. I shall continue to be very busy."
"I am glad to see that the apprentices are working so hard,' said Mma Ramotswe. "You have them eating out of youi hand."
Mma Makutsi smiled conspiratorially. "They are very sill} young men," she said. "But we ladies are used to dealing with silly young men."
"So I see," said Mma Ramotswe. "You must have had man) boyfriends, Mma. These boys seem to like you."
Mma Makutsi shook her head. "I have had almost nc boyfriends. I cannot understand why these boys are like this to me when there are all these pretty girls in Gaborone."
"You underestimate yourself, Mma," said Mma Ramotswe "You are obviously an attractive lady to men."
"Do you think so?" asked Mma Makutsi, beaming wit! pleasure.
"Yes," said Mma Ramotswe. "Some ladies become more attractive to men the older they get. I have seen this happen Then, while all the young girls, the beauty queens, get less and less attractive as they get older, these other ladies become more and more so. It is a very interesting thing."
Mma Makutsi looked thoughtful. She adjusted her glasses, and Mma Ramotswe noticed her glancing surreptitiously at
her reflection in the window pane. She was not sure if what she had said was true, but even if it were not, she would be alad that she had said it if it had the effect of boosting Mma Makutsi's confidence. It would do her no harm at all to be admired by these two feckless boys, as long as she did not get involved with them, and it was clear to Mma Ramotswe that there was little chance of that--at least for the time being.
She left Mma Makutsi in the office and drove off in the tiny white van. It was now half past twelve; the drive would take ten minutes, which would give her time to find a parking place and to make her way to the Ministry and to start looking for the wife's father, Mr Kgosi Sipoleli, ministry clerk and, if her intuitions were correct, would-be murderer.
She parked the tiny white van near the Catholic church, as the town was busy and there were no places to be had any closer. She would have a walk--a brief one--and she did not mind this, as she was bound to see people whom she knew and she had a few minutes in hand for a chat on her way.
She was not disappointed. Barely had she turned the corner from her parking place than she ran into Mma Gloria Bopedi, mother of Chemba Bopedi, who had been at school with Mma Ramotswe in Mochudi. Chemba had married Pilot Matanyani, who had recently become headmaster of a school at Selibi-Pikwe. She had seven children, the oldest of whom had recently become champion under-fifteen sprinter of Botswana.
How is your very fast grandson, Mma?" asked Mma Ramotswe.
The elderly woman beamed. She had few teeth left, noticed Mrna Ramotswe, who thought that it would be better for her to have the remaining ones out and be fitted with false teeth.
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"Oh! He is fast, that one," said Mm a Bopedi. "But he is naughty boy too. He learned to run fast so that he could of out of trouble. That is how he came to be so fast." j
"Well," said Mma Ramotswe, "something good has come of of it. Maybe he will be in the Olympics one day, running fc Botswana. That will show the world that the fast runners at not all in Kenya." i
Again she found herself reflecting on the fact that what sh said was not true. The truth of the matter was that the bes runners did all come from Kenya, where the people were ver tall and had long legs, very suitably designed for running. Tb problem with the Batswana was that they were not very tal Their men tended to be stocky, which was fine for looking afte cattle, but which did not lend itself to athleticism. Indeed most Southern Africans were not very good runners, althougl the Zulus and the Swazis sometimes produced somebody wh made a mark on the track, such as that great Swazi runnel Richard "Concorde Mavuso.
Of course, the Boers were quite good at sports. They pro duced these very large men with great thighs and thick necksj like Brahman cattle. They played rugby and seemed to do verj well at it, although they were not very bright. She preferred a Motswana ma
n, who may not be as big as one of those rugb) players, nor as swift as one of those Kenyan runners, but al least he would be reliable and astute.
"Don't you think so, Mma?" she said to Mma Bopedi. "Don't I think what, Mma?" asked Mma Bopedi. Mma Ramotswe realised that she had included the othel woman in her reverie, and apologised.
"I was just thinking about our men," she said.
Mma Bopedi raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really, Mma? Well, to fgl) you the truth, I also think about our men from time to time. Not very often, but sometimes. You know how it is."
Mma Ramotswe bade Mma Bopedi farewell and continued with her journey. Now, outside the optician's shop, she came across Mr Motheti Pilai, standing quite still, looking up at the
sky.
"Dumela, Rra," she said politely. "Are you well?"
Mr Pilai looked down. "Mma Ramotswe," he said. "Please let me look at you. I have just been given these new spectacles, and I can see the world clearly for the first time in years. Ow! It is a wonderful thing. I had forgotten what it was like to see clearly. And there you are, Mma. You are looking very beautiful, very fat."
"Thank you, Rra."
He moved the spectacles to the end of his nose. "My wife was always telling me that I needed new glasses, but I was always afraid to come here. I do not like that machine that he has which shines light into your eyes. And I do not like that machine which puffs air into your eyeball. So I put it off and put it off. I was very foolish."
"It is never a good thing to put something off," said Mma Ramotswe, thinking of how she had put off the Government Man's case.
"Oh, I know that," said Mr Pilai. "But the problem is that even if you know that is the best thing to do, you often don't do it."
That is very puzzling," said Mma Ramotswe. "But it is true. Its as if there were two people inside you. One says: do this. Another says: do that. But both these voices are inside the same person."
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Mr Pilai stared at Mm a Ramotswe. "It is very hot today," h( said.
She agreed with him, and they both went about their busi ness. She would stop no more, she resolved; it was now almosi one o'clock and she wanted to have enough time to locate Mi Sipoleli and to have the conversation with him that would stan her enquiry.
THE TREE was easily identified. It stood a short distance from the main entrance to the Ministry, a large acacia tree with a wide canopy that provided a wide circle of shade on the dusty ground below. Immediately beside the trunk were several strategically placed stones--comfortable seats for anyone who might wish to sit under the tree and watch the daily business of Gaborone unfold before him. Now, at five minutes to one, the stones were unoccupied.
Mma Ramotswe chose the largest of the stones and settled herself upon it. She had brought with her a large flask of tea, two aluminum mugs, and four corned beef sandwiches made with thickly cut slices of bread. She took out one of the mugs and filled it with bush tea. Then she leaned back against the trunk of the tree and waited. It was pleasant to be seated there in the shade, with a mug of tea, watching the passing traffic. Nobody paid the slightest attention to her, as it was an entirely normal thing to see: a well-built woman under a tree.
Shortly after ten past one, when Mma Ramotswe had finished her tea and was on the point of dozing off in her comfortable place, a figure emerged from the front of the Ministry and walked over towards the tree. As he drew near, Mma
Ramotswe jolted herself to full wakefulness. She was on duty nov, and she must make the most of the opportunity to talk to Mr Sipoleli, if that, as she expected, was the person now approaching her.
The man was wearing a pair of neatly pressed blue trousers, a short-sleeved white shirt, and a dark brown tie. It was exactly what one would expect a junior civil servant, in the clerical grade, to wear. And as if to confirm the diagnosis, there was a row of pens tucked neatly into his shirt pocket. This was clearly the uniform of the junior clerk, even if it was being worn by a man in his late forties. This, then, was a clerk who was stuck where he was and was not going any further.
The man approached the tree cautiously. Staring at Mma Ramotswe, it seemed as if he wanted to say something but could not quite bring himself to speak.
Mma Ramotswe smiled at him. "Good afternoon, Rra," she said. "It is hot today, is it not? That is why I am under this tree. It is clearly a good place to sit in the heat."
The man nodded. "Yes," he said. "I normally sit here."
Mma Ramotswe affected surprise. "Oh? I hope that I am not sitting on your rock, Rra. I found it here and there was nobody sitting on it."
He made an impatient gesture with his hands. "My rock? Yes it is, as a matter of fact. That is my rock. But this is a public place and anybody can sit on it, I suppose."
Mma Ramotswe rose to her feet. "But Rra, you must have this rock. I shall sit on that one over on that side."
"No, Mma," he said hurriedly, his tone changing. "I do not want to inconvenience you. I can sit on that rock."
"No. You sit on this rock here. It is your rock. I would not
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have sat on it if I had thought that it was another person's rock I can sit on this rock, which is a good rock too. You sit on tha rock." i
"No," he said firmly. "You go back where you were, Mma. ] can sit on that rock any day. You can't. I shall sit on this rock.'
Mma Ramotswe, with a show of reluctance, returned to hei original rock, while Mr Sipoleli settled himself down.
"I am drinking tea, Rra," she said. "But I have enough foi you. I would like you to have some, since I am sitting on your rock."
Mr Sipoleli smiled. "You are very kind, Mma. I love to drink tea. I drink a lot of tea in my office. I am a civil servant, you see."
"Oh?" said Mma Ramotswe. "That is a good job. You must be important."
Mr Sipoleli laughed. "No," he said. "I am not at all important. I am a junior clerk. But I am lucky to be that. There are people with degrees being recruited into my level of job. I have my Cambridge Certificate, that is all. I feel that I have done well enough."
Mma Ramotswe listened to this as she poured his tea. She was surprised by what she had heard; she had expected a rather different sort of person, a minor official puffed up with his importance and eager for greater status. Here, by contrast, was a man who seemed to be quite content with what he was and where he had got himself.
"Could you not be promoted, Rra? Would it not be possible to go further up?"
Mr Sipoleli considered her question carefully. "I suppose it would," he said after a few moments' thought. "The problem is
that I would have to spend a lot of time getting on the right side of more senior people. Then I would have to say the right things and write bad reports on my juniors. That is not what I would like to do. I am not an ambitious man. I am happy where I am, really I am."
Mma Ramotswe's hand faltered in the act of passing him his tea. This was not at all what she had expected, and suddenly she remembered Clovis Andersen's words of advice. Never make any prior assumptions, he had written. Never decide in advance what's what or who's who. This may set you off on the wrong track altogether.
She decided to offer him a sandwich, which she pulled out of her plastic bag. He was pleased, but chose the smallest of the sandwiches; another indication, she thought, of a modest personality. The Mr Sipoleli of her imagining would have taken the largest sandwich without hesitation.
"Do you have family in Gaborone, Rra?" she asked innocently.
Mr Sipoleli finished his mouthful of corned beef before answering. "I have three daughters," he said. "Two are nurses, one at the Princess Marina and the other out at Molepolole. Then there is my firstborn, who did very well at school and went to the university. We are very proud of her."
"She lives in
Gaborone?" asked Mma Ramotswe, passing him another sandwich.
"No," he replied. "She is living somewhere else. She married a young man she met while she was studying. They live out that way. Over there."
"And this son-in-law'of yours," said Mma Ramotswe. "What about him? Is he good to her?"
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"Yes," said Mr Sipoleli. "He is a very good man. They ajj very happy, and I hope that they have many children. I an looking forward to being a grandfather."
Mma Ramotswe thought for a moment. Then she said: "Thi best thing about seeing one's children married must be thi thought that they will be able to look after you when you ari old."