Alexander Mccall Smith - Ladies' Detective Agency 05 Read Online Free PDF

was
information one would never see in any newspaper, yet it was every bit as
interesting—more so, in many respects—than the great events of the
world which the newspapers reported. So she sat on a traditional stool, the
seat of which was woven from thin strips of rough-cured leather, and listened
to her cousin tell her what had taken place. Much had happened since Mma
Ramotswe’s last visit. A minor headman, known for his tendency to drink
too much beer, had fallen into a well, but had been saved because a young boy
passing by had happened to mention that he had seen somebody jump into the
well.
    “They almost didn’t believe that boy,” said the
cousin. “He was a boy who was always telling lies. But happily somebody
decided to check.”
    “That boy will grow up to be a
politician,” said Mma Ramotswe. “That will be the best job for
him.”
    The cousin had shrieked with laughter. “Yes, they are
very good at lying. They are always promising us water for every house, but
they never bring it. They say that there are not enough pipes. Maybe next
year.”
    Mma Ramotswe shook her head. Water was the source of many
problems in a dry country and the politicians did not make it any easier by
promising water when they had none to deliver.
    “If the opposition
would only stop arguing amongst themselves,” the cousin went on,
“they would win the election and get rid of the government. That would be
a good thing, do you not think?”
    “No,” said Mma
Ramotswe.
    The cousin stared at her. “But it would be very
different if we had a new government,” she said.
    “Would
it?” asked Mma Ramotswe. She was not a cynical woman, but she wondered
whether one set of people who looked remarkably like another set of people
would run things any differently. But she did not wish to provoke a political
argument with her cousin, and so she changed the subject by asking after the
doings of a local woman who had killed a neighbour’s goat because she
thought that the neighbour was flirting with her husband. It was a long-running
saga and was providing a great deal of amusement for everyone.
    “She crept out at night and cut the goat’s throat,” said
the cousin. “The goat must have thought she was a tokolosh, or something
like that. She is a very wicked woman.”
    “There are many
like that,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Men think that women can’t be
wicked, but we are quite capable of being wicked too.”
    “Even more wicked than men,” said the cousin. “Women are
much more wicked, don’t you agree?”
    “No,” said
Mma Ramotswe. She thought that the levels of male and female wickedness were
about the same; it just took slightly different forms.
    The cousin
looked peevishly at Mma Ramotswe. “Women have not had much of a chance to
be wicked in a big way,” she muttered. “Men have taken all the best
jobs, where you can be truly wicked. If women here were allowed to be generals
and presidents and the like, then they would be very wicked, same as all those
wicked men. Just give them the chance. Look at how those lady generals have
behaved.”
    Mma Ramotswe picked up a piece of straw and examined it
closely. “Name one,” she said.
    The cousin thought, but no
names came to her, at least no names of generals. “There was an Indian
lady called Mrs Gandhi.”
    “And did she shoot people?”
asked Mma Ramotswe.
    “No,” said the cousin. “Somebody
shot her. But …”
    “There you are,” said Mma
Ramotswe. “I assume that it was a man who shot her, or was it some lady,
do you think?”
    The cousin said nothing. A small boy was peering
over the wall of the lelapa, staring at the two women. His eyes were large and
round, and his arms, which protruded from a scruffy red shirt, were thin. The
cousin pointed at him.
    “He cannot speak, that little boy,”
she said. “His tongue does not work properly. So he just watches the
other children play.”
    Mma Ramotswe smiled at him, and called out
to him gently in