Alexander McCall Smith - Tears of the giraffe

ALEXANDER McCALL SMITH

THE NO.1 LADIES' DETECTIVE AGENCY

BOOK II

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A PROBLEM IN MORAL PHILOSOPHY

T ERE WERE some clients who engaged Mma Ramotswes sympathies on the rst telling of their tale. Others one could not sympathise with because they were motivated by selshness, or greed, or sometimes self-evident paranoia. But the genuine casesthe cases which made the trade of private detective into a real callingcould break the heart. Mma Ramotswe knew that Mr Letsenyane Badule was one of these.

He came without an appointment, arriving the day after Mma Ramotswe had returned from her trip to Molepolole. It was the rst day of Mma Makutsis promotion to assistant detective, and Mma Ramotswe had just explained to her that although she was now a private detective she still had secretarial duties.

She had realised that she would have to broach the subject early, to avoid misunderstandings.

I cant employ both a secretary and an assistant, she said.

This is a small agency. I do not make a big prot. You know that. You send out the bills.

Mma Makutsis face had fallen. She was dressed in her smartest dress, and she had done something to her hair, which was standing on end in little pointed bunches. It had not worked.

Am I still a secretary, then? she said. Do I still just do the typing?

Mma Ramotswe shook her head. I have not changed my mind, she said. You are an assistant private detective. But somebody has to do the typing, dont they? That is a job for an assistant private detective. That, and other things.

Mma Makutsis face brightened. That is all right. I can do all the things I used to do, but I will do more as well. I shall have clients.

Mma Ramotswe drew in her breath. She had not envisaged giving Mma Makutsi her own clients. Her idea had been to assign her tasks to be performed under supervision. The actual management of cases was to be her own responsibility. But then she remembered. She remembered how, as girl she had worked in the Small Upright General Dealer Store in Mochudi and how thrilled she had been when she had rst been allowed to do a stock-taking on her own. It was selshness to keep the clients to herself. How could anybody be started on a career if those who were at the top kept all the interesting work for themselves?

Yes, she said quietly. You can have your own clients. But I will decide which ones you get. You may not get the very big clients... to begin with. You can start with small matters and work up.

That is quite fair, said Mma Makutsi. Thank you, Mma. I do not want to run before I can walk. They told us that at the Botswana Secretarial College. Learn the easy things rst and then learn the difcult things. Not the other way round.

Thats a good philosophy, said Mma Ramotswe. Many young people these days have not been taught that. They want the big jobs right away. They want to start at the top, with lots of money and a big Mercedes-Benz.

That is not wise, said Mma Makutsi. Do the little things when you are young and then work up to doing the big things later.

Mmm, mused Mma Ramotswe. These Mercedes-Benz cars have not been a good thing for Africa. They are very ne cars, I believe, but all the ambitious people in Africa want one before they have earned it. That has made for big problems.

The more Mercedes-Benzes there are in a country, offered Mma Makutsi, the worse that country is. If there is a country without any Mercedes-Benzes, then that will be a good place. You can count on that.

Mma Ramotswe stared at her assistant. It was an interesting theory, which could be discussed at greater length later on. For the meantime, there were one or two matters which still needed to be resolved.

You will still make the tea, she said rmly. You have always done that very well.

I am very happy to do that, said Mma Makutsi, smiling. There is no reason why an assistant private detective cannot make tea when there is nobody more junior to do it.

IT HAD been an awkward discussion and Mma Ramotswe was pleased that it was over. She thought that it would be best if she gave her new assistant a case as soon as possible, to avoid the buildup of tension, and when, later that morning, Mr Let senyane Badule arrived she decided that this would be a case for Mma Makutsi.

He drove up in a Mercedes-Benz, but it was an old one, and therefore morally insignicant, with signs of rust around the rear sills and with a deep dent on the drivers door.

I am not one who usually comes to private detectives, he said, sitting nervously on the edge of the comfortable chair reserved for clients. Opposite him, the two women smiled reassuringly. The fat womanshe was the boss, he knew, as he had seen her photograph in the newspaperand that other one with the odd hair and the fancy dress, her assistant perhaps.

You need not feel embarrassed, said Mma Ramotswe. We have all sorts of people coming through this door. There is no shame in asking for help.

In fact, interjected Mma Makutsi. It is the strong ones who ask for help. It is the weak ones who are too ashamed to come.

Mma Ramotswe nodded. The client seemed to be reassured by what Mma Makutsi had said. This was a good sign. Not everyone knows how to set a client at ease, and it boded well that Mma Makutsi had shown herself able to choose her words well.

The tightness of Mr Badules grip on the brim of his hat loosened, and he sat back in his chair.

I have been very worried, he said. Every night I have been waking up in the quiet hours and have been unable to get back to sleep. I lie in my bed and I turn this way and that and cannot get this one thought out of my head. All the time it is there, going round and round. Just one question, which I ask myself time after time after time.

And you never nd an answer? said Mma Makutsi. The night is a very bad time for questions to which there are no answers.

Mr Badule looked at her. You are very right, my sister. There is nothing worse than a nighttime question.

He stopped, and for a moment or two nobody spoke. Then Mma Ramotswe broke the silence.

Why dont you tell us about yourself, Rra? Then a little bit later on, we can get to this question that is troubling you so badly. My assistant will make us a cup of tea rst, and then we can drink it together.

Mr Badule nodded eagerly. He seemed close to tears for some reason, and Mma Ramotswe knew that the ritual of tea, with the mugs hot against the hand, would somehow make the story ow and would ease the mind of this troubled man.

I AM not a big, important man, began Mr Badule. I come from Lobatse originally. My father was an orderly at the High Court there and he served many years. He worked for the British, and they gave him two medals, with the picture of the Queens head on them. He wore these every day, even after he retired. When he left the service, one of the judges gave him a hoe to use on his lands. The judge had ordered the hoe to be made in the prison workshop and the prisoners, on the judges instructions, had burned an inscription into the wooden handle with a hot nail. It said: First Class Orderly Badule, served Her Majesty and then the Republic of Botswana loyally for fty years.

Well done tried and trusty servant, from Mr Justice Maclean, Puisne Judge, High Court of Botswana.

That judge was a good man, and he was kind to me too. He spoke to one of the fathers at the Catholic School and they gave me a place in standard four. I worked hard at this school, and when I reported one of the other boys for stealing meat from the kitchen, they made me deputy-head boy.