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  • The man laughed. My wife would like that, he said. So, heres my number. Youll call me Of course I will, said Chobie. Give me four, maybe five days and Ill call. And Ill get my mechanic The man turned to Fanwell and greeted him formally. And your name, Rra Fanwell gave the man his name. He trained at Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, boasted Chobie. They have toprate mechanics out there. Do all the big cars. The man nodded. I know the place, he said. CHAPTER SIX THE THINGS OF WHICH A MECHANIC MIGHT SPEAK MR. J.L.B. MATEKONI had been in Lobatse and was late home. By the time he arrived, Mma Ramotswe had fed the and was chatting with Motholeli in her room. The young had been in an argument with another in school and had been on the verge of tears over dinner. Now it was all coming out and the story, punctuated by copious weeping, was being pieced together by Mma Ramotswe. This is what I do, she thought. During the day I sort out the problems of adults; at night I sort out the problems of . Mma Ramotswe dabbed at Motholelis tears. Oh, my darling, she said, you mustnt cry. Who is this , anyway How can I help you if I dont know her name Shes a in my class, said Motholeli. Shes called Kagiso. There are many Kagisos, said Mma Ramotswe. What is her other name It is Nnunu. Kagiso Nnunu. Shes horrid and I hate her. I hate her more than snakes. Mma Ramotswe put an arm around Motholelis shoulder. It is so small, she thought, and fragile, as if too great a hug might break it: the shoulder of a small person. And there was the illness, too; the illness that confined her to the wheelchair took its toll elsewheremade it difficult for the body to grow at the rate that it should. It doesnt help to hate somebody, she said quietly. I understand why you want to, but it doesnt help. Not really. Motholeli looked at her incredulously. But it does, Mma. If you hate somebody hard enough, then they can die. Mma Ramotswe caught her breath. Where had the child learned that Was that the sort of thing that was being peddled around the playground Who said that she asked. Did somebody tell you that Motholelis answer came quickly. The teacher told us. She said that if you hate somebody hard enough then they can die. She said that it can happen. Mma Ramotswe shook her head. But, Motholeli, that is just not true. That is not true. And She was about to say that no teacher would express such a thought, but then she stopped herself. Teachers seemed a different breed these days, more like everybody else; when she had been a pupil at the government school in Mochudi, the teacher had been a figure of authority in the village. People respected teachers and listened to what they had to say. She remembered walking with her late father on the road to Pilane when a cart had gone past, a donkey cart, and there had been a man sitting on the back holding a case of some sort and her father had raised his hat as the man passed. She had asked why he had done this, and he had replied that the man was a teacher and he would always raise his hat to a teacher. She did not think that happened today. Are you sure Yes, I am sure, Mma. She said that if you hate somebody then they can die. She told us that. Im sure about that, Mma. Mma Ramotswe hesitated. She did not want to further undermine the authority of a teacherthere were enough people doing that anywayand so she decided to say no more, at least about that side of it. But why do you hate this , this Kagiso Because she said I should stay outside in the parking placein the place for cars. She said I should have my lessons out there. Mma Ramotswe was accustomed to receiving shocking confidences, and to receiving them with equanimity; now, however, she gasped. But why why would she say something like that, Motholeli What did she mean She said that my wheelchair is like a car and that it should not be brought inside the school. She said there is no place for cars inside the school. She said I am just like a car. Mma Ramotswe closed her eyes. It was only too easy to imagine a child saying such a thing; showed endless inventiveness when it came to devising torment for other . She opened her eyes and made an effort to smile. That is the silliest thing I have ever heard, Motholeli. It is so silly that well, I think you should just laugh at that . Laugh, and say how silly she is. Motholeli remained silent. Well prompted Mma Ramotswe. Dont you think thats the best thing to do Dont you think that would be better than hating her


    BY THE TIME Mr. J.L.B. Matekonis truck drew into the driveway of the house on Zebra Drive, its headlights describing a wide arc across Mma Ramotswes garden, illuminating the mopipi tree and the flourish of bougainvillea, the were asleep and Mma Ramotswe was herself sprawled dozing on the sofa, her feet up on a cushion, a newspaper spread across her stomach. The sound of the truck dispelled tiredness, and she rapidly sat up, folded the newspaper neatly, and slipped back into her comfortable, flatheeled house shoes. Mr. J.L.B. Matekonis dinner, a mutton stew rich in grease and lentils, sat warm and secure in the lower drawer of the oven. It was her dinner too, as she had held back from eating with the so that she could sit down with Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni and recount to him the momentous events of that day. She had planned exactly what she would say, starting with an invitation to guess who had walked in the door that morning. He would never guess, of course, and so she would tantalise him with snippets of information until, almost casually, she would let drop the name of Clovis Andersen. And then she would tell him everything: Mr. Andersens plans; what he had said to her and Mma Makutsi; what Mma Makutsi had said to him; what she had said to Mma Makutsi after Mr. Andersen had gone and what Mma Makutsi had said to her. No detail would be spared.