Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni was not entirely insensitive. “I know,” he said quietly, laying a hand on her arm, “I know that you will miss the old van. But you'll get used to this one soon, you know. And then it will become your new friend.”

She nodded grimly. Her pretence at cheerfulness and gratitude had slipped; she simply could not keep it up. “I loved my tiny white van,” she stuttered. “I loved it, you know.”

He looked down. “Of course you did. You're a loyal lady, Mma Ramotswe, but machines come to the end of their lives, Mma— just like people. And I know it can be as hard to say goodbye to them as it is to say goodbye to people. I know that.”

They got out of the new blue van. Mma Ramotswe did not dare to look in the garage as she went back to the office. She did not want to see the tiny white van sitting there, alone, facing whatever fate it was that awaited machines that had served their purpose and now had no further work to do for us.

BY THE END of her first day at the Double Comfort Furniture Shop, Violet Sephotho had sold four beds. It was Phuti Radiphuti's practice to speak to the head of each department at a meeting convened immediately after closing time—to take a report on sales and to discuss delivery requirements for the following day. That afternoon had been a busy one, and there had been strong activity in the dining-room department, where two large tables and a dozen chairs had been sold between lunch time and the time of the sales meeting. In soft furnishings, a large leather sofa that had been slow to sell, and that was about to be discounted further, had suddenly been snapped up by a rather mousy man who had been brought in by his larger, domineering wife. That sale was the subject of warm congratulations by Phuti. “We shall never stock a sofa that large again,” he said. “The people in this country do not like big sofas like that. It is not the way we see things in Botswana.”

There had been murmurs of agreement on this. The sofa would not be missed, it was felt.

Then came the turn of the bed department. All eyes turned to Violet Sephotho, whose appointment, over the heads of one or two internal candidates, had been an unpopular one. There were those present who secretly wished her to have made no sales, which would have allowed them to mutter about the dangers of appointing an outsider who had no experience of selling furniture, even if she bore impressive credentials from other jobs.

“Four beds,” said Violet. “I have sold only four beds. I shall try to sell more tomorrow—once I have got used to the job.”

The eyes that had been focused on Violet swivelled to Phuti Radiphuti.

“Four beds!” he said. “That is very good, Mma! I would have been happy if you had sold two—or even one.”