She began to walk back towards the fence. Without any light to guide her, she trod carefully, making sure that her footfall was firm enough to give warning to any snakes that might be abroad. The steps of a traditionally built woman, she thought, would deter any snake except…except the puff adder, the sluggish, traditionally built snake that could hardly be bothered to get out of anybody’s way, and one of them was moving slowly across her path as she neared the fence. She felt it underfoot—a soft, giving feeling—and she heard the sound of its hiss. And then she felt something hit her ankle, as if she had trodden on a branch that had whipped up and struck her.

She knew immediately what had happened, and although she jumped back instinctively, she realised that it was too late and that the snake, now retreating into the cover of vegetation, had struck her.

She thought of her father, of Obed Ramotswe, and wanted to cry out to him, which she did. She screamed for him, as a child will scream for its parent. “Oh Daddy, Daddy!”…There was silence. Then she screamed again.

A light came on in Vain Kwele’s house. There was a voice, thick with sleep: “Who is that? Who is that out there?”

She called out, “Me! Me!”

“Which me?”

She started to cry, and hobbled towards the neighbour’s door, which was now opening to allow a square of light to fall outside.

“Mma Ramotswe! What are you doing, Mma? Is something wrong?”

She stuttered out what had happened, and her neighbour gasped.

“I will drive you to the hospital,” he said. “I will take you there right now.”

She nodded. It would be quicker going with him than going back to wake up Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. With a snake bite, she knew, time was of the essence. If it was a mamba that had bitten her, then she might only have a few minutes. What did people say about the bite of that snake? That you had four minutes at the most? In which case, she was now down to three.

In the light from the door she looked down at her leg. There was no blood, no sign of a wound, and all she saw was a small scratch. Yet the skin could be broken and some poison may easily have entered her system—in which case she would soon feel the symptoms.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said.

He invited her to sit down. “I shall fetch my car keys,” he said.