Back at her house, Mma Makutsi made the evening meal with care. She boiled a large pot of potatoes and simmered a thick beef stew into which she had put carrots and onions. The stew smelled rich and delicious, and she dipped a finger into the pot to taste it. It needed a little bit more salt, but after that it was perfect. She sat down to wait for Phuti Radiphuti, who normally arrived at seven o’clock. It was now six thirty, and she flicked through a magazine, only half-concentrating, for the remaining half hour.

At seven thirty she looked out of the window, and at eight o’clock she went out to stand at her gate and peer down the road to see if he was coming. It was a warm evening and the air was heavy with the smell of cooking and dust. From her neighbour’s house she heard the sound of a radio, and laughter. Somebody coughed; she felt the brush of insect wings against her leg.

She walked back up the path to her front door and into her house. She sat down on her sofa and stared up at the ceiling. I am a girl from Bobonong, she said to herself. I am a girl from Bobonong, with glasses. There was a man who was going to marry me, a kind man, but I frightened him away through my foolish talk. Now I am alone again. That is the story of my life; that is the story of Grace Makutsi.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A MEETING IN THE TINY WHITE VAN

THE FOLLOWING DAY, Mma Ramotswe went to see Mma Tsau, the cook for whom Poppy worked, the wife of the man who had grown prosperous-looking on government food. It was an auspicious day—a Friday at the end of the month. For most people, that was pay day, and for many it was the end of the period of want that always seemed to occur over the last few days of the month, no matter how careful one was with money for the other twenty-five days or so. The apprentices were a good example of this. When they had first started to work at Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, Mr J.L.B. Matekoni had warned them that they should husband their resources carefully. It was tempting, he pointed out, to view money as something to be spent the moment it came into one’s hands. “That is very dangerous,” he said. “There are many people whose bellies are full for the first fifteen days of the month who then have hungry stomachs for the last two weeks.”

Charlie, the older apprentice, exchanged a knowing glance with his younger colleague. “That makes twenty-nine days,” he said. “What about the other two days, Boss?”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni sighed. “That is not the point,” he said, his tone level. It would be easy to lose his temper with these boys, he realised, but that was not what he intended to do. He was their apprentice-master, and that meant that he should be patient. One got nowhere if one shouted at young people. Shouting at a young person was like shouting at a wild animal—both would run away in their confusion.