They drifted over towards one of the barbecue fires. A woman who was preparing meat for the grill greeted them warmly. “You are new, my sisters,” she said. “I have not seen you before.”
“We’ve heard of the reverend,” said Mma Ramotswe.
“We’ve heard good things,” added Mma Potokwane, catching Mma Ramotswe’s eye as she spoke.
The woman wiped her hands on a cloth. “I’m not surprised,” she said. “Good news travels fast.” She put down the cloth. “Would you like sausages? There is some steak, but that is for the Blessed Ones.”
Mma Potokwane raised an eyebrow. “The Blessed Ones, Mma?”
“Yes,” the woman replied, “they are the ones who have been particularly helpful to the reverend in his mission.” She paused. “They are all ladies.”
Mma Ramotswe and Mma Potokwane tried not to look at one another. They were both thinking the same thing, Mma Ramotswe imagined, and it would not do to reveal their suspicions if they wanted to hear more from this woman.
But Mma Ramotswe had an idea. Yes, of course. Poppy would be a Blessed One. If you gave somebody a Mercedes-Benz, that would undoubtedly justify promotion to the ranks of the blessed.
“For example,” she said, “Poppy. Do you know that lady, Mma? She is called Poppy and she comes from Francistown.”
The woman smiled. “Of course I know her, Mma. And yes, she is a Blessed One.” She reached for the cloth again and wiped her hands afresh. “She is here today, you know. She is over there, with those other two ladies.”
Mma Ramotswe looked around. The crowd had grown, and people were moving about, greeting each other, engaged in animated conversation. “Where?” she asked.
“Over there,” said the woman, pointing. “Under that tree. See? There are three ladies. They are all Blessed Ones.” She paused. “I should really take them some steak.”
Mma Ramotswe stared at the small group. She should have concealed her surprise—Clovis Andersen was clear about the need to do that—but she could not manage that. She gasped.
“What is it, Mma?” whispered Mma Potokwane.
The woman had turned her attention to the grill, and Mma Ramotswe was able to speak freely.
“I know two of those ladies,” she said to Mma Potokwane. “That one on the left is Poppy—the woman I told you about. The old friend I have not seen for many years. That is her.”
Mma Potokwane shaded her eyes to get a better view. “And the others?”
“That one standing in the middle is a woman called Mma Boko. She lives in those flats near the university. I spoke to her recently about…well, it was another matter entirely.”
“Would you like to go over to speak to them?” asked Mma Potokwane. “I assume that we’re allowed to speak to Blessed Ones, even if they are very blessed.”
Mma Ramotswe smiled at the remark, and was about to answer it with a wry observation of her own, when she was distracted by singing at the edge of the clearing. Somebody had arrived, and people were drifting over towards the new arrivals. It was the Reverend Flat Ponto and a small group of people accompanying him. Mma Ramotswe stared. She turned to Mma Potokwane and pointed.
“What?” asked Mma Potokwane.
Mma Ramotswe opened her mouth to speak, but then shook her head in disbelief.
“What is it, Mma?” Mma Potokwane pressed.
Mma Ramotswe recovered. “That woman there,” she said, “is Nametso—she is the one I told you about, Mma, the one who is being unkind to her mother.” An old friend who was late, she thought, and who then wasn’t. But it would be too difficult to explain that to Mma Potokwane right at that moment, as too much was happening. And more than that—she was thinking, and the thoughts that came to her were so significant that she felt she simply had to sit down, rest her head in her hands, and work the whole thing out.
She closed her eyes. The key to everything was a Mercedes-Benz. Follow the Mercedes-Benz—well, not actually follow it—but work out what role it played. And the role, surely, was central. A Mercedes-Benz, especially a silver one, was not a retiring, obscure sort of car—it would be at the heart of whatever was happening.
And now she knew just what that was. It was only a surmise, of course, but the truth had suddenly come to her, and she needed to speak to Poppy without further delay.
“Mma Potokwane,” she said. “I need to talk privately to somebody. Can I leave you here for a moment?”
Mma Potokwane replied that she was perfectly happy to be left to her own devices. She suggested, though, that they should meet after a while and help themselves to sausages. Mma Ramotswe agreed that it would be wise to stake a claim to sausages before they all disappeared and that she would need only half an hour or so for some conversations that she needed to have.
* * *
—
POPPY EMBRACED HER WARMLY, hugging her and laughing with pleasure. Standing beside her, Mma Boko smiled and nodded in recognition towards Mma Ramotswe.
“This is my old, old friend,” said Poppy to Mma Boko. “We have not seen each other for many years.”
“We were girls back then,” said Mma Ramotswe, extricating herself from Poppy’s enthusiastic hug. “It is a long time ago.”
“We’ve met,” said Mma Boko, offering Mma Ramotswe her hand. “Not long ago.”
Mma Ramotswe took Poppy’s arm. “Could we talk, Mma?”
“You go ahead,” said Mma Boko. “I must go and help some of the sisters.”
Mma Ramotswe led Poppy into the shade. “It is good to see you, Mma,” she said.
“Yes,” said Poppy. “I had heard news of you from time to time, but not very much. You lose touch, don’t you? The years pass and you suddenly realise that you haven’t seen people, and then you…” She shrugged. “I suppose you just lose touch. There are too many things to do and you don’t find the time to write a letter. You know how it is.”
“Oh, I do,” agreed Mma Ramotswe. “But you know who I saw not all that long ago? You remember Calviniah?”
“Of course I do. Is she well, Mma?”
“She is very well,” said Mma Ramotswe. She hesitated. She could continue this conversation along these lines, following the well-worn tracks of the old friends’ catch-up—the endless questions about who was where and doing what, who had married whom, and so on, but that was not what she needed to do. She needed to ask Poppy a simple question about a Mercedes-Benz.