cleanse their souls in the faith of Abraham when all of a sudden his mother ran up, grabbed one of the snakes away from him, and looked it right in the face. She began babbling in the unknown tongue, the whole time staring into the snake's yellow eyes. Everybody in the room began to sway and moan. As she started to walk around the room with it, people began falling down on the floor, jerking and screaming and rolling around under the pews and up and down the aisles. The place was in a frenzy, while she babbled on . . . "HOSSA . . . HELAMNA . . . HESSAMIA . . .”
Before he knew what was happening, his little sister, Bernice, broke away from him, and ran up to her mother and pulled her by the hem of her dress.
"Momma, don't. . . !"
Still wild-eyed and in a trance, she glanced down at her child for one split second, and in that second the rattler lunged and struck the woman in the side of her face. She looked back at the snake, stunned, and he struck again, fast and hard this time, striking her in the neck, the fangs puncturing her jugular vein. She dropped the angry serpent with a thud, and it crawled contemptuously away down the aisle.
His mother looked around the room that was now as silent as death, with a surprised look on her face, and as her eyes glazed over, she sank slowly to the floor. She was dead in less than a minute.
In that moment, his uncle had picked up Smokey and was headed out the door. Bernice went to live with a neighbor, and Smokey stayed at his uncle's house. Then, when he was thirteen, he headed down the railroad tracks toward nowhere, and never came back.
The only thing he took with him was a photograph of his sister. He would take it out every once in awhile. There they were in the fading photograph, with their lips and cheeks painted pink: a little chubby girl with bangs and a pink ribbon tied around her head, wearing a tiny string of pearls; and he sat just behind her, his brown hair slicked down, his cheek pressed close to hers.
He often wondered how Bernice was doing and thought he'd look her up one of these days, if he ever got back on his feet.
When he was about twenty or so, he lost the picture when some railroad bull detective kicked him off a freight, into a cold, yellow river somewhere in Georgia, and now he hardly ever thought about her; except when he happened to be on a train, passing through the Smoky Mountains at night, on his way to somewhere else . . .
This morning, Smokey Phillips was on a mixed train from Georgia, headed for Florida. He had not eaten anything for two days and remembered that his friend Elmo Williams had told him there were two women running a place right outside of Birmingham who were always good for a meal or two. On the way down he'd seen the name of the cafe written on the walls of several boxcars, so when he saw the sign WHISTLE STOP, ALABAMA, he jumped off.
He found the place across the tracks, just like Elmo had said. It was a small green building with a green-and-white awning under a Coca-Cola sign that said THE WISTLE STOP CAFE. He went around the back and knocked on the screen door. A little black woman was busy frying chicken and slicing green tomatoes. She glanced at him and called out, "Miz Idgie!"
Pretty soon, a good-looking, tall blonde with freckles and curly hair came to the door, wearing a clean white shirt and men's trousers. She looked to be in her early twenties.
He took off his hat. "Excuse me, ma'am, I was wondering if you had an odd job, or something I might do. I've had a run of some bad luck, lately."
Idgie looked at the man in the worn-out dirty jacket, frayed brown shirt, and cracked leather laceless shoes and knew he wasn't lying.
She opened the door and said, "Come on in, fella. I think we can find something for you." Idgie asked what his name was. "Smokey, ma'am."
She turned to the woman behind the counter. Smokey hadn't seen a neat and clean woman in months, and this one was the prettiest woman he had seen in his entire
Before he knew what was happening, his little sister, Bernice, broke away from him, and ran up to her mother and pulled her by the hem of her dress.
"Momma, don't. . . !"
Still wild-eyed and in a trance, she glanced down at her child for one split second, and in that second the rattler lunged and struck the woman in the side of her face. She looked back at the snake, stunned, and he struck again, fast and hard this time, striking her in the neck, the fangs puncturing her jugular vein. She dropped the angry serpent with a thud, and it crawled contemptuously away down the aisle.
His mother looked around the room that was now as silent as death, with a surprised look on her face, and as her eyes glazed over, she sank slowly to the floor. She was dead in less than a minute.
In that moment, his uncle had picked up Smokey and was headed out the door. Bernice went to live with a neighbor, and Smokey stayed at his uncle's house. Then, when he was thirteen, he headed down the railroad tracks toward nowhere, and never came back.
The only thing he took with him was a photograph of his sister. He would take it out every once in awhile. There they were in the fading photograph, with their lips and cheeks painted pink: a little chubby girl with bangs and a pink ribbon tied around her head, wearing a tiny string of pearls; and he sat just behind her, his brown hair slicked down, his cheek pressed close to hers.
He often wondered how Bernice was doing and thought he'd look her up one of these days, if he ever got back on his feet.
When he was about twenty or so, he lost the picture when some railroad bull detective kicked him off a freight, into a cold, yellow river somewhere in Georgia, and now he hardly ever thought about her; except when he happened to be on a train, passing through the Smoky Mountains at night, on his way to somewhere else . . .
This morning, Smokey Phillips was on a mixed train from Georgia, headed for Florida. He had not eaten anything for two days and remembered that his friend Elmo Williams had told him there were two women running a place right outside of Birmingham who were always good for a meal or two. On the way down he'd seen the name of the cafe written on the walls of several boxcars, so when he saw the sign WHISTLE STOP, ALABAMA, he jumped off.
He found the place across the tracks, just like Elmo had said. It was a small green building with a green-and-white awning under a Coca-Cola sign that said THE WISTLE STOP CAFE. He went around the back and knocked on the screen door. A little black woman was busy frying chicken and slicing green tomatoes. She glanced at him and called out, "Miz Idgie!"
Pretty soon, a good-looking, tall blonde with freckles and curly hair came to the door, wearing a clean white shirt and men's trousers. She looked to be in her early twenties.
He took off his hat. "Excuse me, ma'am, I was wondering if you had an odd job, or something I might do. I've had a run of some bad luck, lately."
Idgie looked at the man in the worn-out dirty jacket, frayed brown shirt, and cracked leather laceless shoes and knew he wasn't lying.
She opened the door and said, "Come on in, fella. I think we can find something for you." Idgie asked what his name was. "Smokey, ma'am."
She turned to the woman behind the counter. Smokey hadn't seen a neat and clean woman in months, and this one was the prettiest woman he had seen in his entire
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