Tea Time for the Traditionally Built Read Online Free PDF Page A

things about me,” the apprentice replied.
    Mma Ramotswe sighed. “You will learn one day, maybe soon, that what others do is never an excuse. Have you not heard of turning the other cheek?”
    Charlie was unrepentant. “I have not heard of that.”
    Mma Ramotswe began to explain, but could tell that what she said was falling on deaf ears.
    “I would never do that,” said Charlie. “It would be very foolish, Mma Ramotswe. You show your other cheek and,
whack
, they hit you on that one too.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE BEAUTIFUL GAME
    H E IS HERE NOW ,” said Mma Makutsi, peering out of the window. “That is his car.”
    Mma Ramotswe made a conscious effort not to look up from her desk. “I take it that it is a Mercedes-Benz, Mma,” she muttered.
    Mma Makutsi laughed. “It is a very big one, Mma. It is one of the biggest Mercedes-Benzes that I have ever seen.”
    “He is a big man, I hear,” said Mma Ramotswe. “You would never find a man like that driving around in a van like mine.”
    Mma Makutsi agreed. She shared Mma Ramotswe's views on cars—that they should be small, faithful, and designed to get one as simply and cheaply as possible from one place to another. When she had a car herself—and Phuti had spoken about getting her one—then she would certainly not ask for a Mercedes-Benz, but would go for one of those small cars that look as if they could as easily go backwards as forwards, so indistinguishable were their fronts and their backs. And she would prefer it to be a modest colour: she had seen a very nice lilac-coloured car the other day that would suit her very well. She had wondered about that.Somebody at the factory had clearly said: Now let us paint this car a suitable colour for a lady. No man would choose lilac, she imagined, and it would be left to a lady to give such a car a home; which she would, and readily so.
    “Why is it that men are so keen on large cars, Mma?” she asked, as she watched the driver of the car step out and open the rear passenger door. “Could it be that they feel they need such cars because they do not think they are big and strong enough?”
    “Maybe,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Men and boys are all the same, I think, Mma Makutsi. They need to play. As do ladies, of course. Ladies play in their own way.”
    “Maybe we are all the same,” mused Mma Makutsi. “But when you look at Charlie—”
    Her observations were cut short by the sound of footsteps and a knocking outside. Mma Ramotswe now glanced up and nodded in the direction of the door. “Please let him in, Mma Makutsi,” she said. “I am ready for Mr. Leungo Molofololo.”
    Mma Makutsi stood up, straightened her skirt, and crossed the room.
    “One moment please, Rra,” she said to the man at the door. “I shall find out if Mma Ramotswe is ready to see you.”
    She glanced over her shoulder, as if to seek confirmation. Mma Ramotswe nodded. She had often explained to Mma Makutsi that such pretence was unnecessary, but her assistant insisted on carrying out the charade when important visitors came and she had given up trying to stop her. For her part, Mma Ramotswe did not stand on ceremony; nor did she try to give anybody the impression that the business was larger and grander than it really was. “People will judge us by our results,” she said to Mma Makutsi. “Results are the important thing.”
    Mma Makutsi contemplated this. “That is a pity, Mma,” she observed. “Because our results are sometimes not very good.”
    Mma Ramotswe shook her head. “But I think they are, Mma.Sometimes we do not find out exactly what clients want, but we find out what they need to know. There is a difference, you know.” She thought of the case of Mma Sebina, who had been adopted and had come to them with the request that they find her real family. They had succeeded in tracing a brother who turned out not to be a brother after all. At one level that appeared to be a failure, but then when Mma Sebina and the man she