The aunt moved her head slightly, as if to ease the pressure on her narrow shoulders. “Fiancée? What is a fiancée, Mma? A fiancée is not a permanent person; an aunt, an uncle, they are permanent. Forever. You see?”

Mma Ramotswe glanced at Mma Makutsi. Her assistant was looking down at the ground, avoiding the aunt’s gaze.

“But she will be Mrs. Radiphuti,” said Mma Ramotswe quietly. “She will be his wife very soon.”

For a few moments there was complete silence. The conversation had been followed by the woman and the girl on the bench; understood by the woman, incomprehensible to the girl. The dog had opened its eyes when they had arrived, but had closed them again. A small cluster of flies had gathered at its nostrils, but it seemed inured to their presence.

Then the aunt spoke. “Not now,” she said. “Not any more, I think.”

Mma Makutsi’s head jerked up. Mma Ramotswe’s grip on her arm tightened.

“Yes,” said the aunt, her eyes revealing her evident enjoyment. “Phuti will not wish to marry you now, I’m afraid. Not after this operation.”

Mma Ramotswe drew in her breath; it was involuntary, but quite audible. She understood that it was his legs that had been damaged; what was this?

“The doctor told me,” said the aunt. “He told me that Phuti’s right leg is very badly damaged. All crushed, he said, like the wood you break up to make a fire. They cannot repair it, and they are going to have to cut it off. There. Just below the knee.”

Mma Makutsi closed her eyes, and for a moment Mma Ramotswe thought that she was going to collapse there where they were standing. She helped her to the bench. “Sit down, Mma. Just sit down.”

The aunt’s satisfaction in the situation seemed to be growing. She now became brisk and businesslike. “The doctor said that he thought that they would be able to make a good flap of skin. They will not have to take skin from anywhere else. That is good. And then he will have to come to my house, and I will look after him.” She paused. “I do not think that marriage will be a good idea now, Mma. And anyway, you will not want to marry a man who has only one leg, will you? You will find another man—there are plenty of men with two legs.”

As Mma Makutsi settled herself on the bench, the woman at the other end moved over to her side, quickly, instinctively. “Do not be sad, my sister,” she said. “You must not be sad. Your husband will not die.”

Mma Makutsi looked at the woman, who now took her hand in hers. “It does not matter that they will take one leg from him. It does not matter. He will be alive, won’t he?”

Mma Makutsi nodded. “Thank you, Mma.”