Sepo had brought his piece of bread and jam in a brown paper bag. While Big Mrs. Molipi served lunch, he had left the bag in the classroom, tucked away safely under his desk. He was sure that this was where he had left it, and so when he went back in and saw that it had disappeared he was very surprised indeed.
“My bread!” he wailed. “Somebody’s taken my bread!”
Precious was walking past the open door of the classroom when she heard this. She looked in: there was Sepo standing miserably by his desk.
“Are you sure?” Precious asked.
“Of course I’m sure,” Sepo said. “It was there when we went out for lunch. Now it isn’t, and I didn’t take it.”
Precious walked into the classroom and stared at the spot being pointed out by Sepo. There was certainly nothing there.
“I’ll ask people if they saw anything,” she said, thinking that she may have found her first case. “In the meantime, you can have half of my biscuit. I hope that will make you feel better.”
It did. Sepo was still upset, but not quite as upset as he had been when he made the discovery.
“What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know, it’s mysterious,” she said and thought how fun mysteries were.
“There must be a thief in the school,” Sepo said as they walked out into the playground. “Who do you think it is, Precious?”
Precious shrugged. “I just don’t know,” she said. “It could be …” She paused. “It could be anyone.”
“I think I may know who it is,” he said. He did not speak very loudly, even though there was nobody else about.
Precious asked, “How do you know that? Did you see somebody taking it?”
Sepo again looked over his shoulder. “No,” he said. “I didn’t see anybody actually take it. But I did see somebody walking away from the classroom door.”
Precious held her breath, waiting for Sepo to say more. He stayed silent, though, and so she whispered to him, “Who?”
Sepo did not say anything, but after hesitating for a moment or two he very carefully pointed to somebody standing in the playground.
“Him,” he whispered. “It’s him. I saw him.”
hat night, as Precious lay on her sleeping mat, waiting for her father to come in and tell her a story—as he always did—she thought about what happened at school. She did not like the thought of there being a thief at school—thieves spoiled everything. They made people suspicious of one another, which was not a good thing at all. People should be able to trust other people, without worrying about whether they will steal their possessions.
But even if she did not like the thought of there being a thief, neither did she like the thought that an innocent person might be suspected. She did not know the boy whom Sepo had pointed out—she had seen him, of course, and she knew his name, Poloko (PO–LOW–KO), but she did not know very much about him. And she certainly did not know that he was a thief.
Poloko was a rather round boy.
If you saw him walking along the street, you might think that perhaps that was a boy who ate a little bit too much. And if you got to know him a bit better, then you might be sure that this was so and that those bulges in his pockets were indeed sweets—a lot of them.
But just because somebody has lots of sweets does not mean that he has stolen them. One thing, you see, does not always lead to another. That is something that all detectives learn very early in their career.
The next day at school, when they were copying out letters from the board, Sepo whispered, “Have you told anybody about the thief?”
Precious shook her head. “We don’t know who it is. How can I tell the teacher about something I don’t know?”
“But I know who it is,” Sepo said. “And Big Mrs. Molipi told me that somebody has stolen three iced buns from her kitchen! She told me that this morning. Poloko’s probably eaten them already!”
Precious listened in silence. She thought that this was a very unfair thing to say and she was about to tell Sepo so when the teacher gave them a stern look. So Precious just said, “Shh!” instead and left it at that. But later, when the children were let out to play while the teachers drank their tea, Sepo and Tapiwa came up to her and said they wanted to speak to her.
“Are you going to help us deal with the thief?” Tapiwa said.
Precious tried to look surprised. She knew what they meant, but she did not want to help them without any proof. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “How can we deal with the thief if we don’t know who it is?”
“But we do know,” Sepo said. “It’s Poloko, that’s who it is.”
Precious stared at Sepo. “You don’t know that,” she said. “So I’m not going to help you until you have some proof.”
Sepo smiled. “All right,” he said. “If you want some proof, we’ll get it for you. We’re going to look at his hands.”
Precious wondered what he meant by that, but before she had the time to ask him, Sepo and Tapiwa ran off to the other side of the playground where Poloko was sitting on a rock. Precious ran behind them—not because she wanted to help them, but because she wanted to see what was happening.
“Hold out your hands,” Tapiwa said to Poloko. “Come on. Hold them out.”
Poloko was surprised, but held out his hands. Tapiwa bent down to examine them. After a few moments, she pointed out something to Sepo, and he also bent down to look. Then Tapiwa reached out to feel Poloko’s hands.
“Hah!” she shouted. “It’s just as we thought. Your hands are sticky!”
Poloko tried to say something, but his words were drowned out by the shouts of Tapiwa and Sepo. “Thief!” they cried out. “Thief! Thief!” It was a shrill cry, and it chilled Precious’s blood just to hear it. Precious wondered what it would be like to hear somebody shout that about you—especially if you were not a thief and never had been.
Precious stood quite still. The others were now making such a noise that one of the teachers was coming to see what was wrong.
“What’s all this noise?” the teacher asked. “Can’t you children play quietly?”
“We’ve found the thief,” Tapiwa shouted. “Look, Mma, look! His hands are covered in stickiness. If you want to know where those iced buns are, they’re right there—in Poloko’s stomach!”
hat’s all this?” she asked. “Are you children fighting?”
“We’re not fighting, Mma,” cried Tapiwa, pointing a finger at Poloko. “We’ve found the thief. It’s this boy! This boy right here!”
The teacher looked at Poloko. “Have you stolen something, Poloko?”
Poloko hung his head. “No, Mma, I have not stolen anything.”
The teacher turned to stare at Tapiwa and Sepo. “Why do you say he’s a thief?”
“Because some iced buns have been eaten,” Sepo blurted out. “And his hands are sticky. Look at them, Mma!”
The teacher sighed. “Lots of people have sticky hands,” she said. “That doesn’t mean that they’re thieves.” She paused, looking down at Poloko. “You’re sure you haven’t stolen anything, Poloko?”
The boy was close to crying. “I have not stolen anything, Mma. I promise you.”
The teacher shook a finger at Tapiwa and Sepo. “You be careful about accusing people of things when you have no proof,” she said. “Now everybody go off and play and no more trouble, please.”
Tapiwa and Sepo walked off, but only after throwing a disapproving look at Poloko. It was a look that said, You’re still a thief, you know. And Poloko, who was clearly feeling very miserable, walked off in the other direction.
Precious waited for a moment before following the dejected-looking boy. “Poloko,” she said as she caught up with him. “I believe you. I don’t think you’re a thief.”
He stopped. “Thank you, Precious. I know you don’t think that.” He paused, looking over his shoulder to where the other children were standing, listening to Tapiwa and Sepo. “But they’ll all th
ink I’m a thief.”
Precious knew that what he said was true. But she did not like to think that he was still unhappy, and so she tried to comfort him further. “It doesn’t matter what people like that think,” she said. “What matters is what your friends think. I’m your friend, and I know that you’re telling the truth.”
He listened to what she said and was about to say something when the bell sounded for them to return to the classroom. So he simply muttered, “Thank you.”
That afternoon, when all the children left the school and began to walk back home under the hot African sun, Precious found Poloko and asked him to walk with her.
He was pleased that she asked, as they could both see the other children looking at him suspiciously.
“You see,” he said. “They’ve told everybody. Now they all think I’m a thief.”
“Pay no attention to them,” Precious said. “They can think what they like.”
She knew, though, that it was not that simple. All of us worry about what other people think, even if we do not have to. It was easy to tell somebody to ignore that sort of thing; it was much harder to put such advice into practice.
They set off, following the path down the hill. It was a narrow path and a winding one—here and there were great boulders—and the path twisted around them. There were trees in between the boulders, and their roots had worked their way through gaps in the stone. These trees made the places in between the rocks a cool refuge from the heat of the sun, and Precious and Poloko sat down to rest on their way home.
There was a noise off among the rocks, and they both gave a start.
“A snake!” whispered Poloko.
snake,” said Poloko.
“Perhaps,” Precious said. “Should we look?”
Poloko nodded. “Yes, but we must be careful.”
They heard the noise again. This time Precious thought that it might have come from the tree, and she looked up into the branches.
“There!” she said, pointing into the tangle of leaves and branches.
Poloko looked up. He expected to see a snake wound around one of the branches, but that was not what he spotted.
“Monkeys!” he said.
Precious smiled. “They were watching us.”
And then, just as she spoke, one of the monkeys dropped something. It fell down from the tree and landed on a sunny patch of ground. Poloko watched it and then ran forward to pick it up, paying no heed to the excited chattering of the monkeys above his head.
For a moment or two he stared at it before passing it to Precious.
It was a piece of iced bun.
Now she was sure Poloko was not the thief. But it was one thing to be sure about something and quite another to prove it to others. That is something that all detectives know. Although she had only started being a detective, Precious was well aware that you had to be able to show people something if you wanted them to believe it.
That night, as she lay on her sleeping mat, she went over in her mind what she had seen. The monkeys were the culprits—they had given themselves away—but it would not be easy to catch them in the act. Monkeys were very quick and, in their own special monkeyish way, very cunning. It was much easier to catch a human being than to catch a monkey.
She closed her eyes and imagined how monkeys would steal buns. They would dart in through the window when nobody was looking and their little hands—so like human hands in every respect, but a bit hairier—would stretch out and snatch.
She settled down and closed her eyes. It took some time for her to drop off, as it often did when she was thinking about a mystery, but eventually she became drowsier and drowsier and went to sleep.
She dreamed and of course her dreams were about monkeys. She was walking under some trees in her dream, and the monkeys were up in the branches above her. They were calling out and, to her surprise, they were calling her name. Come up here, Precious. Come up here and join us.
In your dreams you can often do things that you just cannot do when you are awake. Precious couldn’t normally climb trees very well, but in her dreams she could. It was very easy, in fact, and within moments she was up in the branches with the monkeys. They gathered about her, their tiny, wizened faces filled with joy at finding a new friend. Soft, tiny hands touched her, stroking her gently, while other hands explored her ears and hair.
Then they took her by the hand and led her along one of the branches. The ground was far below, and hard and rocky. Don’t be frightened, said one of the monkeys. It’s very easy, you know.
And with that, Precious began to swing from branch to branch, just as the monkeys did. It was the most wonderful, light feeling, and her heart soared as she moved effortlessly through the canopy of leaves. So this was what it was like to live in the trees—it was like living in the sky. And it was like flying too. As she let go of one branch and swung through the air to another, she felt as light as a leaf itself might feel as it dropped from a bough.
She moved through the trees, the monkeys all about her, waving to her with their little hands, encouraging her. And then slowly the trees thinned out and she was on the ground again. She looked for her friends, the monkeys, and saw that they were gone.
Those little hands … What if the thing they were trying to snatch was even stickier than the stickiest of iced buns?
Like all good ideas, it was enough to make you sit bolt upright. And that was what Precious did, her eyes wide, a broad smile on her face. Yes! The dream had shown her. She had worked out how to trap a thief, particularly one with tiny hands!
he next morning, Precious was the first in the house to get out of bed. She had work to do—detective work—and her first task was to bake a cake. This was not difficult, as she was a good cook and had a well-tried recipe for sponge cake. Precious had learned to cook because she had to—her mother died when she was very small—and, although her father thought he was looking after her, when it came to cooking meals Precious looked after him!
The cake did not take long and was soon out of the oven. It smelled delicious, but she resisted the temptation to cut a slice for herself and try it. Rather than doing that, she took a knife and cut out the middle of the cake so that it was left with a large hole in it.
The next bit of the plan was more difficult. Her father had a workshop next to the house—a place where he fixed fence posts and did odd carpentry jobs for friends. On a shelf in this workshop was a large pot of glue that he used for sticking wood together—it was very strong glue, a thick, sticky paste.
Very carefully, making sure to get none on her fingers, Precious ladled out several spoonfuls of this glue onto a plate. After replacing the glue-pot on the shelf, she went back to the kitchen. Now she took the piece of cake that she had cut from the center and mixed it up with the glue. It made a wonderfully sticky mess—just the thing she was looking for.
She then put this sticky mixture back in the hole in the cake and covered the whole thing with icing. For good measure, she stuck a few red and yellow jelly sweets on the top. Nobody will be able to resist such a cake, she thought. Certainly no monkey could.
“That’s a nice cake you’ve cooked,” her father said over breakfast. “Is that for your teacher?”
Precious smiled. “No, I don’t think so.” She could imagine what would happen if the teacher ate that particular cake.
“For your friends?” asked her father.
Precious thought for a moment. She remembered her dream and the way the monkeys in it had welcomed her to their trees. Yes, they were her friends, she thought. In spite of all their tricks and their mischievousness, they were her friends.
She carried the cake to school in a box. When she arrived, she put the box down carefully and took out its mouthwatering contents.
“Look at that cake!” shouted somebody.
“Don’t leave it there,” said another. “If you leave it there, Precious, then Poloko will be sure to steal it!”
Other children laughed at this, but P
recious did not. “Don’t say that,” she said crossly. But they said it again.
“Poloko will eat that entirely up,” one of the boys said. “That’s why he’s so fat. He’s a fat thief!”
Precious hoped that Poloko had not heard this, but she feared that he had. She saw Poloko walking away, his head lowered. People were so unkind, she thought. How would they like to be called a thief? Well, she would show them just how wrong they were.
With the cake left outside, on the shelf where the children left their bags, school began. Precious walked into the classroom and tried to concentrate on the lesson that the teacher was giving, but it was not easy. Her mind kept wandering, and she found herself imagining what was going on outside. The cake was sitting there, the perfect temptation for any passing monkey, and it could only be a question of time before …
It happened suddenly. One moment everything was quiet, and the next there came a great squealing sound from outside. The squealing became louder and was soon a sort of howling sound, rather like the siren of a fire engine.
The teacher and the entire class looked up in astonishment.
“What on earth is going on?” asked the teacher. “Open the door, Sepo, and see what’s happening.”
The entire class took this as an invitation to go to the door, and they were soon all gathered round the open door and the windows too, peering out to see what was going on.
What was happening was that two monkeys were dancing up and down alongside the shelf, their hands stuck firmly in the mixture of glue and cake. Struggle as they might to free themselves, each time they pulled out a hand a long strand of glue dragged it back in. They were thoroughly and completely stuck to the cake.
“See,” shouted Precious in triumph. “There are the thieves. See there!”