She and Mma Makutsi carried the lifeless form of the bird out into the bush. They found a place, a good place, under a small acacia tree, where the earth looked soft enough to dig a hole. And Mma Ramotswe dug a hole, a grave for a bird, using an adze borrowed from a man who had a plot of land next to the garage. She swung the adze high and brought it down into the ground in much the same way as women before her, many generations of women of her family and her tribe, had done in years gone past as they readied the soil of Botswana, the good soil of their country, for the crops. And Mma Makutsi scraped the soil away and prepared the bird for its grave, lowering it in gently, as one may lay a friend to rest.

Mma Ramotswe looked at Mma Makutsi. She wanted to say something, but somehow she could not bring herself to say it. This bird is one of our brothers and sisters. We are returning it to the ground from which it came, the ground from which we came too. And now we put the soil upon it … And they did that, breaking the soil gently upon the bird, on the great beak, on the large, defeated body, so unfortunate in its short life and its ending, until it was covered entirely.

Mma Ramotswe nodded to Mma Makutsi, and together they walked back to the garage, barefoot, in simplicity, as their mothers and grandmothers had walked before them across the land that meant so much to them, and which was the resting place of us all—of people, of animals, of birds.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DR MOFFAT MAKES A DIAGNOSIS

MR POLOPETSI, mortified by what he had done, was now anxious to do anything to make up for the awful outcome of his venture. The next morning he put his head round the door of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency several times, asking if there was anything Mma Ramotswe wanted him to do. She replied politely that there was nothing very much that needed doing, but that she would call on him if something arose.

“Poor man,” said Mma Makutsi. “He is feeling very bad, don’t you think, Mma?”

“Yes, he is,” said Mma Ramotswe. “It cannot be easy for him.”

“You were very kind to him, Mma,” said Mma Makutsi. “You didn’t shout. You didn’t show that you were angry.”

“What’s the point of being angry?” asked Mma Ramotswe. “When we are cross with somebody, what good does that do? Especially if they did not mean to cause harm. Mr Polopetsi was sorry about it—that’s the important thing.”