Morality for Beautiful Girls by Alexander McCall Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

that it was the perfect country—all Batswana knew that—but it would be even more perfect if the three hottest months could be cooled down.
    At nine o’clock Mma Makutsi made a cup of bush tea for Mma Ramotswe and a cup of ordinary tea for herself. Mma Makutsi had tried to accustom herself to bush tea, loyally drinking it for the first few months of her employment, but had eventually confessed that she did not like the taste. From that time on there were two teapots, one for her and one for Mma Ramotswe.
    “It’s too strong,” she said. “And I think it smells of rats.”
    “It does not,” protested Mma Ramotswe. “This tea is for people who really appreciate tea. Ordinary tea is for anyone.”
    Work stopped while tea was served. This tea break was traditionally a time for catching up on small items of gossip rather than for the broaching of any large subjects. Mma Makutsi enquired after Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, and received a brief report of Mma Ramotswe’s unsatisfactory meeting with him.
    “He seemed to have no interest in anything,” she said. “I could have told him that his house was on fire and he probably wouldn’t have bothered very much. It was very strange.”
    “I have seen people like that before,” said Mma Makutsi. “I had a cousin who was sent off to that hospital in Lobatse. I visited her there. There were plenty of people just sitting and staring up at the sky. And there were also people shouting out at the visitors, shouting strange things, all about nothing.”
    Mma Ramotswe frowned. “That hospital is for mad people,” she said. “Mr J.L.B. Matekoni is not going mad.”
    “Of course not,” said Mma Makutsi hurriedly. “He would never go mad. Of course not.”
    Mma Ramotswe sipped at her tea. “But I still have to get him to a doctor,” she said. “I was told that they can treat this sort of behaviour. It is called depression. There are pills which you can take.”
    “That is good,” said Mma Makutsi. “He will get better. I am sure of it.”
    Mma Ramotswe handed over her mug for refilling. “And what about your family up in Bobonong?” she asked. “Are they well?”
    Mma Makutsi poured the rich red tea into the mug. “They are very well, thank you, Mma.”
    Mma Ramotswe sighed. “I think that it is easier to live in Bobonong than here in Gaborone. Here we have all these troubles to think about, but in Bobonong there is nothing. Just a whole lot of rocks.” She stopped herself. “Of course, it’s a very good place, Bobonong. A very nice place.”
    Mma Makutsi laughed. “You do not have to be polite about Bobonong,” she said. “I can laugh about it. It is not a good place for everybody. I would not like to go back, now that I have seen what it is like to live in Gaborone.”
    “You would be wasted up there,” said Mma Ramotswe. “What’s the use of a diploma from the Botswana Secretarial College in a place like Bobonong? The ants would eat it.”
    Mma Makutsi cast an eye up to the wall where her diploma from the Botswana Secretarial College was framed. “We must remember to take that to the new office when we move,” she said. “I would not like to leave it behind.”
    “Of course not,” said Mma Ramotswe, who had no diplomas. “That diploma is important for the clients. It gives them confidence.”
    “Thank you,” said Mma Makutsi.
    The tea break over, Mma Makutsi went to wash the cups under the standpipe at the back of the building, and it was just as she returned that the client arrived. It was the first client for over a week, and neither of them was prepared for the tall, well-built man who knocked at the door, in the proper Botswana manner, and politely awaited his invitation to enter. Nor were they prepared for the fact that the car which brought him there, complete with smartly attired Government driver, was an official Mercedes-Benz.
     
    YOU KNOW who I am, Mma?” he said, as he took up the invitation to seat himself in the chair before Mma