“I was very cross with her for coming, and I think that I raised my voice. She just stood there and cried and said that she still loved me, even though I was being cruel to her. She said that she would not disturb my studies and that she would only expect to see me once a week. She also said that she would try to find ways of paying back the one hundred pula that I had given her.

“I said: ‘I don’t want your money. I am no longer in love with you because I have found out that you are one of those girls who always nag men and make them feel bad about themselves. Boys have to watch out for girls like you.’

“This made her cry even more, and then she said: ‘I will wait for you forever. I will think of you every day, and one day you will come back to me. I will write you a letter and then you will know how much I love you.’

“She reached forward and tried to hold my arm, but I pushed her away and turned to go back into the house. She started to follow me, but I pushed her away again, and this time she left. But all the time that this was happening, the Tsolamosese family was watching from the front window of the house.

“When I came back, they had returned to their seats at the table.

“‘You should not treat girls like that,’ said Mma Tsolamosese. ‘I am speaking to you now as your mother in this place. No mother would like to see her son behaving like that.’

“The father looked at me, too. Then he said: ‘You are behaving like one of the bad men in the prison. They are always pushing and shoving other people. You be careful, or you may find yourself in that place one day. You just be careful.’

“And their son, who had also been watching, said: ‘Yes. One day somebody will come and push you. That could happen.’

“I felt very embarrassed over what had happened, and so I lied. I told them that this girl was trying to get me to help her cheat in her examinations and that I was refusing to do this. They were astonished to hear this, and they said that they were sorry they had misjudged me. ‘It is a good thing for Botswana that we have honest people like you,’ said the father. ‘If everybody were like you, then I would be out of a job. There would be no more need for the Botswana Prisons Department.’

“I sat there and said nothing. I was thinking of how I had stolen from these people, and how I had lied to them. I was thinking of how sad I had made my girlfriend and how I had forced her to get rid of our baby. I was thinking of the baby itself. But I just sat there and said nothing while I ate the food of the people whose kindness I had abused. Only the boy who shared my room seemed to know how I was feeling. He looked at me carefully and then he turned away. I realised then that he knew I had done some very bad things.

“There is not much more to say, Mma. After a few weeks, I forgot all about it. I still thought of the radio from time to time, and felt cold inside when I did so, but I never thought of the girl. Then, when I had finished at the college and I had found a job, I began to be too busy to think much about my past. I was lucky. I did very well in business, and I was able to buy the hotel at a very good price. I found a good wife to marry me, and I had the two fine sons I told you about. There are also three daughters. I have everything I need, but after what happened to me when those men came to my farm, I want to clear up my bad conscience. I want to make good the bad deeds that I did.”

Mr. Molefelo stopped talking and looked at Mma Ramotswe, who had been twisting a long blade of grass around her finger as she listened to him speaking.

“Is that everything, Rra?” she asked after a while. “Have you told me everything?”

Mr. Molefelo nodded. “I have not hidden anything. That is what happened. I remember it very clearly, and I have told you everything.”

Mma Ramotswe stared at him. He was telling the truth, she knew, because the truth was in his eyes.

“That cannot have been easy to say,” she said. “You have been very brave. Most people never tell these stories about themselves. Most people make themselves sound better than they really are.”

“There would have been no point doing that,” said Mr. Molefelo. “The whole point of talking to you was to tell somebody the truth.”

“And now?” she asked. “What do you want to do now?”

Mr. Molefelo frowned. “I want you to help me. That is why I have come to see you.”

“But what can I do?” asked Mma Ramotswe. “I cannot change the past. I cannot take you back all those years.”

“Of course not. I did not expect you to be able to do that. I just want you to sort this thing out for me.”

“How can I do that? I can’t bring back that baby. I can’t find that radio. I can’t prevent the sadness which that girl felt. All these are things which are long dead and buried. How many years is it? Nearly twenty years? That is a long time.”

“I know it is a long time. But it might be possible to do something. I would like to pay the Tsolamosese family back. I would like to give some money to the girl. I would like to sort these things out.”

Mma Ramotswe sighed. “Do you think that money can change things? Do you think that just by giving somebody money, you can undo what you did?”

“No,” said Mr. Molefelo. “I do not think that. I am not stupid. I would also like to give them an apology. I would like to apologise and also to give them money.”

For a few moments there was silence as Mma Ramotswe pondered this. What would she do herself, she wondered, in these circumstances? If she had the courage, she would go to the people involved and confess what had happened. Then she would try to make amends. This was what he was doing, except for the fact that he was expecting her to do it for him. An indirect apology of that sort was no apology at all, she thought.

“Don’t you think,” she began, “don’t you think that you are just asking me to do your dirty work-or should I call it your hard work-for you? Don’t you think that this means you are not really ready to apologise?”

Mr. Molefelo stared at her. He seemed upset, and she wondered whether she was being too direct. It had been difficult enough for him to talk about this without her now making it worse by effectively accusing him of cowardice. And who was she to accuse anybody of cowardice? How did anybody know how brave he would be?

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm. “I did not mean to be unkind. I understand how hard this is for you.”

There was anguish in his expression as he replied. “All I want you to do, Mma, is to find these people. I do not know where they are. Then, when you have found them, I promise you that I shall be brave. I will go to them and I will speak to them directly.”

“That is good,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Nobody could ask more of you.”

“But will you help?” asked Mr. Molefelo. “Will you help me by coming with me when I go to see them? I do not know whether I will fail at the last moment if you do not come with me.”

“Of course I’ll come with you,” she said. “I will come with you, and I will be saying to myself: This a brave man. Only a brave man can look at his past wrongs and then face up to them like this.”

Mr. Molefelo smiled, his relief quite apparent. “You are a very kind lady, Mma Ramotswe.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Mma Ramotswe, rising to her feet and dusting off her dress. “But now it is time for us to walk back. And on the walk back, I shall tell you about a little problem I have. It is all about a boy who killed a hoopoe, and I want to hear from you what you think. You are a man with two boys, and maybe you can give me some advice.”