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

Автор книги: Фэнни Флэгг

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And now, a month later, it was because she loved her so much that she had to leave. Idgie was a sixteen-year-old kid with a crush and couldn't possibly understand what she was saying. She had no idea when she was begging Ruth to stay and live with them what she was asking; but Ruth knew, and she realized she had to get away.

She had no idea why she wanted to be with Idgie more than anybody else on this earth, but she did. She had prayed about it, she had cried about it; but there was no answer except to go back home and marry Frank Bennett, the young man she was engaged to marry, and to try to be a good wife and mother. Ruth was sure that no matter what Idgie said, she would get over her crush and get on with her life. Ruth was doing the only thing she could do.

When she told Idgie she was leaving for home the next morning, Idgie had gone completely crazy. She was in her room breaking things and carrying on so loud that you could hear her all over the house.

Ruth was sitting on her bed, wringing her hands, when Momma came in.

"Ruth, please go in there and talk to her. She won't let me or her daddy in the room, and everyone else is afraid to go in there. Please, honey, I'm scared she's gonna hurt herself."

They heard another crash.

Momma looked at Ruth and pleaded, "Oh Ruth, she's just like a wounded animal, down there. Won't you please go and see if you can calm her down a little?"

Ninny came to the door. "Momma, Essie Rue says that now she's broken the lamp," and then she looked at Ruth apologetically. "I think she's upset because you're leaving."

Ruth took the long walk down the hall. Julian, Mildred, Patsy Ruth, and Essie Rue were all hiding behind their bedroom doors, with nothing but their heads poked out, staring bug– eyed at her as she passed them by.

Momma and Ninny stood way down at the end of the hall. Ninny had her fingers in her ears.

Ruth tapped gently on Idgie's door.

From inside the room, Idgie yelled, "LEAVE ME ALONE, GODDAMMIT!" and threw something that crashed against the door.

Momma cleared her throat and said in a sweet voice, "Children, why don't we all go wait in the parlor and give Ruth some privacy."

All six of them went downstairs in a hurry.

Ruth continued to knock at the door. "Idgie, it's me."

"Get away!"

"I want to talk to you."

"No! Leave me alone!"

"Please, don't be like this."

"Get the hell away from the door and I mean it!" And something else crashed against the door.

"Please let me in." "

NO!"

"Please, honey."

"NO!"

"IDGIE, OPEN THIS GODDAMNED DOOR RIGHT THIS MINUTE, AND I MEAN IT! DO YOU HEAR ME?"

There was a moment of silence. The door slowly opened. Ruth walked in and closed it behind her. She saw that Idgie had broken everything in the room. Some things twice.

"Why are you acting like this? You knew I was going to have to leave sometime."

"Then why cain't you let me go with you?"

"I told you why."

"Then stay here."

"I cain't"

Idgie yelled at the top of her lungs, "WHY NOT?"

"Would you quit that yelling? You're embarrassing me and your mother. The whole house can hear you."

"I don't care."

"Well, I do. Why are you acting like such a baby?"

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU AND I DONT WANT YOU TO GO!"

"Idgie, have you lost your mind? What are people gonna think of a big grown girl like you acting like an I-don't-know-what?"

"I DONT CARE!"

Ruth started picking things up.

"Why are you gonna marry that man?"

"I told you why."

"WHY?"

"Because I want to, that's why."

"You don't love him."

"Yes I do."

"Oh no you don't. You love me . . . you know you do. You know you do!"

"Idgie, I love him and I'm going to marry him."

Then Idgie went really crazy and started crying and screaming in a rage, "YOU'RE A LIAR AND I HATE YOU! I HOPE YOU DIE! I DONT EVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN AS LONG AS I LIVE! I HATE YOU!"

Ruth took her by the shoulders and shook her as hard as she could. Tears were streaming down Idgie's face as she kept yelling, "I HATE YOU! I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL!"

Ruth said, "Stop it! Do you hear me!" And before she knew what had happened, she had slapped Idgie across the face with all her might.

Idgie looked at Ruth, speechless and stunned. They just stood there, looking at each other, and in that moment Ruth wished more than anything in the world that she could just grab her and hold her as tight as she could; but if she had, she knew she would never let go.

So Ruth did the hardest thing she had ever done in her life; she just turned around and left, and closed the door behind her.

FEBRUARY 9, 1986

Evelyn had brought a box of tacos from Taco Bell, three blocks from where she lived, and Mrs. Threadgoode was fascinated.

"This is the first foreign food I've ever had except for Franco-American spaghetti, and I like it." She looked at her taco. "This is about the size of a Chrystal burger, isn't it?"

Evelyn was anxious to find out more about Ruth and tried to change the subject. "Mrs. Threadgoode, did Ruth leave Whistle Stop that summer or did she stay?"

"They were the size of a biscuit, and had little chopped-up onions on them."

"What?"

"The Chrystal burgers."

"Oh, that's right, they did have little onions on them, but what about Ruth?"

"What about her?"

"I know she must have come back, but did she go back home that summer?"

"Oh yes indeed, she did. You know, you could get five of them for a quarter. Can you still do that?"

"I don't think so. When did she leave?"

"When? Oh let's see, it was July or August. No, it was August, that's right. I remember now. Are you sure you want to hear about her? I never give you a chance to say anything. I just talk and talk."

"No, Mrs. Threadgoode, it's fine. Go ahead."

"Are you sure you want to hear about these old-timy things?"

"Yes."

"Well, when the end of August came around, Momma and Poppa pleaded with Ruth to stay and help them get Idgie through her senior year of high school. They told her they'd pay her anything she asked. But Ruth said she couldn't. Said she was engaged to be married to a man over in Valdosta, that fall. But Sipsey told Momma and I that no matter what that girl said, she didn't want to go back over there to Georgia. Sipsey said every morning her pillow would be soaking wet with tears where she'd cried all night.

"I don't know what Ruth told Idgie the night before she left, but we heard Idgie go into her room, and a few minutes later, you never heard such a racket—it sounded like a jackass in a tin stall. She had taken one of Buddy's football trophies and broke out all of her windows, and anything else she could find. It was awful.

"I wouldn't have gone near that room, not for love nor money. . . .The next morning, she didn't even come out on the porch to tell Ruth goodbye. First Buddy, then Ruth. She just couldn't take it. The next day, Idgie was gone. She never did go back to school. She lacked one year of finishing.

"Oh, she would show up at the house every once in a while . . . when Poppa had his heart attack and when Julian and the girls got married.

"Big George was the only one who knew where she was and he would never betray her. Whenever Momma needed her, she'd tell Big George and he'd say to Momma that he'd pass it on if he happened to run into her. But she always got the message and would come home.

"Of course, I have my theories as to where she was . . ."

WARRIOR RIVER, ALABAMA

J. BATES, PROPRIETOR

AUGUST 30, I924

If you drove eight miles south of Whistle Stop, turned left on the river road, and went two more miles, you'd see a board nailed to a tree, that had been all shot up with buckshot. It read WAGON WHEEL CLUB AND CAMP, with an arrow pointing down a sandy road.

Idgie had been going down there with Buddy since she was eight. As a matter of fact, she was the one who had come down there to tell Eva that Buddy had been killed, because Idgie knew that Buddy loved her.

Buddy first met Eva when he was seventeen and she was nineteen. He knew that she had slept with a lot of men since she was twelve and had enjoyed it every time, but he didn't care. Eva was as easy with her body as she was with everything else, not at all like the Baptist girls at Whistle Stop. The first time she took him to bed, she made him feel like a man.

A big, buxom girl with a shock of rust-colored hair and apple-green eyes, Eva always wore colored beads and bright red lipstick, even when she went fishing. She didn't know the meaning of the word shame, and was indeed a friend to man.

She was not the sort of girl that most men would take home to Momma, but Buddy decided he would.

One Sunday, he brought her over to Whistle Stop for dinner, and afterward he took her over and showed her his poppa's store and made her an ice cream soda. Buddy was not a snob, but Leona was, and she nearly fainted at the table when she saw Eva. Eva, who was not a fool, told Buddy later that she had enjoyed seeing where he lived, but that she liked it better down at the river.

All the boys in town, made jokes about her and said dirty things whenever her name was mentioned, but not while Buddy was around. It was true that she had slept with whomever she pleased, whenever she pleased; but no matter what anybody thought or said, when she loved you, she was strictly a one-man woman. Eva belonged to Buddy, and as much as Buddy liked to flirt around, he belonged to Eva. She knew it and he knew it, and that's all that mattered.

Eva had the extreme luxury in life of not caring about what people thought of her. She had gotten that from her daddy, Big Jack Bates, a part-time bootlegger who weighed in at about three hundred pounds and loved to have a good time. He could eat and drink every other man in the county under the table.

Idgie used to beg Buddy to take her to the river with him, and sometimes he would. The River Club and Fishing Camp was just an old wooden shack with blue lights strung all around the porch, with a couple of rusty Royal Crown Cola signs and a faded ad for Goodyear tires stuck up by the door, and, around the back, a bunch of cabins with screened-in porches—but Idgie had fun when he brought her.

There was always a big gang of people out there on the weekends, and they'd play hillbilly music and dance and drink all night. Idgie would sit with Buddy and Big Jack and watch Eva, who could dance the tail off of a monkey.

One time, Buddy pointed to Eva and said, "Look at her, Idgie. Now, that's a woman. That's what makes life worth living, that redheaded woman."

Big Jack, who was crazy about laughed and slapped him on the back and said, "You think you're man enough to handle that girl of mine, boy?"

"I'm trying, Big Jack," Buddy said. "I may die trying, but I'm sure trying."

Pretty soon Eva would come over and get Buddy and they would go over to her cabin, and Idgie would sit with Big Jack and wait and watch him eat. One night he ate seven country-fried steaks and four bowls of mashed potatoes.

Then, after a while, Buddy and Eva would come back and he'd take Idgie home. Going back, he'd always say, "I love that woman, Idgie, don't ever doubt that I do," and Idgie never did.

But that was nine years ago, and on this particular day, Idgie hitched a ride with some fishermen and had been let out by the sign nailed to the tree. Yesterday, Ruth had left to go back to Georgia, and Idgie couldn't stand to be at home anymore.

It was almost dark when she got to the white gate with the two big wagon wheels. She could hear the music as she walked down the road and there were about five or six cars parked outside and the blue lights were already turned on.

A little three-legged dog came running up to her, jumping up and down. Idgie was sure it belonged to Eva; she could never turn anything away. There were always about twenty stray cats hanging around that Eva would feed. She'd open the back door and throw food out in the backyard for them. Buddy used to say if there was a stray anywhere within fifty miles, it wound up at Eva's.

Idgie hadn't been down at the river for a while, but everything looked about the same. The tin signs were a little rustier and a couple of the blue lights were burned out, but she could hear the people inside laughing, just like always.

When she walked in, Eva, who was sitting at a table drinking beer with some men, saw her right off and screamed, "My God! Look what the cat drug in!"

Eva had on a pink angora sweater with beads and earbobs to match, and bright red lipstick. She hollered to her daddy in the kitchen, "Daddy! It's Idgie!

“Come here, you hound dog, you." She jumped up and grabbed Idgie and just about squeezed the life out of her.

"Where have you been all this time? Girl, we thought the dogs had eat you!"

Big Jack came out of the kitchen and was about fifty pounds heavier than the last time Idgie had seen him. "Well, look who's here. If it ain't Little Bit. Glad to see you."

Eva held her out by the shoulders and looked at her. "Well, hell, if you ain't gone and got tall and skinny on me. We've gotta fatten you up, pal, ain't we, Daddy?"

Big Jack, who had been looking at her, said, "Damn, if she don't look more and more like Buddy every day. Look at her, Eva, don't she?"

"Damned if she don't!" Eva said.

Then she pulled Idgie over to the table. "Boys, this is a friend of mine. I want you to meet Idgie Threadgoode, Buddy's little sister. Sit down, honey, and have a drink."

Then Eva said, "Wait a minute, are you even old enough to have a drink?" She thought better. "Oh, what the hell! A little drink never hurt nobody none, did it, boys?"

They agreed.

As soon as Eva got over the excitement of seeing Idgie, she saw that something was wrong. After a while she said, "Hey, boys, why don't you go over to the other table for a spell. I need to talk to my pal, here. . . . Honey, what's the matter? You look like you just lost your best friend."

Idgie denied that there was anything the matter, and started ordering more drinks and trying to be funny. She got all liquored up and wound up dancing all over the place and acting like a fool. Eva just watched her.

Big Jack made her sit down and eat, around nine o'clock, but by ten she was off and running again.

Eva turned to her daddy, who was concerned. "We might as well just let her alone, let her do what she wants to."

About five hours later, Idgie, who had made a roomful of new friends, was holding court and telling funny stories. Then somebody played a sad hillbilly song about lost love, and Idgie stopped right in the middle of her story, put her head down on the table, and cried. Eva, who was pretty well liquored up, herself, by this time and had been thinking about Buddy all night, started to cry right along with her. The group moved on away from them to a happier table.

At about three o'clock that morning, Eva said, "Come on," and, putting ldgie's arm around her shoulder, she took her over to her cabin and put her in the bed.

Eva couldn't stand to see anything hurt that bad. She sat down beside Idgie, who was still crying, and said, "Now, sugar, I don't know who you're crying over, and it doesn't really matter, 'cause you're gonna be all right. Hush up, now . . . you just need somebody to love you, that's all . . . it's gonna be all right . . . Eva's here . . ." and she turned off the lights.

Eva didn't know about a lot of things, but she knew about love.

ldgie would live down at the river, on and off, for the next five years. Eva was always there when needed, just like she had been for Buddy.

NOVEMBER 28, 1935

A Friend Indeed

Railroad Bill threw 17 hams off the government supply train the other night, and I understand our friends in Troutville had a wonderful Thanksgiving.

The pageant The History of Whistle Stop that was presented over at the school was a reminder that the Indians who used to live around here were a brave and fierce-like people; especially as portrayed by Vesta Adcock, who was Chief Syacagga, the Black– foot Indian Chief whose land this was.

My other half claims that he is one-third Blackfoot Indian, but he ain't so fierce... just kidding, Wilbur.

P.S. In case you wondered who was inside that cardboard train that came across the stage, it was none other than Peanut Limeway.

Idgie says that Sipsey, her colored woman, grew a stalk of okra six feet, ten inches tall, in the garden over by the Threadgoode place, and that she has that over at the cafe.

Everyone here is still heartbroken over the death of Will Rogers. We all loved him so much, and wonder who can replace our beloved Doctor of Applesauce. How many of us remember those happy evenings at the cafe, listening to him on the radio? In these hard times, he made us forget our trouble for a little while, and gave us a smile. We are sending his wife and children our sympathy and good wishes, and Sipsey is sending one of her pecan pies, so you all come by the post office and sign the card that's going with it.

. . . Dot Weems . . .

FEBRUARY l6, 1986

Evelyn had brought an assortment of cookies from the Nabisco company, hoping to cheer her mother-in-law up, but Big Mama had said no thank you, that she didn't care for any, so Evelyn took them down the hall to Mrs. Threadgoode, who was delighted. "I could eat ginger snaps and vanilla wafers all day long, couldn't you?"

Evelyn unfortunately had to nod yes. Chewing on her cookie, Mrs. Threadgoode looked down at the floor.

"You know, Evelyn, I hate a linoleum floor. This place is just full of ugly gray linoleum floors. You'd think with so many old people out here, running around in their felt slippers, that are prone to slippin' and slidin' and breaking their hips, they'd put down some rugs. I have a hooked rug in my living room. I made Norris take my black tie-up shoes down to the shoe shop and get me a rubber Cat's Paw sole put on them, and I don't take them off from the time I get up until the time I go to bed at night. I'm not gonna break my hip. Once you do that, it's goodbye, Charlie.

"These old people out here are all in bed by seven-thirty or eight o'clock. I'm not used to that. I never went to bed before the ten-twenty to Atlanta passed by my house. Oh, I get into bed by eight and turn out the lights so I won't disturb Mrs. Otis, but I can never get to sleep good until I hear the ten-twenty blow his whistle. You can hear it all the way across town. Or maybe I just think I hear it, but it doesn't matter. I still don't go off until I do.

"It's a good thing I love trains, because Whistle Stop wasn't never nothing more than a railroad town, and Troutville was just a bunch of shacks, with one church, the Mount Zion Primitive Baptist Church, where Sipsey and them went.

"The railroad tracks run right along the side of my house. If I had me a fishin' pole, I could reach out and touch the trains with it, that's how close I am. So, I've been sitting on my glider swing on the front porch for the past fifty years, watching those trains go by, and I never get tired of looking at them. Just like the raccoon washing the cracker. I like to look at them at night the best. My favorite thing was the dining car. Now, they just have a snack bar where people sit and drink their beer and smoke their cigarettes, but back before they took the good trains off, the seven-forty Silver Crescent from New York, on its way to New Orleans, would pass by right at suppertime, and, oh, you should have seen it, with the colored waiters dressed up in their starched white jackets and black leather bow ties, with the finest flatware and silver coffeepots, and a fresh rose with baby's breath on each table. And each table had its own little lamp with a little shade on it.

"Of course, those were the days when the women would dress in their finest, with hats and furs, and the men looked so handsome in their blue suits. The Silver Crescent even had little tiny Venetian blinds for each window. There you could sit, just like you were in a restaurant, rolling through the night. I used to tell Cleo, eating and getting somewhere at the same time appealed to me.

"Idgie always said, 'Ninny, I think you ride that train just to eat'. . . and she was right, too. I loved that porterhouse steak they used to serve, and you've never had a better plate of ham and eggs than what you could get on the train. Whenever the train stopped in those small towns along the way, people would sell the cooks fresh eggs and ham and fresh trout. Everything was fresh back then.

"I don't cook that much anymore . . . oh, I'll heat up a can of Campbell's tomato soup, now and then. Not that I don't enjoy a good meal. I do. But it's hard to find one nowadays. One time, Mrs. Otis signed us up for this Meals on Wheels program they got down at the church, but they were so terrible that I just stopped them from coming. They may have been on wheels, but they weren't anything like the meals you could get on the trains.

"Of course, living so close to the tracks had its bad side. My dishes got all cracked, even that green set I won when we all went to the picture show over in Birmingham during the Depression. I can tell you what was playin': it was Hello Everybody, with Kate Smith." She looked at Evelyn. "Now, you probably don't remember her, but she was known as the Songbird of the South. A big fat girl with a good personality. Don't you think fat people have a good disposition?"

Evelyn smiled weakly, hoping this was true, since she was already on her second bag of Lorna Doones.

"But I wouldn't take anything for the trains. What would I have done all those years? They didn't have television yet. I used to try and guess where people were comin' from and goin' to. Every once in a while, when Cleo could scrape together a few dollars, he'd take me and the baby on the train and we'd go as far as Memphis and back. Jasper, Big George and Onzell's son, was a pullman porter at the time, and he'd treat us like we were the king and queen of Rumania. Jasper went on to become the president of the Brotherhood of the Sleeping-Car Porter's Union. He and his brother Artis moved to Birmingham when they were very young . . . but Artis wound up in jail two or three times. It's funny, you never know how a child will turn out . . . . Take Ruth and Idgie's little boy, for instance. Having to go through life like that could have ruined some people, but not him. You never know what's in a person's heart until they're tested, do you?"

JUNE l6, 1936

The minute Idgie heard the voices outside by the tracks, she knew that somebody had been hurt. She looked out and saw Biddie Louise Otis running for the cafe.

Sipsey and Onzell had walked out of the kitchen, just as Biddie threw open the door and screamed, "It's your little boy, he's been run over by the train!"

Idgie's heart stopped for a moment.

Sipsey threw her hands up to her mouth, "Oh Lord Jesus!"

Idgie turned to Onzell: "Keep Ruth in the back," and started running over to the tracks. When she got there, the six-year– old boy was lying on his back with his eyes wide open, staring at the group of people who were looking down on him in horror.

When he saw her, he smiled, and she almost smiled back, thinking he was all right, until she saw his arm lying in a pool of blood three feet away.

Big George, who had been out in the back of the cafe, barbecuing, had come running right up behind her and saw the blood at the same time. He picked him up and started running as fast as he could toward Dr. Hadley's house.

Onzell was standing in the door, blocking Ruth from leaving the back room.

"No, now, Miz Ruth, you cain't go. You jus' stay put right here, sugar."

Ruth was scared and confused. "What's the matter? What's happened? Is it the baby?"

Onzell took her over to the couch and sat her down and held her hands with a death grip.

"Hush, sugar . . . you jus' sit here and wait now, honey, it's gonna be all right."

Ruth was terrified. "What is it?"

Sipsey was still in the cafe, wagging her finger up to the ceiling. "Don't you do dis, Lord . . . don't you do dis to Miz Idgie and Miz Ruth . . . don't you do dis thang! You hear me, God? Don't do it!"

Idgie was running right behind Big George and they were both yelling at the house, three blocks away, "Doctor Hadley! Doctor Hadley!"

The doctor's wife, Margaret, heard them first and came out on the front porch. She spotted them just as they came around the corner, and she shouted for her husband, "Get out here quick! It's Idgie and she's got Buddy Jr.!"

Dr. Hadley jumped up from the table and met them on the sidewalk, with his napkin still in his hand. When he saw the blood spurting from the boy's arm, he threw the napkin down and said, "Get in the car. We've got to get him to Birmingham. He's gonna need transfusions."

As he was running to the old Dodge, he told his wife to call the hospital and tell them they were coming. She ran inside to call, and Big George, who was by this time completely covered with blood, got in the backseat and held the boy in his arms. Idgie sat in the front seat and talked to him all the way there, telling him stories to keep him calm, although her own legs were shaking.

When they arrived at the Emergency entrance, the nurse and the attendant were waiting for them at the door.

As they started in, the nurse said to Idgie, "I'm sorry, but you'll have to have your man wait outside, this is a white hospital.”

The boy, who hadn't said a word, kept watching Big George as they took him down the hall, and until they turned the corridor, out of sight . . .

Still covered with blood, Big George sat outside on the brick wall and put his head in his hands and waited.

Two pimply-faced boys walked by, and one snarled over at Big George.

"Look, there's another nigger that's got hisself all cut up in a knife fight." The other called out, "Hey! You better get yourself over to the nigger hospital, boy."

His friend with the missing front tooth and the crossed eye spit, hitched up his pants, and swaggered on down the street.

JUNE 24, 1936

Tragedy Strikes in Front of Cafe

I am sorry to report that Idgie's and Ruth's little boy lost his arm last week while playing on the tracks in front of the cafe. He was running alongside of the train when he slipped and fell on the tracks. The train was traveling about forty miles an hour, Conductor Barney Cross said.

He is still over at the hospital in Birmingham, and although he lost a lot of blood, he is fine and will be home soon.

That makes a foot, an arm, and an index finger we have lost right here in Whistle Stop this year. And also, the colored man that was killed, which just says one thing to us, and that is that we need to be more careful in the future. We are tired of our loved ones losing limbs and other things.

And I, for one, am tired of writing about it.

. . . Dot Weems . . .

FEBRUARY 23, 1986

Mrs. Threadgoode was enjoying the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup that Evelyn had brought and reflecting back to what seemed to be her favorite period, the time when all the trains were running past her house.

But something she had said the week before interested Evelyn, and her curiosity got the best of her.

"Mrs. Threadgoode, did you say that Idgie and Ruth had a little boy?"

"Oh yes, Stump, and you never saw a more manly little fella. Even when he lost his arm."

"Good Lord, what happened?"

"He fell off one of the trains and had his arm cut off, right above the elbow. His real name was Buddy Threadgoode, Jr., but they called him Stump 'cause all he had left was a little stump of an arm. Cleo and I went to see him in the hospital, and he was just as brave, didn't cry, didn't feel sorry for himself.  But then Idgie raised him that way, to be tough and take hard knocks.

“She went over to see her friend who owned the tombstone place and had him make up a baby tombstone that had carved on it:

HERE LIES BUDDY JR’S ARM

1929-1936

SO LONG OLD PAL

She put it out in the field behind the cafe, and when he got home, she took him out there and they made a big to-do about having this funeral for his arm. Everybody came. Onzell and Big George's children, Artis and Jasper, little Willie Boy and Naughty Bird, and all the neighborhood kids. Idgie had some Eagle Scout come out there and play 'Taps' on the bugle.

"Idgie was the first one to start calling him Stump, and Ruth near had a fit, said it was a mean thing to do. But Idgie said it was the best thing, so nobody would call him anything about it behind his back. She thought he might as well face up to the fact that he had an arm missing and not be sensitive about it. And she turned out to be right, because you never saw anybody that could do more with one arm . . . why, he could shoot marbles, hunt and fish, anything he wanted to. He was the best shot in Whistle Stop.

"When he was little and there was somebody new in the cafe, Idgie would bring him in and have him tell this long, tall tale about going fishing for catfish down on the Warrior River, and he'd get them all caught up in the story and then Idgie would say, 'How big was the catfish, Stump?'

"And he'd put out his arm, like the grown fisherman used to do to show how long the fish was, and he'd say, 'Oh, about that big.' And Idgie and Stump would laugh over the expressions on the people's faces, trying to figure out how long that fish was.

"Of course, now, I'm not saying he was a saint, he had his little temper fits, just like the other little boys. But in his whole life, the only time I ever knew him to complain or be upset is that one Christmas afternoon when we were all sitting around the cafe, drinking coffee and having fruitcake, when all of a sudden he started carrying on like a crazy person, just a-mashing up all of his toys. Ruth and Idgie went in the back room where he was, and in as little time as it takes you to say "butter the biscuits,' Idgie had him in his coat and out the door. Ruth was upset and worried and ran after them and asked where they were going, but Idgie said, never mind that, they would be back in a little while.

"And, sure enough, they were back in about an hour, and Stump was laughing and in a good mood.

"Years later, when he was down at my house cutting my yard, I had him come up on the porch and handed him a glass of iced tea. I said, 'Stump, do you remember that Christmas when you got so mad and stomped your Erector set that Cleo and I gave you?'