He knocked at the door and called out, “Ko, ko, Auntie!” From somewhere within the house he heard her footsteps approaching and then the door opened. Seeing Phuti on the doorstep, the aunt opened her arms to embrace him. I am forgiven, he thought.

“Phuti!” exclaimed the aunt. “Now you have come back to see your auntie.”

He stepped into the house and allowed her to give him a hug.

“Let me see you,” she said, standing back. “You’re looking so handsome, Phuti! Such a waste, such a waste.”

He recoiled momentarily at the words. In what way was it a waste for him to look handsome, not that he thought he looked handsome at all?

“You are well, Auntie?”

She made a non-committal gesture. “I am well, and then I am not well.”

He looked concerned. “You have been ill?”

“Not exactly ill, Phuti. But then, not well either. It is not easy, being alive these days, what with everything changing. But we must not talk about me, we must talk about you. You are the important one now, not me. Tell me what has happened.”

As she asked this question, she led him into the sitting room. In the middle of the room several large armchairs were positioned around a table on which a dictionary, a world atlas and an arrangement of red plastic flowers had been placed. There was a stale smell in the air.

“Sit down, Phuti.” It was more of a command than an invitation, but Phuti was used to his aunt’s adopting this tone and he obeyed without murmur.

She fixed him with a concerned stare. “You are looking very thin,” she began. “Here and here.” She pointed to her neck and stomach. “Those are the places where it always shows, Phuti.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not getting enough food, are you?”

Phuti held up his hands in denial. “No, no, Auntie. I am getting too much food, really. I am putting on weight, I think.”

She shook her head. “That cannot be, Phuti. Your neck is very thin now, and look at your trousers: they are hanging on you like an empty sack. You are very thin.”

Phuti struggled with his feelings of annoyance. It was quite obvious to him what the implication of these comments was: his new wife was no cook—or at least, that is what his aunt was trying to suggest without actually saying it.

“I am eating very well, Auntie,” he said. “Grace is a very good cook, and she is giving me plenty to eat.”

The aunt affected surprise that she should have thought that Mma Makutsi was anything but an expert cook. “Of course she is,” she said. “Of course she …” She struggled, as if finding it difficult to remember the name.

“Grace. Grace Makutsi.”

“Of course, Grace … Grace Ma …”

“Makutsi.”