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

Setswana. But the little boy might not have heard, for he
turned away without replying and walked slowly away on his skinny legs. Mma
Ramotswe was silent for a moment, imagining what it would be like to be a
little boy like that, thin and voiceless. I am fortunate, she thought, and
turned to say to her cousin, “We are lucky, aren’t we? Here we are,
traditionally built ladies, and there’s that poor little boy with his
thin arms and legs. And we can talk and he can make no sound at
all.”
    The cousin nodded. “We are very lucky to be who we
are,” she said. “We are fortunate ladies, sitting here in the sun
with so much to talk about.”
    So much to talk about—and so
little to do. Here in Mochudi, away from the bustle of Gaborone, Mma Ramotswe
could feel herself lapsing again into the rhythms of country life, a life much
slower and more reflective than life in town. There was still time and space to
think in Gaborone, but it was so much easier here, where one might look out up
to the hill and watch the thin wisps of cloud, no more than that, float slowly
across the sky; or listen to the cattle bells and the chorus of the cicadas.
This was what it meant to live in Botswana; when the rest of the world might
work itself into a frenzy of activity, one might still sit, in the space before
a house with ochre walls, a mug of bush tea in one’s hand, and talk about
very small things: headmen in wells, goats and jealousy.

    CHAPTER FOUR

    A WOMAN WHO KNOWS ABOUT HAIR
    T HAT MONDAY, Mma Ramotswe had an appointment. Most of her
clients did not bother to arrange a time to see her, preferring to drop in
unannounced and—in some cases—without disclosing their identity.
Mma Ramotswe understood why people should wish to do this. It was not easy to
consult a detective agency, especially if one had a problem of a particularly
private nature, and many people had to pluck up considerable courage before
they knocked on her door. She understood that doctors sometimes encountered
similar behaviour; that patients would talk about everything except the real
problem and then, at the last moment, mention what was really troubling them.
She had read somewhere—in one of the old magazines that Mma Makutsi liked
to page through—of a doctor who had been consulted by a man wearing a
paper bag over his head. Poor man, thought Mma Ramotswe. It must be terrible to
feel so embarrassed about something that one would have to wear a paper bag
over one’s head! What was wrong with that man? she wondered. Things did
go wrong with men sometimes that they were ashamed to talk about, but there was
really no need to feel that way.
    Mma Ramotswe had never encountered
embarrassment of such a degree, but she had certainly had to draw stories out
of people. This happened most commonly with women who had been let down by
their husbands, or who suspected that their husbands were having an affair.
Such women could feel anger and a sense of betrayal, both of which were
entirely understandable, but they could also feel shame that such a thing had
happened to them. It was as if it was their fault that their husband had taken
up with another woman. This could be so, of course; there were women who drove
their husbands away, but in most cases it was because the husband had become
bored with his marriage and wanted to see a younger woman. They were always
younger, Mma Ramotswe reflected; only rich ladies were able to take up with
younger men.
    The thought of rich ladies reminded her: the woman who was
coming to see her that day was undoubtedly a rich lady. Mma Holonga was
well-known in Gaborone as the founder of a chain of hairdressing salons. The
salons were successful, but what had proved even more profitable was her
invention, and marketing, of Special Girl Hair Braiding Preparation. This was
one of those mixtures which women put on their hair before they braided it; its
efficacy was doubtful, but the hair products market was not one which required
a great deal