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

grandson.
    “All Botswana then!” Mma Makutsi had sighed. “The whole country. Maybe we should just put an advertisement in the
Botswana Daily News
and say that the whole country can come to the wedding and eat as much beef as it can manage. Maybe that is our patriotic duty now.”
    “People are happy for you, Mma,” Mma Ramotswe had said soothingly. “That is why they wish to come to your wedding.”
    “They like a large feast too,” said Mma Makutsi. “And free beer. That may be another reason why everybody wants to come.”
    She and Phuti talked about the guest list that night after the oxtail stew had been finished and the plates cleared away. Then Phuti raised the issue of the wedding dress. “You can have whatever you like, Grace,” he said. “There is a woman at the store who knows somebody who makes very fine wedding dresses. You can choose whatever you like.”
    Mma Makutsi looked down at the floor. She did not like to ask Phuti for money, and had been worried about the dress. “You will speak to this person?” she asked. “You will discuss the money?”
    He had sensed her embarrassment and had reached over to take her hand. “Of course I will. I will tell her that I will pay the bill.”
    “And shoes …”
    “You will certainly need special shoes,” said Phuti.
    “Mma Ramotswe has spoken about a pair she saw today. She said she thought they would be ideal—if they have them in my size.”
    “Then you must buy them,” said Phuti. “Get them soon. Tomorrow, even. The wedding date is coming soon.”
    She could not restrain herself, and leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. He seemed taken aback, and she heard him gasp. She pulled back, unsure of herself. She suddenly felt worried. Phuti had never been physically demonstrative with her. She had put this down to shyness on his part, something to do with his stutter, but now the thought crossed her mind: there were some men for whom the problem ran deeper. What if Phuti were to prove to be such a man?
    There were no words in the vocabulary of polite Botswana to express such an intimate matter. Women spoke among themselves of such things, and perhaps men did too. But it was not a subjectthat a couple like Mma Makutsi and Phuti Radiphuti could easily broach. Perhaps she could ask Mma Potokwane about it. It was too awkward a subject to raise with Mma Ramotswe, but Mma Potokwane was, after all, a qualified matron and had trained as a nurse—even if many years ago—at the Princess Marina Hospital. She would be able to speak to Phuti about such matters, perhaps, and make sure that everything was all right.
    Yes, she would ask her.

  CHAPTER FIVE
 

 YOU KNOW A GIRL CALLED PRUDENCE?
    I T WAS STRANGE, thought Mma Ramotswe, that you could go to sleep thinking one thing, and awake the following morning thinking quite another. And so it was with the question of Charlie.
    “I’ve changed my mind, Mma Makutsi,” she said in the office the following day. “We need to tackle Charlie. So let’s not put it off. You speak to him today.”
    Mma Makutsi needed no encouragement. “I am ready, Mma,” she said. “I will speak to him, but it will not just be me speaking.”
    Mma Ramotswe asked her what that meant. It would not just be her speaking, Mma Makutsi reiterated; it would be all the women of Botswana. “I shall be speaking on behalf of all the women of Botswana who have been let down by men,” she proclaimed. “On behalf of girls whose boyfriends have pretended that babies have nothing to do with them. On behalf of women whose men go off to bars all the time and leave them at home with the children. On behalf of women whose husbands see other women. On behalf of women whose husbands lie and steal their money and eat all the food and …”
    As she recited this litany of wrongs, the lenses of MmaMakutsi’s large glasses caught the light, sending flashes like warning semaphore messages across the room. Had a man been present, he would