WHILE MMA RAMOTSWE was sitting in the café with Herbert Mateleke, Mma Makutsi set off out of the office for the rest of the afternoon—and why not, given that all her filing was completely up to date and all the bills, such as they were, had been sent out? What was the point of her sitting in the office waiting for five o’clock, when she could go home and wait until five o’clock, when she would go to see Phuti at his aunt’s house? To pass the time she would make a cup of tea and read a copy of the magazine she had bought at Exclusive Books. This magazine was full of delights, and she could hardly wait to start turning its glossy, newly printed pages. The cover promised an article on the doings of some big stars; that always made for interesting reading, as the big stars were often up to no good. She liked to look at the pictures that accompanied such articles, and to study the clothes that these big stars wore. They dressed expensively, these people, and as for their shoes …

She looked down at her feet. She had decided to wear the boots she had just bought so that they would be worn in by the time she went up to the Delta. Now, making her way along Odi Drive, she felt very pleased with the comfort of her new footwear. She had read that ankle support was very important, and she had thought at the time that this was being made rather too much of. She had never had trouble with her ankles, and she did not see why it would be necessary to give that part of the leg special treatment. What about the knees? Surely they deserved support too; not that they got it, of course. There were many things in this life that deserved support and that did not get it.

Her new boots gave a great deal of ankle support. They were also much lighter than she had imagined. I could dance in these boots, she thought.

Oh, so you’re thinking of dancing, Boss? You never danced in us.

She glanced into the bag in which she was carrying her old shoes. She was never sure whether her shoes really talked—she thought that it was highly unlikely—and yet they did seem to make remarks from time to time. Usually their comments were of a reproachful or critical nature; shoes, it seemed, were rather resentful, put-upon things that clearly did not accept their manifest destiny underfoot.

Don’t worry about them, Boss. It was a different voice. The new shoes spoke in a firm, confident tone. She looked down at them.

That’s right, Boss. You trust in us. We know where we’re going.