Tears of the Giraffe
TEARS OF THE
GIRAFFE
Alexander McCall Smith
Anchor Books
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
CHAPTER 1 MR J.L.B. MATEKONI’S HOUSE
CHAPTER 2 A CLIENT ARRIVES
CHAPTER 3 THE BOY WITH AN AFRICAN HEART
CHAPTER 4 AT THE ORPHAN FARM
CHAPTER 5 JUDGMENT-DAY JEWELLERS
CHAPTER 6 A DRY PLACE
CHAPTER 7 FURTHER PROBLEMS WITH THE ORPHAN-FARM PUMP
CHAPTER 8 THE CHILDREN’S TALE
CHAPTER 9 THE WIND MUST COME FROM SOMEWHERE
CHAPTER 10 CHILDREN ARE GOOD FOR BOTSWANA
CHAPTER 11 THE GLASS CEILING
CHAPTER 12 AT NIGHT IN GABORONE
CHAPTER 13 A PROBLEM IN MORAL PHILOSOPHY
CHAPTER 14 A TRIP INTO TOWN
CHAPTER 15 THE SULLEN, BAD MAID ACTS
CHAPTER 16 FAMILY
CHAPTER 17 SEAT OF LEARNING
CHAPTER 18 AT TLOKWENG ROAD SPEEDY MOTORS
CHAPTER 19 WHAT HAPPENED
CHAPTER 20 BULAWAYO
About the Author
Ad Card
Copyright Page
This book is for
Richard Latcham
CHAPTER ONE
MR J.L.B. MATEKONI’S HOUSE
MR J.L.B. Matekoni, proprietor of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, found it difficult to believe that Mma Ramotswe, the accomplished founder of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, had agreed to marry him. It was at the second time of asking; the first posing of the question, which had required immense courage on his part, had brought forth a refusal—gentle, and regretful—but a refusal nonetheless. After that, he had assumed that Mma Ramotswe would never remarry; that her brief and disastrous marriage to Note Mokoti, trumpeter and jazz aficionado, had persuaded her that marriage was nothing but a recipe for sorrow and suffering. After all, she was an independent-minded woman, with a business to run, and a comfortable house of her own in Zebra Drive. Why, he wondered, should a woman like that take on a man, when a man could prove to be difficult to manage once vows were exchanged and he had settled himself in her house? No, if he were in Mma Ramotswe’s shoes, then he might well decline an offer of marriage, even from somebody as eminently reasonable and respectable as himself.
But then, on that noumenal evening, sitting with him on her verandah after he had spent the afternoon fixing her tiny white van, she had said yes. And she had given this answer in such a simple, unambiguously kind way, that he had been confirmed in his belief that she was one of the very best women in Botswana. That evening, when he returned home to his house near the old Defence Force Club, he had reflected on the enormity of his good fortune. Here he was, in his mid-forties, a man who had until that point been unable to find a suitable wife, now blessed with the hand of the one woman whom he admired more than any other. Such remarkable good fortune was almost inconceivable, and he wondered whether he would suddenly wake up from the delicious dream into which he seemed to have wandered.