“Yes, that woman.” She looked down at the floor and frowned. “Makutsi? Where is that name from, I wonder? It is not from anywhere near here, I think. Perhaps it is South African. They have some very odd names over there.”

“She is a Motswana, Auntie. She comes from Bobonong.”

The aunt transferred her gaze to the window, looking out into the distance in the direction, perhaps, of Bobonong. “That is far away. I do not know any people up there. Maybe they are nice people, but how can you tell when you don’t know any of them? There are many people in China, but I cannot say whether they are nice people or not because I do not know any of them.”

Phuti felt his cheeks burning. He always felt like that when his aunt said such things. And he knew that if he closed his eyes and counted slowly, he worried less about it. But now he could not do that; Bobonong and China? What had China got to do with it? Nothing, he thought. Nothing at all.

“Bobonong is in Botswana,” he said. “The people who live there are all Batswana—the same as you and me, Auntie. They are no different.”

“I did not say they were,” said the aunt. “All I said is that I do not know any of those people, apart from Gracious …”

“Grace.”

“Yes, apart from her.”

The aunt sniffed. “You must eat more,” she said. “It is not good for a man to become too thin.”

“I am eating very well, Auntie. You mustn’t worry about me.”

The aunt looked pained. “How can I stop worrying about you, when you are my own nephew? How can I stop worrying about you when you go off and marry somebody I don’t know and whose people we’ve never heard about?”

Phuti did not answer, and the aunt continued. “And now where is she? Gone away, I believe, and you have nothing to eat. Well, you always have a home to come back to. There is that same room you stayed in—I have changed nothing. And you will get fatter and stronger if you stay here—where you belong.”

“But Grace is only away for one night,” said Phuti mildly. “She is on business with Mma Ramotswe. They have gone—”

“Oh, that Mma Ramotswe! That fat lady who calls herself a private detective but who sits in her office all day eating doughnuts! That is what they say, you know. You’ll have to be careful, Phuti, if Gracious eats doughnuts with that woman all day, then your bed will break. You just remember that.”

Phuti closed his eyes. It was easier to talk to his aunt with his eyes closed, he had decided. Not only did this help him to say what he wanted to say, but it also had the effect of disconcerting her, which, he found, was of some help.