The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party Read Free Page B

Charlie problem. Tell me: Is it a big Charlie problem or a little one?”
    Mma Ramotswe could not stop herself from smiling.
    “Did I say something funny?” asked Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. “You did say that—”
    “Oh yes, Rra. I did say that we have to talk about Charlie. And it is a serious matter. It’s just that the answer to your question is that this problem is both big and little.”
    Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni stared at her. Perhaps his wife had spent too long a time as a private detective and solver of mysteries; maybe too much time in that profession made one inherently enigmatic. He had seen that sort of thing before—cases where people had been so affected by their jobs as to change in their very nature. His cousin who had worked for the immigration authorities had become so suspicious that he began to suspect that just about everybody was in the country illegally. And then there was that butcher who had ended up not eating meat at all and would only eat potatoes and beans—that had been a very surprising development in a country as committed to cattle as was Botswana. Was something similar happening to Mma Ramotswe, he wondered?
    “You’ll have to explain, Mma Ramotswe,” he said. “I am a simple mechanic; I am not a solver of puzzles and things like that.”
    Mma Ramotswe dipped her fork into her mashed pumpkin. “It is a big problem because it’s serious,” she said. “It is a small problem because it involves something small. A small person. In fact, it involves … a baby.”
    Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni closed his eyes. It did not matter if Mma Ramotswe said nothing more. He understood.
    He opened his eyes again. Mma Ramotswe was looking at him, and she was no longer smiling. “Yes,” she said. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you, Rra?”
    “Charlie has a baby.”
    “Yes.” And then she added, “Two. Twins. Two boys.”
    There was a silence.
    “You had better tell me, Mma Ramotswe. I am strong. I have heard everything before. There can be no surprises when it comes to that young man.”
    “Listen to this, then,” she said.
    She retold the story she had heard from Mma Makutsi. It was related in a quiet, matter-of-fact way, without any of the short gasps of disapproval and tut-tuts with which Mma Makutsi had punctuated her narrative. But it was still enough to distractMr. J.L.B. Matekoni from his stew, which became colder and colder on the plate.
    Mma Makutsi had heard the story from an entirely unimpeachable source—the mother of the young woman who had given birth to Charlie’s twins. She was related in a distant way to Phuti Radiphuti, and together with her husband ran a painting and decorating business in the west of the city. The business had prospered and now employed more than fifty painters; its name, Second Coat, could be seen on vans throughout the town, and they had several important contracts with large concerns, including diamond companies.
    This couple, Mma Makutsi had gone on to explain, were called Leonard and Mercy Ramkhwane. They were hard-working and were thought to have deserved every bit of their success. They had only one child, Prudence, who was now in her early twenties. She had been at Gaborone Secondary School and had been a very well-known high-school athlete who had taken all the trophies for running. “It was a big pity that she did not run away from Charlie,” Mma Makutsi had observed. “Many girls would do far better to run away from men, Mma.”
    The story continued. Charlie had met Prudence when Leonard brought a car into the garage for attention. On hearing this, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni groaned. “I know that man,” he said, putting a hand to his head. “I do not know him well, but I know him.”
    Mma Ramotswe lowered her eyes. “Well, he brought his daughter with him to the garage.”
    Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni groaned again. “So that means she met Charlie under my roof.”
    “No,” said Mma Ramotswe. “The garage roof is not your roof. This is your