Alexander McCall Smith - The full cupboard of life

Pantheon Book s

New Yor k

Copyright 2003 by Alexander McCall Smit h

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyrigh t Conventions. Published in the United States by Pantheon Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. Published simulta neously in Canada by Alfred A. Knopf Canada, a division of Rando m House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Originally published in Grea t Britain by Polygon, an imprint of Birlinn, Ltd., Edinburgh, in 2003 .

Pantheon Books and colophon are registered trademark s of Random House, Inc .

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Dat a McCall Smith, Alexander, 1948 The full cupboard of life / Alexander McCall Smith . p. cm .

eISBN 0-375-42324-9

. Ramotswe, Precious (Fictitious character)Fiction. . Wome n private investigatorsBotswanaFiction . . BotswanaFiction. I. Title . pr6063 . c326f85 2004 823'.914 dc 22 200306237

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

MEETING MR BOBOLOG O

M MA RAMOTSWE had not been ignoring Mma Holongas case. It was true that she had as yet done nothing, but that did not mean that she had not been thinking about how she would approach this delicate issue. It would not do for any of the men to discover that they were being investigated, as this would give offence and could easily drive away any genuine suitor. This meant that she would have to make enquiries with discretion, talking to people who knew these men and, if at all possible, engi neering a meeting with them herself. That would require a pre text, but she was condent that one could be found.

The rst thing she would have to do, she thought, was to talk to somebody who worked at Mr Bobologos school. This was not difcult, as Mma Ramotswes maid, Rose, had a cousin who had for many years been in charge of the school kitchen. She had stopped working now, and was living in Old Naledi, where she looked after the children of one of her sons. Mma Ramotswe had never met her, but Rose had mentioned her from time to time and assured her employer that a visit would be welcome.

She is one of these people who is always talking, said Rose.

She talks all day, even if nobody listens to her. She will be very happy to talk to you.

Such people are very helpful in our work, said Mma Ramotswe. They tell us things we need to know.

This is such a lady, said Rose. She will tell you everything she knows. It makes her very happy to do that. You will need a long, long time.

There were many people like that in Botswana, Mma Ramotswe reected, and she was glad that this was so. It would be strange to live in a country where people were silent, passing one another in the street wordlessly, as if frightened of what the other might think or say. This was not the African way, where people would call out and converse with one another from oppo site sides of a road, or across a wide expanse of bush, careless of who heard. Such conversations could be carried on by people walking in different directions, until voices grew too faint and too distant to be properly heard and words were swallowed by the sky. That was a good way of parting from a friend, so less abrupt than words of farewell followed by silence. Mma Ramotswe her self often shouted out to the children after they had left the house for school, reminding Puso to be careful of how he crossed the road or telling him to make sure that his shoelaces were tied properly, not that boys ever bothered about that sort of thing. Nor did boys ensure that their shirts were tucked into their trousers properly, but that was another issue which she could think about later, when the demands of clients were less pressing.

Roses cousin, Mma Seeonyana, was at home when Mma Ramotswe called on her. Her house was not a large oneno more than two small rooms, Mma Ramotswe sawbut her yard was scrupulously clean, with circles traced in the sand by her wide-headed broom. This was a good sign; an untidy yard was a sign of a woman who no longer bothered with the traditional Botswana virtues, and such people, Mma Ramotswe found, were almost always unreliable or rude. They had no idea of botho, which meant respect or good manners. Botho set Botswana apart from other places; it was what made it a special place. There were people who mocked it, of course, but what precisely did they want instead? Did they want people to be selsh? Did they want them to treat others unkindly? Because if you forgot about botho, then that was surely what would happen; Mma Ramotswe was sure of that.

She saw Mma Seeonyana standing outside her front door, a brown paper bag in her hand. As she parked the tiny white van at the edge of the road, she noticed the older woman watching her. This was another good sign. It was a traditional Botswana pursuit to watch other people and wonder what they were up to; this modern habit of indifference to others was very hard to under stand. If you watched people, then it was a sign that you cared about them, that you were not treating them as complete strangers. Again, it was all a question of manners.

Mma Ramotswe stood at the gate and called out to Mma Seeonyana. The other woman responded immediately, and warmly, inviting Mma Ramotswe to come in and sit with her at the back of the house, where it was shadier. She did not ask her visitor what she wanted, but welcomed her, as if she were a friend or neighbour who had called in for a chat.

You are the woman who lives over that way, on Zebra Drive, said Mma Seeonyana. You are the woman who employs Rose. She has told me about you.

Mma Ramotswe was surprised that she had been recognised, but further explanation was quickly provided. Your van is very well-known, said Mma Seeonyana. Rose told me about it, and I have seen you driving through town. I have often thought: I would like to get to know that lady, but I never thought I would have the chance. I am very happy to see you here, Mma.

I have heard of you too, said Mma Ramotswe. Rose has spoken very well of you. She was very proud that you were in charge of those school kitchens.

Mma Seeonyana laughed. When I was in that place I was feeding four hundred children every day, she said. Now I am feeding two little boys. It is much easier.

That is what we women must do all the time, said Mma Ramotswe. I am feeding three people now. I have a anc and I have two children who are adopted and who come from the orphan farm. I have to make many meals. It seems that women have been put in the world to cook and keep the yard tidy. Some times I think that is very unfair and must be changed.

Mma Seeonyana agreed with this view of the world, but frowned when she thought of the implications. The trouble is that men would never be able to do what we do, she said. Most men will just not cook. They are too lazy. They would rather go hungry than cook. That is a big problem for us women. If we started to do other things, then the men would fade away and die of hunger. That is the problem.

We could train them, said Mma Ramotswe. There is much to be said for training men.

But you have to nd a man to train, said Mma Seeonyana. And they just run away if you try to tell them what to do. I have had three men run away from me. They said that I talked too much and that they had no peace. But that is not true.

Mma Ramotswe clicked her tongue in sympathy. No, Mma, it cannot be true. But sometimes men seem not to like us to talk to them. They think they have already heard what we have to say.

Mma Seeonyana sighed. They are very foolish.

Yes, said Mma Ramotswe. Some men were foolish, she thought, but by no means all. And there were some very foolish women too, if one thought about it.

Even teachers, said Mma Seeonyana. Even teachers can be foolish sometimes.

Mma Ramotswe looked up sharply. You must have known many teachers, Mma, she said. When you were working in that place you must have known all the teachers.