“Mrs. Threadgoode!”
Mrs. Threadgoode opened her eyes and patted her hair, and began talking at once. “Oh Evelyn. Have you been here long?”
“No, I just got here.”
“Well, don’t you ever let me sleep through visitors’ day. You promise?”
Evelyn sat down and handed her friend a paper plate with a barbecue sandwich and a piece of lemon icebox pie, a fork and napkin.
“Oh Evelyn!” Mrs. Threadgoode sat up. “Where’d you get this? Over at the cafe?”
“No. I made it especially for you.”
“You did? Well, bless your heart.”
Evelyn had noticed that for the past couple of months, her friend seemed to be getting more and more mixed up about time, past and present, and sometimes called her Cleo. Sometimes she would catch herself and laugh; but more and more, lately, she didn’t.
“Sorry I drifted off like that. But it’s not only me; everybody out here is exhausted.”
“Why, can’t you sleep at night?”
“Honey, nobody’s been able to sleep out here for weeks. Vesta Adcock has taken to making phone calls all night long. She calls everybody, from the president to the mayor. She called the queen of England to complain about something the other night. She gets herself all fussed up like an old cat and carries on all night long.”
“Why in the world doesn’t she close her door?”
“She does.”
“Well, why don’t they take the phone out of her room?”
“Honey, they did, only she don’t know it, she just keeps on making calls.”
“My God! Is she … crazy?”
“Well, let’s put it this way,” Mrs. Threadgoode said kindly. “She’s of this world, but not in it.”
“Yes. I think you’re right.”
“Honey, I sure would love a cold drink to go with my pie. You think you could get me one? I’d go, but I cain’t see well enough to find the slot.”
“Oh, of course. I’m sorry, I should have asked.”
“Here’s my nickel.”
“Oh Mrs. Threadgoode, now don’t be silly. Let me buy you a drink. My heavens.”
Mrs. Threadgoode said, “No. Now Evelyn, you take this money … you don’t need to be spending your cash on me,” she insisted. “I won’t drink it if you don’t let me pay for it.”
Finally, Evelyn took the nickel and bought the seventy-five-cent drink with it, as she always did.
“Thank you, honey … Evelyn, did I ever tell you I hated brussels sprouts?”
“No. Why don’t you like brussels sprouts?”
“I cain’t say. I just don’t. But I love anything else in the vegetable family. I don’t like them frozen, though, or in a can. I like fresh, sweet corn, lima beans, and good ol’ black-eyed peas, and fried green tomatoes …”
Evelyn said, “Did you know that a tomato is a fruit?”
Mrs. Threadgoode, surprised, said, “It is?”
“It sure is.”
Mrs. Threadgoode sat there, bewildered, “Oh no. Here all these years, throughout my whole life, I’ve been thinking they were a vegetable … served them as a vegetable. A tomato is a fruit?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh yes. I remember that from home economics.”
“Well, I just cain’t think about it, so I’m gonna pretend I never even got that piece of information. Now, a brussels sprout is a vegetable, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes.”
“Well, good. Now I feel better.… What about a snap bean? You’re not gonna tell me that’s a fruit, too?”
“No, that’s a vegetable.”
“Well, good.” She ate the last bit of pie and remembered something and smiled.
“You know, Evelyn, last night I had the loveliest dream. It seemed so real. I dreamed Momma and Poppa Threadgoode were standing on the front porch of the old house, waving for me to come over … and pretty soon, Cleo and Albert and all the Threadgoodes came out on the porch, and they all started calling to me. I wanted to go so bad, but I knew I couldn’t. I told them I couldn’t come now, not until Mrs. Otis got better, and Momma said, in that sweet little voice of hers, ‘Well, hurry up, Ninny, ’cause we’re all here waiting.’ ”
Mrs. Threadgoode turned to Evelyn, “Sometimes I just cain’t wait to get to heaven. I just cain’t wait. The first thing I’m gonna do is look up old Railroad Bill—they never did find out who he was. Of course, he was colored, but I’m sure he’ll be in heaven. Don’t you think he’ll be there, Evelyn?”
“I’m sure he will be.”
“Well, if anyone deserves to be there, it’s him—I just hope I know when I see him.”
FEBRUARY 3, 1939
The place was jam-packed full of railroad men at lunchtime, so Grady Kilgore went to the kitchen door and hollered in, “Fix me a mess of them fried green tomatoes and some ice tea, will ya, Sipsey? I’m in a hurry.” Sipsey handed Grady his plate and he walked back in the cafe with his lunch.
Nineteen thirty-nine marked the fifth winter in a row that Railroad Bill had been hitting the trains. As Kilgore passed, Charlie Fowler, an engineer for the Southern Railroad, said, “Hey, Grady, I hear old Railroad Bill hit himself another train last night. Ain’t you railroad dicks ever gonna catch that boy?”
All the men laughed as Grady sat down at the counter to eat. “You boys can laugh if you want to, but it ain’t funny. That makes five trains that son of a bitch has hit in the past two weeks.”
Jack Butts sniggered. “That nigger boy’s got ya’ll jumping every which way, ain’t he?”
Wilbur Weems, next to him, smiled and chewed on a toothpick. “I heard tell he threw a whole boxcar full of canned goods off between here and Anniston, and the niggers got ’em before sunup.”
“Yeah, and not only that,” Grady said. “That black bastard threw seventeen hams that belonged to the United States government right off the damn train, in broad daylight.”
Sipsey giggled as she put his iced tea down in front of him.
Grady reached for the sugar. “Now, that ain’t funny, Sipsey. We got a government inspector coming down from Chicago that’s on my tail. I’ve got to go over to Birmingham and meet him, right now. Hell, we’ve already put on six extra men, over at the yard. That son of a bitch is liable to get me fired.”
Jack said, “I hear nobody can figure out how he’s getting on the trains and how he knows which ones have food on ’em. Or how he gets off before you boys can catch him.”
“Grady,” Wilbur added, “they say you ain’t ever come close to catching him.”
“Yeah, well, Art Bevins almost had him the other night, outside Gate City. Just missed getting him by two minutes, so his days are numbered … you mark my words.”
Idgie was walking by. “Hey, Grady, why don’t I send Stump over to the yard to help you boys out? Maybe he can catch him.”
Grady said, “Idgie, just shut up and get me some more of these damn things,” and handed his plate to her.
Ruth was behind the counter making change for Wilbur. “Really, Grady, I cain’t see what harm it can be. These poor people are almost starving to death, and if it hadn’t been for him throwing coal off, a lot of them would have frozen to death.”
“I agree with you in a way, Ruth. Nobody cares about a few cans of beans, now and then, and a little coal. But this thing is getting out of hand. So far, between here and the state line, the company has already put on twelve new men, and I’m working a double shift at night.”
Smokey Lonesome was down at the end of the counter having his coffee, and piped up, “Twelve men for one little old nigger boy? That’s kinda like shooting a fly with a cannon, ain’t it?”