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 Buddy, 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 Idgie’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.
Idgie 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 Blackfoot 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.