Precious and Grace (15 page)

As the two women were enjoying a cup of tea after their meal, Mr. Polopetsi's lunch came to an end. Mma Ramotswe saw him stand up and shake hands with his lunch companion. Then the other man made his way from the verandah, turning to follow the staircase to the square below. Mr. Polopetsi watched him go before bending, picking up a small briefcase, and making his way over to Mma Ramotswe's table, a broad smile on his face.

“I had not expected to see you ladies here,” he said as he approached them. “But I suppose this is a good place for ladies to have lunch.”

Mma Potokwane laughed. “And men too, if they behave.”

“I never misbehave,” said Mr. Polopetsi. “I wouldn't dare—with Mma Ramotswe there to bring me into line.”

Mma Potokwane laughed again. “And Mma Makutsi too,” she said.

Mma Ramotswe gestured to the empty chair at their table. “I know you have had your lunch, Rra, but there is always room for an extra cup of tea, I think.”

Mr. Polopetsi glanced at his watch. “I mustn't stay too long,” he said. “I have an appointment with somebody.”

Mma Potokwane and Mma Ramotswe exchanged glances.

“A business appointment?” asked Mma Potokwane.

Mr. Polopetsi, now seated, nodded. “It is to do with an enterprise I am involved in,” he said. “That man I was having lunch with—that man who has now gone—he is my business partner.”

Mma Ramotswe poured Mr. Polopetsi a cup of tea. “Ah yes, your cattle business.”

“The Fat Cattle Investment Club,” said Mr. Polopetsi, a note of pride in his voice. “Or the Fat Cattle Club, as we call it informally. I think I've spoken to you about it.”

“Not to me,” said Mma Ramotswe. “You've spoken to others. Not to me. For some reason.” She watched to see if Mr. Polopetsi reacted to this, but he seemed unfazed.

“I can tell you all about it,” he said. “If you wish to hear.”

Mma Potokwane sat back in her chair. “Before you do, Rra,” she said, “maybe you could answer a question I have. Do you think you could?”

“If I can,” said Mr. Polopetsi confidently. “I do not know everything about the club, but I know a certain amount.”

“Enough to persuade people to give you their money,” observed Mma Ramotswe.

If Mr. Polopetsi had not picked up a critical note before this, he now did. He looked hurt. “I do not persuade people, Mma Ramotswe. I give them the opportunity. There is a big difference, you know.”

Mma Potokwane agreed. “Oh yes, there is a big difference, Mr. Polopetsi. Just as there is a big difference between a thin cow and a fat one. There is a very important difference, I think.”

He looked bemused. “But of course there is, Mma Potokwane. It's the same difference as between a fat child and a thin child—you know that very well, in your line of business, I think.”

Mma Potokwane made much of taking this remark lightly. “Hah, yes! Perhaps I need to choose my words more carefully.” But then she added, “The difference I was talking about was the
value
of a thin cow and that of a fat cow. Many pula, Rra.” She paused. “Mma Ramotswe here knows that only too well, you know. Her father was a big expert on cattle—one of the best in the country. You know that, don't you, Mr. Polopetsi?”

Mr. Polopetsi shot an anxious glance at Mma Ramotswe. “Yes,” he said. “I've always known that, Mma.”

There was a brief silence before Mma Potokwane continued. “And that difference in value, Rra, is because of the cost of feed. How much does it take to fatten up a cattle beast if the grazing is bad because of the drought? Four hundred pula? Five hundred? Maybe even more. Cattle feed is never cheap, is it?”

Mr. Polopetsi frowned. “I never said it was, Mma. Everything is expensive these days—even lunch at the President Hotel.”

Nobody laughed.

“So what interests me,” Mma Potokwane continued, “is how it's possible to make much of a profit on fattening up livestock when the cost of feed is high. When it's cheap and plentiful—yes, I can understand it then. But when it's very high and it has to come a long way…How can you make a big profit in those conditions, Rra?”

Mma Potokwane turned to Mma Ramotswe. “Do you understand it, Mma Ramotswe? How can this Fat Cattle Club give such good returns when nobody else can make much of a profit on fattened cattle?”

Mma Ramotswe had begun to feel sorry for Mr. Polopetsi, who had started to squirm under Mma Potokwane's gaze. “We're not trying to catch you out, Rra,” she said. “It's just that we're concerned—”

“But there are others,” interjected Mma Potokwane. “There are plenty of others who will be interested in catching you out. They will ask the same question, but not over a cup of tea in the President Hotel.”

Mr. Polopetsi's eyes were fixed on the floor. “But it works, Mma Potokwane. I put in some money and within a few months I had it back, plus twenty-five per cent.”

Mma Ramotswe was gentle. “Yes, Mr. Polopetsi, I'm sure you did get all that. And I would never accuse you of dishonesty. But you have to ask yourself: Where did your profit come from?”

“From the sale of the fat cattle.”

Mma Potokwane shook her head. “I don't think so, Rra. I think it probably came from the investment of the next person who joined.”

Mr. Polopetsi looked at her blankly. “But that money would be used to buy more cattle.”

“Some of it might be,” said Mma Potokwane. “But the rest of it would be used to repay earlier investors. So at the end of the day, the people at the beginning make money, while those at the end find their money has disappeared and there are no cattle for them—nor any profits.” She waited for what seemed like an unduly long time, and then said, “There's a special name for this sort of thing. It's called a pyramid scheme.”

Mr. Polopetsi sat quite still. When he spoke, his voice was faltering. “He said that everything was all right. He said there were many people doing these things.”

“Who said this?” asked Mma Potokwane.

Mr. Polopetsi gestured towards the table at which he had been sitting. “My business associate.”

“That great financial magician,” said Mma Potokwane.

Mr. Polopetsi, defeated and crumpled though he was, suddenly seemed to acquire the strength to defend himself. “He is a good man,” said Mr. Polopetsi. “He said that he would be helping the farmers from the drought areas. That is a good thing to do, don't you think?”

Mma Ramotswe sighed. “Oh, Mr. Polopetsi! You are a good man, Rra—I've always known that. But you are not the sort to get mixed up in this sort of thing. You may want to help the farmers suffering from the drought, but I really don't think your friend has that in mind. I think he's using you, Rra.”

Mma Potokwane nodded her agreement. “Yes, Rra—you are being used.”

“So now,” went on Mma Ramotswe, “you need to tell us how many people you have persuaded to invest in the Fat Cattle Club.”

“Not very many,” muttered Mr. Polopetsi.

“How many?” pressed Mma Ramotswe.

Mr. Polopetsi swallowed hard. “Four,” he said.

“Including Mma Makutsi?” asked Mma Ramotswe.

“Five,” said Mr. Polopetsi.

Mma Ramotswe drew in her breath. “We shall have to make a plan,” she said. “Don't approach anybody else. Do you understand? Not one more person—not one.”

He lowered his head. “I am a very foolish man,” he said.

“I think so too,” said Mma Potokwane.

Mma Ramotswe, though, reached out and placed a hand on Mr. Polopetsi's shoulder. “Listen to me, Mr. Polopetsi,” she said, her voice lowered. “Who among us has not done something stupid?” Her gaze fell on Mma Potokwane before returning to Mr. Polopetsi. “I have done some very foolish things in my life. Everybody has.” She was thinking of her earlier marriage to Note Mokoti, that dangerous, seductive trumpeter; that violent and unpleasant man who thought nothing of breaking hearts one after the other; that wasteful and grasping man who had come back to wheedle money out of her and whom, in spite of everything, she had forgiven even as she told him never to come back into her life.

Her words seemed to cheer Mr. Polopetsi. “Do you think you can sort it out, Mma Ramotswe?” he asked, his voice rising in hope. “Do you really think so?”

Mma Ramotswe pursed her lips. “I shall try,” she said. “And we shall start with Mma Makutsi.”

At the mention of Mma Makutsi, Mr. Polopetsi gave a nervous start. It was an open secret that he had always been a bit frightened of Mma Makutsi, even if he admired her greatly. “I won't have to speak to her by myself, will I?” he asked.

Mma Ramotswe looked thoughtful. “I think it's best for us to face up to our own mistakes,” she said.

His face fell, and seeing this, she added, “Except sometimes. So, yes, Rra, I'll help you. I'm not frightened of Mma Makutsi.” She was tempted to add
except sometimes,
but she decided enough had been said and anything further might simply make the situation more difficult than it already was. So she said nothing, which is what Clovis Andersen said is often exactly the right thing to say.

Least said, soonest ended,
he had written. Mma Ramotswe had studied this aphorism very closely. Something was not quite right. Had a letter dropped out back in Muncie, Indiana, and did it make any difference?

She looked again at Mr. Polopetsi. He was a good man, she thought, even if he could be rather naïve. But then she reflected on the fact that of all the failings that any of us might have, naïvety was far from being the worst.

There was something she wanted to ask him. “Mr. Polopetsi,” she began, “you say that you made twenty-five per cent on your investment in the Fat Cattle Club. Did you actually get the money?”

He looked surprised. “Of course. It was in cash.”

Mma Ramotswe absorbed this information. It was clear to her what had happened: Mr. Polopetsi was the innocent recruiter; he would have been paid exactly what he had been promised so that he could bring others into the scheme with the conviction of one who has seen the whole thing work. “And the money?” she asked. “What have you done with it?”

Mr. Polopetsi started to give his answer, but said very little before his voice trailed off. “I re-invested it. My colleague had another…”

She saw his face fall.

“Your colleague? The same man?”

Mr. Polopetsi nodded.

“You gave him back the money?” said Mma Potokwane. Her tone was openly incredulous.

Mma Ramotswe winced. “He has another scheme?”

Mr. Polopetsi looked like a schoolboy whose unlikely story has suddenly been questioned. “Yes,” he said. “He told me he had the chance to buy a consignment of medicines from Zambia. He said that he could get these at a very low price and he knew people who would be able to sell them here in Gaborone at a much higher price.”

Mma Ramotswe heard Mma Potokwane's sharp intake of breath.

“What medicines?” asked the matron. “Aspirin?”

Mr. Polopetsi laughed. “No, nothing like that. Antibiotics, he said. Blood pressure drugs. That sort of thing.”

“And why would they be cheap?” asked Mma Ramotswe.

Mr. Polopetsi shrugged. “Over-orders, probably,” he said. “Sometimes hospital dispensaries order far too much stuff and then realise they won't be able to use it all. I suspect it will be something like that.”

Mma Ramotswe raised an eyebrow. “I see,” she said quietly.

“I'm going to help him,” he said. “He can't get away and so he asked me if I could collect them from the other side.”

“The other side of the border?” asked Mma Ramotswe.

Mr. Polopetsi nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I'll go up to Chobe. He's going to hire a car for me. He said that he'd order some chemicals for the school lab and his order could go in with mine. That would be very useful for us, you see—the school is always running out of the things I need for my chemistry lessons.” He smiled; people understood—and sympathised with—administrative inefficiency on the part of others. It was a common burden. “These would be a donation from him.”

Mma Ramotswe hardly dared meet the intense look Mma Potokwane sent in her direction, but when she did she knew that they both had exactly the same understanding of what Mr. Polopetsi had said. It was so obvious, she thought; so glaringly obvious. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mma Potokwane had beaten her to it. “Oh, Mr. Polopetsi,” she exclaimed. “How could you, Rra? How could you be so stu—”

“So unwise,” said Mma Ramotswe quickly.

Mr. Polopetsi looked at Mma Potokwane and then at Mma Ramotswe. He seemed confused now, and remained in that state until Mma Potokwane, taking a deep breath, spelled out to him what she thought. Once she had done that, there was complete silence, and nobody said anything for at least five minutes. Then Mma Ramotswe cleared her throat. “I shall deal with this,” she said firmly.

Mma Potokwane looked at her as if to say: How can you possibly pick up the pieces here? But Mma Ramotswe chose to ignore this. She signalled to the waiter for their bill. “Did you come here by foot, Mr. Polopetsi?” she asked. There was a Polopetsi car, but it was always being driven by Mrs. Polopetsi, and he was rarely allowed to use it.

He nodded, glancing at Mma Potokwane, as if preparing himself to forestall any further criticism.

“In that case,” said Mma Ramotswe, “I'll run you back. My van is parked on the other side of the square—not far away.”

“Well, I'm going back to work,” said Mma Potokwane. Whether or not she intended it, there was a strong emphasis on the word
work.
The censure this implied—that there were some whose idea of work was the making of risky investments—found its target, and Mr. Polopetsi, already reduced, crumpled further. He was a small man, and now he was even smaller. His jacket, too large for him at any time, seemed to envelop him like some giant sack, his hands disappearing up the sleeves, the fabric around the shoulders without support now, loose and flapping.