Alexander Mccall Smith - Ladies' Detective Agency 05 by The Full Cupboard of Life Page A

was annoyed with the apprentice. It was not right to make remarks like
that in the presence of one who would be taking such a great personal risk for
a good cause. “You must not talk like that,” she said severely.
“This is not a joke for you to laugh at. This is a brave thing that Mr
J.L.B. Matekoni is doing.”
    “Oh it’s brave all
right,” said the apprentice. “It is surely a brave thing, Mma. Look
what happened to that poor Botswana Defence Force man …”
    “What happened to him?” asked Mr J.L.B. Matekoni.
    Mma
Makutsi glowered at the apprentice. “Oh that has nothing to do with you,
Mr J.L.B. Matekoni,” she said quickly. “That is another thing. We
do not need to talk about that thing.”
    Mr J.L.B. Matekoni looked
doubtful. “But he said that something happened to a Botswana Defence
Force man. What is that thing?”
    “It is not an important
thing,” said Mma Makutsi. “Sometimes the Botswana Defence Force
makes silly mistakes. It is only human after all.”
    “How do
you know it was the Defence Force’s mistake?” interjected the
apprentice. “How do you know that it wasn’t that man’s
fault?”
    “What man?” asked Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni.
    “I do not know his name,” said Mma Makutsi. “And anyway,
I am tired of talking about these things. I want to get some work done before
Mma Ramotswe comes in. There is a letter here which we shall have to reply to.
There is a lot to do.”
    The apprentice smiled. “All
right,” he said. “I am also busy, Mma. You are not the only
one.” He gave a small jump, which could have been the beginnings of one
of his dances, but which also could have been just a small jump. Then he left
the office.
    Mma Makutsi returned to her desk in a businesslike fashion.
“I have drawn up the accounts for last month,” she said. “It
was a much better month.”
    “Good,” said Mr J.L.B.
Matekoni. “Now about this Defence Force man …”
    He
did not finish, as Mma Makutsi interrupted him with a screech.
“Oh,” she cried, “I have forgotten something. Oh, I am very
stupid. Sorry, Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, I have forgotten to enter those receipts
over there. I am going to have to check everything.”
    Mr J.L.B.
Matekoni shrugged. There was something which she did not want him to be told,
but he thought that he knew exactly what it was. It was about a parachute that
had not opened.

    CHAPTER EIGHT

    TEA IS ALWAYS THE SOLUTION
    M MA
RAMOTSWE swept up to the premises of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, bringing her
tiny white van to a halt under the acacia tree. She had been thinking as she
drove in, not of work, but of the children, who were proving such surprising
people to live with. Children were never simple—she knew that—but
she had always assumed that brothers and sisters had at least something in
common in their tastes and behaviour. Yet here were these two orphans, who were
children of the same mother and same father (or so Mma Potokwane had told her)
and yet who were so thoroughly different. Motholeli was interested in cars and
trucks, and liked nothing better than to watch Mr J.L.B. Matekoni with his
spanners and wrenches and all the other mysterious tools of his calling. She
was adamant that she would be a mechanic, in spite of her wheelchair and in
spite of the fact that her arms were not as strong as the arms of other girls
of her age. The illness which had deprived her of the use of her legs had
touched at other parts of her body too, weakening the muscles and sometimes
constricting her chest and lungs. She never complained, of course, as it was
not in her nature to do so, but Mma Ramotswe could tell when a momentary shadow
of discomfort passed over her face, and her heart went out to the brave,
uncomplaining girl whom Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, almost by accident, had brought
into her life. Puso, the boy, whom Motholeli had rescued from burial with their
mother, scraping the hot sand from his face and breathing air into his
struggling lungs, shared none of