The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party Read Free

anything, things known or unknown, things friendly or unfriendly, things that it was better not to think about? She shuddered. It was not a good idea to let one’smind dwell on these matters, and she was sure it was best to think about something quite different. And so she said to Mma Ramotswe, “Mma, I am worried about Charlie. I am very worried.”
    Mma Ramotswe looked up from her desk. “Charlie, Mma Makutsi? But we have always been worried about Charlie, right from the beginning.” She smiled at her assistant. “I’m sure that even when he was a very small boy, this high, his mother was shaking her head and saying that she was worried about Charlie. And all those girls, I’m sure that they have been saying the same thing for years. It is what people say about him.”
    Mma Makutsi smiled too, but only weakly. “Yes, Mma,” she said. “But this time it’s different. I think now that we have to do something about him.”
    Mma Ramotswe sighed. Whatever it was, Mma Makutsi was probably right. But she was not sure that it was the responsibility of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency to deal with Charlie’s problems—whatever they were. Charlie was an apprentice of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, and it would have to be Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni who took action.
    She looked across the room at her assistant, who was frowning with concentration as she poured the boiling water into the teapot. “Very well, Mma Makutsi,” she said. “Tell me what the trouble is. What has our young friend been up to now?”

  CHAPTER TWO
 

 THE CHARLIE PROBLEM
    T HAT EVENING, Mma Ramotswe pondered what she had been told by Mma Makutsi. She thought about this while she prepared the evening meal, in an empty house, as Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni had taken Puso and Motholeli to choir practice in the school hall. Both children had good voices, although Puso was plagued by embarrassment when he sang, closing his eyes as a result.
    “Puso,” the choirmaster scolded him, “we do not close our eyes when we sing. We keep them open so that people who are listening know that we are not asleep. If you close your eyes, then maybe next you will start to close your mouth, and that is not good for singing, is it?”
    In spite of this public upbraiding, Puso continued to close his eyes. The choirmaster learned to ignore the matter, though: the boy had a naturally good ear for music, and that was something that was worth cultivating in spite of other failings.
    Mma Ramotswe went over Mma Makutsi’s revelations about Charlie and made sure that she knew how best to relate them to Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. It was a matter for adults to discuss among themselves, not one for the ears of children, so when the three ofthem eventually returned she fed the children first; that way, she and Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni would be able to talk freely.
    “We shall have our dinner a bit later,” she said to her husband. “If you are too hungry to wait, I can give you something. But it might be better not to eat until we can talk privately.”
    Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni nodded, and sniffed at the cooking smells drifting out from the kitchen. “It smells very good, Mma Ramotswe,” he said. “So I shall wait.”
    “I have made—” she began, but he silenced her with a finger to his lips.
    “It will be a surprise.” He paused, before whispering, “What do we have to talk about that cannot be spoken of in front of the children? Is it one of your cases?”
    She shook her head. “No, it is one of
your
cases, Rra.”
    He was puzzled. “I have no cases,” he said. “You are the detective; I am only—”
    She leaned forward. “Charlie,” she whispered. “He is your responsibility, is he not?”
    He looked grave. Ever since he had taken on Charlie as his apprentice—and that had been an inordinately long time ago—he had worried about the young man. At first his anxiety had been kept in check by the knowledge that apprenticeships do not last forever, but then the realisation slowly