In the Time of Five Pumpkins, page 9
“But always remember that there is room for improvement. That applies to all of us, by the way.”
“Ya, ya,” said Charlie.
Chapter Seven
All Men Seem Handsome
They arrived at the Sanitas Tea Garden fifteen minutes later. The car park was almost full, but Mma Ramotswe found a spot near the gate and took this before anybody else could claim it. As she emerged from the van, she cast her eye around the rows of vehicles already there. It was a Saturday morning, and the garden centre was busy with people stocking up on shrubs and other plants for the impending rainy season. Mma Ramotswe herself had been there only a week or two before, buying bean plants and onion bulbs for her vegetable garden. It was a sociable place, and after she had made her purchase, she spent rather longer than she had planned over tea with friends who had also been stocking up on their garden supplies.
“Over there, Mma,” whispered Charlie, pointing to the far end of the car park.
She looked over in the direction in which he pointed. Her gaze must have passed over it before, but now she saw it: the large brown car in which Mma Modise had left the house on the other side of town. She felt a certain satisfaction that her brief conversation with the gardener had saved them the bother of tailing Mma Modise. Although she was confident that she knew how to follow somebody without being spotted, there was always a chance that the person being followed would look in the mirror and wonder why her car seemed so tenacious.
“Now remember, Charlie,” she warned, as they began to make their way through the entrance of the garden centre, “try not to stare. Look at the plants—not at the people. Pretend to be interested in compost and seedlings and so on.”
Charlie assured her that merging with his surroundings was something at which he was quite adept. “They never see me, Mma,” he said. “Mr. Invisible—that’s who I am.”
She smiled. “And me, Charlie? Am I Mrs. Inconspicuous?”
Charlie grinned. “You’re a bit too traditionally built, Mma, to be inconspicuous. No offence—it’s just that…well, you aren’t, I think.”
She gave him a look of mock reproach, and he grinned back unapologetically. Then, appearing to all intents and purposes like a woman accompanied by a nephew, perhaps, looking for garden plants, they entered the large, shade-netted shopping area. It was cool, and there was the sound of water playing down several demonstration fountains; the smell of tree bark and fruitfulness.
“It smells green in here,” muttered Charlie, appreciatively.
Mma Ramotswe pointed to an area on the far side of the enclosure. This was shaded by a canopy of foliage, of trees, of creepers, of vines, and underneath were tables and chairs. A couple of waitresses, wearing green tunics, moved between the tables, carrying laden trays. “Over there, Charlie. I can see where we need to go.”
She had only had a brief glimpse of Mma Modise when she had seen her talking to the gardener, but she was able to recognise the bright floral dress she had been wearing. Now, by fortunate chance, the table next to the one at which Mma Modise was sitting was available, and she led Charlie to it. As she sat down, she made an effort not to look in Mma Modise’s direction. Charlie took his cue from her, although she noticed that he sneaked several surreptitious glances at the neighbouring table.
Mma Modise was alone. She had opened a gardening magazine and was paging through it, sipping at the tea that had already been served. Suddenly alerted to something, she slipped the magazine into her bag and made an effort to compose herself.
He came up to the table, walking with the confidence of one whose arrival is both anticipated and welcomed. He was a tall man, dressed in an open-necked shirt and checked slacks. As he approached Mma Modise’s table, he took off a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses. Then, leaning forward, he planted a kiss on her brow.
Charlie caught Mma Ramotswe’s eye. “You see that,” he whispered.
The man sat down and he and Mma Modise immediately engaged in conversation. She had something to tell him, it seemed, and she spoke with a degree of animation. In the hubbub of the outdoor tea room, with birds adding their bit to the general conversation, it was impossible for Mma Ramotswe and Charlie to make out what was being said, although the occasional word rose above the background noise—impossible…Lobatse…easy enough…a bit more money…he said no, but…It could have been a conversation about anything, as much a casual catching-up between friends as an exchange between lovers.
Yet there was no doubt in Mma Ramotswe’s mind that this was a clandestine assignation, even if it was slightly surprising that it should be as public as this. In the old days, of course, nobody could go anywhere in Gaborone without being noticed, and meeting a lover in the Sanitas Tea Garden would have amounted to shouting the affair from the rooftops. It was different now, she realised, as there were more people, and when there were more people, there were always more strangers.
“What are we going to do, Mma?” whispered Charlie.
Mma Ramotswe leaned towards him and said out of the corner of her mouth, “Don’t whisper too much. We must not look suspicious.”
Charlie bit his lip. “Sorry, Mma.” He cleared his throat. “It’s still hot. I hope there’ll be rain soon.”
“Rain,” said Mma Ramotswe. “It can’t come too soon, Charlie.”
“If there is rain, then there will be good crops,” Charlie continued, now speaking at normal volume. “There will be a very big harvest.”
Mma Ramotswe considered this gravely. “That is probably true, Charlie,” she pronounced. “Crops do not like a drought, you know.”
“And the dam will fill up again,” said Charlie. “It is good when the dam is full of water.”
“That is also true, I think,” said Mma Ramotswe.
They noticed that there was silence from the next-door table. Mma Ramotswe noticed that Mma Modise had glanced in their direction, as had her companion. Had they overheard this conversation about rain? Was there something they might like to add to it? People in Botswana never tired of talking about rain—a common feature of conversations in a dry country.
Mma Modise stood up, followed by her companion. He reached out and brushed a fly from her shoulder. It was an intimate gesture, and for Mma Ramotswe it was further confirmation of what she had assumed. Then the two of them began to make their way towards the car park beyond the trees. Mma Ramotswe and Charlie remained where they were, although they did not persist with their attempt at casual conversation. Eventually Charlie said, “They have gone, Mma. I think we’re safe now.”
They got up from their table. On the way out, stopping at the cash desk where people paid for their gardening purchases, she greeted the attendant, a middle-aged woman in green overalls.
“Tell me, Mma,” she said. “That couple who have just left. She was wearing that very pretty flower-dress—you probably saw her. He was a very handsome man.”
The woman smiled. “All men seem handsome to me, Mma—at my age.”
Mma Ramotswe laughed. “They never notice, though—do they?”
“Well,” sighed the woman. “Perhaps it is better that way.”
Mma Ramotswe waited. Then she asked, “So, do you know who they are, Mma? I thought I recognised them, but I can’t be sure.”
The woman looked out in the direction of the car park. “They are very fond of one another,” she said.
Charlie’s eyes widened.
“That’s nice,” said Mma Ramotswe.
“They’re here a lot,” said the woman. “Two or three times a week.”
Mma Ramotswe raised an eyebrow. “Do you remember their names, Mma?”
The woman frowned. “She’s called Aleseng.”
Mma Ramotswe waited a few moments before asking, “And his name, Mma?”
“He’s Bakang, I think. But I’m not sure. I thought I heard him being called something different.”
“And his surname, Mma? Do you know that?”
The woman smiled. “The same as hers, I think. Thato.” She looked bemused—as if she might be wondering why anybody should ask so obvious a question.
Mma Ramotswe hesitated. “But they aren’t married, are they, Mma?”
The woman laughed. “Of course not. She’s his sister.”
This information was received in silence.
“Are you sure?” asked Mma Ramotswe.
The woman explained that they had once asked her to take a photograph of themselves at the table. “She introduced him as her brother,” she said. “And I could see the resemblance.” She paused. “I have remembered his family name. It is Thato, because I knew a Thato once who was a nurse at the clinic near us. She was a cousin, I think. But she is no longer Thato because she married a man called Modise—if I remember correctly. He has that pest control business—you may know it.”
“Oh.”
The woman continued, “And one of the cooks in the kitchen knows them. He said they were brother and sister. He was at school with them here in Gaborone.”
It took some effort on Mma Ramotswe’s part to conceal her surprise. Don’t be surprised by anything, wrote Clovis Andersen. The most unlikely thing is often the most likely. Remember that. She did remember it, even if she thought there was something about the statement that, unusually for anything said by Clovis Andersen, did not seem to make a great deal of sense.
The woman behind the desk became distracted. Another customer had arrived at the till with goods to be paid for. “I’m sorry, Mma,” she said, “but I must attend to this other lady.”
Mma Ramotswe thanked her and accompanied Charlie into the car park.
“So, Mma,” said Charlie, “that was a big waste of time, wasn’t it?”
She was patient, and tried to explain. “Nothing is wasted in our work, Charlie,” she said. “If you go up a blind alley, that is not a waste of time because you have discovered something—that there is no point in going that way. You learn from everything, you see—even the things that take you nowhere.”
Charlie looked thoughtful. “So she goes out three times a week to meet up with her brother. I wonder why?”
Mma Ramotswe took a moment or two to consider her reply. Why would anybody do that? Family affection? Yes, possibly—but that often? Loneliness, perhaps? That was more likely, she thought. And relations between brothers and sisters could sometimes be very close, in some cases leading to people living under the same roof for much of their lives. Not everybody found marriage partners, and for some brothers and sisters, living together, or just seeing a great deal of one another, might make perfect sense. Why be lonely if you had family with whom you could share your life?
She turned to Charlie. “We get used to seeing the same people regularly, Charlie. Two or three times a week is not too much, I would say. We love to talk about what’s going on. Those two had a lot to discuss, I think.” She paused. She remembered what Excellence Modise had said about his wife—that she did not like him. If that was the case, then it was easy to see how she might just like to meet up with her brother and chat for a while—as a means of getting away from a domestic life in which she was unhappy. We all needed a friend with whom to take refuge—and for Mma Modise that appeared to be her brother.
They reached the van. Charlie was quiet, as if he was still pondering what they had just discovered. He looked disappointed, and Mma Ramotswe decided that he must have been hoping for a quick solution. But real life was rarely as simple as we would like it to be. The truth, which was something we sometimes uncovered and sometimes did not, was not always as easily established as all that. If you were watching somebody, it might take days, even months, before they revealed themselves. It was a long process, and patience was required. Charlie was young—and the young were sometimes impatient when it came to patience.
“What now?” asked Charlie as they got into the van.
“I try to start the engine,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I hope that the battery is in a better mood.”
Charlie corrected her. “It is not a question of mood, Mma Ramotswe,” he said. “There’s an alternator, see, in the engine. When the engine runs, the alternator creates a current that goes into the battery and recharges it. That is how it works.”
She turned the key in the ignition, and the engine coughed into life.
“Bang!” said Charlie with satisfaction. “There is charge in the battery now. I can check it for you later, though, in case it is just too old. Batteries don’t last forever, Mma. You have to replace them every five years—at least. Always replace your battery before it gets too old and tired, Mma.” He paused. “How old is your battery, Mma?”
Mma Ramotswe shrugged. “I have never replaced it, as far as I know.”
Charlie spoke accusingly. “But what about the boss? Surely, he’s replaced it. He wouldn’t let you drive around on a rubbish battery.”
“Perhaps,” said Mma Ramotswe vaguely. She did not like all this talk of batteries—not while she was about to drive off. Providence should not be tempted, she felt.
They drove off, heading back to the office on the Tlokweng Road. It had not been a successful morning, and Mma Ramotswe was wondering how she should take this particular investigation to its next stage. She could try following Mma Modise once more, but that might take her straight back to the Sanitas Tea Garden, and a repeat of today’s experience. Or she could talk to the gardener again, and see if he had any further information to impart. That was a possibility, but she would have to think about it before she reached any decision.
Then Charlie said, “That car is behind us, Mma.”
She did not take her eyes off the road. The traffic was building up, and other drivers could be unpredictable. “What car?” she asked.
“That woman’s car, Mma. The one we saw.”
Mma Ramotswe glanced in her rear-view mirror. Charlie was right. The large brown car was not far behind them, and Mma Ramotswe could even make out the figure of Mma Modise at the wheel. This was rather puzzling; she thought that the other woman had left before them, but she must have taken her time to get out of the car park.
Mma Ramotswe slowed down. The large brown car followed suit. She speeded up, with the same result.
“She’s following us, Mma,” said Charlie.
Mma Ramotswe frowned. “It may just be a coincidence, Charlie. Just because a car is behind you, it doesn’t mean it’s following you.”
“Then why does it slow down, Mma, when we slow down? Is that coincidence as well? I may not be Mr. Encyclopedia BA, but I think that if a car behind you slows down when you slow down, then there’s a good chance it’s following you.”
Mma Ramotswe looked in the mirror again, and then made up her mind. They were approaching a junction, and shortly before they reached it, she suddenly slowed down and swung the van off the road. She left the manoeuvre to the last minute, and the tiny white van almost strayed off its new course before she corrected it. Immediately after turning, she looked behind her, and saw the other car had turned too.
Mma Ramotswe sighed. “I think I am going to ignore her, Charlie. It could still be a coincidence. There will be many people who will turn off here. It doesn’t mean they’re following somebody.”
Charlie looked doubtful. “Not very likely, Mma,” he said. “But you’re the one in charge. I am just the junior person here. I am not the one who knows about these things.”
* * *
—
They arrived back at the office of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. As Mma Ramotswe nosed the van into its accustomed parking place under its tree, she saw that Mma Modise’s car had stopped further down the road, under a tree of its own. There was now no doubt in her mind that they had been followed, and when Charlie pointed the car out to her, she accepted that he had been right all along. He said, “Isn’t it a bit unusual to go off and follow somebody and then be followed yourself? Has that ever happened to you before, Mma Ramotswe?”
“It is very unusual, Charlie. You are quite right.”
He scratched his head. “So, what should we do, Mma? Should we just ignore her?”
Mma Ramotswe was undecided. “I’m not sure, Charlie. Perhaps we should think about it over a cup of tea.”
Tea, of course, was always the solution to a difficult issue. Red bush tea, which was Mma Ramotswe’s favourite, was particularly suited for that, as she found that not only did it clear the mind, but it seemed also to raise the spirits. It was hard to feel defeated by the world if you had a cup of red bush tea in your hand. It was possible, of course, but hard.
They went inside, where Charlie sat in Mma Makutsi’s chair, as she was out of the office that day. “This is a very comfortable chair,” he said. “I’ve noticed that other people’s chairs are always more comfortable than your own—if you have a chair, of course.” He looked across the room at Mma Ramotswe and added, “Which some of us do not.”
Mma Ramotswe took a sip of her tea. “Interesting,” she said. She was not paying particular attention to what Charlie was saying, but her mind was active. And now she reached her decision.
“Charlie,” she said. “I would like you to step outside and speak to Mma Modise. Invite her in for a cup of tea. Tell her that I do not like the thought of her sitting out there in the heat.”
Charlie looked astonished. “But, Mma, she’s been following us…”
“And we’ve been following her,” Mma Ramotswe countered. “In such circumstances, I think the least we can do is offer her tea. Following people can be thirsty work.”
Chapter Eight
I Am So Fortunate
Mma Modise did not conceal her curiosity as she came through the door of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency.
“So, this is what goes on in here,” she said. “I have often driven past this place and wondered what goes on inside. I thought, That’s a very small building for a business like this.”
