CHAPTER FIFTEEN. THERE ARE ALWAYS RED HERRINGS

MMA RAMOTSWE knew that she would worry about Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni no matter how hard she tried not to. Concern for those whom one loved was an inescapable feature of this life- and it was impossible to imagine a world without such concern. But she did wish that he would not come home from Lobatse so late; that he would put his foot down and refuse to work beyond, say, five o'clock, which would mean that he would be back by half past six, well in time for his dinner, and she would not have to sit there and imagine what might have happened to him on the road home. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni would not change, though, and if a friend needed him to work late, then he would always do it.

When she got back to the office that day, she had not only paid a visit to Harry Moloso's scrapyard, but, having dropped Fanwell at the garage, she had gone on to interview one of the names on the list. This was the newest member of the team, the physical education teacher. The interview had left her none the wiser, and she was keen to hear what Mma Makutsi had discovered in her conversation with Oteng Bolelang. She felt that this investigation was not going to get anywhere, and she needed to talk to Mma Makutsi about it. Her assistant had expressed doubts-and perhaps these were better placed than she had imagined.

The solution to both the anxiety and the need to discuss the case was neatly provided by an invitation to dinner.

“I am going to be eating by myself this evening,” said Mma Ramotswe. “The children are both staying with friends tonight- they like to do that, you know. They like to sleep over at their friends' houses. I think that they like to try different beds!”

“I remember that as a child,” Mma Makutsi said. “I had a friend whose house was better than ours. I always liked going to sleep there. The food was better too.”

“Everybody else's food always is,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Especially when you are a child. Everybody else always has a better life than your own. Their parents are nicer. Their house has more comfortable furniture. And so on.”

Mma Makutsi nodded. In her case, of course, everybody else's house really had been better, as the Makutsis did not have much money and this meant their home contained very little furniture. Now, of course, it was different; she had her salary and the money which Phuti gave her. And when she married-if that ever happened-then she would be even more comfortable. Perhaps Mma Ramotswe could come and sleep at her house then. They would have a large guest room with a big double bed and red curtains and…

“I wonder if you would like to eat with me tonight,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I could make some nice stew, and we could talk. You could bring Phuti if you wanted.”

“He cannot come,” said Mma Makutsi quickly-rather too quickly? Mma Ramotswe asked herself-”but I would like that very much.” She was pleased to receive this invitation from Mma Ramotswe, as there was now no food at all left in the house. Yesterday the choice had been between shoes and groceries, and she had chosen shoes. As a consequence Phuti had enjoyed a very frugal meal-”Is there going to be a main course?” he had asked at the end, and she had been obliged to report that the kitchen cupboard was bare. “I almost bought more food,” she said, “but…” The but presaged a story of temptation and fall- a shoe story, in fact-but Phuti had not pressed her and the tale remained untold.

The two women agreed on a time and Mma Ramotswe dropped in at the supermarket on the way home to make sure that she had the necessary supplies. She knew what Mma Makutsi's favourites were, and she would make sure these were on the menu. Mma Makutsi liked chicken, especially if it was smothered in garlic, and she enjoyed ice cream served with tinned South African pears. Mma Ramotswe did not particularly like either of these-certainly she avoided garlic and she found that the slightly grainy texture of pears set her teeth on edge. But she would provide both for Mma Makutsi's sake.

Mma Makutsi arrived at the house early. She had been invited for six o'clock, and arrived at ten to six. “It is always polite to arrive early,” she said. “I have read that ten minutes is about right.”

Mma Ramotswe looked doubtful. She read the same magazines as did Mma Makutsi, and she was sure that the advice she had seen was the direct opposite of what Mma Makutsi had just claimed. She would have to be careful, though, as Mma Makutsi did not always welcome contradiction or correction. In fact, she never welcomed either of these.

“I am not sure,” said Mma Ramotswe as she ushered her visitor into the kitchen. “Are you certain that it's not, perhaps, a little bit the other way round? I'm not sure, of course, Mma. But why would they tell you to arrive early?”

“Because it's polite,” said Mma Makutsi. “That is why, Mma. There are some things that are polite, and there are some things that are rude. It is polite to arrive ten minutes early.”

Mma Ramotswe pursed her lips. Mma Makutsi might be a person of firm views, and she might be somebody whom one would normally treat with great care, being slightly given to explosive reactions, but was it right to allow her to go through life believing something so clearly misguided as this? Mma Ramotswe thought not.

“Well, Mma, perhaps we should just think about it a bit.”

“No need,” said Mma Makutsi firmly, lowering herself onto a chair at the kitchen table. “The rules of good behaviour are firm, Mma, as you well know. We know that it is wrong to take a present with one hand-we know that. It is just there, that rule, at least in Botswana. There may be countries where they have not heard of this-I know that-but I am not talking about such places. I am talking about Botswana. We cannot question these things.”

Mma Ramotswe took a pan down from the shelf. “Yes,” she said. “You are right, Mma, about these things. I would never say that you are wrong.”

“Good,” said Mma Makutsi.

“But at the same time,” Mma Ramotswe went on, “it is possible to look at these rules and see what lies behind them. That tells us why they exist. The reason for the rule against taking a present with one hand is that it looks as if you don't really appreciate the present-that you can only be bothered to use one hand to take it. That is why that one is there.”

Mma Makutsi was silent.

Mma Ramotswe took the opportunity to continue. “And the rule about calling out Ko, ko before you go into a person's house is also there for a reason. If you do not call out in that way, then you may find the person who lives in the house without their clothes on or busy with something else. You never know what you will see in another person's house.”

Again Mma Makutsi said nothing. Emboldened, Mma Ramotswe moved on to the subject of arriving early. “Now, if we think about the rule as to when you should arrive…”

Mma Makutsi broke her silence. She spoke loudly-and in a tone of authority. “That rule says ten minutes early, Mma Ramotswe. That is what it says.”

“But let us look at that, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Why should you arrive ten minutes early?”

“Because of the rule.”

“No. What is the reason behind the rule, Mma? If you arrive ten minutes early, then do you not think that it might be awkward for the person you're going to see? Not always, of course, but sometimes.”

“No,” said Mma Makutsi.

Mma Ramotswe tried again. “You see, that person may not have finished cooking… She may have to look for a saucepan, or something like that. She may have to get things out of the fridge…” She made her way towards the fridge and took out the pieces of chicken she had set aside for their dinner.

Mma Makutsi looked unconvinced. “I still think that it is better to be early, Mma. And that is why the rule is: always arrive ten minutes early.”