The Handsome Man's Deluxe Cafe Read Online Free Page A

when the rains were achingly slow to arrive. He would understand all that, she thought, because he had been to Botswana and had gone out into the Kalahariand she could tell that he knew; and she could see that he was a good man.
    Mr. Sengupta was saying something about Calcutta. “My family is from Bengal, you see, Mma. Perhaps you know of Kolkata, which they used to call Calcutta. I still call it that because I cannot keep up with all the changes in the world. Change this, change that—who are these people who tell us we must always be changing, Mma Ramotswe?”
    Both he and Miss Rose looked at Mma Ramotswe enquiringly, as if the question were not rhetorical but demanded an answer. Mma Ramotswe was not sure what to say; she agreed with the general sentiment, though. “They are tiresome people, Rra,” she said. “You are right about that.”
    â€œBut who are they?” repeated Mr. Sengupta.
    Mma Ramotswe shrugged. “They are people who write in the newspapers or talk on the radio. They are the people who keep telling us what to think and to say.”
    Mr. Sengupta leaned forward in his enthusiasm. “Exactly, Mma! Exactly! I do not ever remember any election in which I was asked to vote for people for the job—the job of telling others what they can say and what they can’t say. Do you remember that election?”
    Mma Makutsi had now made the tea and was passing a cup to Miss Rose. “There was no election like that,” she contributed. “These are people with very long noses, that is all.”
    Mr. Sengupta turned to look at her. “Long noses, Mma?”
    â€œYes, they have long noses because they poke them into other people’s business. That is why they think they can tell us what to say.”
    â€œI tell them to go away,” said Miss Rose. “I say: go away, you people, just go away.”
    This remark was greeted with silence. Then Mr. Sengupta continued, “We should be more prepared to tell people to go away, youknow. If more of us stood up and said ‘go away,’ we would have less trouble with government people and busybodies of every sort.”
    â€œThat would teach them,” said Miss Rose.
    â€œBut I must get back to what I was saying,” said Mr. Sengupta. “As I was telling you, my family is from Bengal. My grandfather was a well-known man in Calcutta. He had a street named after him, you know, and he was very well off before he lost all his money in some political dealings with some very rotten fellows. That was a big tragedy for our family, but my father picked himself up and treated it as a challenge. He became a successful man and was able to give each of his four sons enough money to go and start a business somewhere. That is when I came to Botswana—that was thirty years ago. I was twenty-five then, Mma. I was young, but I came and started my office supplies business. It was not easy leaving India and starting up in the middle of Africa, but I did it, Mma. And the moment I arrived in this country I thought: this is a good place. This is a good place because people treat one another well and there is much work to be done. That is what I thought, Mma, and I have not changed my view.”
    Mma Makutsi passed Mr. Sengupta his cup of tea and he thanked her with one of his difficult-to-interpret movements of the head. “Then my sister came and joined us with her husband. He worked with me in the business, and started our branch up in Francistown. That did very well until he became ill and subsequently he passed over.” He looked at his sister, who lowered her eyes.
    â€œI am glad that everything went well for you, Rra,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But I am sorry about your husband, Mma. I am sorry that he is late.”
    Miss Rose raised her eyes and acknowledged the expression of sympathy.
    â€œWe lead a quiet life,” said Mr. Sengupta. “We are both citizens now—I took citizenship