Alexander Smith - Tea Time for the Traditionally Built People

“That sounds like a good idea,” said Mma Potokwane. “Well done, Mma. It is a good thing to fight for the things you love.” She looked at her guest. “And that blue van out there,” she ventured. “If you get your tiny white van back, then will you need that blue van? Because we're always looking for transport for the children, you see…”

Mma Ramotswe smiled ruefully. Mma Potokwane was incorrigible. But that would be too much. She could hardly give away a valuable van just because Mma Potokwane wanted it for the children.

“I'm sorry, Mma,” she said. “I would love to give you that van, but it is worth quite a lot of money and Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni…”

“Of course, Mma,” said Mma Potokwane. “I understand. Now, let us talk about other things. We cannot sit here and talk about vans, like men do. We must talk about more important things.”

Mma Ramotswe took the initiative. “Yes, we can leave that sort of talk to our husbands. That and football.”

Mma Potokwane laughed. “Football! Yes, my husband is always going on about that with his friends. It is very dull for me.”

“Mind you, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Some bits of football are quite interesting.” She looked down at the floor in modesty. “As it happens, Mma, I have just solved a very major football case. Would you like to hear about it?”

It was why she had really come out to see Mma Potokwane, to tell her of the extraordinary resolution of the case of the Kalahari Swoopers. And it was an odd case, really-a very odd case. So she told her about her excursion into the world of football players and of the sudden, blinding insight that Puso had triggered.

“And was it the problem?” asked Mma Potokwane.

“I think so,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Of course I had a bit of difficulty persuading Mr. Molofololo when I saw him earlier this morning. I told him that the reason he was losing was that the players all felt uncomfortable in the boots he was making them wear. He shouted at me, actually, and said that he had never heard such nonsense and that it was typical of the sort of idea that a woman would come up with. He was quite rude, actually, and I told him that I would not be spoken to like that and that he had better watch what he said. And do you know, Mma, that deflated him like a balloon. And he stopped shouting.”

“I would always listen to you, Mma,” said Mma Potokwane.

“Thank you, Mma. Well, he seemed to be thinking and after a while he telephoned the captain and started to talk to him about boots. The captain said much the same thing that I had said. And the captain also said, Why don't you listen to anybody Rra? Why don't you hear us when we try to talk to you? Mr. Molofololo started to shout about that, but I stopped him and said, There you are, Rra-you are not listening, are you? And he stopped. Just like that. He had heard something at last. After that he started to apologise to me. He said that he had learned a lesson and that he was very grateful for it.”

Mma Potokwane nodded approvingly. “So what did you say then, Mma?”

“I said, Here is my bill, Rra. It is ready for payment now.”

“And?”

“And he paid. He paid very well, Mma. That is why I have come out to see you, to tell you all about this and… and to tell you about another case. A very shocking one.”

Mma Potokwane listened open-mouthed as Mma Ramotswe told her the story of Violet Sephotho and her shocking attempt to ingratiate herself with Phuti Radiphuti. And when she came to tell her of the way in which Charlie had exposed the plan, the matron hooted with laughter. “That boy really is quite a star,” she said. “I have always said that. And yet he's still an apprentice.”

“He never does any work for his mechanical exams,” said Mma Ramotswe. “He gets very bad results. It's his own fault.”

“He'll qualify one day,” said Mma Potokwane. “Even if he doesn't get… what is the figure again, Mma?”

“Ninety-seven per cent,” answered Mma Ramotswe.

They both laughed. Then Mma Potokwane made tea, which she served with several slices of fruit cake. They drank three cups of tea each, and then, after a final slice of fruit cake-a small one-Mma Ramotswe got into her new blue van and drove back into town.

In the office, Mma Makutsi greeted her with the look that said, You've missed something.

“Somebody has been in, Mma Makutsi?”

“Yes. That woman.”

Mma Ramotswe looked blank.

“That Sephotho woman.”

She had not expected that. “Violet?” Perhaps she had come in to threaten them; she would not put that past her.

“No, the other one. Lily Sephotho. The one with two husbands.”

Mma Ramotswe sat down at her desk. It was turning into an eventful day, what with her successful resolution of the Molofololo case and now the return of the woman with two husbands.

“And what did she report, Mma?”

Mma Makutsi was evidently enjoying herself. “She reported that she had done as we told her to. She had confessed to both husbands. And she said that both were very angry and threw her out. Our idea of choosing the one who was most forgiving was not a very good one. Neither was prepared to forgive.”

Mma Ramotswe spread her hands in a gesture of resignation. “That really is her own fault, Mma. I'm sorry to say it, but it's her own fault. So what now?”

Mma Makutsi's enjoyment increased. “Well, it gets better, Mma. She confessed to me that she hadn't really told us the whole truth. She hadn't told us that there was a third husband. She hadn't mentioned him because she was too embarrassed.”

“And this husband? What about him?”

“She says that she has learned her lesson, and she is keeping him. So she now has only one husband and everything has worked out well.”

“She is a very foolish woman,” said Mma Ramotswe. She stopped. Of course Lily Sephotho was foolish, but were we not all foolish, in one way or another, and did we not all deserve a second, or even a third chance?

Mma Ramotswe turned round. “Well, I hope now that she is happy. Happier than her daughter at least…”

Mma Makutsi shook her head. “No, she is not Violet's mother, Mma Ramotswe. I asked her about that, and she is an entirely different Sephotho. It is a coincidence that they both have names of flowers.”

Mma Ramotswe got to her feet. “Well, Mma Makutsi,” she said. “That settles all that. And everything else is settled, I think, which is how we really like it to be: settled. We are settled ladies, I think.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “So now we should get ready.”

“For what, Mma?”

“It is almost lunch time, and I would like to treat you to lunch at the President Hotel.”

“The President Hotel!”

“Why not, Mma? We have earned a big fee from Mr. Molofololo. We have sorted out at least one person called Sephotho, even if we have not sorted out the other one. And we are happy about all that, are we not?”

Mma Makutsi rose to her feet. She was wearing her new shoes, and she rather liked the idea of showing them off at the President Hotel. People appreciated shoes like that down there. “We are, Mma. Yes, we are happy.”

“So let us go, Mma Makutsi, before all the tables are taken.”

They drove down to the centre of the town, parking the blue van at the back of the hotel. Then, as they were climbing the stairs at the front, Mma Ramotswe looked out, over to the east, and drew Mma Makutsi's attention to the clouds that had just appeared. They were distant purple clouds, and they meant rain, the longed-for rain that would start the growing season, would wake the land again.

“Look,” she said.

Mma Makutsi looked. “Good,” she said.

There was nothing more to be said. It was good.