said Mma Ramotswe, extricating herself from Poppy’s enthusiastic hug. “It is a long time ago.”
“We’ve met,” said Mma Boko, offering Mma Ramotswe her hand. “Not long ago.”
Mma Ramotswe took Poppy’s arm. “Could we talk, Mma?”
“You go ahead,” said Mma Boko. “I must go and help some of the sisters.”
Mma Ramotswe led Poppy into the shade. “It is good to see you, Mma,” she said.
“Yes,” said Poppy. “I had heard news of you from time to time, but not very much. You lose touch, don’t you? The years pass and you suddenly realise that you haven’t seen people, and then you…” She shrugged. “I suppose you just lose touch. There are too many things to do and you don’t find the time to write a letter. You know how it is.”
“Oh, I do,” agreed Mma Ramotswe. “But you know who I saw not all that long ago? You remember Calviniah?”
“Of course I do. Is she well, Mma?”
“She is very well,” said Mma Ramotswe. She hesitated. She could continue this conversation along these lines, following the well-worn tracks of the old friends’ catch-up—the endless questions about who was where and doing what, who had married whom, and so on, but that was not what she needed to do. She needed to ask Poppy a simple question about a Mercedes-Benz.
“I heard something, Mma,” she began. “I heard that you had become a very keen member of the Church of…”
“The Church of Christ, Mechanic,” Poppy prompted. “Yes, Mma. I am a sort of elder now. They call us the Blessed Ones—not that I would boast about such a thing.”
“Of course not,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But it must be a great honour to be blessed.”
Poppy nodded. “Yes, Mma, I think it is.”
“And I heard too,” Mma Ramotswe continued, “that you have been very good to the reverend. I heard that you gave him a Mercedes-Benz.”
Poppy seemed surprised that Mma Ramotswe should know this, but confirmed the fact. “Yes, Mma. I gave him a car to help him in his work.” Then she added, “But the reverend has asked me not to talk about it. He doesn’t want people discussing it. He is very modest, you see.”
“That was very generous of you, Mma.” Mma Ramotswe looked at her old friend’s face. People change. Things had happened to that face. The years. “Was it a silver Mercedes-Benz, Mma?”
Poppy smiled. “It was a lovely car, Mma. Yes, it was silver.”
Mma Ramotswe pressed ahead. “And so the reverend is driving around in it right now—doing the Lord’s work?”
Poppy continued to smile. “He was, but then he sent the car out into the rural areas for his followers out there to do the work. They are using it somewhere else, I think—maybe up in Maun. He has people up there, and they must travel up and down to Gaborone on the Lord’s work, I think.”
“I see.” They were the only words that came to Mma Ramotswe, and yet they were just right. She did see. She saw very well. And now she had to speak to Mma Boko to ascertain whether what she saw was indeed what was there.
* * *
—
SHE FOUND MMA BOKO talking to two women at one of the tables under the trees. They were stacking hymn books and inserting sheets of paper into each.
“These are the reverend’s texts for the day,” explained Mma Boko, handing one of the sheets to Mma Ramotswe.
“Very interesting,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But, Mma, could I have a quiet word with you?”
Mma Boko excused herself from her companion, joining Mma Ramotswe under another tree. The tree was in flower, and tiny flecks of blossom, white and virtually weightless, drifted from its boughs. “What is it, Mma?” she asked. “I must help those ladies.”
“Yes, of course,” said Mma Ramotswe. “It’s just that I wanted to ask you something connected with what we talked about the other day.”
“Yes, Mma?”
“That young woman who lives next door. You know she is here?”
Mma Boko gave a start. “Where, Mma? I don’t see her.”
“She’s over there—with the reverend.”
Mma Boko looked over in the direction of the knot of people around the Reverend Flat Ponto. She drew in her breath audibly. Mma Ramotswe could see that she was struggling with something—but with what? Jealousy? “I see.” Mma Boko composed herself, and her expression now was sweet. “You see, he has helped her in the past, Mma. He sometimes goes to give her texts. He is trying to save her.” Her eyes shone. “That is what he