The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party by Alexander McCall Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

the Makutsi family, Mma Makutsi’s father being long dead. The negotiations had been unusually prolonged, that same male person, an uncle with a curious broken nose, having initially made an outrageous demand for ninety-seven cattle, or the cash equivalent, on the grounds that the Radiphuti family was well off and Mma Makutsi had achieved the mark of ninety-seven per cent in the final examinations of the Botswana Secretarial College. This embarrassing demand had eventually been dropped, but only after Mma Makutsi had endured an emotionally draining meeting with her uncle, during which she accused him of threatening her future happiness.
    “You cannot ask for that, Uncle,” she said.
    “Why not? They are rich. Rich people have many cattle. Everybody knows that. And where do they get all that money? From other people—from ordinary people. So there is nothing wrong in getting some of it back.”
    She had defended the Radiphuti family. “They are rich because they have worked hard. That store of theirs started very small—they have built it up through hard work.”
    He appeared not to hear. “They can still give some of the money back.”
    “It is their money, Uncle. They did not steal it. They earned it.”
    “Rich people think that they can take all the money in the country and put it in their banks in Gaborone. I am just trying to fight back for ordinary people—that is all.”
    It was no use arguing with him, so she simply issued a threat. “I am not going to stand by and be shamed by this sort of thing. If you are going to ask for that many cattle, then I am going to call this marriage off. I can easily find a poor man to marry.”
    The prospect of losing the bride price altogether had alarmed him. “All right, I will only ask for twenty-five cattle.”
    “Twenty.”
    He had accepted this ungraciously, and the negotiations had resumed. Twenty cattle was still excessive, but it was a figure to which the Radiphuti family could agree.
    That done, there was now no impediment to the marriage, and the preparations could begin in earnest. As was customary, there would be two celebrations: one in Gaborone at the home of the Radiphutis, and the other in Bobonong at the home of the Makutsi uncle with the broken nose. Phuti had tactfully offered to pay for both, and his offer had been rapidly accepted by the uncle. “It is right that they should pay for our party too,” he said. “With all that money they can easily afford it. I hope that they willgive us some new chairs too, for the guests to sit on. We only have four chairs, and there will be two hundred people there. Four chairs will not be enough.”
    “You must not say anything to Phuti about this,” warned Mma Makutsi. “You cannot expect people to give you chairs. I will ask him, though, whether he can lend us some.”
    “He has many chairs in that big store of his,” sniffed the uncle. “He should give us some.”
    The guest list, as at all weddings, of whatever size, was also proving difficult. On the Radiphuti side there were three hundred and twenty relatives, and that excluded distant cousins who would certainly feel offended if not invited. If this class of distant relatives was included, then the number went up to five hundred and sixteen, with a few places being kept in reserve for relatives of whose existence the family was currently ignorant but who would step forward once the invitations had been issued. Fortunately the Makutsi side was much smaller, with eighty-three relatives appearing on the list agreed by Mma Makutsi and her uncle. To this grand total would have to be added friends and colleagues: Mma Ramotswe and Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, of course, but also Mr. Polopetsi, who still worked in the garage occasionally, and, more controversially, Charlie and Fanwell. Fanwell’s grandmother had asked whether she could come, as it was a long time since she had been to a wedding and she had heard a great deal about Mma Makutsi from her