The Handsome Man's Deluxe Cafe by Alexander McCall Smith Page B

couple of days after Mma Makutsi had assumed occupation of her restaurant premises.
    They had finished their dinner, and Mma Ramotswe had settled the children in their rooms for the night. Motholeli was now being given more homework, and was busying herself with that at the new desk they had recently installed in her bedroom. Puso, who had tired himself out in a game of football, had fallen asleep even before Mma Ramotswe had turned out his light. She had tucked him in, smoothed the sheets about him, and then stood for a moment gazing fondly at the young boy’s head upon the pillow. She imagined the world of dreams through which he now tumbled—a world of strange and heroic games of football, of bicycles and model cars, of boyish schemes and pranks. She smiled at the thought. We are all sent the dreams we yearn for, she thought; no matter how unhappy or fraught our waking world may be, we are sent dreams in which we can do the things the heart really wants us to do.
    Returning to the living room, she found Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni sitting with his head in his hands. This was her chance: if one sat with one’s head in one’s hands, it was tantamount to a declaration that something was wrong.
    â€œAre you worried about something?” she asked. As she spoke, she moved to the side of his chair and laid a hand gently upon his shoulder.
    He looked up. For a few moments he said nothing, but then he began to speak. “I am feeling very sad, Precious. Very sad.”
    She caught her breath. He addressed her as Precious only at times of great moment.
    â€œOh, Rra, that is very bad. We can telephone Dr. Moffat …”
    â€œNo. No. It is not that sort of sadness.”
    She waited for him to continue.
    â€œIt is because of something that I have to do.”
    She frowned. It was a worrying thing to hear. Was he proposing to … She hardly dared think it. Did he have some dreadful confession to make? Was he going to tell her that he was having an affair? It was the worst thing that any husband had to do—to tell his wife that he had found somebody else. But Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni would never do anything like that; he would never go off with another woman, because he was … because he was Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni—that’s why. It was inconceivable.
    â€œWhat is this thing, Rra?” she asked, her voice barely above a murmur.
    But he heard. “It’s Charlie.”
    She felt a flood of relief. Charlie, the apprentice who had consistently failed his examinations, was always getting into trouble of one sort or another.
    She sighed. “What has Charlie done now? More girl trouble?”
    Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni shook his head. “I wish it was, Mma. No, it’s more serious than that.”
    In Mma Ramotswe’s mind that could mean only one thing. “Police trouble?” she asked.
    â€œNo, it’s nothing like that,” said Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. “I’m going to have to lay him off. I’m going to have to fire him.”
    Mma Ramotswe sighed again. She was aware that Charlie’s work was often unsatisfactory; that he was rough and impatient with engines and that he sometimes broke parts by forcing them. If Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni had simply run out of patience with the young mechanic, then she would not be unduly surprised. “What has he done now?”
    â€œHe has done nothing,” said Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. “But I cannot keep him on. There is less work than there used to be, and I have to make a choice. Fanwell has got his qualification now and he is a far better worker than Charlie. One of them has to go, and it must be Charlie.” He shook his head sadly. “It has to be.”
    She felt an immediate rush of sympathy for her husband. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni was a soft-hearted man, and she knew how painful it was for him to have to get rid of the young man whom he had trained and nurtured. Charlie was not easy—everybody knew