The Double Comfort Safari Club by Alexander McCall Smith Page B

she is not here …” He looked longingly at Mma Makutsi’s desk; he would have given anything to have occupied that desk, to be a full-blown assistant detective, but Mma Ramotswe had explained to him that there simply was not enough work and this was, after all, the No. 1
Ladies’
Detective Agency. “It is not that a man cannot be a detective, Rra,” she said. “It is not that. It is more a question of what the clients want. I think that they want to see lady detectives. That is just the way it is.”
    But with Mma Makutsi away, there was no reason why Mr. Polopetsi should not sit there. And his perspective on things—which was often rather astute—would be welcome.
    “Of course you can sit in, Rra. That seat over there. But first, show in this Mr. Kereleng.”
    She tidied her desk, moving her cup to one side. That was another aspect of Mma Makutsi’s absence—who would make the tea when the client came in? She had used the smaller teapot, and had made only enough for one. She could not ask Mr. Polopetsi; he knew how to make tea, but his drop in status—from assistant hospital pharmacist to unqualified garage hand and occasional sub-assistant detective (as Mma Makutsi put it)—was bad enough without rubbing it all in by making him into a junior tea-maker too. So there would just have to be no tea.
    Mr. Kereleng was ushered in, and Mma Ramotswe saw a man in his early thirties, well dressed, and with a pleasant, open expression. She felt comfortable with him immediately, evenbefore he greeted her in the polite, formal fashion, and shook hands firmly and sincerely.
    “You are very kind to see me, Mma Ramotswe,” he said.
    “That is why we are here, Rra. We are here to see people.”
    He nodded. “I never thought that I would be coming to somebody like you,” he said, and then, apparently embarrassed, he corrected himself. “Not that there is anything wrong with you, Mma. No, it’s just that I never thought that I would need a detective.”
    Mma Ramotswe laughed. “Nobody does,” she said. “People think that private detectives are for other people, and then they discover that there is something in their life that needs help, and that is when they turn to us. That is why we are here.”
    “Exactly,” muttered Mr. Polopetsi. “Mma Ramotswe is the lady to sort out your problems.”
    Mr. Kereleng absorbed this.
    “And what are these problems, Rra?” asked Mma Ramotswe.
    Mr. Kereleng did not hesitate. “It is a woman,” he said. “Let me tell you about it, Mma.”
    KERELENG . That is my name. Robert Monageng Kereleng, BSc. I don’t always put the BSc in, Mma, but I tell you about it now because it is relevant to the story of my life. Do they do degrees in private detection, Mma? They don’t? I was only joking. The University of Botswana has better things to do than to teach detection—sorry, Mma, that’s not to suggest that what you do is not important. It is very important—and I mean that. Otherwise would I have come to see you?
    “I have a BSc in biology. Yes! I knew when I was a very small boy—this high—that I wanted to be a biologist. I was always looking at how living things worked—trees, grass, seeds, frogs. Yes,frogs! When I was a little boy—ten, maybe—I used to catch frogs in the rainy season and cut them up to see how their organs worked. I would not do that now, Mma, because if there is one thing that biology teaches you it is to respect living things. Now I would never kill anything unless it was for food. That is how much I respect living things, Mma Ramotswe.
    “Not even a snake. No, I would not. I would not kill a snake unless it was necessary to do so to avoid being bitten. Snakes have their role in the country’s ecology, Mma, they have their place. That is one thing that we really have to start teaching our children. If you see a snake, do not pick up the first stone to hand and throw it at the snake. Do not do that. That snake has its purpose, even if it is a mamba