Фэнни Флэгг - The Wonder Boy of Whistle Stop

He was stuck here. All he could do was wait until morning and hope that nobody at Briarwood missed him who would then call Ruthie.

“Well, this is a fine mess I’ve gotten myself into. What in the hell was I thinking? This is terrible. I can’t even find my hometown.”

—

AS THE NIGHT progressed, Bud was thankful it was not pitch-dark. The moon had come up and was pretty bright, but it was getting cold. He could still see his watch if he held it a certain way. Oh, brother. It was only 9:14. He still had a long night ahead of him. Just then an owl up above hooted.

AFTER THE CONVERSATION with Mr. Merris, Ruthie had called the police and spoken to someone in the missing persons department, who assured her they were checking all the hospitals and that as soon as her father was located or they had any information at all, they would call her immediately.

Ruthie spent the rest of the night pacing back and forth, waiting for any news. Not knowing where he could possibly have gone was causing her imagination to run away with her. Had he been hit by a car? Had he been mugged and shot, and was he lying somewhere bleeding? As more time went by with no word, she imagined a hundred different scenarios.

By six A.M. the next morning, when he had not returned, the police issued an all-points missing person’s alert and a photograph of Mr. Threadgoode popped up on the Atlanta Alert Network.

Strangely enough, it was waitress Jasmine Squibb who worked at the Waffle House who called in first. She reported that she had waited on the man in the photo yesterday morning, and that he had told her he was headed for a train trip to Birmingham and back. She then added that he had ordered ham and two eggs over easy with bacon, and was a very good tipper.

As soon as that info came in, the Birmingham authorities were alerted and his photo was posted on Ala.news.com and on the local station WBRC-TV, with the caption, “At-risk senior James Buddy Threadgoode, Jr., is missing from his home in Atlanta, thought to have boarded a train to Birmingham. May or may not have one arm. Anyone with any information, please contact the Birmingham Police Department.”

Luckily, Pete the cab driver saw the alert go across his TV screen in Birmingham and called the police. “I picked that man up at the train station yesterday, and dropped him off at the railroad tracks, way out past the old Montgomery Highway. He was looking for someplace called Whistle Stop, and the last time I saw him he was walking down the tracks, headed east. I waited as long as I could, but he never came back, so I figured he must have found the place he was looking for. Poor old guy. I feel terrible about leaving him.”

Within minutes, a team of first responders headed for the railroad tracks and started walking in both directions, with a megaphone calling out “Mr. Threadgoode! Mr. Buddy Threadgoode!”

After about thirty minutes, they heard someone yelling, “Hey, hey…here I am. Down here.”

They looked down the embankment and saw an old man sitting under a tree waving one arm at them. He had taken off his other arm to sleep.

As the paramedics approached him, he said, “I’m awful glad to see you guys. I’m about frozen to death.” Bud tried to stand up but he was so stiff, he needed help to pull him to his feet. And before he knew it he was up the hill and in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket and headed to the hospital.

When a dispatcher at the police department heard that the old man they found by the railroad tracks had been trying to go home to Whistle Stop, he told his wife, “I’m glad he didn’t find it.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s nothing out there anymore but junk and weeds.”

ATLANTA, GEORGIA

AT 9:08 THAT morning, when the phone finally rang, Ruthie was so distraught that she almost fainted.

It was a man’s voice, calling from the police department. “Mrs. Caldwell, good news. We found your father, and he’s alive.”

“Oh, thank God. Where was he?”

“He was…uh…let me read the report, we just got it in. Oh. It says he was found by the railroad tracks.”

“What railroad tracks?”

“It doesn’t say. Just somewhere outside Birmingham, Alabama.”

Ruthie was stunned. “Birmingham? What was he doing in Birmingham?”

“I couldn’t say. You’ll have to ask him. All I have is the report. Right now he’s at the UAB Hospital in Birmingham.”

“Oh no. Is he hurt?”

“I don’t think so, ma’am. It just says he’s being held under observation.”

“Oh…thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am. Glad to be of service.”

Ruthie didn’t have time to waste; she had to get to her father right away. She booked herself on the next flight to Birmingham at 10:55. She threw a little makeup on, grabbed her purse, and ran to her car.

As she was frantically driving across town to the airport, she knowingly broke the law, looking up a number while driving, but she had to know.

“UAB Hospital. How may I direct you your call?”

“I’m not sure. My father, Mr. James Bud Threadgoode, is a patient in your hospital, and I need to know his condition. I’m his daughter, and I’m in traffic in Atlanta.”

“One moment please.”

Then a dial tone.

“Oh God. Disconnected.” Ruthie pulled her phone out of her purse, looking for the redial button.

Just then, a man in the car next to her wagged his finger at her for being on the phone and then gave her the finger. Not being her usual polite self, she gave it right back and yelled, “My father is in the hospital in Alabama, you asshole.”

He sped up and drove off.

Then she heard a voice say, “UAB Hospital. How may I direct your call?”

She didn’t know, so she guessed, “The People Under Observation Ward, please.”

After a moment, someone picked up. “Nurse’s station, Terry speaking.”

“Oh, hi, Terry….Thank heavens. I’m calling about Bud Threadgoode. I’m his daughter, Ruthie Caldwell. Could you tell me his condition, please? I’m in Atlanta and I’m trying to get there as soon as I can.”

“Hold on, honey.”

The nurse came back on the phone. “I just checked Mr. Threadgoode’s chart, and his condition appears to be stable.”

“Oh, thank you. Please tell him I’m on my way and I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

“Take your time, sweetie. Trust me, he’s not going anywhere.”

As Ruthie was parking her car at the airport, the word “stable” kept running around in her mind. “Stable…that sounds good. She didn’t say ‘critical,’ she said ‘stable.’ ” So she calmed down a little and was grateful she could see her terminal up ahead.

—

BACK IN BIRMINGHAM, Terry, the roly-poly friendly nurse, walked into Bud’s room and said, “Your daughter just called and said she’s on her way over from Atlanta.”

“How does she know I’m here?” Bud asked.

“Honey, you’ve been all over the news.”

Bud, who was hooked up to an IV drip for dehydration, nodded. “Oh…did she sound mad?”

“No. She sounded worried, though, and I don’t blame her.” She went over and checked his drip, then smiled at him. “You old scalawag, running away like that. You’re lucky they found you when they did, still all in one piece.” Then she looked at him. “Well, almost.”

—

ONCE THE PLANE took off for the short thirty-five-minute flight to Birmingham, and the seat belt sign went off, Ruthie finally went to the ladies’ room. She was horrified when she saw herself in the mirror. In her haste to get to the airport, she had tried to throw on a little makeup, but somehow she had only made up one eye. No wonder people had been looking at her strangely.