Read Online To the Land of Long Lost Friends: No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency (20) by Alexander McCall Smith - Free Book Online Page B

the far north of the country, and had raised a brood of eight children. Then there was the woman who ran the small shop behind the hill at Mochudi, the woman whose husband had lost his sight and sat in a chair outside the store and felt the sun upon his face; he had smiled a great deal and had asked people who spoke to him whether they were happy—for he was, he said, and if he could be happy in his world of darkness, then they would have no excuse for not being happy themselves. “I don’t think I knew then what he meant,” said Calviniah, “but I think I do now.”
    “So do I,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I hadn’t thought of that man for a long time, Mma. Perhaps we should think about him a bit more often.”
    “He will be late now,” said Calviniah. “So many of the people from those days are late.”
    “But still with us,” said Mma Ramotswe, softly, thinking of her father, that great man, that fine judge of cattle. He was still with her, and no matter how many years passed, he would still be there.
    “Yes,” agreed Calviniah. “They are.”
    Neither said anything for a few moments. Their table was shaded by the spreading branches of a tree, a large umbrella thorn. In the foliage above them, a fluttering of wings gave away the presence of a pair of Cape doves, lovers of course, engaged in the flattery of courting birds, the puffed-up feathers, the soft cooing, the turning away of the female in the face of the male’s wanted-but-unwanted advances. A feather drifted down, dancing through the air, and Mma Ramotswe smiled. “They’re very happy up there,” she said.
    “They don’t have our problems,” said Calviniah. “They don’t need to worry.”
    “Do we?” asked Mma Ramotswe.
    They took their time to finish their lunch. There was still much to talk about, and much to laugh over too. The waitress returned, casting a disapproving eye over the empty plate on which Mma Ramotswe’s chips had been.
    Noticing the direction of the waitress’s gaze, Mma Ramotswe said, “They were very good, Mma. Thank you.”
    Calviniah smiled. “I ate some of them,” she said to the waitress. “I wouldn’t want you to think that Mma Ramotswe ate them all herself.”
    The waitress looked pained. “It is not my business to tell people what to eat,” she said. “If they wish to eat things that are not good for them, then that is their business, Mma, not mine.”
    She took the plates away. Calviniah looked at Mma Ramotswe. “There are many people around telling us what is good for us,” she said. “Don’t do this, don’t do that. Who do they think they are, Mma? The government?”
    “They mean well,” said Mma Ramotswe.
    Calviniah snorted. “But what about them? Who tells them what to do?”
    Mma Ramotswe shrugged. “I don’t know, Mma. But isn’t it a good sign, don’t you think? Isn’t it a good sign that people worry about other people? That they want other people to be careful?”
    Calviniah agreed, but only reluctantly. “We are not children, Mma. We don’t like to be told: Don’t do this thing, don’t do that thing. Not all the time.”
    “Perhaps not.”
    “It would be better,” Calviniah continued, “if they said to us: here is some advice, but it is your life and you must decide yourself. They could even not tell us directly, but leave the advice lying about on tables, perhaps, Mma. Booklets and so on. With Good Advice for You from the Government printed on the front—so that we know. That might be better, I think, Mma Ramotswe.”
    “Perhaps,” said Mma Ramotswe.
    Calviniah looked thoughtful. “Sometimes it’s difficult to know what to do, isn’t it? How can we tell what is right? That’s the question, I think, Mma.”
    Mma Ramotswe looked up into the branches of the tree. How could we tell? How could we?
    The sun filtered down through the canopy of acacia. Above its delicate, spreading branches was the sky, which went on forever, it seemed, into a thin, singing blue. Nothingness,