Mma Ramotswe waited for her to continue. Mma Soleti had lowered her voice, although there was nobody who could possibly hear them. People did that, Mma Ramotswe had observed – and it was usually a sign that they were frightened.

‘I opened it,’ went on Mma Soleti.

Mma Ramotswe nodded her encouragement. ‘And, Mma?’

‘I wish I hadn’t.’

Mma Ramotswe reached out to soothe her. Mma Soleti was shivering. This was unfeigned fear.

‘It is very difficult not to open a parcel, Mma Soleti.’

‘I know that. But in this case I wish that something had happened to this parcel before it arrived at my house.’

‘May I ask why, Mma?’

‘Because it contained something very bad, Mma.’

Mma Ramotswe was silent. She had an idea what Mma Soleti was going to say.

‘It was a feather,’ whispered Mma Soleti.

Mma Ramotswe had not been expecting this. She had expected a bone, or a powder of some sort. Those were the usual devices of witchcraft, and no matter how logical or modern one was in one’s outlook, such things were capable of bringing terror. People had died simply because they received such things. There was no scientific reason for them to do so, but the heart and the head were not the same thing in the darkness of the night.

‘Was there anything with the feather?’ she asked. ‘Any muti?’ She used the word commonly used for such things. Muti was at the heart of curses and spells – at least for those who believed in such things, which she did not. But she knew very well that it took only a handful of gullible people to give a witchdoctor his lucrative practice.

Mma Soleti shook her head. ‘I did not know what the feather meant, and so I took it to a person I know who is a big expert in birds. He took one look at it and told me. It was a feather from a ground hornbill.’

Mma Ramotswe let out a sigh. ‘So, they have sent you a sign from that bird.’

Mma Soleti nodded miserably. ‘I threw it away immediately. I washed my hands, more than once – three or four times, I think – but I had already touched it. I already had had it in my pocket.’

Mma Ramotswe tried to make light of the incident. ‘But, Mma, listen to me: I know people say that this poor bird is bad luck, that it will bring all sorts of bad things —’

‘Including death,’ interjected Mma Soleti. ‘If that bird comes to your house then…’

Mma Ramotswe wagged a finger. ‘Hush, Mma! That is complete nonsense. It is untrue. How can an innocent bird bring death? That is nonsense.’

‘It is not innocent,’ said Mma Soleti. ‘It is a wicked bird.’