Mma Ramotswe knew what she meant. “It is a very good smell, Mma.”

“You can’t record any of that in wood, can you?”

Mma Ramotswe shook her head. “No. You can’t.”

“Or paint it. Or draw it. Or take a photograph of it.”

“No,” agreed Mma Ramotswe. “You can’t do any of those things, Mma.”

A waitress began to hover. Mma Ramotswe ordered tea for herself; Susan already had her coffee.

“You said you’d found the house, Mma Ramotswe?”

Mma Ramotswe confirmed that she had—and told Susan where it was.

“It is right next door to me,” she announced. “I could not believe it at first. But sometimes the things you’re looking for are right under your nose, Mma.”

She put a finger directly under her nose and suddenly, uncontrollably, felt the urge to sneeze. It was a forceful, voluble sneeze, a convulsion of the upper part of her body; cathartic in its intensity.

Susan looked concerned. “Are you all right, Mma?” she asked.

Mma Ramotswe wiped her eyes. “Yes, thank you, Mma. I have sneezed.”

“Yes, I noticed.”

The waitress reappeared. “Do you need water, Mma?”

Mma Ramotswe shook her head. “No, thank you, Mma. I shall wait for my tea.”

The waitress did not leave. “Because that was a very big sneeze. Perhaps some water…”

“There is no need, Mma. Thank you.”

“But water is free, Mma. There is no charge for water.”

Mma Ramotswe exchanged a glance with Susan. “In that case…”

The waitress was all efficiency. “I’ll fetch you a glass of water, Mma.”

Susan smiled. “That wouldn’t happen elsewhere, you know, Mma Ramotswe. You can sneeze away for hours in some places, and nobody would pay much attention. But here…”

Mma Ramotswe dabbed at her eyes again. “It was because I pointed at my nose. I think that’s why I sneezed.”

The waitress appeared with a glass of water. “This is for your sneeze,” she said, as she placed it on the table. “You should drink it, Mma, before you sneeze again.”

“I’m not going to sneeze again,” said Mma Ramotswe. “That sneeze was just a…just a one-time sneeze.”

“If you sneeze once,” said the waitress, “then you can sneeze again. My aunt, my late aunt, sneezed many times…before she died.”

Mma Ramotswe took a sip of the water. Turning to the waitress, she said, “That water was exactly what I needed. Thank you, Mma.”

The waitress nodded and went back inside.

“What I really want is tea,” confessed Mma Ramotswe. “But we shouldn’t talk about me and all this sneezing of mine.”

“One sneeze,” said Susan. “And that waitress should not try to alarm you with stories like that.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled. “I’m not too worried, Mma.”

“This house,” said Susan. “Is it really the place?”