Текст книги "Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe"

Автор книги: Фэнни Флэгг

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Miss Naughty Bird Peavey, sister of the groom, was arresting in a grape-colored woolen crepe with draped front, multicolored beaded necklace, and cerise gloves and shoes.

Colorful Reception

Immediately following the nuptials, a colorful wedding reception took place at the home of Mrs. Lulu Butterfork, who is prominent in the city's leading beauticians' circles, being both a beautician and a hairpiece specialist.

Several well-known Birminghamians who at-tended the colorful reception were served punch, ice cream, and individual cakes, and were busy registering awe at the brilliant display of countless bridal gifts.

Monday night, October 5, at 11 o'clock, the bridal party was honored at a spicy after-supper dance, with Mrs. Toncille Robinson as hostess.

Glamour marked the occasion, which saw the Little Savoy Cafe, scene of the select occasion, given a festive appearance by brilliantly embellished yule-tide effects and a long, heavily laden table of choice foods and viands. A hot seven-course chicken supper was served, featuring wine as an appetizer and topped off with hot coffee and dessert.

The couple will reside in the bride’s home on Fountain Avenue.

BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA

MAY 19, 1986

It had been nine long, hard days since Evelyn Couch had been on her diet, and today she woke up with a feeling of euphoria. She seemed in complete control of her life, tall and thin, and when she moved, she felt willowy and graceful. Those nine days had been like climbing a mountain, and now she knew she had reached the top. Somehow, today, she knew in her heart that she would never eat anything as long as she lived unless it was crisp and fresh; just like she was at this very moment.

When she went into the supermarket, she sprinted past the cookies and cakes and white breads and aisle three, canned goods, where she had spent most of her shopping life, and went straight to the meat department, where she ordered chicken breasts without the skin. Then she headed over to the produce section, a place she had only visited on occasions to buy potatoes for mashing, and bought fresh broccoli and lemons and limes to cut up in her Perrier water. She stopped briefly at the magazine section to buy a Town and Country magazine, featuring an article on Palm Beach, and then went to the express checkout counter, where the checkout girl greeted her.

"Hey, Miz Couch, how are you doing today?"

"Just great, Mozell, how are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Is this gonna be all for you today, hon?"

"That's it."

Mozell punched up the amount.

"You look awful pretty today, Miz Couch."

"Well, thank you, I feel good."

"Well, bye-bye, now. You have a nice day."

"Thank you. You too."

As Evelyn was going out, a beady-eyed, mean-mouthed boy in greasy pants and a T-shirt slammed through the EXIT ONLY door and knocked Evelyn back. He brushed past and, Evelyn still in a good mood, mumbled to herself, "Well, there's a nice gentleman."

The boy turned and with a surly look said, "Fuck you, bitch!" and went on.

Evelyn was stunned. The hatred in his eyes took her breath away. She felt herself getting all shaky and started to cry. It was as if someone had hit her. She closed her eyes and told herself not to lose control. He was just a stranger. It didn't matter. Don't let it upset you.

But the more she thought about it, she knew she had to make it all right. She would go on outside and wait for him and tell him that she had just been trying to make light of the situation and had not meant to hurt his feelings and that she was sure he had come in the wrong door by mistake and hadn't realized that he had run into her.

She was sure, as soon as she explained it to him, he would probably feel bad and the whole thing would be over and she could go home feeling better.

The boy burst out of the door carrying his six-pack and walked past her. She walked faster and caught up with him.

"Excuse me. I just wanted you to know that there was no reason for you to be so mad at me in there. I was only trying to . . .”

He shot a disgusted look at her. "Get the hell away from me, you stupid cow!"

Evelyn was breathless.

"Excuse me. What did you call me?"

He continued on, ignoring her. Now she was running after him, in tears.

"What did you call me? Why are you being so mean to me? What did I ever do to you? You don't even know me!"

He opened the door to his truck, and Evelyn, hysterical, grabbed his arm.

"Why? Why are you being so mean to me?"

He slammed her arm away from him and stuck his fist in her face, his eyes and face twisted with rage. "Don't fool with me, bitch, or I'll knock your fucking head off—you fat, stupid cunt!"

And with that, he pushed her in the chest and knocked her down.

Evelyn couldn't believe what was happening. Her groceries spilled everywhere.

The stringy-haired girl with the elastic halter top who had been waiting for the boy looked down at Evelyn and laughed. He got in the truck, threw it in reverse, and squealed out of the parking lot, yelling names back at Evelyn.

She sat there on the ground, her elbow bleeding, old and fat and worthless all over again.

DECEMBER 12, 1941

War Starts

Grady Kilgore is in charge of the Whistle Stop draft board, and he says for all you boys to come on in and sign up and get it over with.

It seems like lately there's nothing but troop trains and tanks passing through. It makes you wonder where they are all from and where they are going.

Wilbur says the war won't last more than six months. I hope he's right for once.

The Jolly Belles Ladies' Barber Shop Quartet has been invited to attend the National Convention of Ladies' Barber Shop Quartets in Memphis, Tennessee, this spring, to perform their most popular rendition of "Dip Your Brush in Sunshine and Keep On Painting Away."

Reverend Scroggins asks, would the individual or individuals who are giving out his address and phone number to people looking for whiskey please stop, as his wife, Arna, is in the middle of a nervous condition and has broken out several times this week. Bobby Lee Scroggins joined the navy. By the way, that service star in the window over at the cafe is for Willie Boy Peavey, Onzell's and Big George's boy, who is the first colored soldier in Troutville to join up.

. . . Dot Weems . . .

P.S. Everybody is getting ready for the annual Christmas pageant and because of the shortage of men in our town, Opal, myself and Ninny Threadgoode have been cast as the three wise men.

AUGUST 8, 1986

After the boy at the supermarket had called her those names, Evelyn Couch had felt violated. Raped by words. Stripped of everything. She had always tried to keep this from happening to her, always been terrified of displeasing men, terrified of the names she would be called if she did. She had spent her life tiptoeing around them like someone lifting her skirt stepping through a cow pasture. She had always suspected that if provoked, those names were always close to the surface, ready to lash out and destroy her.

It had finally happened. But she was still alive. So she began to wonder. It was as if that boy's act of violence toward her had shocked her into finally looking at herself and asking the questions she had avoided for fear of the answers.

What was this power, this insidious threat, this invisible gun to her head that controlled her life . . . this terror of being called names?

She had stayed a virgin so she wouldn't be called a tramp or a slut; had married so she wouldn't be called an old maid; faked orgasms so she wouldn't be called frigid; had children so she wouldn't be called barren; had not been a feminist because she didn't want to be called queer and a man hater; never nagged or raised her voice so she wouldn't be called a bitch . . .

She had done all that and yet, still, this stranger had dragged her into the gutter with the names that men call women when they are angry.

Evelyn wondered; why always sexual names? And why, when men wanted to degrade other men, did they call them pussies? As if that was the worst thing in the world. What have we done to be' thought of that way? To be called cunt? People didn't call blacks names anymore, at least not to their faces. Italians weren't wops or dagos, and there were no more kikes, Japs, chinks, or spies in polite conversation. Everybody had a group to protest and stick up for them. But women were still being called names by men. Why? Where was our group? It's not fair. She was getting more upset by the minute. Evelyn thought, I wish Idgie had been with me. She would not have let that boy call her names. I'll bet she would have knocked him down.

Then she made herself stop thinking because, all of a sudden, she was experiencing a feeling that she had never felt before, and it scared her. And so, twenty years later than most women, Evelyn Couch was angry.

She was angry at herself for being so scared. Soon, all that belated anger began to express itself in a strange and peculiar way.

For the first time in her life, she wished she were a man. Not for the privilege of having the particular set of equipment that men hold so dear. No. She wanted a man's strength, so at the supermarket she could have beaten that name-calling punk to a pulp. Of course, she realized, had she been a man, she would not have been called those names in the first place. In her fantasies, she began to look like herself but with the strength of ten men. She became Superwoman. And in her mind, she beat that bad-mouthed boy over and over again, until he lay in the parking lot, broken and bleeding, begging for mercy. Hal!

Thus, in her forty-eighth year, the incredible secret life of Mrs. Evelyn Couch of Birmingham, Alabama, began.

.  .  .

Few people who saw this plump, pleasant-looking middle– aged, middle-class housewife out shopping or doing other me– everyday chores could guess that, in her imagination, she was machine-gunning the genitals of rapers and stomping abusive husbands to death in her specially designed wife-beater boots.

Evelyn had even made up a secret code name for herself . . . a name feared around the world: TOWANDA THE AVENGER!

And while Evelyn went about her business with a smile Towanda was busy poking child molesters with electric cattle prods until their hair stood on end. She placed tiny bombs inside Playboy and Penthouse magazines that would explode when they were opened. She gave dope dealers overdoses and left them in the streets to die; forced that doctor, who had told her mother she had cancer, to walk down the street naked while the entire medical profession, including dentists and oral hygienists, jeered and threw rocks. A merciful avenger, she always waited until he finished his walk and then beat his brains out with a sledgehammer.

Towanda was able to do anything she wanted. She went back in time and punched out the apostle Paul for writing that women should remain silent. Towanda went to Rome and kicked the pope off the throne and put a nun there, with the priests cooking and cleaning for her, for a change.

Towanda appeared on Meet the Press, and with a calm voice, a cool eye, and a wry smile, debated everyone who (disagreed with her until they became so defeated by her brilliance that they burst into tears and ran off the show. She went to Hollywood and ordered all the leading men to act opposite women of their own age, not twenty-year-old girls with perfect bodies. She allowed rats to chew all slumlords to death, and sent food and birth control methods, for men as well as women, to the poor people of the world.

And because of her vision and insight, she became known the world over as Towanda the Magnanimous, Righter of Wrongs and Queen without Compare.

Towanda ordained that: an equal number of men and women would be in the government and sit in on peace talks; she and her staff of crack chemical scientists would find a cure for cancer and invent a pill that would let you eat all you want and not gain weight; people would be forced to get a license to have children and must be found fit, financially and emotionally—no more starving or battered children. Jerry Falwell would be responsible for the raising of all illegitimate children who had no homes; no kittens or puppies would be put to sleep, and they would be given a state of their own, maybe New Mexico or Wyoming; teachers and nurses would receive the same salary as professional football players.

She would stop the construction of all condos, especially ones with red tile roofs; and Van Johnson would be given a show of his own ... he was one of Towanda's favorites.

Graffiti offenders were to be dipped in a vat of indelible ink. No more children of famous parents could write books. And she'd personally see to it that all the sweet men and daddies, who had worked so hard, would each receive a trip to Hawaii and an outboard motor to go with it.

Towanda went to Madison Avenue and took control of all the fashion magazines; all models weighing under 135 were fired, and wrinkles suddenly became sexually desirable. Low– fat cottage cheese was banned from the land forever. Ditto, carrot sticks.

Why, just yesterday, Towanda had marched into the Pentagon, taken all the bombs and missiles away, and had given them toys to play with instead, while her sisters in Russia were doing the same thing. Then she went on the six o'clock nightly news and gave the entire military budget to all the people in the United States over sixty-five. Towanda would be so busy all day that Evelyn was exhausted by bedtime.

No wonder. Tonight, while Evelyn was cooking dinner, Towanda had just put a roomful of porno and child exploitation film producers to death. And later, as Evelyn was washing the dishes, Towanda was in the process of single-handedly blowing up the entire Middle East to prevent the Third World War. And so, when Ed yelled from the den for another beer, somehow, before Evelyn could stop her, Towanda yelled back, “SCREW YOU, ED!”

He very quietly got up from his recliner, and came into the kitchen.

“Evelyn, are you all right?”

FEBRUARY 9, 1943

War Speeds Up

My other half is working two shifts, along with just about everyone else over at the railroad, since the iron and steel industry is working overtime, and I'm one lonesome gal these days. But if he's helping out Uncle Sam and our boys, I guess I can take it.

Tommy Glass and Ray Limeway write from camp to say hello.

By the way, has anybody seen Idgie's and Ruth's victory garden, by the old Threadgood place? Idgie said that Sipsey grew butterbeans the size of silver dollars. I can't get anything but a few sweet potatoes, over at my place.

Three of the members of the Jolly Belles Ladies' Barber Shop Quartet, me and Biddie Louise Otis and Ninny Threadgoode, went to Birmingham and had dinner at Brittling's Cafeteria, and then went to see our own Essie Rue Limeway. The picture playing was not half as good as the show in between. We are mighty proud. We wanted to tell everyone in the theater that she was our friend. Ninny did turn to the person next to her and inform him that Essie Rue was her sister-in-law.

By the way, don't forget to save rubber.

. . . Dot Weems . . .

P.S. Who says we are the weaker sex? Poor Dwane Glass fainted at his own wedding last Sunday and had to be held up by his bride-to-be throughout the entire ceremony. He said he felt much better after it was over though. He leaves for the army right after his honeymoon.

JANUARY 12, 1944

In Birmingham, at the big L N Terminal train station, a brass band and a crowd of five hundred people had gathered to welcome home the returning sons, husbands, and brothers; war heroes, all. The flags were waving already, waiting for the six-twenty from Washington, D.C.

But tonight, the train made its first stop twenty minutes outside of Birmingham, and down at the end of the platform was a black family, waiting for their son. Quietly, the wooden box was lifted off the baggage coach and placed on the cart that would take him over the tracks to Troutville.

Artis, Jasper, and Naughty Bird walked behind Onzell, Sipsey, and Big George. As they walked by, Grady Kilgore, Jack Butts, and all the railroad boys took their hats off and stood at attention.

There were no flags or bands or any medals, just a cardboard name tag on the box, with P.F.C. W. C. PEAVEY written on it.  But across the street, in the window of the cafe, there was a flag and a service star in the window and a sign that read: WELCOME HOME, WILLIE BOY . . .

Ruth and Idgie and Stump had already gone over to Troutville to wait with the others.

Sweet Willie Boy, Wonderful Counselor Peavey, the boy who had been accepted at Tuskegee Institute . . . the smart one, the one who was going to be a lawyer, a leader of his people, a shining light from the back roads of Alabama to Washington, D.C. Willie Boy, the one who had the chance to make it, had gotten himself killed after a bar fight by a black soldier named Winston Lewis from Newark, New Jersey.

Willie Boy had been talking about his daddy, Big George, who, whenever his name was mentioned down home, blacks and whites alike would always say, "Now, there's a man."

But Winston Lewis had said that any man working for whites, especially in Alabama, was nothing but a low-down, ignorant, stupid shuffling Uncle Tom.

In order to survive, Willie Boy had been trained not to react to insults and to disguise even the tiniest glimmer of aggressiveness or anger. But tonight, when Winston spoke, he thought of his daddy and crashed a beer bottle into the soldier's face and sent him sprawling on the floor, out like a light.

The next night, while he was asleep, Willie Boy's throat had been cut from ear to ear; Winston Lewis then went A.W.O.L. The army didn't much care; they had pretty much had it with the knife fights among the colored troops, and Willie Boy was sent home in a box.

At the funeral, Ruth and Smokey and all the Threadgoodes were in the front row of the church, and Idgie spoke on behalf of the family. The preacher preached about Jesus taking only His precious children home early to be with Him, and talked about the will of the Almighty Father Who sits on the golden throne in heaven. The congregation swayed and responded with, "Yes sir, His will be done."

Art is answered the preacher along with the rest of them, and he swayed in his seat while he watched his mother scream in agony; but after the service, he did not go to the graveyard. While Willie Boy was being lowered into that cold Alabama red-clay grave, Artis had hopped a train and was on his way to Newark, New Jersey. He was looking for someone named Mr. Winston Lewis to cut.

. . . And the congregation was singing, "Lord, don't move my mountain, just give me the strength to climb . . .

Three days later, Winston Lewis's heart was found in a paper sack several blocks from his residence.

FEBRUARY 24, 1944

Icebox Follies a Sidesplitter

The Dill Pickle Club put on its annual "Icebox Follies," and this one was the best yet.

Grady Kilgore was cast as Shirley Temple, who sang "On the Good Ship Lollipop." I wonder if everyone knew what pretty legs our sheriff has?

And my own other half, Wilbur Weems, sang "Red Sails in the Sunset" I thought it was good, but then, I'm no judge. I hear him every day in the shower. Ha. Ha.

The most hilarious skit was a skit depicting Reverend Scroggins, played by Idgie Threadgoode, and Vesta Adcock, played by Pete Tidwell

Opal did all the hair and makeup, and Ninny Threadgoode, Biddie Louise Otis, and yours truly made all the costumes.

The so-called "dangerous animal" in the Mutt and Jeff skit was none other than Dr. and Mrs. Hadley's bulldog, Ring, in a gas mask.

All the proceeds go to the Christmas fund to aid all the needy here in Whistle Stop and in Troutville.

I wish this old war would hurry up and be over with; we sure do miss all our boys.

By the way, Wilbur tried to join the army the other day. Thank God, he's too old and has flat feet, or we'd really be in trouble.

. . . Dot Weems . . .

JULY 28, 1986

Evelyn had gained back all the weight she had lost on her diet plus eight more pounds. She was so upset, she did not notice that Mrs. Threadgoode had her dress on inside out again.

They were busy eating a five-pound box of Divinity Fudge when Mrs. Threadgoode said, "I'd kill for a pat of butter. This margarine they serve out here tastes like lard. We had to eat so much of that stuff in the Depression, I don't want to ever have to eat it again. So I just do without, and I have my toast dry, with plain apple butter.

"Come to think of it, Idgie and Ruth bought the cafe in 1929, right in the height of the Depression, but I don't think we ever had margarine there. Leastways, I cain't recall if we did. It's odd, here the whole world was suffering so, but at the cafe, those Depression years come back to me now as the happy times, even though we were all struggling. We were happy and didn't know it.

"A lot of nights we'd all sit around up at the cafe and just listen to the radio. We'd listen to Fibber McGee and Molly, Amos and Andy, Fred Allen ... oh, I cain't remember what all we'd listen to, but they were all good. I cain't look at any of these programs they put on the TV today. Just people shootin’ their guns and shoutin’ insults at each other. Fibber McGee and Molly didn't shout at each other. Amos and Andy used to shout a little, but that was funny. And the colored people on the TV now are not near as sweet as they used to be. Sipsey would have Big George's hide if he talked as smart aleck as some of them do.

"It's not just TV. Mrs. Otis was over at the supermarket one day and she told this little colored boy that was passing by that she would give him a nickel if he'd lift her groceries in her car for her, and she said that he cut his eyes at her, mean-like, and just walked away. Oh, and it's not just the colored people, either. Back when Mrs. Otis was driving, before she hit that stack of grocery carts, people would run up behind us and blow their horns something awful, and when they passed us, some of them would give us the finger. I never saw such behavior. There's no call to be that ugly.

"I don't even want to look at the news anymore. Everybody fighting each other. They ought to give those boys some tranquilizers and quiet them down for a while. That's what they gave Mr. Dunaway. I think all the bad news affects people, makes them so mean. So whenever the news comes on, I just cut it off.

"Lately, for the past ten years or so, I have just taken to looking at my religious programs. I like the P.T.L. Club. They have a lot of smart men on that program. I send money every once in a while, if I have any. And I listen to Camp Meeting U.S.A., from seven to eight, every night. And I like Oral Roberts and the Seven Hundred Club. I like just about all of them, except that woman with the makeup, and she'd be all right if she just didn't cry all the time. Oh, she cries if she's happy and she cries when she's sad. I'm telling you, she can cry at the drop of a hat. Now, there's one that needs her hormones. And I don't like preachers that yell all the time. I don't know why they want to yell when they have a microphone right in their hands. When they get to yelling like that, we just switch them over.

And I'll tell you another thing, the funnies in the paper are not funny anymore. I remember when you could always get a laugh out of Gasoline Alley or Wee Willie Winkle. And I loved that Little Henry . . . oh, the scrapes Little Henry could get himself in.

"I just don't believe people are happy anymore, not like they used to be. You never see a happy face, at least I don't. I said to Mrs. Otis when Frances carried us out to the mall, I said, 'Look at all these people pulling such dried-up, sour little faces, even the youngsters.'"

Evelyn sighed. "I wonder why people have gotten so mean, anymore . . .”

"Oh, it's all over the world, honey. The end of times are coming. Now, we may go to the year two thousand, but I doubt it. You know, I listen to a lot of good preachers and they're all saying we're in our last time. They say it's in the Bible in Revelations. . . . Of course, they don't know. Nobody knows but the good Lord.

"I don't know how long the good Lord is going to let me live but I'm in the jumping-off years, you know that. That's why I live every day like it could be my last. I want to be ready. And that's why I don't say anything about Mr. Dunaway and Vesta Adcock. We have to live and let live."

Evelyn felt she had to ask. "What about them?"

"Oh, they think they're in love. That's what they say. Oh, you should have seen them holding hands and smooching all over the place. Mr. Dunaway's daughter found out about it and came out here and threatened to sue the nursing home. Called Mrs. Adcock a hussy!"

"Oh no."

"Oh yes, honey . . . said she was trying to steal their daddy away from them. It was a big mess, and they took Mr. Dunaway back home. They were afraid he and Mrs. Adcock would try to have relations, I guess. I think that's a dream long dead, myself.  Geneene said he lost his activities years ago and couldn't possibly harm a fly . . . so what would a little hugging and kissing hurt?  Vesta is heartbroken.  No telling what she’ll do next.

“But tell you one thing, they don’t give much slack out here.”

Evelyn said, “I guess not.”

AUGUST 1, 1945

Man Falls in Lacquer

If I hadn't been married to him, I would have never believed it. . . . My other half was out at the railroad yards, hanging out where they've been painting all the troop trains, and he fell into a 250-gallon vat of lacquer, he was able to climb out, but the lacquer dried so fast, he was completely encrusted before setting foot on the ground and we had to get Opal to come over to the house and cut the lacquer out of what's left of his hair. It's a good thing we didn't have any children. I don't have time to worry about any other kids.

Does anybody know a good baby-sitter for a husband . . . ?

We are all so happy the war is finally over. Bobby Scroggins came home yesterday, and Tommy Glass and Bay Limeway got home last Thursday. Hooray!

Nothing but good news. Ninny Threadgoode came in and brought me a four-leaf clover. She said she and Albert had found three of them in her front yard. Thanks, Ninny.

. . . Dot Weems . . .

AUGUST 15, 1986

Geneene the black nurse who prided herself on being as tough as nails, but really wasn’t, said she was tired.  She was working a double shift today, and she had come in their room to sit down for a minute and have a cigarette.  Mrs Otis was down the hall in her arts and crafts class so Mrs. Threadgoode was happy for the company.

“You know that woman I talk to on Sundays?”

Geneene said, “What woman?”

“Evelyn.”

“Who?”

“She’s that little plump gray-haired woman. Evelyn . . . Evelyn Crouch . . . Mrs. Crouch’s daughter in law.”

“Oh Yes.”

“She told me ever since that man called her names at the Pigley-Wigley, she just hates people.  I told her, I said, ‘Oh honey, it does no good to hate.  It’ll do nothing but turn your heart into a bitter root. People cain’t help being what they are any more than a skunk can help being a skunk.  Don’t you think if they had their choice they would rather be something else?  Sure they would, people are just weak.’

“Evelyn said there are times when she is even beginning to hate her husband.   He’ll be sitting at his football games or talking on the phone, and she has this terrible desire to hit him in the head with a baseball bat, for no reason.  Poor little Evelyn, she thinks she’s the only person in the world that ever had an ugly thought.  I told her, her problem is just a natural thing that happens with couples after they’ve been together so long.

"I remember when Cleo got his first set of dentures he was so proud of. They’d make this clicking sound every time he’d take a bite of food, and it just grated on my nerves so bad there’d be some nights, I’d just have to get up from the table to keep myself from saying something . . . and I loved that man better than anything in the world.  But you go through a period when you start to get on one another's nerves. And then, one day– now, I don't know if his teeth stopped clicking on their own or if I just got used to it or what—but It never bothered me another time. You have that kind of thing happen in the best of families.

°You take ldgie and Ruth. Now you never saw two people more devoted to each other than they were, but even the two of them went through a period when they had their little problems. Ruth moved In with us once. I never knew what it was about, nor did I ask, because it was none of my business, but I think it was because she didn’t like Idgie goin’ over to the river, where Eva Bates lived.  Said she felt that maybe Eva encouraged Idgie to drink too much for her own good.  And it was true.

“But like I told Evelyn, everybody has their little quirks.

“Poor little Evelyn, I worry about her.  That menopause has hit her with a vengeance!  She said, not only does she want to hit Ed in the head, but lately, she’s having fantasies in her mind where she dresses up in black clothes and goes out and kills all the bad people with a machine gun.  Can you imagine?

“I said, ‘Honey, you been looking at too many TV shows.  You just get those thoughts out of your mind right now!  Besides it’s not up to us to judge other people.  It says right there in the Bible as plain as the nose on your face that on Judgement Day Jesus is going to come down with a host of angels to judge the quick and the dead.’

“Evelyn asked me who the quick were, and do you know, for the life of me, I couldn’t tell her!”

WARRIOR RIVER, ALABAMA

JUNE 3, 1946

The blue lights were on and you could hear the people inside carrying on, and the jukebox blaring all the way across the river. Idgie was sitting right in the middle of it, drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and chasing it with more Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. She was off whiskey for that night, because the night before had been enough to last her for a while.

Her friend Eva was whooping it up with some country boys that were supposed to be at an Elks Club meeting that night over in Gate City. She passed by Idgie and looked at her.