“Phuti is a good man,” Mma Ramotswe went on. “I have already told you that. And there is something that we need to remember about good men. They have room in their hearts for more than one person, you know. So if Phuti has a wife …”

“She is his fiancée,” muttered the aunt.

“But she will be his wife, and what I was trying to tell you is that I am sure that he will still be very fond of you and look after you when he is married.”

The aunt looked doubtful. “How do you know this? How do you know what he will feel?”

“I know it because I know Mma Makutsi very well,” she said. “I know that she is the sort of woman who will make sure that he does his duty. She will not allow him to forget about you.”

The aunt stared at her. “You are sure of that?”

“Of course I am sure. We can ask her right now if you like.”

The aunt looked back towards Mma Makutsi. “Why?”

“Because each of you has a heavy heart,” said Mma Ramotswe. “And feeling angry makes a heart even heavier.”

The aunt made a strange sound with her teeth: a sucking-in of air. Then she made her decision.

“I do not wish to talk to you any more, Mma. Thank you very much. Goodbye.”

CHAPTER SIX

HOW TO LOVE YOUR COUNTRY AGAIN

PHUTI RADIPHUTI’S OPERATION took place on a Friday morning. Mma Makutsi spent the latter part of the afternoon at his bedside before being ushered out by a nurse and making her way home by minibus. She felt physically exhausted but also, curiously, elated: this came from sheer relief at the fact that Phuti was still alive, and also from the emotion that she had felt when he had taken her hand and held it tightly. That, she felt, could only be a wordless affirmation of the fact that nothing had changed.

“A word of warning,” said the doctor as he took Mma Makutsi aside. “He won’t necessarily have taken in what has happened to him. Sometimes it’s not until quite a bit later that a person in his position comes to terms with the loss of a limb. You have to be ready for that.”

This warning, sobering though it was, had not succeeded in dampening Mma Makutsi’s pleasure at the operation’s success. She had seized upon such positive words as the doctor had uttered: there had been enough skin for a very good flap; the compromised tissue was relatively low down the leg—just a couple of handbreadths above the ankle; a temporary prosthetic device could be fitted in a month or so and then they could get just the right artificial leg later on; his vascular system was fundamentally healthy, and there should be no reason why there should be any complications. There was a lot to be relieved about.