Alexander Smith - Tea Time for the Traditionally Built People

Mma Ramotswe took her cue. “And what do you think these ears should be hearing, Mma? What words would you like to put into these ears?”

They understood one another perfectly. If there is a message, thought Mma Ramotswe, this will be it.

Mma Tafa stared at her. “What words, Mma? Well, here is a message. New captain , Mma. That is the message. And if he says, where can I find a new captain, tell him that there is only one man who can do that job properly, and he is already on the team. Big Man. He should be the captain, Mma. And he cannot wait forever. Soon. He must be the captain soon.” She paused. “And your tea, Mma? Are you ready for another cup?”

Mma Tafa could not have made herself clearer, thought Mma Ramotswe. It was natural for a woman to feel ambition for her husband, but you could not always assume that this ambition was felt by the husband himself. Did Big Man Tafa really want to be captain, or was it a case of Mma Tafa wishing to be a captain's wife? She decided to ask the question directly. “And Big Man?” she said. “Would Big Man like to be in Rops's shoes?”

“I think so,” said Mma Tafa.

“You only think so, Mma? Have you not asked him?”

Mma Tafa sighed. “Not all men know what they want to do, Mma. Many of them say that they are quite happy doing what they are doing, and do not know what they really want to do… underneath. You know what I mean, Mma?”

“I think I do,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“So it is the job of women-and that means you and me, Mma-to find out what our husbands really want to do, and then to tell them about it. That is our job, I think, Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe wondered about Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. He was a mild man-famously so-and she had never heard him speak about the things that he wanted to do. Did he have ambitions? He must at some time have wanted to have his own garage, and he must have worked towards the achieving of that goal. Then he had wanted to marry, and had proposed-eventually-which suggested that he must have nursed matrimonial ambitions. But apart from that, she wondered what unfulfilled desires lurked in his breast. Did he want to learn to fly a plane, as the owner of another garage had done? She thought not. He had been terrified on that occasion when Mma Potokwane had lined him up to do a charity parachute jump, and so it was unlikely that he wanted anything to do with aeroplanes. Did he want to learn to cook? Again, she thought not; Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni had shown no interest in doing anything in the kitchen. Or did he want to go somewhere, perhaps to Namibia, to the sands and dunes of the coast down there, to the sea itself? He had never spoken of that.

The thought of Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni nursing secret, unfulfilled ambitions saddened Mma Ramotswe, as did the thought of people wanting something very much indeed and not getting the thing they yearned for. When we dismiss or deny the hopes of others, she thought, we forget that they, like us, have only one chance in this life.

It was while Mma Tafa was filling the kettle for a second pot of tea, and while Mma Ramotswe was thinking of unfulfilled ambitions, that the kitchen door opened and Big Man Tafa came in. Seeing him up close, Mma Ramotswe was struck by the goalkeeper's diminutive stature-he seemed far smaller here in the kitchen, surprisingly so, than when standing in the goal. Of course it might have had something to do with his juxtaposition to Mma Tafa, who, beside her husband, seemed even larger than before. She positively flowed, thought Mma Ramotswe, flowed from a comfortable, cushiony centre to the outposts of her well-padded fingers; a great river of a woman. And he, the tiny goalkeeper, looked as if he might drown in the arms of such a wife; drown and be lost altogether. Where is my husband? Mma Tafa might say. Has anybody seen him? And they would reply: In your arms, Mma, right there; be careful; he is right there, see.

Introductions were made and Big Man sat down. When his wife explained that Mma Ramotswe was here on behalf on Mr. Molofololo, a shadow crossed his face. He glanced at his wife, who responded with one of those looks that married couples can exchange; a look that conveyed far more than might any words. And then came the reassuring response that underlined the unspoken message: “There is no trouble,” she said. “Don't worry.”

Mma Ramotswe made a mental note of this comment. What trouble might Big Man Tafa expect from an emissary from Mr. Molofololo? In one view, such a remark suggested that Big Man Tafa had reason to fear Mr. Molofololo-and that, surely, is how a traitor to a football team might be expected to feel.

Big Man Tafa sat down opposite Mma Ramotswe at the table and listened attentively as she told him why she was there. “Mr. Molofololo wants to hear what is wrong,” she said. “That is why I am speaking to everybody.”

He relaxed visibly at the mention of everybody. “Not just me?” he said.

“Of course not, Rra. Why would it just be you?”

She was aware of the sting at the end of her reply, and she watched his reaction carefully.

“Because when a goal is scored, it is always the goalkeeper who gets the blame,” he said. “Always the poor goalie.”

That seemed understandable enough. And of course if anybody was in a position to give a match away, it was the goalkeeper.

Big Man Tafa clasped his hands together and settled back in his chair. “You want to know what's wrong, Mma? I can tell you. Free. I can tell you free. Our captain-Rops Thobega. Have you met him?”

Mma Ramotswe shook her head. “I met him briefly, Rra. I have not talked to him properly yet, Rra. But I will.”

Big Man wrinkled his nose. “If he agrees to talk to you, that is. You will have to make an appointment, you know. The great Rops Thobega isn't one of those people you can just drop in on. Oh no. You have to phone and say to his wife, Please may I speak to Rops, Mma? Not for long. Just one minute, please. That's what you have to do.”

Mma Tafa laughed. “And you have to make an appointment before you can speak to the wife. You have to phone up the maid and say Please, Mma, may I speak to Mma Thobega? Just one minute, etc., etc.” She watched Big Man as she spoke, clearly taking pleasure from his approbation.

“That is very funny” said Big Man. “But Mmakeletso is right. The whole lot of them have let his position go to his head. It is easier to speak to the President himself than it is to speak to him, I tell you!”

“That is not at all good,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I think that you are telling me that the captain, this Rops, is no good.”

“I am,” said Big Man Tafa. “And until he is replaced, then we are going to lose, lose, lose. I can tell you that, Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe looked thoughtful, weighing this information carefully. “Tell me, Rra,” she asked, “how do you replace a captain? Does this happen automatically if a team does very badly for a long time?”

She thought that they both hesitated, Mmakeletso and Big Man Tafa; she thought she saw them stiffen and look at each other. She waited.

“Oh, I don't know,” Big Man said after a while. “It depends on the owner of the team. It will be up to Mr. Molofololo, I suppose.”

Mma Ramotswe tried a different tack. “Do you think it possible, Rra…” she began. “Do you think it possible that somebody in the team might try to lose on purpose? Do you think that anything like that could happen?”

Big Man Tafa closed his eyes briefly. Then he opened them and stared at Mma Ramotswe in what looked like unfeigned horror. “Never, Mma. You could tell, you see. Anybody could tell.”

Mma Ramotswe probed gently. “How?”

Big Man Tafa tapped the table with his fingers. “You can always tell when somebody is not doing his best. You can just tell.” He paused, as if thinking of something for the first time. “But now that you come to mention it, Mma, I think that there might be somebody not trying his best. Yes, I think I can say that.”