The Kalahari Typing School For Men

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MR. MOLEFELO arrived at the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency the following morning. Mma Ramotswe had telephoned him the previous evening and had suggested an appointment in a few days’ time, but such had been his eagerness to hear what she had found out that he begged her to see him sooner.

“Please, Mma,” he had pleaded. “I cannot wait. After all this time, I must know soon. Please do not make me wait. I shall be sitting here thinking, thinking, all the time.”

There were other things that Mma Ramotswe had to do, but these were not urgent and she understood his anxiety. So she agreed to see him at her office the next day when, she said, she would be able to give him the information he wanted. This required arrangements to be made, of course, and there was the older apprentice to dispatch on an errand. But that could be done.

Mr. Molefelo was punctual, waiting outside in his car until exactly eleven o’clock, the time at which Mma Ramotswe had agreed to see him. Mma Makutsi showed him into the office and then returned to her desk. Mr. Molefelo greeted Mma Ramotswe and then looked at Mma Makutsi.

“I wonder, Mma…” he began.

Mma Ramotswe caught Mma Makutsi’s eye, and that was enough. They both understood that there were things that could be said to one but not to two. And there were other reasons.

“I have to go to the post, Mma,” said Mma Makutsi. “Should I go now?”

“A very good idea,” said Mma Ramotswe.

Mma Makutsi left the office, throwing an injured look in Mr. Molefelo’s direction, but he did not notice. As soon as she had left, Mr. Molefelo spoke.

“I must know, Mma,” he said, wringing his hands as he spoke. “I must know. Are they late? Are they late?”

“No, they are not late, Rra,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Mr. Tsolamosese has died, but his widow is still alive. You came to me in time.”

Mr. Molefelo’s relief was palpable. “In that case, I can do what I need to do.”

“Yes,” said Mma Ramotswe. “You can do what needs to be done.” She paused. “I shall tell you first about Tebogo. I found her, you know.”

Mr. Molefelo nodded eagerly. “Good. And… and what had happened to her? Was she well?”

“She was fine,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I found her in Molepolole, very easily. I drank tea with her and we talked. She told me about her life.”

“I am…” Mr. Molefelo tried to speak but found that he had nothing to say.

“She said that she did not train as a nurse after all. She was very upset when you made her deal with the baby in that way. She said that she cried and cried, and for many months she had bad dreams about what she had done.”

“That was my fault,” said Mr. Molefelo. “My fault.”

“Yes it was,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But you were a young man then, weren’t you? Young men do these things. It is only later that they regret them.”

“It was wrong of me to say that she should end that baby. I know that.”

Mma Ramotswe looked at him. “It is not that simple, Rra. There are times when you cannot expect a woman to have a baby. It is not always right. Many women would tell you that.”

“I am not questioning that,” said Mr. Molefelo meekly. “I am just telling you what I feel.”

“She was upset about you, too, you know,” went on Mma Ramotswe. “She said that she loved you and that you had told her that, too. Then you changed your mind, and she was very upset. She said that you had a hard heart.”

Mr. Molefelo looked down at the floor. “It is true. I had a hard heart…”

“But then she said that she met another boy and he asked her to marry him. He joined the police, and then later on he found a job as a bus driver. They live out at Molepolole, and they have been happy. They have five children. I met the oldest girl.”

Mr. Molefelo listened attentively. “Is that all?” he said. “Is that all that happened? Did you tell her how sorry I was?”

“I did,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“And what did she say?”

“She said that you must not worry. She said that her life had turned out very well and she bore you no ill will. She said that she hoped that you had been happy, too.” She paused. “I think that you wanted to help her in some way, didn’t you, Rra?”

Mr. Molefelo was smiling. “I said that, Mma, and I meant it. I want to give her some money.”

“That might not be the best way to do it,” said Mma Ramotswe. “What do you think the husband of this woman would think if she received money from an old boyfriend? He might not like it at all.”

“Then what can I do?”

“I met her daughter,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I told you that. She is a clever girl. She is the one who would like to be a nurse now. She is very keen. I spoke to her about it. But there are not many places for nurse training, and it is the girls who get the best results who will get the places.”

“Is she clever?” asked Mr. Molefelo. “Her mother was clever.”

“She is clever enough, I think,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But she would stand an even better chance if she went for a year or two to one of those schools where they charge high fees. They teach the children very carefully there. It would be a very good chance for her.”

Mr. Molefelo was silent. “The fees are high,” he said. “That costs a lot of money.”

Mma Ramotswe looked at him, meeting his gaze. “I do not think that you can make up for things cheaply, Rra. Do you?”

Mr. Molefelo looked at her, hesitated, and then he smiled. “You are a very astute lady, Mma, and I think you are right. I will pay for that girl to go to one of those schools here in Gaborone. I will pay that.”

Half the medicine, thought Mma Ramotswe. Now for the other half. She looked out of the window. The apprentice had left shortly before nine o’clock, and allowing for delays at the roundabouts and for one or two wrong turnings, he should be back very soon. She could start, though, by telling him of how she had found Mma Tsolamosese.

“The father died,” she said. “He retired from prison service and then he died. But Mma Tsolamosese herself is well, and she is living on her widow’s pension from the department. I think that she has enough. Her house seemed comfortable, and she is with her people. I think she is happy.”

“That is very good,” said Mr. Molefelo. “But was she also cross with me when you told her what had happened?”

“She was very surprised,” said Mma Ramotswe. “At first she did not believe that you could have done it. I had to persuade her that it was true. Then she said that she thought that you were very brave to confess what had happened. That’s what she said.”

Mr. Molefelo, who had looked cheerful before, now looked miserable again. “She must think I am very bad. She must think that I abused her hospitality. That is a very bad thing to do.”

“She understands,” said Mma Ramotswe. “She is a woman who has lived quite a long time. She understands that young men can behave like that. Do not think that she is filled with anger, or anything like that.”

“She is not?”

“No. And she is also happy that you should apologise in person. She is prepared for that.”

“Then I must go out there,” said Mr. Molefelo.

Mma Ramotswe glanced out of her window. The tiny white van was being driven up to the back of the garage.

“No need to go out there, Rra,” she said. “Mma Tsolamosese has just arrived. She will be here in a moment.” She paused. “Are you all right, Rra?”

Mr. Molefelo gulped. “I am very embarrassed, Mma. I feel very bad. But I think I am ready.”

– -

MMA TSOLAMOSESE looked at the man standing before her.

“You are looking very well,” she said. “You were thinner in those days. You were a boy.”

“You were my mother, Mma. You looked after me well.”

She smiled at him. “I was your mother in Gaborone. You were my son while you were here. Now I am proud of you. Mma Ramotswe has told me how well you have done.”

“But I did a very bad thing to you,” said Mr. Molefelo. “Your radio-”

Mma Tsolamosese interrupted him. “A radio is a small thing. A man is a big thing.”

“I am sorry, Mma,” said Mr. Molefelo. “I am sorry for what I did. I have never stolen anything else. That was the only time.”

“Do not worry, Rra,” she said. “I have told you already. A radio is a small thing.”

They sat down together while Mma Ramotswe prepared the tea. Then, over the strong, sweet liquid, they talked about what had happened in their lives. At the end of the conversation, Mma Ramotswe drew Mr. Molefelo to one side and spoke to him quietly.

“There is something you can do for this woman,” she said. “It will not cost you too much money, but it is something that you can do.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Mma Tsolamosese. “She is such a kind woman,” he whispered. “She was like that then, and she still is. I will do whatever I can.”

“There is a grandchild,” said Mma Ramotswe quietly. “There is a little girl. She may not live very long because of this cruel illness. But in the meantime, you could make a difference to that life. You could give Mma Tsolamosese money to use for that child. The right food. Meat. Pretty clothes. Even if the life of that child is short, it would be made a happy one, and if you did that, Rra, then you would have more than made up for what you did all those years ago.”

Mr. Molefelo looked at her. “You are right, Mma. I can do that. It is not a big thing to do.”

“Then you tell Mma Tsolamosese,” said Mma Ramotswe, gesturing towards the older woman. “You go ahead and tell her.”

Mma Tsolamosese listened quietly as Mr. Molefelo spoke. Then, her head bowed, she spoke.

“I always thought that you were a good person, Rra,” she said. “All those years ago, I thought that. Nothing that I have heard, nothing, has made me change my mind about you.”

She looked up and reached for his hand, while Mma Ramotswe turned away. Mr. Molefelo had earned this moment for himself, she thought, and there should be no spectator.