Meet Mma Ramotswe, the endearing, engaging, simply
irresistible proprietress of The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency, the
first and only detective agency in Botswana. With persistent
observation, gentle intuition, and a keen desire to help people
with the problems of their lives, she solves mysteries great and
small for friends and strangers alike.
關於作者：
Alexander McCall Smith is the author of the international
phenomenon The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series, the Isabel
Dalhousie Series, the Portuguese Irregular Verbs series, and the 44
Scotland Street series. He is professor emeritus of medical law at
the University of Edinburgh in Scotland and has served on many
national and international bodies concerned with bioethics. He was
born in what is now known as Zimbabwe and he was a law professor at
the University of Botswana. Visit his website at www.alexandermccallsmith.com.
內容試閱：
CHAPTER ONE
The Daddy
Mma Ramotswe had a detective agency in Africa, at the foot of
Kgale Hill. These were its assets: a tiny white van, two desks, two
chairs, a telephone, and an old typewriter. Then there was a
teapot, in which Mma Ramotswe--the only lady private detective in
Botswana--brewed redbush tea. And three mugs--one for herself, one
for her secretary, and one for the client. What else does a
detective agency really need? Detective agencies rely on human
intuition and intelligence, both of which Mma Ramotswe had in
abundance. No inventory would ever include those, of course.
But there was also the view, which again could appear on no
inventory. How could any such list describe what one saw when one
looked out from Mma Ramotswe''s door? To the front, an acacia tree,
the thorn tree which dots the wide edges of the Kalahari; the great
white thorns, a warning; the olive-grey leaves, by contrast, so
delicate. In its branches, in the late afternoon, or in the cool of
the early morning, one might see a Go-Away Bird, or hear it,
rather. And beyond the acacia, over the dusty road, the roofs of
the town under a cover of trees and scrub bush; on the horizon, in
a blue shimmer of heat, the hills, like improbable, overgrown
termite mounds.
Everybody called her Mma Ramotswe, although if people had wanted
to be formal, they would have addressed her as Mme Mma Ramotswe.
This is the right thing for a person of stature, but which she had
never used of herself. So it was always Mma Ramotswe, rather than
Precious Ramotswe, a name which very few people employed.
She was a good detective, and a good woman. A good woman in a
good country, one might say. She loved her country, Botswana, which
is a place of peace, and she loved Africa, for all its trials. I am
not ashamed to be called an African patriot, said Mma Ramotswe. I
love all the people whom God made, but I especially know how to
love the people who live in this place. They are my people, my
brothers and sisters. It is my duty to help them to solve the
mysteries in their lives. That is what I am called to do.
In idle moments, when there were no pressing matters to be dealt
with, and when everybody seemed to be sleepy from the heat, she
would sit under her acacia tree. It was a dusty place to sit, and
the chickens would occasionally come and peck about her feet, but
it was a place which seemed to encourage thought. It was here that
Mma Ramotswe would contemplate some of the issues which, in
everyday life, may so easily be pushed to one side.
Everything, thought Mma Ramotswe, has been something before. Here
I am, the only lady private detective in the whole of Botswana,
sitting in front of my detective agency. But only a few years ago
there was no detective agency, and before that, before there were
even any buildings here, there were just the acacia trees, and the
riverbed in the distance, and the Kalahari over there, so
close.
In those days there was no Botswana even, just the Bechuanaland
Protectorate, and before that again there was Khama''s Country, and
lions with the dry wind in their manes. But look at it now: a
detective agency, right here in Gaborone, with me, the fat lady
detective, sitting outside and thinking these thoughts about how
what is one thing today becomes quite another thing tomorrow.
Mma Ramotswe set up the No. 1 Ladies'' Detective Agency with the
proceeds of the sale of her father''s cattle. He had owned a big
herd, and had no other children; so every single beast, all one
hundred and eighty of them, including the white Brahmin bulls whose
grandparents he had bred himself, went to her. The cattle were
moved from the cattle post, back to Mochudi where they waited, in
the dust, under the eyes of the chattering herd boys, until the
livestock agent came.
They fetched a good price, as there had been heavy rains that
year, and the grass had been lush. Had it been the year before,
when most of that southern part of Africa had been wracked by
drought, it would have been a different matter. People had dithered
then, wanting to hold on to their cattle, as without your cattle
you were naked; others, feeling more desperate, sold, because the
rains had failed year after year and they had seen the animals
become thinner and thinner. Mma Ramotswe was pleased that her
father''s illness had prevented his making any decision, as now the
price had gone up and those who had held on were well
rewarded.
"I want you to have your own business," he said to her on his
death bed. "You''ll get a good price for the cattle now. Sell them
and buy a business. A butchery maybe. A bottle store. Whatever you
like."
She held her father''s hand and looked into the eyes of the man
she loved beyond all others, her Daddy, her wise Daddy, whose lungs
had been filled with dust in those mines and who had scrimped and
saved to make life good for her.
It was difficult to talk through her tears, but she managed to
say: "I''m going to set up a detective agency. Down in Gaborone. It
will be the best one in Botswana. The No. 1 Agency."
For a moment her father''s eyes opened wide and it seemed as if he
was struggling to speak.
"But . . . but . . ."
But he died before he could say anything more, and Mma Ramotswe
fell on his chest and wept for all the dignity, love and suffering
that died with him.
She had a sign painted in bright colours, which was then set up
just off the Lobatse Road, on the edge of town, pointing to the
small building she had purchased: the no. 1 ladies'' detective
agency. for all confidential matters and enquiries. satisfaction
guaranteed for all parties. under personal management.
There was considerable public interest in the setting up of her
agency. There was an interview on Radio Botswana, in which she
thought she was rather rudely pressed to reveal her qualifications,
and a rather more satisfactory article in The Botswana News, which
drew attention to the fact that she was the only lady private
detective in the country. This article was cut out, copied, and
placed prominently on a small board beside the front door of the
agency.
After a slow start, she was rather surprised to find that her
services were in considerable demand. She was consulted about
missing husbands, about the creditworthiness of potential business
partners, and about suspected fraud by employees. In almost every
case, she was able to come up with at least some information for
the client; when she could not, she waived her fee, which meant
that virtually nobody who consulted her was dissatisfied. People in
Botswana liked to talk, she discovered, and the mere mention of the
fact that she was a private detective would let loose a positive
outpouring of information on all sorts of subjects. It flattered
people, she concluded, to be approached by a private detective, and
this effectively loosened their tongues. This happened with Happy
Bapetsi, one of her earlier clients. Poor Happy! To have lost your
daddy and then found him, and then lost him again . . .
"I used to have a happy life," said Happy Bapetsi. "A very happy
life. Then this thing happened, and I can''t say that any-
more."
Mma Ramotswe watched her client as she sipped her bush tea.
Everything you wanted to know about a person was written in the
face, she believed. It''s not that she believed that the shape of
the head was what counted--even if there were many who still clung
to that belief; it was more a question of taking care to scrutinise
the lines and the general look. And the eyes, of course; they were
very important. The eyes allowed you to see right into a person, to
penetrate their very essence, and that was why people with
something to hide wore sunglasses indoors. They were the ones you
had to watch very carefully.
Now this Happy Bapetsi was intelligent; that was immediately
apparent. She also had few worries--this was shown by the fact that
there were no lines on her face, other than smile lines of course.
So it was man trouble, thought Mma Ramotswe. Some man has turned up
and spoilt everything, destroying her happiness with his bad
behaviour.
"Let me tell you a little about myself first," said Happy
Bapetsi. "I come from Maun, you see, right up on the Okavango. My
mother had a small shop and I lived with her in the house at the
back. We had lots of chickens and we were very happy.
"My mother told me that my Daddy had left a long time ago, when I
was still a little baby. He had gone off to work in Bulawayo and he
had never come back. Somebody had written to us--another Motswana
living there--to say that he thought that my Daddy was dead, but he
wasn''t sure. He said that he had gone to see somebody at Mpilo
Hospital one day and as he was walking along a corridor he saw them
wheeling somebody out on a stretcher and that the dead person on
the stretcher looked remarkably like my Daddy. But he couldn''t be
certain.
"So we decided that he was probably dead, but my mother did not
mind a great deal because she had never really liked him very much.
And of course I couldn''t even remember him, so it did not make much
difference to me.
"I went to school in Maun at a place run by some Catholic
missionaries. One of them discovered that I could do arithmetic
rather well and he spent a lot of time helping me. He said that he
had never met a girl who could count so well.
"I suppose it was very odd. I could see a group of figures and I
would just remember it. Then I would find that I had added the
figures in my head, even without thinking about it. It just came
very easily--I didn''t have to work at it at all.
"I did very well in my exams and at the end of the day I went off
to Gaborone and learned how to be a bookkeeper. Again it was very
simple for me; I could look at a whole sheet of figures and
understand it immediately. Then, the next day, I could remember
every figure exactly and write them all down if I needed to.
"I got a job in the bank and I was given promotion after
promotion. Now I am...
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