drew back and laughed. “Oh, that? That was very unfortunate.”
Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni’s eyes widened. That was one way of putting it, he thought.
“But you are not,” concluded Mma Ramotswe.
Calviniah let out an amused shriek. “No! I am definitely not late, as I hope you can see. No, that was a big mistake by the newspaper. There was another Calviniah Ramoroka, you see. She lived up in Francistown too. You knew I went to Francistown?”
Mma Ramotswe nodded. “I’d heard that.”
“Well, this other Calviniah Ramoroka had a very bad road accident. There was a truck driver who was drunk, and her car was very small when this big, big truck came over onto her side of the road. It was very sad, Mma.”
Mma Ramotswe nodded. It happened only too often. Whatever the authorities tried to do, there were still people who would drink and drive.
“Anyway,” Calviniah continued, “the newspaper printed the right facts about the accident, but they somehow got hold of a photograph of me, rather than the other Calviniah, the late one. Many people were misled, I think, Mma. For ages afterwards they came up to me and told me that they thought I was late. Some people even came up and said, ‘We’re sorry to hear about your death, Mma—our condolences.’ And they meant it, Mma. Can you believe that people would be so…”
“So stupid?” suggested Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni.
“Yes, Rra,” Calviniah agreed. “One doesn’t like to say it, but people can be really stupid at times.” She paused. “They can be very nice, of course, Mma. I’m not saying they can’t be nice. It’s just that while they’re being nice, they’re also being stupid.”
“You must have been very embarrassed,” said Mma Ramotswe.
Calviniah laughed. “Yes, it can be embarrassing to be late,” she said. “Or to be late and not late at the same time, if you see what I mean, Mma. Anyway, they printed a correction, and an apology. But these were on the back page near the sporting news, and many people did not see them. Who wants to read about football, Mma? Only men want to read that sort of thing.”
Mma Ramotswe relaxed. “I was thinking exactly the same thing, Mma. When I saw you, I had a big shock. But…but it is such good news, Mma, that you are alive after all.”
“And we should go and have something to eat,” Calviniah said, steering Mma Ramotswe towards the food tent. “People think that late people don’t feel hungry…”
Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni smiled. “That is very funny, Mma.”
Calviniah smiled at him, and to Mma Ramotswe she said, “You have a very nice husband, Mma. I have some friends who are keen to get married. Can you tell me about the place where you found him so that they can have a look too?”
They both laughed. “This is a very happy day in so many ways,” said Mma Ramotswe.
* * *
—
THAT WAS ON A SATURDAY. On the Monday after the wedding, Mma Ramotswe was at her desk early, catching up with correspondence. Mma Makutsi was slightly late in coming in, and when she did, Mma Ramotswe had already made the first cup of tea.
“I am sorry I’m a bit behind this morning, Mma,” Mma Makutsi said. “Phuti lost his car keys and we had to search every corner of the house before he found them.”
“Men,” sighed Mma Ramotswe. And then, realising how unfair this was, she said, “Well, I suppose women lose their keys too.” It was wrong to speak like that of men, she thought. It was very tempting sometimes to do so—to blame men for everything—but there were too many women doing it and it was not right. Men could take the blame for many things, but not everything.
Mma Makutsi sat down at her desk and polished her large round spectacles. “You know what they taught us at the Botswana Secretarial College, Mma? You know what? They said: Make a key board. Put your office keys on hooks. A key that is on a hook is never lost, Mma. I have never forgotten that. A key that is on a hook is never lost.”
Mma Ramotswe agreed. “I’m sure that is right, Mma.”
“And the same goes for other things,” went on Mma Makutsi. “Hooks are the answer.”
Mma Ramotswe had a momentary vision of Mma Makutsi’s house covered in hooks. Even her baby, Itumelang, would be suspended in a basket from a hook; and Phuti would have a hook too, a large, solid one, from which he would