دوست‌پسر

Chapter five

The Boyfriend

One morning, Mma Ramotswe received a telephone call from Mr Paliwalar Patel, one of the richest men in Botswana.

Mr Patel was from an Indian family. When he was twenty-five, he came to Botswana. He bought a shop. Now he owned eight shops and a hotel. Mr Pate is youngest daughter, Nandira, was sixteen. She went to the Maru-a-Pula School in Gaborone, the best and most expensive private school in Botswana.

Mr Patel asked Mma Ramotswe to come and see him at home that evening. She was very pleased and excited. Before she went out, she telephoned Mr JLB Matekoni.

‘You told me to get a rich client. And now I have Mr Patel.’

‘He is a very rich man,’ said Mr JLB Matekoni. ‘He has four Mercedes Benzes. Four!’

That evening, Mma Ramotswe drove to Mr Patel’s big house in her tiny white van. When she met her client, she was very surprised. Mma Ramotswe was not tall, but Mr Patel was even smaller than she was.

He took her into his private office.

‘Sit down, please,’ said Mr Patel, pointing to a comfortable armchair. ‘I am a man with a happy family. But I am worried about my youngest child, my little Nandira. She is doing well at school, but– You know about young people, don’t you? You know how young people are in these modern days?’

‘Yes,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘They often bring a lot of worry to their parents.’

‘That’s what is worrying me,’ said Mr Patel angrily. ‘That’s what is happening. And I will not accept that. Not in my family.’

‘Accept what,’ asked Mma Ramotswe.

‘Boys,’ said Mr Patel. ‘My Nandira is seeing a boy in secret. She says it is not true. But I know that there is a boy. And this is not acceptable in this family - in this house. I want you to find out about this boy, and then I will speak to him.’

‘Why don’t you ask Nandira about the young man,’ asked Mma Ramotswe.

‘I have asked her for three or four weeks,’ said Mr Patel. ‘But she gives no answer.’

Mma Ramotswe looked down at her feet. She felt sorry for Mr Patel’s daughter. Her father wanted to protect her too much.

‘I’ll find out for you,’ she said at last. ‘But I don’t like the idea of watching a child. They must have their own lives.’

‘No,’ shouted Mr Patel. ‘My father still hit me when I was twenty-two!’

‘I am a modern lady,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘So perhaps we have different ideas. But I have agreed to do as you have asked. Please show me a photograph of Nandira, so I will know her.’

‘No need,’ said Mr Patel. ‘You can meet her.’

‘But then she will know me,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘I won’t be able to follow her in secret.’

‘All,’ said Mr Patel. ‘You are right. You detectives are very clever men.’

‘Women,’ said Mma Ramotswe.

The next afternoon, Mma Ramotswe waited outside Nandira’s expensive private school. At twenty past three, Nandira came out of the school entrance, carrying her bag. Mma Ramotswe waited for a few minutes, and then followed her slowly. At the end of the road, Nandira turned the corner.

Mma Ramotswe followed Nandira round the corner. The road was empty. It was a quiet road with only three houses on each side.

‘Has Nandira gone into one of those houses,’ thought Mma Ramotswe. ‘Does her boyfriend live there?’

That evening, Mr Patel telephoned her. ‘Do you have any information to report to me yet,’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘But I hope I will be more successful tomorrow.’

‘Not very good,’ said Mr Patel. ‘Not very good. Well, I have something to report to you. Nandira came home three hours after school finished - three hours. Then this evening my wife found a note on the table. It said, “See you tomorrow, Jack.” Now who is this Jack? Who is this person? Is that a girl’s name?’

‘No,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘It sounds like a boy.’

‘Exactly,’ said Mr Patel. ‘That is the boy, I think. Jack who? Where does he live? You must find out and tell me everything.’

The next afternoon, Mma Ramotswe waited again outside the school. At last Nandira came out with a friend and the two girls got into a blue car. The car drove away and Mma Ramotswe followed it in her tiny white van.

The blue car drove to the main shopping centre and parked outside the President Hotel. Mma Ramotswe parked the tiny white van too. She watched the two girls get out with an older woman.

‘She’s the mother of Nandira’s friend,’ thought Mma Ramotswe.

The girls looked in the window of a shoe shop. Then they walked up to the Botswana Book Centre and went inside.

Mma Ramotswe followed them. The Book Centre was a popular meeting place for young people, but today there were very few customers inside. The girls were at the other end of the shop, looking at a shelf of language books. They were talking and laughing. Were they waiting for someone?

Mma Ramotswe reached for a book. It was called Snakes of Botswana and it had very good pictures. Mma Ramotswe started reading about dangerous snakes. Suddenly she remembered the girls. She looked up quickly, but they were not there!

She put the book back on the shelf and ran out into the square, but she could not see the girls anywhere. She ran back to the President Hotel and saw the blue car leaving. But only the mother was inside.

There was a shop with a woman selling dresses.

‘Did you see two girls come out of the Book Centre,’ asked Mma Ramotswe. ‘One Indian girl and one African?’

‘I saw them,’ said the woman. ‘They went over to the cinema. They went inside, then they came out and went away.’

‘Thank you,’ said Mma Ramotswe, pressing a ten-pula note into the woman’s hand.

She walked over to the cinema and looked at the times of the films.

There was a film that evening.

When Mma Ramotswe got home, Mr Patel telephoned.

‘My daughter says she is going out,’ he said. ‘She is going to see a friend about some homework. But I know she is lying;

‘Yes,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘I’m afraid she is. But I know where she’s going. I shall be there. Don’t worry.’

‘She is going to see this Jack,’ shouted Mr Patel.

‘Probably,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘But I will give you a report tomorrow.’

There were very few people in the cinema when Mma Ramotswe arrived. She sat in a seat at the back, waiting for Nandira and Jack. Nandira arrived five minutes before the film. She was alone. She stood in the doorway, looking round. Then she walked across to Mma Ramotswe and sat down in the seat next to her.

‘Good evening, Mma,’ she said politely. ‘I saw you this afternoon. I saw you outside my school. Then I saw you in the Book Centre. Then you asked the woman in the dress shop about me. She told me. So why are you following me?’

Mma Ramotswe thought quickly. She decided to be honest with Nandira, so she told her about her father.

‘He wants to find out if you are seeing boys,’ she said. ‘He’s worried about it: Nandira looked pleased. ‘And are you,’ asked Mma Ramotswe. ‘Are you going out with lots of boys?’

‘No,’ said Nandira quietly. ‘Not really.’

‘But this Jack,’ asked Mma Ramotswe. ‘Who is he?’

‘Jack doesn’t exist,’ said Nandira. ‘I want them - my family - to think I’ve got a boyfriend. Somebody I chose. Not somebody they chose for me. Do you understand that?’

‘Yes,’ said Mma Ramotswe, putting a hand on Nandira’s arm. ‘I understand.’

‘It’s been a silly game, I know,’ Nandira said. ‘You will tell my father that Jack isn’t real. Then perhaps he will leave me to live my own life.’

‘I don’t know if he will listen to me,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘But I will try and talk to him.’

They watched the film together, and both enjoyed it. Then Mma Ramotswe drove Nandira home in her tiny white van.

Mma Ramotswe went to see Mr Patel early the next morning.

‘You’ve got bad news for me,’ he said. ‘What is it? I am very worried. You will not understand a father’s worries.’

Mma Ramotswe smiled. ‘The news is good,’ she said. ‘There is no boyfriend. Jack is not real. Nandira imagined a boyfriend because she wants to be freer. Give her time for her own life. Don’t ask her questions all the time.’

Mr Patel closed his eyes and thought. ‘Why should I do this,’ he said. ‘Why should I accept these modern ideas?’

‘Because if you don’t,’ said Mma Ramotswe, ‘she will look for a real boyfriend.’

Mr Patel stood up. ‘You are a very clever woman,’ he said. ‘And I’m going to do as you suggest. I will leave her to live her life. And in two or three years I am sure that I can help her find a good husband.’

‘Yes,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘You probably can.’

Mma Ramotswe often thought about Nandira when she drove past Mr Patel’s house. But she did not see Nandira again until nearly a year later. She was having coffee one Saturday morning at the President Hotel when someone touched her on the shoulder. She turned round, and there was Nandira with a young man. He was about eighteen with a pleasant, open face.

‘Mma Ramotswe,’ said Nandira in a friendly way. ‘This is my friend. I don’t think you have met him.’

The young man smiled and held out his hand. ‘Jack,’ he said.