Александр Макколл Смит - The Handsome Man's De Luxe Café

‘So, you see, Mma,’ concluded Mma Ramotswe. ‘I do know what it’s like. I know very well.’

Miss Rose exchanged glances with Lakshmi. It was clear that she did not quite know what to do. ‘So now you have found out,’ she said at last. ‘So, what now?’

They were both staring at Mma Ramotswe. For a few long minutes there was silence, eventually broken by Lakshmi.

‘Maybe I should tell you, Mma,’ she said.

Mma Ramotswe nodded. ‘Yes, of course, Mma. I do not know everything about what happened.’

Miss Rose raised a hand in a gesture of warning. ‘Lakshmi, I don’t think you should.’

But Lakshmi was not to be dissuaded, her voice gaining strength as she began. ‘My husband said that he loved me. This was after we were introduced by our parents – you know how it is with us, Mma: we like families to have a hand in the marriage.’

Mma Ramotswe knew all about this. As a younger woman she had been offended by the thought of arranged marriages and wondered how anybody could enter into one: how could one accept the choice of others in such a private matter? But then, as she saw more of these, she increasingly realised that they tended to work, at least where the arranged marriage was consensual. Perhaps one of the reasons for this, she thought, was that compatibility was something that families could judge, perhaps even better than the man and woman themselves.

‘And I thought I was very lucky to have this nice-looking man who might have been a bit older than I was but who seemed well established. We had a good house outside Durban, Mma, and he was earning a lot of money in a firm that brought things in from India. Many of my friends said that they would have happily changed places with me. I thought I was very lucky.

‘But then I began to see another side of him. If anything went wrong in the house – even the smallest thing – he would shout at me. Then he started to hit me. I remember the first time it happened I thought that it had been an accident; I thought that he had raised his hand to make a point and that he had slipped. But then it happened again, and again after that.

‘He became suspicious. He said that I should not go out of the house because there were men around who would flirt with me and he said that I would flirt back. I told him that I would never do that, but he laughed and said that all women were the same. He said that it was always women who led men on and that there were no exceptions. He said that if he caught me looking at another man he would make sure that I never looked at a man again.

‘He told me that I was not to mix with other women – the wives of his friends. He said that these women would lead me into bad ways and that they probably all had lovers. He said that he would be able to tell if I tried to see these people secretly. He had people who would report back to him if they saw me out in the town.

‘And all the time the beatings went on. Sometimes he did it because he was angry with me for something to do with the house, but on other occasions he said that a beating was to remind me not to step out of line. He also used to shout at me and mock me for not having children. I told him that I was doing my best and that maybe the problem was with him, but that drove him into a frenzy. It was in one of these frenzies that I tried to defend myself. I ran into the kitchen and picked up the only weapon that I could find, which was a bread knife. I shouted to him that he should keep away and that I would use the knife to defend myself, but he mocked me. He said that I couldn’t even cut bread properly, let alone use a bread knife to defend myself. Then he threw something at me and rushed towards me. I held out the knife, and it went into him – not very far, because it hit a rib. It stopped him, though, and he shouted and squealed like an animal in the slaughterhouse. Bullies are like that, I think, Mma: they are not very courageous when they are hurt – they become like little boys.

‘I ran out of the house and went to one of my friends. She took me in and she was the one who drove me all the way over here the following day when we heard that he had gone to the police and I was now wanted for attempted murder.

‘I could not go through any of the border posts because I would be stopped on the South African side. I also didn’t have a passport and Botswana would not have let me in. So my friend drove to one of those game ranch places where you can go on safari. We pretended that we were there to admire the animals, but we were really interested in the border, which ran down one side of the game reserve. My friend paid one of the staff at the reserve to guide me across at night and to walk with me to a road on the Botswana side. They had been in touch with my cousin. He said that he would pick me up at a certain time, and he was there waiting for me when I got to the road. He brought me here and talked to me about what to do. And the rest, Mma, I think you already know.’

Miss Rose shook her head. ‘It’s a mistake to tell anybody this,’ she muttered. ‘It is a big mistake.’

Mma Ramotswe waited until it was clear that Lakshmi had finished. Then she folded her arms. ‘You need not worry, Lakshmi, I am not going to tell anybody.’

Miss Rose looked at Mma Ramotswe disbelievingly. ‘And how much do you want for your silence, Mma?’

Mma Ramotswe remained calm. ‘I want nothing, Mma.’

‘You see,’ said Lakshmi. ‘This is an honest lady.’

Mma Ramotswe brought up the fact that Mr Sengupta had asked her to take on the case. ‘He wanted me to say that I have found out nothing, but I cannot do that. I cannot make any false statement that I know will be given to the Botswana authorities. I cannot do it, Mma.’

‘So what will you do?’ asked Miss Rose.

‘I will do nothing,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘I will withdraw from the case. You will not claim that there has been any investigation by me, and I shall say nothing about what I know. I am sorry if that is not what you really wanted from me, but I do not think that I have much choice.’

Miss Rose and Lakshmi looked at one another for guidance. ‘Maybe that will be all right,’ said Miss Rose eventually.

‘And you will explain the whole matter to Mr Sengupta?’ asked Mma Ramotswe.

Lakshmi replied: ‘I will tell him, Mma. He will understand. He is a good man. He may sell stationery, but he is a very big hero underneath.’

‘I think I can see that,’ said Mma Ramotswe.

Miss Rose had something to add. ‘Yes, Mma Ramotswe – my brother is a very big hero indeed. You may not know it, but he was even prepared to ignore your assistant crashing into him in order not to cause you inconvenience. He thought that since you were being kind to us he would be kind to you.’

Mma Ramotswe was baffled. ‘I beg your pardon, Mma?’

‘Your assistant… that young man. He was following our car and he collided with my brother. Your young man was not paying attention to the traffic. That young man and his girl were lucky.’

‘His girl?’

‘There was some floozy with him in the van, my brother said.’

‘I see,’ said Mma Ramotswe.

She rose to take her leave. She would walk out of the house and out of the tragic life of this poor woman. Her fate would be decided by others now, and there was nothing Mma Ramotswe could do to influence the direction of that decision; she wished that there were, but it was not the case. One could not set all the wrongs of the world right; one could not do anything about even a tiny proportion of those wrongs. It was a hard conclusion to reach, and she did not feel happy about it. But she could hardly make a report that she knew would be used to mislead the officials of her own government. Botswana was a well-run country – such things belonged to the corrupt side of Africa, and that, she was determined, would never gain a toehold in her Botswana. Never.