In the Company of Cheerful Ladies

CHAPTER TWENTY NOTE

THE DAY AFTER the return of the tiny white van—which had been fetched by Mr J.L.B. Matekoni from the side of the main Lobatse road and towed back with the apprentice at the wheel—was a day of taking stock. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni had to decide what to do about the van, the engine of which had seized up, just as he had feared. His instinct was to scrap it, and to explain to Mma Ramotswe that it was hardly worth pouring money into such an old vehicle, but he knew what reaction such an opinion would bring, and so he devoted some time to looking at just what needed to be done and how long it would take to do it. Mr Polopetsi felt justly proud of himself. He had explained to an attentive audience of Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi how he had followed the tracks through the bush and how he had intimidated the thief with references to senior detectives. Mma Ramotswe had smiled at that. “I suppose I am a senior detective,” she said. “In one sense at least. I suppose that strictly speaking you told no lies.”

For Mma Ramotswe, it seemed that things were improving rapidly. Only recently, her situation had seemed rather bleak, with the loss of the van, the absence of any progress on the Zambian case, and Note’s demands hanging over her. Now the van was back, and in the expert hands of Mr J.L.B. Matekoni; they could claim something of a victory in the Zambian case; and she was positively looking forward to seeing Note and confronting him with the information she had received from his mother.

She now no longer cared whether Note came to the house or to the office. She had nothing to hide from Mr J.L.B. Matekoni—she had not been married before, and the marriage which Trevor Mwamba had performed for them under the tree at the orphan farm was perfectly valid. She also realised that if Note had already been married at the time of her marriage to him, then her marriage to him was null and void, and this meant that Note had never been her husband at any point. That was a liberating thought for her, and it had a curious effect on her feelings for him. She was not afraid now. He had never been her husband. She felt free of him, quite free.

Note chose that afternoon to come to the garage, and she was ready for him. It was Mr J.L.B. Matekoni who spoke to him first, and he came through to the office to let her know that he had arrived.

“Do you want me to get rid of him?” he whispered. “I can tell him to go away. Do you want me to do that?”

Mma Makutsi watched from her desk, pretending not to be too interested, but excited nonetheless. She would be happy to tell Note to go away too; they had only to ask her and she would deal with him in a most decisive manner.

Mma Ramotswe rose from her chair. “No,” she said. “I want to speak to him. I want to say something to him.”

“Do you want me to be there?” asked Mr J.L.B. Matekoni.

Mma Ramotswe shook her head. “This is something that I wish to do for myself,” she said. And Mr J.L.B. Matekoni knew, from her tone, that she was resolved. Note would have to be a strong man to stand up to Mma Ramotswe in this mood. He glanced at Mma Makutsi, who raised an eyebrow, and made a slow cutting movement across her throat. She too realised what a risk Note was running.

Mma Ramotswe walked out of the office and saw Note standing next to a customer’s car, running a hand across the highly polished bodywork.

“Nice car,” he said. “There are some rich people in this town these days. Lots of cars like this.”

“Don’t put your finger-marks on it, please,” said Mma Ramotswe. “The apprentice has spent hours polishing that car.”

Note looked at her in astonishment. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything Mma Ramotswe launched into her attack.

“I went to see your mother,” she said. “I went to your place the other night. Did she tell you?”

Note shook his head. “I have not been down there over the last few days.”

“Poor woman,” said Mma Ramotswe. “She must be very ashamed of you.”

Note’s eyes widened. “You mind your own business,” he spat out. “You keep away from her.”

“Oh, I have no plans to go there again,” retorted Mma Ramotswe. “And I don’t want to see you again, either.”

Note sneered. “You’re getting a bit cheeky, aren’t you? You know what I do to cheeky women?”

Mma Ramotswe closed her eyes, but only briefly. She remembered the violence, yes, but now it seemed less frightening.

“You listen to me,” she said. “If you’ve come for money from me, the answer is that I do not have to give you a single thebe, not one. Because I was never your wife in the first place, and I owe you nothing. Nothing.”

Note moved slowly towards her. “You say you were not my wife? Why do you say that?”

“Because you were still married when you married me,” she said. “That makes you the bigamist, not me. I am not the one who could be reported to the police. You are. You were married to another girl and you had a child by her, didn’t you? I know that now.”

Note stopped in his advance. She saw his lip quiver, and she saw his fingers move in that strange way, as if he were practising the trumpet. She wondered for a moment whether he would strike her, as he had struck her before those many years ago, but decided that he would not. Behind her she could hear Mr J.L.B. Matekoni cough, and drop a spanner loudly—his way of signalling that he was at hand, that he would intervene should it be necessary. And there was Mr Polopetsi too, standing at the entrance to the garage, pretending to sweep the floor, but watching closely. Her two friends, those two good men who were so different from Note: her husband—her real husband—and that kind and helpful Mr Polopetsi were there at hand, ready to come to her aid. Note was no threat while they stood there; cruelty was a thing of shadows and hidden places, not a thing that flourished under the eyes of such men as those.

Note looked at her, a look of pure hate, and for a moment Mma Ramotswe was afraid again, but then she stopped herself and taking a deep breath, she stepped towards him. Now they were face to face, and when she spoke she did not have to speak loudly.

“I loved you,” she said, making sure that he should hear each word. “You were not good to me. Now that is all over. I do not hate you, Note Mokoti, and I am …”—she paused. It was hard to say this, but she knew that she had to. “I want you to go in peace. That is all.” And she spoke in Setswana those two simple words that mean Go in Peace, Go Slowly.

Then she reached into the pocket of her skirt and took out a small envelope. Inside there was some money—not ten thousand pula by any means, but some money to help him.

“I do not hate you, Note Mokoti,” she repeated. “This is a gift from me. It is to help you. Please go now.”

Note looked at the envelope which was being held out to him. For a moment he hesitated, but then he reached forward and took it. He looked at her.

“Thank you,” he said, and then he turned and began to walk away. But he stopped after a few paces, and turned round to face her again. She thought that he was going to say something, and there were things that she wished he might have said; but he did not speak, but left her standing there outside the garage, with the afternoon sun on her face. She turned back, to see Mr J.L.B. Matekoni coming towards her slowly, wiping his hands on a piece of greasy rag; and Mr Polopetsi with his broom, quite still, all pretence of work abandoned. And she wanted to cry, but somehow there were no tears, for they had been shed many years ago, and now she was beyond tears for that part of her life and for that particular suffering. She might weep for her tiny white van, yes, and for its travails, but she could no longer weep for the man to whom she had now said a final farewell.

“THERE,” said Mma Ramotswe as she raised a cup of bush tea to her lips. “That has settled that. No more Note Mokoti. No more searching for our friend from Zambia. Everything is settled. Except for one thing.”

“And what is that thing, Mma?” asked Mma Makutsi.

“Charlie,” said Mma Ramotswe. “What are we going to do about Charlie?”

Mma Makutsi picked up her cup and looked at Mma Ramotswe over the rim. “What makes you think that has not yet been settled?” she asked.

“Well, he’s not here,” said Mma Ramotswe. “He hasn’t come back to work. Presumably he is still with that woman.”

Mma Makutsi put her cup down and examined her nails.

“Charlie will be back very soon,” she said. “Either tomorrow, or early next week. I dealt with that matter myself, as I thought you had enough on your plate at the moment.”

Mma Ramotswe frowned. Mma Makutsi’s methods were sometimes rather unconventional, and she wondered what measures she had resorted to in order to deal with Charlie.

“Don’t worry,” said Mma Makutsi, sensing her employer’s concern. “I handled it very tactfully. And I think he will be coming back just as soon as he leaves that flashy lady, which I think will be very soon.”

Mma Ramotswe laughed. “And how do you know that he’s going to leave her? Are you sure that you are not just hoping that he will come to his senses?”

“That boy has very few senses,” said Mma Makutsi. “No, I think that he will very soon be persuaded by that lady’s husband to come back. I telephoned him, you see. I managed to get his number from the shebeen queen who is living in Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s house. Then I telephoned the husband in Johannesburg and said that I thought that he should know that his wife was carrying on with a young man. He said that he would come over to Gaborone and sort out that young man. I said that he should not harm Charlie, but should just warn him off and tell him to get back to his job. He was unwilling to agree to this, of course, but then I said that if he did not, then he would have to look for another wife. I said that if he would promise not to harm Charlie, then I would see to it that Charlie stopped carrying on with his wife.”

Mma Ramotswe looked puzzled.

“Yes,” Mma Makutsi went on. “I told him that this wife of his was ready to run away with this young man. The only way of stopping that would be to get the young man to leave her of his own accord.”

“And how could that be done?” asked Mma Ramotswe. She had seen how headstrong Charlie could be, and she could not imagine him yielding to advice from Mma Makutsi, or anybody else for that matter.

“I then got hold of Charlie and told him that I had heard that the woman’s husband was coming to deal with him,” she said. “He looked very frightened and asked me how I knew this thing. That’s the point at which I had to tell a small lie, although it was a lie for Charlie’s benefit. I told him that I had a cousin in the police who had told me that this man was suspected of disposing of another of his wife’s boyfriends. They had not been able to prove it, but they said that he had done it.”

“That was not a very big lie,” observed Mma Ramotswe. “It may even be true.”

“It could be,” said Mma Makutsi. “That man certainly talked about Charlie in a very threatening way.”

“So Charlie is now scared off?” asked Mma Ramotswe.

“Yes,” said Mma Makutsi. “And he asked me whether Mr J.L.B. Matekoni would take him back. I said that I thought that he might, provided that he promised to work very hard and not to spend all his time looking at girls.”

“And what did he say to that?”

“He said that he had always been hard-working and, anyway, he was getting a bit tired of women. Apparently this lady with the Mercedes-Benz is a bit demanding. She wants him to pay a lot of attention to her.”

“I have always thought that about people who drive around in expensive cars,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But I have never thought that about ladies who drive vans.”

They laughed at this, and each of them poured another cup of tea.