THESE MATTERS were distractions, of course, but at least the matter of the butcher’s car was now sorted out and Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, only so recently worried on two fronts-the parachute jump and First Class Motors-could now look forward to the immediate future with greater equanimity. Mma Potokwane had been magnificent, as she always was, and had dispatched the bullying Herbert Molefi with the same ease as she dealt with ten-year-old bullies. She had been happy to do this, as she owed Mr J.L.B. Matekoni a great deal, with his constant and unquestioning availability to fix bits and pieces of machinery on the orphan farm. And Mma Potokwane, like everybody else who came into contact with him, recognised in Mr J.L.B. Matekoni those qualities which endeared him to so many and which meant that most people would do anything for him: his courtesy, his reliability, his sheer decency. If only all men, or even more men, were like that, thought Mma Potokwane, indeed thought all the women of Botswana. If only you could trust men in the same way in which you could trust a close woman friend; instead of which, men tended to let women down, not always deliberately, but just because they were selfish or they became bored, or their heads were turned in some way. It was very easy to turn a man’s head; a glamorous woman could do it just by looking at a man and lowering her eyelids once or twice. That could make an apparently steadfast man quite unpredictable, particularly if that man were of an age where he was starting to feel unsure of himself as a man.

Mma Ramotswe was lucky to be engaged to Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, thought Mma Potokwane. He was exactly the right choice for her, as she was a fine woman and she deserved a good man like Mr J.L.B. Matekoni with whom to share her life. It was hard being a woman by oneself, particularly when one was in a job such as Mma Ramotswe’s, and it was important to have a man on whom one could call for assistance and support. So Mma Ramotswe had made a wise choice, even if all those years ago she had shown a distinct lack of judgment in marrying Note Mokoti, the trumpet player. Mokoti, Matekoni: similar names, reflected Mma Potokwane, but how different the men who bore the names.

Of course there was the question of the length of the engagement and the slowness with which preparations were being made for the wedding, indeed if any preparations were being made at all. This was a puzzle to Mma Potokwane, and while Mma Makutsi made tea that day, after the disposal of Herbert Molefi, Mma Potokwane decided to raise the matter with Mma Ramotswe. She was direct rather than allusive; rather too direct, thought Mma Makutsi, who listened but did not say anything. She tended to feel inhibited in the presence of Mma Potokwane, largely because she felt the other woman was so much more confident and experienced than she was. There was also an element of disapproval in Mma Makutsi’s attitude-not that she would ever have expressed it. She thought that Mma Potokwane was too ready to take advantage of Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s good nature. The kindness of men like that could be exploited by forceful women, and there was no doubt but that Mma Potokwane was in the vanguard of the forceful women of Botswana, their very standard bearer, their champion.

So Mma Makutsi said nothing, but listened very carefully as Mma Potokwane raised the subject of marriage and weddings, virtually under the nose of Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, who had resumed work on a car next door. And what if he had walked in the door and heard her speaking in these terms; what then? Mma Makutsi was astonished at the matron’s tactlessness.

“Such a very good man,” came the opening gambit. “He has been very helpful to us at the orphan farm. All the children love him and call him their special uncle. So there he is an uncle, but not yet a husband!”

Mma Ramotswe smiled. “Yes, he is a fine man. And he will make a good husband one day. That is why I agreed to his proposal.”

Mma Potokwane looked at her fingernails, as if absorbed by some cuticular matter. “One day?” she said. “Which day? When is this day you are talking about? Next week, do you think? Or next year?”

“Not next week,” said Mma Ramotswe evenly. “Maybe next year. Who knows?”

Mma Potokwane was quick to press home on this question. “But does he know? That’s the important thing. Does Mr J.L.B. Matekoni know?”

Mma Ramotswe made a gesture which indicated that she did not know the answer and that indeed the matter was not important as far as she was concerned. “Mr J.L.B. Matekoni is not a man who makes hasty decisions. He likes to think about things for a long time.”

Mma Potokwane shook her head. “That is a weakness, Mma Ramotswe,” she said. “I’m sorry to have to say this, but there are some men who need to be organised by women. Every woman knows this. It is only now, in these modern days, with men getting ideas about running their lives without any help from women-those dangerous, bad ideas-it is only now that we see how much these poor men need our assistance. It is a very sad thing.”

“I don’t know about that,” countered Mma Ramotswe. “I know that ladies have to help men in many things. Sometimes it is necessary to push men a little bit. But one should not take it too far.”

“Well it’s not going too far to push men to the altar,” retorted Mma Potokwane. “Women have always done that, and that is how marriages take place. If you left it up to men, they would never get there. Nobody would be married. You have to remind men to get married.”

Mma Ramotswe looked at her guest thoughtfully. Should she allow Mma Potokwane to help her to get Mr J.L.B. Matekoni a little bit further along the road to matrimony? It was awkward for her; she did not want him to form the impression that she was interfering too much in his life; men did not like that, and many men would simply leave if they felt this was happening. At the same time, if Mr J.L.B. Matekoni did need slight prompting, it would be easier for this to come from Mma Potokwane, who had a long history of pushing Mr J.L.B. Matekoni about, most of it with considerable success. One only had to remember the matter of that old pump at the orphan farm which she had cajoled him into maintaining well beyond the point where he had formed the professional opinion that it should be scrapped. And one only had to recall the recent instance of the parachute jump, which was another example of Mr J.L.B. Matekoni being made to agree to something to which he did not wish to agree. Perhaps there was a case for assistance in this matter too…

No, no, no! thought Mma Makutsi, willing her employer not to yield to the imprecations of the manipulative Mma Potokwane. She could see that Mma Ramotswe was tempted, and if only Mma Potokwane had not been there she would have urged Mma Ramotswe in the most vocal terms not to do anything which could have serious consequences for the engagement or, even more importantly, for Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s state of health. Dr Moffat had told them all that Mr J.L.B. Matekoni was not to be put under any stress, and what could be more stressful than to be the object of a determined campaign by Mma Potokwane? Look at that Herbert Molefi man, crushed by her tongue and unable to do anything to defend himself. If only the Botswana Defence Force could have seen it, thought Mma Makutsi, they would have signed her up immediately and made her a sergeant-major or a general or whatever they called those soldiers who ordered all the other soldiers about. Or even better, Mma Potokwane could have been used as a weapon to intimidate the enemy, whoever they were. They would see Mma Potokwane coming towards them and they would be incapable of doing anything, reduced by the sight to mute and helpless boys.