The Double Comfort Safari Club (21 page)

She opened her eyes. Would the boatman be able to spot hippos easily enough? What if he missed one, as people sometimes did? There was only one outcome then—there could be no contest between an angry hippo and a frail canoe. The hippo won.

She told herself to stop worrying. It would take a strong hippo to upset a canoe containing both her and Mma Makutsi. The weight of such a canoe would be considerable, and she wondered whether a hippo would have the strength or energy to upset it. No, they would be safe from hippos and … crocodiles. She opened her eyes again. She had heard recently of a terrible incident in which a crocodile had seized somebody from a boat. That was very unusual, but it had happened, and it had happened in Botswana, on the Limpopo River. She shuddered. If the crocodile
seized Mma Makutsi, would she have the courage to jump in and rescue her? A crocodile would have difficulty in dealing with two substantial ladies at the same time, especially if they were both determined not to be eaten, and resisted, which she was confident would be the case. There was safety in numbers, perhaps. It was when we were alone that we were in the greatest danger—a rule that applied to so many occasions, she thought, not just to those on which we were confronted with hippopotamuses and crocodiles, and other things in—and out—of the water.

THE COUSIN’S WIFE
had arranged with a local boatman to pick them up beside the river.

“This is very exciting,” said Mma Makutsi, as they stood beneath a large mopani tree, waiting for their
makoro
. “Do you know something, Mma Ramotswe? I have never been in a boat before.”

“Well, you will find out what it is like today,” said Mma Ramotswe. She paused. “Can you swim, Mma?”

Mma Makutsi shook her head. “I have never learned to swim. Up in Bobonong we didn’t really have any water. It’s hard to learn how to swim when there is no water.”

Mma Ramotswe considered this observation. It was, she thought, incontestably true. It was not surprising that there were not many champion swimmers in Botswana, as only one part of the country—the Delta—had much water.

“I cannot swim either,” she said. “Although I was once invited to go swimming in the pool at the Sun Hotel.”

“And did you, Mma Ramotswe?” Mma Makutsi tried not to smile at the picture that came into her mind of Mma Ramotswe entering the pool at the hotel and making the water rise to the
point of overflowing. She had been taught about such things at school. She remembered the lesson: “If you place a (large) body in water, the level of the water rises as the body displaces a volume of water equal to the volume of the body.”

Mma Ramotswe herself smiled at the recollection. “I went in at the shallow end,” she said. “It was not very deep, and I found that I could stand. But then I made a very interesting discovery.”

“That you could swim?”

Mma Ramotswe shook her head. “No, I did not find that I could swim. I found, though, that I could float. I very slowly took the weight off my legs, and do you know, Mma, I floated. It was very pleasant. I did not have to move my arms—I just floated.”

Mma Makutsi clapped her hands. “That is very good, Mma! Well done! Perhaps it is something to do with being so traditionally built. A thin person would sink. You floated.”

“Possibly,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But it was good to discover that I could do a sport after all.”

Mma Makutsi was not certain that floating could be called a sport. Was there a Botswana floating team? She thought not. What would such a team do? Would they have to float gently from one point to another, with the winner being the one who arrived first? Surely not.

This conversation might have continued had they not then seen the boatman arriving. He came round a bend in the river, standing in his long, narrow canoe, using a pole to propel it forward. Seeing the two women under the tree, he raised a hand in greeting.

Mma Makutsi frowned. “Will we both fit in that, Mma? What if a hippo …”

Mma Ramotswe put a finger to her lips. “Let’s not talk about
hippos, Mma. It is not a good idea to talk about hippos when you are just about to set off on a river journey.”

The boatman drew up at the bank in front of them, skilfully beaching the canoe at their feet. They noticed that he had attached a small outboard engine to the back of the
makoro
, and as they placed their overnight bags in the front of the canoe, he whipped the engine into life.

“Eagle Island is too far away for us to be traditional,” he said with a smile. “Now that you’re paying, I’ll turn the engine on.”

The two women settled themselves into their places in the canoe. As she did so, Mma Ramotswe noticed the clearance between the top edge of the boat and the surface of the water diminish alarmingly. And that was before Mma Makutsi had sat down. Hippos, she reminded herself, but did not give voice to the thought.

Mma Makutsi lowered herself. “The water is very close,” she said to the boatman. “Is that normal?”

The boatman replied in a matter-of-fact tone, “It is not normal, Mma. This canoe is very heavy now. That is why the water is almost coming over the side. But we will be perfectly safe, as long as you two ladies don’t move.”

Mma Makutsi froze. “And if we do move?” she whispered.

The boatman laughed. “If you move, we could go into the water. Big splash, Mma.”

“It isn’t funny,” said Mma Makutsi, raising her voice. “We are two ladies here on business. We cannot go into the water, where there are …”

“Hippos,” said the boatman, maintaining his matter-of-fact tone. “And many crocodiles too. And of course sometimes there are also elephants who like to swim in this river. And snakes too. There are snakes who live in the reeds by the side of the river. They like to swim too, Mma. Did you know that?”

“I do not want to hear about these things, Rra,” said Mma Makutsi.

Mma Ramotswe decided to say something to allay her assistant’s fear. There was no point in Mma Makutsi’s spending the trip in a state of terror. She would be cheerful. “Of course you aren’t frightened by any of these creatures, are you, Rra?”

The boatman stared at her. “Oh no, I am very frightened, Mma. I would not like to meet a hippo. They are very bad-tempered animals, and they can snap a man in two with those great teeth of theirs. Just like that. Ow! Snap, and he’s broken in two.”

Mma Ramotswe laughed nervously. “That is very unlikely to happen, Rra,” she said.

“Oh, no it isn’t, Mma. It happens all the time. It happened two weeks ago. I knew the man who was snapped in two by a hippo. He is—he was—the cousin of my wife’s sister’s husband. He was a very close relative, and now he is late.”

Mma Makutsi looked steadfastly ahead. They had now started their journey, and the
makoro
was heading upstream, throwing out a wake of crystal-clear water on either side of its narrow prow. The water glistened in the sun like a layer of liquid diamonds; beneath, some feet below, lay a clear sand-bank, mottled by the shadows of the wavelets. There was no sign of hippos just yet, but the river twisted this way and that, and there were many turns still to be negotiated. A herd of hippos might be behind any of these, waiting to demonstrate their well-known irascibility.

“I suppose it is better to be taken by a hippo than a crocodile,” the boatman went on. “If a hippo bites you in two, then you do not have much time to think. It is very quick … particularly if he gets your head in that big mouth of his. Then it must be like night coming suddenly. Very dark, I think, Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe tried to distract him. “There is a very interesting bird in the reeds over there, Rra. Did you see him?”

“That bird is very common, Mma,” said the boatman. “You will see many of those birds in the Delta. You must not worry about them. They are harmless.”

“I was not worried about the bird,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I was just pointing it out.”

“Of course,” went on the boatman, “if a crocodile gets you, then that is very different. That is not a good way to go. You’ve heard about the roll?”

Mma Ramotswe said nothing. Mma Makutsi was staring ahead; she too was mute.

The boatman was warming to his subject, raising his voice to make sure that both his passengers heard. “The crocodile gets you in his jaws. Then he takes you down under the water and he rolls over and over, spinning you round and round. This is to make you drown. Then he drags you away to his lair, which is usually under roots at the edge of a riverbank, rather like that place over there. See it? That is a good place for a crocodile to have his lair.”

Mma Makutsi did not dare so much as switch her gaze to the side; Mma Ramotswe glanced towards the bank, and then looked back ahead.

“Crocodiles don’t like fresh meat,” the boatman explained. “They much prefer to eat their prey when it’s a bit rotten. That is why they put you in their lair, you see …”

“Excuse me, Rra,” said Mma Ramotswe suddenly. “This is all very interesting, but I do not think that it is a good idea to tell people these things when they are on the water. There are some stories that are better told on the land.”

“Yes,” said Mma Makutsi. “That is true. We do not want you to speak, Rra. We are not in a mood for conversation.”

The boatman looked puzzled. Women, he thought. It was always the same: men were interested in crocodiles and hippos and how they behaved; women were not. It was very difficult to understand. What did women think about? He had never worked out an answer to this, in spite of having had five wives. Perhaps I shall never understand them, he thought.

T
HEY ARRIVED SAFELY
. There were no hippos, and no crocodiles—or at least, none that they saw, and the two elephants they spotted, two young males standing under a canopy of large marula trees, were a safe distance away and completely uninterested in the passing boat.

Mma Ramotswe arranged for the boatman to return the following day. She and Mma Makutsi would spend the night in the camp, staying in the staff village with one of the women who worked in the kitchens. This woman was a friend of the cousin in Maun—again, a connection that could be deemed sufficiently close to allow for a request for hospitality. Of course, hospitality would be repaid at some time in the future: somebody from the camp would be in Gaborone, and would appear at the house in need of a bed for the night, or for several nights, and a meal, or several meals. Mma Ramotswe did not resent this, as it was the old Botswana morality in action: you helped people who had helped you, or who knew people whom you had helped.

The boatman disappeared down a winding branch of the river, whistling tunelessly. “That man is very tactless,” said Mma
Makutsi. “He has no idea of when is the right time to talk about certain things. Imagine if we had been visitors, Mma. Imagine if we had been Swedish! We would have wanted to go straight back to Sweden, I think.”

“He was only trying to be helpful,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But you are right, Mma, he would not be the best tour guide in Botswana, I think. He would not be very reassuring for … for Swedish people.”

Mma Makutsi had more to say on the subject. “I was not frightened, Mma. I was not worried.”

“Of course not,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“But the Swedes …”

“Yes, of course. The Swedes. You are right to be concerned, Mma.” Mma Ramotswe, having straightened her dress, was looking towards the camp buildings a short distance away. A man in a khaki uniform was making his way towards them. He lifted an arm, waving, and greeted them politely as he came closer.

“You are Mma Ramotswe, are you, Mma?”

Mma Ramotswe inclined her head. “I am that lady,” she said. “And this is Mma Makutsi.”

“Assistant detective,” said Mma Makutsi quickly.

The man announced himself as the deputy manager. He had heard from the camp’s head office in Maun about Mma Ramotswe’s telephone call a couple of days earlier, explaining her mission. They were pleased, he said, that one of their guests had been so impressed with her visit as to leave a gift to one of the guides. “We are very happy about that, Mma, and we would like to help you. If you tell us who this American lady was, then we can find out which guide looked after her.”

They walked back towards the camp. The deputy manager would show them, he said, to the staff quarters, where they would be spending the night. Afterwards, they could come and
have tea with the manager and the senior guide and talk about their mission. As they walked, Mma Ramotswe looked about her: she was still in her country, in Botswana, but it was a different Botswana from the one she knew. The vegetation here seemed very different—the trees were higher, the leaves greener. There were palm trees among the mopani and acacia; there were creepers and vines; everything was denser.

“This is a very beautiful place,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“That is why people come here,” said the deputy manager. “They come because they want to find a beautiful place. That is what people want.”

“There are many beautiful places,” said Mma Makutsi.

The deputy manager looked at her appreciatively, as if impressed by the wisdom of her observation. “I think that you are right,” he said.