Precious and Grace by Alexander McCall Smith Read Free Book Online

said Mma Makutsi. “You have that very big sort of bear…”
    “The grizzly. Yes, we have those. Once again, those tend to be up in the mountains. You won’t get those down where most people live.”
    Mma Makutsi had more to say. “They say that most of these cases where people are attacked by bears—and other animals—happen when the person has surprised the animal, when they have given it a shock.” She paused, but not long enough for Mma Ramotswe to get the conversation back on track. “That is often the case with snakes, you know, Mma Susan.”
    “I can well believe it,” said Susan. “We used to get snakes coming into the house sometimes when we lived here in Gaborone. I distinctly remember it.”
    “Oh, that is very common, Mma,” said Mma Makutsi. “But when you meet a snake in the bush—when you’re walking, for instance—it’s often because you are walking too softly. You have to take firm footsteps so that the snake feels the vibration in the ground. That way it has a warning and it gets out of your way.”
    Mma Ramotswe tried again. “I think we should talk about snakes some other time, Mma Makutsi. Mma Susan was telling us—”
    “I was not the one who raised this subject,” protested Mma Makutsi.
    Mma Ramotswe was placatory. “It’s not a question of who started what,” she said. “It’s just that we need to hear what Mma Susan has to tell us.”
    Mma Makutsi sniffed. “I am listening, Mma Ramotswe. I have been listening all along.”
    Susan made light of it. “I’m happy to talk about snakes,” she said. “I love talking about anything to do with Botswana—even snakes.”
    “There,” said Mma Makutsi, glancing at Mma Ramotswe.
    There was a brief silence before Susan continued. “You can imagine what a shock it was for me,” she said. “We went straight up to Saskatoon after we came back to Canada—and it was the beginning of winter. My visits to Canada before that had all been in the summer and I had never seen snow before. I couldn’t believe that such cold could exist—that unremitting, merciless cold of the Canadian winter. My parents told me that I would get used to it and that there were all sorts of things you could do in the winter—skating, snow-shoeing, and so on. But I think I must have been in a state of shock—I just sat at the window and gazed out on the white landscape, wondering how it could ever be warm again.
    “And it wasn’t just the cold. I felt that all the colour had been drained from my world: I felt surrounded by people who were somehow lonely—quiet people who were frightened to smile and laugh. I felt as if I was in the presence of ghosts. Botswana—Africa—had been full of life; now my life seemed to be full of silence. A silent sky; silent people; a sense of emptiness. You do know,
Bomma,
that people in Canada talk about feeling solitude? They sometimes call it a country of solitudes.”
    Mma Makutsi removed her glasses and polished them. “People in Botswana can be lonely too,” she said. “And quiet as well. We aren’t noisy people like some of those people over the border. Those Zulu people, for instance…”
    “I know that,” said Susan. “Canada is not really like the way I felt it was. The problem was inside me, not in Canada. The Canadians are good people; in fact, I think there are many similarities between Batswana and Canadians…but there are many differences too, and it was the differences that I felt when I went to live there as a young girl.”
    “Your heart had been left behind,” said Mma Ramotswe. “It is not uncommon—many people who leave Africa feel that way.”
    “Yes,” said Susan simply. “My heart stayed here. I went off with my parents, but my heart stayed here.”
    “But it would not have lasted forever, surely,” said Mma Ramotswe.
    Susan looked up; she held Mma Ramotswe’s gaze. “It did last,” she said slowly. “I never got over it. Never.”
    “You felt homesick for Africa?” asked