CARBOLIC SOAP AND LIES.

THE NEXT FEW DAYS were marked by the fact that virtually nothing happened. Such spells in otherwise busy lives are like breaks in bad weather: we know that they will not last, and our knowledge of their impermanence makes them seem all the more precious. But although throughout this time scarcely a soul crossed the threshold of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, both Mma Makutsi and Mma Ramotswe had more than enough to occupy their thoughts. For Mma Makutsi, the main concern was her impending wedding; the date was fast approaching, and the invitations had already been posted. Her long list of preparations was now marked by rows of ticks as task after task was completed with all the efficiency one would expect of one who, after all, had achieved a hitherto unheard-of ninety-seven per cent in her final examinations. But there were still things to do, and things to worry about, or to worry that Phuti was not worrying about enough. were marked by the fact that virtually nothing happened. Such spells in otherwise busy lives are like breaks in bad weather: we know that they will not last, and our knowledge of their impermanence makes them seem all the more precious. But although throughout this time scarcely a soul crossed the threshold of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, both Mma Makutsi and Mma Ramotswe had more than enough to occupy their thoughts. For Mma Makutsi, the main concern was her impending wedding; the date was fast approaching, and the invitations had already been posted. Her long list of preparations was now marked by rows of ticks as task after task was completed with all the efficiency one would expect of one who, after all, had achieved a hitherto unheard-of ninety-seven per cent in her final examinations. But there were still things to do, and things to worry about, or to worry that Phuti was not worrying about enough.

An example of the latter was the cattle that would be used for the wedding feast. A very large cow and three well-fed goats had been identified for this purpose, and Phuti was meant to have arranged for them to be brought in from his family's cattle post. Had this been done? And what about the cow he had promised her people for their feast up in Bobonong? Was this going to be purchased up there, or would it be taken up from the Radiphuti cattle post? These were important questions, and Mma Makutsi was not entirely satisfied that Phuti was on top of them. It was all very well for men; they a.s.sumed that weddings happened, happened, and they often enjoyed themselves conspicuously at such events, but did they know and they often enjoyed themselves conspicuously at such events, but did they know how how these things went off smoothly? Did men make lists, she wondered; and concluded that they did not. She had never seen a man with a list-not once-although she often saw men in the supermarket struggling to read the lists made for them by their wives. Mma Makutsi had, in fact, once helped such a man to interpret his wife's instructions and had ended up doing his entire shopping for him, consequently making herself late for an appointment at the hair-braiding salon. these things went off smoothly? Did men make lists, she wondered; and concluded that they did not. She had never seen a man with a list-not once-although she often saw men in the supermarket struggling to read the lists made for them by their wives. Mma Makutsi had, in fact, once helped such a man to interpret his wife's instructions and had ended up doing his entire shopping for him, consequently making herself late for an appointment at the hair-braiding salon.

While Mma Makutsi sat at her desk and thought about the wedding, Mma Ramotswe sat in her place, her mind filled with thoughts of a rather different nature. She had more than enough on her plate, she reflected, and several things that were concerning her seemed to be without obvious and immediate solution. There was Charlie, of course. He had returned to work and appeared to be coping; Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni had been tact itself, and had not even docked his wages for the missing days. But there was still the issue of Prudence, and the visit that Mma Ramotswe had promised to pay to the wronged young woman. Charlie, she suspected, had a.s.sumed that a few words to Prudence from her would solve the whole issue; they would not, thought Mma Ramotswe. He would have to make some effort, and she was not sure whether he had the staying power for that. Time would tell, as Mma Potokwane sometimes said; time will tell, Mma Ramotswe. time will tell, Mma Ramotswe. Yes, Mma Potokwane, but what if time tells us what we don't want to hear? Yes, Mma Potokwane, but what if time tells us what we don't want to hear?

At least with the Charlie affair she knew what she had to do. It was not that simple when she turned her attention to the other difficult problem with which she was confronted-the Moeti case. Her heart sank even as she started once again to think about it. She had decided that she could not let Mpho's deeds go unreported, but she remained deeply concerned about the small boy's safety if Mr. Moeti were to hear, even indirectly, that he was responsible for the attack on his cattle. Terrible things happened out in the country, and a person like Moeti would, as likely as not, take a sjambok to the errant herd boy. Sjamboks, those cruel cattle-hide whips, would do real damage to a small boy; she could not allow that. But how could she deal with the problem and yet keep it from Mr. Moeti? The obvious thing to do would be to speak to the boy's mother and ask her to do something about disciplining or watching the boy. But could she be sure that the information would not somehow leak out? People talked. If she went to the police and told them what had happened, they would be bound to let Mr. Moeti know who was responsible for the outrage; that was how the police operated. They had their rules, of course-it was not their fault-and one of those rules would probably state that the owner of damaged property had to be informed of who had done the damage if that fact were to emerge. Well, it had emerged-if, of course, Mpho were to be believed.

And then there was the van. That at least had been a positive development, but she had done nothing about going to see Daniel because that would involve negotiations and she was in no mood for negotiations at present. So the only thing to do, she decided, was to wait at her desk and see if anything happened. Which it did-not that day, nor the next, but the day afterwards, when everything seemed to happen at once, as is often the case.

"There is a man parking his car under the tree," said Mma Makutsi. From her vantage point on the other side of the room, she could see through the window that Mma Ramotswe could not really look through unless she craned her neck uncomfortably.

"Coming to see us?" asked Mma Ramotswe.

"I think so. If he was going to the garage I think he would have parked his car there rather than under the tree. That is what I think, Mma." There was a note of reproach in Mma Makutsi's voice, almost as if she was suggesting that Mma Ramotswe's powers of deduction were failing. Mma Ramotswe just smiled; brides-to-be could be testy-that was a well-known fact.

Mma Ramotswe rose to her feet. "Perhaps we have a new client, Mma," she said. "And about time, I think."

"Or an old one come in to see you," said Mma Makutsi. "That is equally possible, don't you think, Mma?"

Again, Mma Ramotswe said nothing. Mma Makutsi had a lot on her mind, and once she was married these comments would surely stop.

She opened the door and saw Mr. Moeti speaking to Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, who was directing him to the office door.

"Moeti," she whispered to Mma Makutsi. "This is him."

Mma Makutsi glanced out of the door. "I shall put on the kettle, Mma," she said. "And I am right here if you need me."

Moeti approached, holding out his hand in greeting. "So this is your place, Mma Ramotswe. It is a very nice office, I think. And very handy for that garage, too, if your car breaks down."

Mma Ramotswe smiled. "That mechanic is my husband, Rra."

"Very good," said Mr. Moeti. "And this lady is your secretary?"

"a.s.sociate detective," corrected Mma Makutsi.

Mr. Moeti made a show of apologising. "Oh, very sorry, Mma. Big mistake on my part. Very sorry."

"That is all right," said Mma Makutsi primly. "There are two detectives here. Mma Ramotswe, who is the proprietor, and myself. Would you like some tea, Rra? These mornings are so hot these days, aren't they?"

Mr. Moeti looked about the room. "Tea would be very nice, Mma. Three spoons of sugar, please." He turned to Mma Ramotswe, who was offering him the client's chair. "Yes, a very good office, Mma."

Mma Ramotswe acknowledged the compliment. She had been surprised by Mr. Moeti's appearance, and a little concerned. He would ask her for a progress report, no doubt, and that would be tricky, as she would be unable to reveal what had happened. So she would have to watch her words carefully, weighing each one to ensure that she told him nothing without telling any outright lies. Never, ever lie to your client, Never, ever lie to your client, Clovis Andersen had written. Clovis Andersen had written. That's Rule No. 3, right up there with Rules 1 and 2. Don't lie. That's Rule No. 3, right up there with Rules 1 and 2. Don't lie.

As she sat down at her desk and faced her client, the thought occurred to her that something about Mr. Moeti's visit was not quite right. When he had first contacted her, he had been careful to arrange a meeting elsewhere, wanting to avoid being seen coming to the detective agency. He had appeared frightened, and jumpy in his manner. Now, by contrast, he seemed cheerful and unconcerned about visiting her quite openly at the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. It was strange.

"It is good to see you, Rra," she said. "And I'm happy to see you here in the office. Last time, you seemed unwilling..."

Mr. Moeti looked at her suspiciously. "What last time? What unwilling?"

Mma Ramotswe watched him carefully. Her remark had wrong-footed him, she thought. That was interesting; had he forgotten? Actors forget; people who are not acting never do.

"Last time you consulted me," she said. "You didn't want to come to the office. And forgive me if I say this, Rra, but you seemed very anxious then. Are you no longer worried?"

For a moment or two he said nothing. He's thinking, she said to herself; thinking what to say.

He looked over his shoulder-an exaggerated glance. "I am still worried, Mma. And wouldn't you be, if you knew that somebody was trying to harm you? Even during the day, things can happen..."

He transferred his gaze to the window, looking out as if to identify any threat lurking outside. From where she was sitting, if she half turned in her seat, Mma Ramotswe could not see a great deal, but she had a good view of the sky, which was empty, innocent. A shadow pa.s.sed over his face, though; she could see its effect in his eyes.

"You have reminded me, Mma Ramotswe," he said quietly. "I had almost forgotten, and I was happy. But you have reminded me."

She had not expected this, and his comment made her catch her breath. Perhaps he really was frightened, and perhaps she had tactlessly spoiled things for him. He is my client, He is my client, she reminded herself. she reminded herself. He is not a suspect. He is not a suspect.

"I'm very sorry, Rra," she said. "It is not my business to tell you how you're feeling."

The apology was accepted with a quick movement of the hands. "That's all right, Mma. No damage. It's best to be positive, I find, and that's what I'm trying to do. We cannot let wicked people spoil our lives for us, can we?"

Mma Ramotswe indicated that she agreed with this sentiment. And she did; stopping wicked people from spoiling the lives of the non-wicked was, after all, what she and Mma Makutsi did in their working lives.

"So," went on Mr. Moeti, "tell me, Mma: What have you found out? Have you any...what do you people call them? Any leads leads?"

Mr. Moeti's use of the word lead lead was a G.o.dsend to Mma Ramotswe. She had an answer, not a lead, so she replied, "No leads as such, Rra." was a G.o.dsend to Mma Ramotswe. She had an answer, not a lead, so she replied, "No leads as such, Rra."

He did not seem unduly disappointed. "Well, I have."

She looked at him politely. "Oh yes, Rra? What have you found out?"

He sat back in his chair. "You remember that thing we found? The key ring?"

She nodded: the cheap metal map of Botswana.

"I have found out where it is from."

"Who dropped it?"

He hesitated. "No, not directly, but I have found out which firm gives them to its business clients. There is a firm of livestock-feed manufacturers in Lobatse. They make that lick that you give to cattle."

Mma Ramotswe knew the lick in question. She used it herself out at her cattle post. Cattle loved the salt it contained, and it gave them all sorts of other things too. Of course humans were rather like cattle these days, she thought-always taking extra vitamin pills. Perhaps they should make a vitamin lick for people, which they could put on people's floors, and they would get down on all fours and lick away, just like cattle.

"So, Rra," she said. "You have found out who gives the key ring away. But you have not found out who owned this particular key ring, have you? Is that correct?"

Mr. Moeti reached forward and tapped the desk lightly. "No, I have not done that because that would be impossible, Mma Ramotswe. n.o.body, not even the best detective in the world, could look at a key ring and say that it belonged to this person or that person. But..."

He was looking at her with a curious intensity; she held his gaze. "Yes?"

"But I can tell you something about this key ring, Mma-something that will make you sit up straight in your chair."

Mma Ramotswe shifted slightly. Had she been slouching? Perhaps it was just the impression that her chair gave-it had always sagged in the middle, for some reason.

"Yes," continued Mr. Moeti. "I know that the firm that gives away this key ring is in Lobatse. I know that it makes cattle-lick. And I know who owns it."

Mma Ramotswe nodded politely. "That is a lot to know, Rra. But what has it got to do with our inquiry?"

"It is the person who owns that firm that will interest you. He is my neighbour."

Mma Ramotswe digested this information. "So are you saying that he must have dropped it?"

There was a look of undisguised triumph on Mr. Moeti's face. "Exactly. That is exactly what I am saying. This thing-this attack on my cattle-was carried out by my neighbour."

He paused, watching the effect of his disclosure. From the other side of the office there came a muttered comment: "Neighbour! It is always the neighbour!"

Mr. Moeti turned in his seat and stared at Mma Makutsi.

"My a.s.sistant," said Mma Ramotswe. "As she told you, she is an-"

"a.s.sociate detective," supplied Mma Makutsi.

Mr. Moeti nodded. "Very good," he said. "And you are right, Mma Makutsi. It is always the neighbour who is the problem."

"Except sometimes," Mma Ramotswe said gently, "some neighbours are no trouble at all. Many, in fact."

"That may be true," said Mr. Moeti. "But not in this case. This neighbour of mine is big trouble. Big trouble. It should have been obvious to me that he was suspect number one. I don't know why I didn't think of it."

The way he said that he did not know why he had not thought of it struck Mma Ramotswe as very strange. It was said flatly, as a bad actor will deliver a line in an unaccented monotone.

"But we need a motive, Rra," she said.

This, by contrast, brought an energetic reply. "Motive? He is a bad man, Mma. Bad men always have motives-plenty of motives, I think."

She wanted to find out in what respects this neighbour-still nameless-was bad. "You must tell me about him, Rra," she said. "His name first, and then why you have this low opinion of him."

"He is called Fort.i.tude Seleo," Mr. Moeti began.

He uttered the name with an expression of disgust, or as one might talk if one were obliged to speak with a slice of bitter lemon in one's mouth. Or carbolic soap. Carbolic soap had been administered to children who used bad language when Mma Ramotswe had been young. The miscreant's mouth had been opened and a sliver of soap applied to the tongue and palate while others looked on. And the punished child would pull a face and run off to the taps to rinse out the offending mouth. It had been effective, she remembered, and although one could never do such a thing today, she could not help but notice that people used bad language casually and with no regard to the feelings of others. There would not be carbolic soap enough, she thought, to clean up the language used in films, where people found it necessary to curse and swear with utter abandon. Mma Potokwane would have views on this, she imagined; none of the children at the orphan farm used such language. Love, not punishment-that was the solution; the sort of love that Mma Potokwane could dispense to scores of children: a brisk, understanding love; a love that made them want to do their best and make the most of a world that had treated them badly at the start of their young lives.

"Fort.i.tude Seleo," she said.

"Yes, that is the man, Mma. He owns that factory and he thinks that because he is a big manufacturer of cattle-lick he can have the whole country for his own cattle." He paused. "And so when his fences fall down he doesn't bother to fix them, but lets them wander wherever they like. They could go into the middle of Gaborone and start grazing on the lawn of the Grand Palms Hotel for all he cared!

"But do his cattle catch a bus and ride into Gaborone for their breakfast? No, they do not, Mma. They just wander onto his neighbour's land-that is me, by the way-and eat and eat there until all the gra.s.s is eaten up. Then they go back and are sent down to Lobatse for slaughter with their stomachs full of my gra.s.s! That is what happens, Mma. It has happened four times, five times, one hundred times maybe.

"And what does he do when I phone him and tell him that his cattle are on my land? He says, 'Are you sure, Rra? Because I do not think any of my cattle are missing. Maybe you should get your herd boy to check. Maybe he is just making these things up.' That is what he has the cheek to say to me, Mma Ramotswe. He thinks I am just some ignorant man who doesn't know what's going on. He thinks that he can fob me off with this nonsense."

The diatribe continued. "I took him to the broken fence one day and pointed out where it was lying on the ground like some old fence from the Protectorate days. Some old British fence maybe. And I said to him, 'Look here, what is this? Is this not your fence?' And he said, 'That fence is your fence, Rra. That fence is your responsibility and you should be fixing it rather than me. Do not tell me to fix a fence that is not mine or anything to do with me.' Those were his actual words, Mma. That is what he said. And I had to take a big breath because I was so angry that I had forgotten to breathe and all my oxygen was gone. He is a man who makes you use up all your oxygen when you are with him, Mma. It is not just me, I a.s.sure you. There are many people who have run out of oxygen when arguing with that man. Maybe that is the way he wants it-maybe that is his technique. He makes people run out of oxygen, and then they fall over and he has won. There are people like that, Mma-I'm sure you know that as well as I do."

Mma Ramotswe sat quite still. There was an eloquence to this denunciation that was as alarming as it was impressive. And even if Mr. Moeti had almost run out of oxygen when arguing with Fort.i.tude Seleo, there seemed to be no danger of that happening now.

"He would not accept," Mr. Moeti went on, "that the fences were his. I said that I would look at the t.i.tle to the land and check up on what it said about fences, and he said that t.i.tles were drawn up by lawyers and what did lawyers know about fences? How can you argue with a man like that, Mma? I couldn't, and so I just had to chase his cattle off my land and wait until it happened again. And again after that.

"He is a greedy man, that man. Very large, Mma. Not that there is anything wrong in being large, I must say. It is a good thing to be large; it shows that the country is prosperous. I am just saying that sometimes people can be a little bit too large because they have eaten a bit too much beef. That is the case with Seleo, I think. The country is not big enough for him, he thinks, Mma. There really need to be two Botswanas-one for Mr. Fort.i.tude Seleo and one for the rest of us Batswana. Two whole countries. And then his cattle would start wandering out of his private Botswana and coming over to eat the gra.s.s in our Botswana. That would happen, Mma, I have absolutely no doubt about it. It is definite. His cattle have got a very bad temperament, Mma. They are like their owner. They are arrogant. Arrogant man, arrogant cattle. That is definite, Mma. Definite."

He sat back in his chair and folded his arms with the air of one who has proved his case. Mma Ramotswe waited for a few moments to see if he had anything further to say, but he had not.

"So, Rra," she began. "You do not like this Mr. Seleo."

Mr. Moeti shook his head, but remained mute.

"Well," continued Mma Ramotswe, "it sounds to me as if he is not the best of neighbours, but that does not mean that he-"

"Of course he did it," interrupted Mr. Moeti. "We found his key ring at the scene. That is big proof."

Mma Ramotswe was tactful, but felt that she had to spell out just what was meant by real proof. "You have to ask yourself what a clue means," she said. "What does it say to you? That is the question you must ask."

"It says to me: this man Seleo attacked my cattle. That's what it says to me."

Mma Makutsi, who had been following this exchange with rapt attention, now intervened. "It says: somebody has dropped a key ring. That is all it says. It does not say whose key ring has been dropped. It could be anybody's."

Mr. Moeti did not turn to face Mma Makutsi, but addressed her while still looking at Mma Ramotswe. "Seleo makes that key ring. It is his key ring. He does not like me, or my cattle. He drops his key ring after he has done his wicked deed. Anybody can tell that."

It was clear that Mma Makutsi was irritated by being addressed by one facing the other way. "I hope you can hear me, Rra," she said. "I think sometimes that when you talk to the back of somebody's head they do not hear you because their ears are facing the other way."

Mma Ramotswe raised a cautionary finger, but Mma Makutsi continued undaunted. "That is why it is not only polite, but also wise to face the person who is talking to you-that way you don't miss anything. That is just one view, of course, but it is significant, I think, that it is the view held by all polite people in Botswana." She paused. There was more to come. "Of course, there may be countries where things are done quite differently. I do not know, for instance, whether it is customary to talk to the back of people's heads in China. For all I know that might be considered quite polite and normal; but I do know that this is not the case in Botswana."

Mma Ramotswe looked down at the desk. It was hard to stop Mma Makutsi once she had started, and it was particularly difficult to do so now that she was about to become Mrs. Phuti Radiphuti and would shortly have no financial need of the job, even if she had indicated that she wanted to continue working.

Mr. Moeti had now turned, slowly and awkwardly, so that he was facing Mma Makutsi. He looked embarra.s.sed.

"So the point is this, Rra," Mma Makutsi went on. "There will be many key rings of that sort. The fact is that we cannot link that that key ring to Mr. Seleo. So we have nothing against him, other than that he and you are not friends." key ring to Mr. Seleo. So we have nothing against him, other than that he and you are not friends."

Mr. Moeti turned round again to face Mma Ramotswe. "So you and that lady behind me, Mma, have nothing to report."

"We will be looking very carefully into the whole thing," said Mma Ramotswe. "We shall consider every aspect of the situation." She spread her hands. "At present, we do not really have anything concrete, but I shall certainly look into your suggestion that it is this Seleo man who has done this dreadful thing."

This seemed to satisfy Mr. Moeti, who nodded enthusiastically. "Good," he said. "And then, when we catch him, Mma, we can tell the world what sort of man he is and how I have been putting up with his nonsense for such a long time. That will be very good."

Mr. Moeti departed, taking great care to say an elaborate farewell to Mma Makutsi as he left. Once they were alone, Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi exchanged glances across the room.

"A very rude man," said Mma Makutsi. "But what can we expect these days? The world has forgotten about manners."

"Yes, sometimes it seems like that, Mma, and then you suddenly come across somebody with good manners and you realise that there are still people who believe in these things." She paused. "Like your Phuti. He has very good manners-old Botswana manners."

Mma Makutsi beamed at her employer. "Oh, Mma, thank you. I think you are quite right."

"Yes, I am," said Mma Ramotswe. "I think Phuti would have got on very well with my Daddy. I am sure of it, in fact. They would have been very good friends, I believe."

Mma Makutsi knew that this was the highest possible praise from Mma Ramotswe. "It is a shame that they cannot meet," she said. "Since your father is late, that will no longer be possible, but it would have been a very good thing had it been able to happen."