"If you can give me some of that cooking oil," she said, "the orphans will be very happy. They like to have their potatoes fried in oil and it is good for them."
The voice at the other end said something, and she frowned, glancing up at Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, as if to share her irritation.
"But you cannot sell that oil if it is beyond its expiry date. So why should I pay you anything for it? It would be better to give it to the orphans than to pour it down the drain. I cannot give you money for it, and so I see no reason why you shouldn't give it to us."
Again something was said on the other end of the line, and she nodded patiently.
"I can make sure that the Daily News comes to photograph you handing the oil over. Everybody will know that you are a generous man. It will be there in the papers."
There was a further brief exchange and then she replaced the receiver.
"Some people are slow to give," she said. "It is something to do with how their mothers brought them up. I have read all about this problem in a book. There is a doctor called Dr. Freud who is very famous and has written many books about such people."
"Is he in Johannesburg?" asked Mr J.L.B. Matekoni.
"I do not think so," said Mma Potokwane. "It is a book from London. But it is very interesting. He says that all boys are in love with their mother."
"That is natural," said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. "Of course boys love their mothers. Why should they not do so?"
Mma Potokwane shrugged. "I agree with you. I cannot see what is wrong with a boy loving his mother."
"Then why is Dr. Freud worried about this?" went on Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. "Surely he should be worried if they did not love their mothers."
Mma Potokwane looked thoughtful. "Yes. But he was still very worried about these boys and I think he tried to stop them."
"That is ridiculous," said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. "Surely he had better things to do with his time."
"You would have thought so," said Mma Potokwane. "But in spite of this Dr Freud, boys still go on loving their mothers, which is how it should be."
She paused, and then, brightening at the abandonment of this difficult subject, she smiled broadly at Mr J.L.B. Matekoni.
"I am very glad that you came out today. I was going to phone you."
Mr J.L.B. Matekoni sighed. "Brakes? Or the pump?"
"The pump," said Mma Potokwane. "It is making a very strange noise. The water comes all right, but the pump makes a noise as if it is in pain."
"Engines do feel pain," said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. "They tell us of their pain by making a noise."
"Then this pump needs help," said Mma Potokwane. "Can you take a quick look at it?"
"Of course," said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni.
IT TOOK him longer than he had expected, but at last he found the cause and was able to attend to it. The pump reassembled, he tested it, and it ran sweetly once more. It would need a total refit, of course, and that day would not be able to be put off for much longer, but at least the strange, moaning sound had stopped.
Back in Mma Potokwane's office, he relaxed with his cup of tea and a large slab of currant cake which the cooks had baked that morning. The orphans were well fed. The Government looked after its orphans well and gave a generous grant each year. But there were also private donors-a network of people who gave in money, or kind, to the orphan farm. This meant that none of the orphans actually wanted for anything and none of them was malnourished, as happened in so many other African countries. Botswana was a well-blessed country. Nobody starved and nobody languished in prison for their political beliefs. As Mma Ramotswe had pointed out to him, the Batswana could hold their heads up anywhere-anywhere.
"This is good cake," said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. "The children must love it."
Mma Potokwane smiled. "Our children love cake. If we gave them nothing but cake, they would be very happy. But of course we don't. The orphans need onions and beans too."
Mr J.L.B. Matekoni nodded. "A balanced diet," he said widely. "They say that a balanced diet is the key to health."
There was silence for a moment as they reflected on his observation. Then Mma Potokwane spoke.
"So you will be a married man soon," she said. "That will make your life different. You will have to behave yourself, Mr J.L.B. Matekoni!"
He laughed, scraping up the last crumbs of his cake. "Mma Ramotswe will watch me. She will make sure that I behave myself well."
"Mmm," said Mma Potokwane. "Will you be living in her house or in yours?"
"I think it will be her house," said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. "It is a bit nicer than mine. Her house is in Zebra Drive, you know."
"Yes," said the Matron. "I have seen her place. I drove past it the other day. It looks very nice."
Mr J.L.B. Matekoni looked surprised. "You drove past specially to take a look?"
"Well," said Mma Potokwane, grinning slightly. "I thought that I might just see what sort of place it was. It's quite big, isn't it?"
"It's a comfortable house," said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. "I think that there will be enough room for us."
"Too much room," said Mma Potokwane. "There will be room for children."
Mr J.L.B. Matekoni frowned. "We had not been thinking of that. We are maybe a bit old for children. I am forty-five. And then... Well, I do not like to talk about it, but Mma Ramotswe has told me that she cannot have children. She had a baby, you know, but it died and now the doctors have said to her that..."
Mma Potokwane shook her head. "That is very sad. I am very sad for her."
"But we are very happy," said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. "Even if we do not have children."
Mma Potokwane reached over to the teapot and poured her guest another cup of tea. Then she cut a further slice of cake-a generous helping-and slid it onto his plate.
"Of course, there is always adoption," she said, watching him as she spoke. "Or you could always just look after a child if you didn't want to adopt. You could take..." She paused, raising her teacup to her lips. 'You could always take an orphan." Adding hurriedly: "Or even a couple of orphans."
Mr J.L.B. Matekoni stared at his shoes. "I don't know. I don't think I would like to adopt a child. But..."
"But a child could come and live with you. There's no need to go to all the trouble of adoption papers and magistrates," said Mma Potokwane. "Imagine how nice that would be!"
"Maybe... I don't know. Children are a big responsibility."
Mma Potokwane laughed. "But you're a man who takes responsibility easily. There you are with your garage, that's a responsibility. And those apprentices of yours. They're a responsibility too, aren't they? You are well used to responsibility."
Mr J.L.B. Matekoni thought of his apprentices. They, too, had just appeared, sidling into the garage shortly after he had telephoned the technical trades college and offered to give two apprenticeships. He had entertained great hopes of them, but had been disappointed virtually from the beginning. When he was their age he had been full of ambition, but they seemed to take everything for granted. At first he had been unable to understand why they seemed so passive, but then all had been explained to him by a friend.
"Young people these days cannot show enthusiasm," he had been told. "It's not considered smart to be enthusiastic." So this is what was wrong with the apprentices. They wanted to be thought smart.
On one occasion, when Mr J.L.B. Matekoni felt particularly irritated at seeing the two young men sitting unenthusiastically on their empty oil drums staring into the air he had raised his voice at them.
"So you think you're smart?" he shouted. "Is that what you think?"
The two apprentices had glanced at one another. "No," said one, after a few moments. "No, we don't." He had felt deflated and had slammed the door of his office. It appeared that they lacked the enthusiasm even to respond to his challenge, which just proved what he had thought anyway.