Фэнни Флэгг - The Wonder Boy of Whistle Stop

But for Ruthie, the best of all the treasures they discovered that day were about twenty framed photos that someone had wrapped in a blanket. One was a picture of Idgie and Ruth and little Buddy standing in front of the cafe. Bud looked to be around five at the time and was wearing a sun suit and little white leather sandals. And there were lots of photos of Sipsey and Big George. Evelyn was delighted to see a picture of Ninny and her husband, Cleo, posing with Julian and Idgie. It was a happy trip back in time. The last picture they unwrapped was a photo of a ventriloquist dummy, signed “To Buddy, Love Chester.”

“Who’s Chester?” asked Evelyn.

“I haven’t a clue.”

“Me, neither, but as soon as the cafe is finished, all of these are going back up on the walls exactly where they were. Won’t that be great?”

Ruthie was just thrilled with what they had found. Her plan was to make the cafe look as authentic as possible, and she could use everything—the deer head, the piano, the Christmas ornaments, and maybe even the old Santa Claus suit.

By the time the cleanup crew had finished, they had removed around five tons of old cars, trucks, and piles of junk. After it was all cleared out, the area started to look much better.

A few weeks later, the entire block and all the remaining houses were tented for termites. All of the construction work, including the new paved roads and new sewer lines, was set to begin as soon as the building permits came through, which their contractor said should be any day now.

So, while they were waiting to start the work, Ruthie thought it would be the perfect time to bring her daddy over and show him what they were planning. She had hoped the cleanup would be finished by his birthday, and it was. She couldn’t wait to surprise him.

ATLANTA, GEORGIA

2016

BACK AT CALDWELL Circle, Martha Lee felt as though a very large brick wall had suddenly fallen on top of her. She had just received the most devastating news of her life. At the moment, she was in a dark room, stretched out on the divan, barely able to move from the sheer impact of it. From this day forward, her life, as she knew it, was over. How could she go on? What would be the point? As she lay there listening to her heart still pounding from the shock, she wondered if she had the courage to kill herself.

Not more than thirty minutes ago, she had received the final results from her 23andMe DNA test, which had revealed she was 70 percent English, 2 percent Irish, and 28 percent Chinese. Gerta, her social secretary, had done more research and discovered that, unfortunately, Martha’s male Lee ancestor had not been Duke Edmond James Lee, but a Chinese horticulturist named Henry Wong Lee, who had been hired to oversee the family estate. The portrait hanging in the living room, the one she had shown to all Atlanta, was of a woman she was not even related to.

After Martha read the results, she was so weak she was barely able to reach over and ring the small silver bell on the end table. As soon as Gerta heard the faint ding-ding of the bell, she hurried across the hall to the library. When she opened the door and saw Martha Lee’s ashen face, she was alarmed.

“Mrs. Caldwell, are you all right?”

Martha Lee looked over and said wistfully, “No, dear. I’ll never be all right again, as long as I live. Tell Cook to bring me a large glass of cold gin and a gun.”

“A gun? Oh, Mrs. Caldwell, I can’t do that. I’d be afraid to even pick up a gun. I just couldn’t. Why, you might hurt yourself.”

Martha sighed. “Oh, all right, then. Just bring the gin.”

—

SOMEHOW, MARTHA LEE survived the next few weeks without doing herself in. And today she even had a small glimmer of hope that maybe all was not lost after all. Gerta was now extremely busy tracing the history of all the Chinese dynasties, desperately looking for a connection with the Wong or Lee family to one of the ancient Manchu emperors. And, as she told Martha Lee, who knows? She might be able to find a direct line straight back to the Dowager Empress herself.

After Martha Lee had some time to calm down a bit, she realized this new revelation about her ancestry actually made some sense. She had always been partial to all things Far Eastern: art, rugs, furniture. And she did have the largest collection of Ming vases in Atlanta. And Dowager Empress…oh, she liked the sound of that.

And as she told Gerta, “One must follow one’s genes, don’t you think?”

Gerta agreed. She was 98 percent German, and she had loved beer all her life.

—

A MONTH LATER, just when Martha Lee was getting her spirits back, she was struck another blow. Her late husband’s lawyer, who handled all their financial affairs, came to the house and informed her that she was running out of money, and could no longer afford to keep her home. She was not happy to hear this.

“How long do I have before I will be forced to leave?”

“Six months at least.” He looked around the room, and said, “Of course, you could buy yourself a little more time here, Martha.”

“How?”

“You could sell some of your antiques. You have quite a collection. I imagine those vases could bring in a good amount.”

Martha Lee was indignant. “What? I couldn’t possibly sell my collection. These are not just antiques, Ronald.” Martha Lee waved her arm in the direction of the vases. “These are precious family heirlooms that go back in my family for over six centuries.”

“I see. Well then, Martha, you might want to start looking into Briarwood.”

WHISTLE STOP, ALABAMA

December 2016

BUD PICKED UP the phone and it was Ruthie.

“Hey, Daddy, how are you?”

“Well, hello there. Where are you?”

“Still in Birmingham.”

“Ah…still working away on your project?”

“Oh, yes. But I know someone who is having a birthday this Sunday.”

“Don’t remind me. I’m trying to forget it.”

“Listen, Daddy, do you think maybe your friend Lois could look after Mr. Virgil for a few days?”

“I’m sure she would, why?”

“Because I want you to come over to Birmingham for your birthday; I have something I want to show you. What if I pick you up at Briarwood Saturday morning, and then bring you back Monday morning? Will you do it?”

“Sure, sounds like fun.”

—

SATURDAY AFTERNOON, AFTER she and Bud arrived at Evelyn’s house and had visited a bit, Ruthie said, “Daddy, Evelyn and I have a surprise for you. We want to take you somewhere, but you have to promise to do exactly what we say.”

“Okay,” he said.

When they got to Evelyn’s car, Ruthie said, “Get in and don’t ask any questions.”

He laughed and got in and sat down.

“Now, Daddy, I’m going to tie this handkerchief over your eyes and you are not to take it off until we tell you to.”

“Am I being kidnapped?”

“Yes.”

He giggled. “Y’all are not driving me to the loony bin, are you?”

“No. You just behave, and you’ll see soon enough.”

—

AS THEY DROVE around Gate City and down the old one-lane gravel road, Ruthie was afraid he might guess where he was, but he didn’t.

Evelyn pulled up and parked right across the street from the cafe.

“Are we here?” Bud asked.

“Yes, but don’t you look until I tell you.” They both got out and helped him out of the car, then turned him around and faced him toward the cafe. Ruthie said, “Okay. You can look now.”

Bud smiled and pulled off the handkerchief and for a moment, he seemed to not know where he was.

“Daddy, it’s Whistle Stop! Look, there’s the old cafe and the beauty shop.”