Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe (34 page)

That rainy morning, Onzell had asked Stump and Idgie to go down to the woods by the river and get some pinecones for Miss Ruth’s sickroom. She was wiping Ruth’s face with a damp cloth.

“Hold on, Miz Ruth, it’s gonna be over soon. It’s gonna be over soon, baby.”

Ruth looked back up at her and tried to smile, but the pain in her eyes was terrible. There was no rest from it now; no sleep, no relief.

Onzell, a charter member of the Mount Zion Primitive Baptist Church and the lead singer in the Halleluiah Choir, who believed with all her heart and soul in a merciful God, had made a decision.

No God, anywhere, certainly not her sweet, precious Jesus, Who died for our sins and loved us above all things, had
ever
meant anyone to suffer like this.

So it was with perfect joy and a pure heart that she gave Ruth the morphine that she’d been saving, bit by bit, day by day. Onzell watched Ruth’s body relax for the first time in
weeks, and then she sat down by the bed and held her little skeleton of a hand and began to rock and sing.

Onzell had her eyes closed as she was singing, but she felt the room fill up with sunlight that had broken through the clouds. The warmth of the sun made her cry tears of joy. As she covered the mirror and stopped the clock by the bed, she thanked her sweet Jesus for taking Miss Ruth home.

The cafe will be closed tomorrow, due to the death of Mrs. Ruth Jamison, who passed away over the weekend.

Funeral services will be held tomorrow at the Baptist church. Call Reverend Scroggins for the time. She will be at John Rideout’s Funeral Home in Birmingham until then.

We will miss her sweet ways and smiling face, and everyone who knew “Miss Ruth” will be at a loss. Our special love and sympathy goes out to Idgie and Stump.

 … Dot Weems …

On Saturdays, when Evelyn Couch went shopping, she always drove Ed’s big Ford LTD, because there was more room, but it was hard to park; so she had been sitting waiting for the parking place on the end for five minutes while the old man loaded the groceries into his car, took another three minutes to get in, find his keys, and finally backed out. Just as she was about to pull in, a slightly battered red Volkswagen came around the corner and shot right in the space she had been waiting for.

Two skinny, gum-chewing teenage girls, wearing cut-off jeans and rubber flip-flops, got out and slammed the door and started to walk right past her.

Evelyn rolled down her window and said to the one in the
ELVIS IS NOT DEAD
T-shirt, “Excuse me, but I was waiting for that space and you pulled right in front of me.”

The girl looked at her with a smirk and said, “Let’s face it, lady, I’m younger and faster than you are,” and she and her friend flip-flopped into the store in their rubber-thonged shoes.

Evelyn was left sitting there, staring at the Volkswagen with the
I BRAKE FOR REDNECKS
bumper sticker on the back.

Twelve minutes later, the girl and her friend came out, just in time to see all four of their hubcaps fly across the parking lot as Evelyn crashed into the Volkswagen, backed up, and slammed into it again. By the time the two hysterical girls had reached the car, Evelyn had almost demolished it. The tall one went berserk, screaming and pulling her hair. “My God! Look what you’ve done! Are you crazy?”

Evelyn leaned out her window and calmly said, “Let’s face it, honey, I’m older than you are and have more insurance than you do” and drove away.

Ed, who worked for an insurance agency, did have plenty of insurance, as it turned out, but he could not understand how she could have run into someone six times by mistake.

Evelyn told him to calm down and not to make a big thing out of it; accidents happen all the time. The truth was, she had enjoyed wrecking that girl’s car too much. Lately, the only time she wasn’t angry and the only time she could find peace was when she was with Mrs. Threadgoode and when she would visit Whistle Stop at night in her mind. Towanda was taking over her life, and somewhere, deep down, a tiny alarm bell sounded and she knew she was in sure danger of going over the edge and never coming back.

Tonight, Grady Kilgore, Jack Butts, and Smokey Lonesome were in the cafe, giggling. This was the seventh week in a row that they had managed to put a whiz bomb in Reverend Scroggins’s car. But when Stump came out of the back room, all dressed up in his blue suit and blue bow tie, they stopped and decided to razz him for a while.

Grady waved at him. “Oh, usher, where’s my seat?”

Idgie said, “Come on, boys, let him alone. I think he looks handsome. He’s got a date with Peggy Hadley, Doc’s girl.”

Jack called out in a silly voice, “Oh, Doctor …”

Stump got himself a Coca-Cola and gave Idgie a dirty look. If it hadn’t been for her, he would not be stuck having to go to the Sweetheart Banquet with Peggy Hadley, a little girl he once had a crush on but had now outgrown. Peggy was two years younger than he was and wore glasses, and he had ignored her his entire high school career. But the minute she found out he was back from Georgia Tech for the summer, she went over and asked Idgie if she thought Stump would go to her Senior Sweetheart Banquet with her, and Idgie had graciously accepted.

Being a gentleman, he had figured that one night wouldn’t kill him—although at the moment he was not sure.

Idgie went over to the icebox in the kitchen and handed him a bouquet of tiny sweetheart roses. “Here, I went up to the big house today and cut some out in the backyard. Take these to her. Your mother loved those little things.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh God! Aunt Idgie, why don’t you just go instead of me? You’ve planned the entire evening anyway.”

Stump turned to the gang at the table. “Hey, Grady! You wanna go?”

Grady shook his head. “Wish I could, but Gladys’d kill me if she ever caught me with a younger woman. But then, you don’t know anything about that. Just wait till you’re an old married man, like I am, boy. Besides, I ain’t the man I used to be.”

“Or ever was, for that matter,” Jack interjected.

They laughed, and Stump went out the door. “Well, I’m off. Guess I’ll see you afterwards.”

Every year, after the banquet, all the kids wound up at the cafe; and tonight was no exception. When Peggy came in, looking so pretty in her white eyelet dress, with her pink sweetheart roses pinned at the shoulder, Idgie said, “Thank God you’re all right. I’ve been worried to death about you.”

Peggy asked her why in the world would she be so worried.

“Didn’t you hear about that girl over in Birmingham, last week?” Idgie said. “She was so excited at her Sweetheart Banquet that while she was posing for her picture, all of a sudden she burned right up. A case of spontaneous combustion. In seconds she was gone. Nothing was left of her but her high heels. Her date had to take her home in a Dixie cup.”

Peggy, who had believed the story up to a point, said, “Oh, Idgie, you’re playing with me!”

Stump was glad when the evening was over and they were headed home. The fact that he had been a football hero the year before made him still subject to a lot of younger boys standing around staring at him and girls squealing and giggling when he said hello, or anything, for that matter.

He stopped the car in front of Peggy’s house and was getting
ready to get out and go around and open her door when she took her glasses off, leaned over, and looked up at him with those big brown myopic Susan Hayward eyes of hers and said, “Well, good night.”

He looked down into those eyes, realizing that he had never seen them before: pools of velvet brown that he could have dived into and had a swim in. Her face was now a quarter of an inch from his, and he smelled the intoxicating scent of her White Shoulders perfume; in that moment she became Rita Hayworth in
Gilda;
no, Lana Turner in
The Postman Always Rings Twice
. And when he kissed her, it was the most passionate moment he had ever known.

That summer, the blue suit was trotted out regularly, and that fall it wound up in Columbus, Georgia, when they went over to the courthouse to get married. All Idgie ever said to him was “I told you so.”

After that, all Peggy ever had to do was take off her glasses and look up at him, and he was a goner.

Birmingham’s black middle- and upper-class society was at its peak, and the
Slagtown News
was kept busy reporting on the doings of over a hundred social clubs; the lighter the skin, the better the club.

Mrs. Blanche Peavey, Jasper’s wife, who was as light in color as he was, had just been named president of the famous Royal Saxon Society Belles Social and Saving Club, an organization whose members were of such fair coloring that the club’s annual group picture had wound up in the white newspaper by mistake.

Jasper had just been reelected as Grand Vice Chancellor of the prestigous Knights of Pythias, so it was only natural that his oldest daughter, Clarissa, was a leading debutante that year and was being presented to the Carnation Coalition.

With her red-gold, silky hair, her peaches-and-cream complexion, and her green eyes, she was considered the deb you would most want to be with.

On the day of the Debutante Ball, Clarissa went downtown to buy some special perfume for the affair. She had ridden up to the second floor on the main white elevator, as she had done
a few times before when she had been downtown alone, knowing that other members of her race rode the freight elevator.

She knew her mother and daddy would kill her if they knew she was downtown passing, for although she was encouraged to mingle only with the lighter-skinned people, passing for a white was an unpardonable sin. But she was tired of the stares of the other blacks when she rode the freight elevator before; and besides, she was in a hurry.