Standing in the Rainbow - Fannie Flagg [128]
The young man started to push his papers back in his satchel. “Yes, ma’am, that’s true.”
“You’re too young to remember but I remember the day he died, in thirty-one. Everybody put their lights out for one minute. But then after that they forgot all about him. But I don’t forget him. Do you know what I do each year on Tom’s birthday?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I turn on everything I own, all my lights, my washing machine, my fans, my radio, my TV, and I let them play all day. And I say, Happy Birthday, Tom. Now, that is how highly I think of Mr. Thomas Edison.”
“Well, thank you for your time, ma’am.” He stood up, ready to leave.
“Let me ask you this . . . do they have a picture of Thomas Edison on the wall down at the Missouri Power and Light Company?”
“Not that I remember, ma’am.”
“See what I mean? Here none of them would even have a job if it hadn’t been for old Tom Edison and they don’t even put his picture up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He started inching toward the door.
“Am I all done? Is it over?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh . . . well, how’d I do?”
“You did just fine.”
“Above average?”
“I’d say above average.”
She got up. “Wait a minute, let me give you some figs and plums before you go.” She walked over and grabbed a wrinkled brown paper bag from a drawer and started to fill it with fresh fruit. “Now, I used this sack once, but it’s clean, so don’t you worry about germs and you don’t need to wash these. I don’t put any poison on them. I figure whatever bugs get to them first, they are welcome to them. Besides, they always leave me plenty . . . so much I can’t even find enough people to give them away to and I hate to have them go bad, don’t you? So I’m gonna put some extra ones in for your mother, O.K.?”
Dazed, he took the sack and headed for the door. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Well, that’s just fine . . . and I wish you all the best of luck with your project. But tell them they ought to put Tom Edison’s picture on the wall.”
“Yes, ma’am, I certainly will.” He was halfway down the back stairs when she came to the door. “Hey, I just thought of something I forgot . . . put down my electric blanket. Add that to my list, will you? And hey, you need to go over to Norma’s house and give her the test. She has all kinds of appliances. She’s two blocks over at 212 Second Avenue.” Then she added, “But don’t tell her I sent you. She’s still mad about that insurance woman.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, but he was not going to interview anybody related to her. They all might be crazy.
Chris-Crossed
EXCEPT FOR wearing shoes and the flower boutonnieres, all the prison trustees were certainly glad to be living in the governor’s mansion instead of jail and Cecil Figgs was as happy as a lark planning all the social events. But nobody on the governor’s staff was having a better time than his old friend Rodney Tillman. Being in charge of the governor’s public relations was quite a jump from used-car salesman, and he took full advantage of it. One afternoon Rodney came strolling into Hamm’s office looking like the cat who ate the canary, sat down, and casually said, “Hey, Hambo, how would you like to have a boat?”
Hamm looked up from his papers. “A boat? What kind of a boat?”
“A big boat.” He reached into his shirt pocket and threw a photograph of a brand-new thirty-five-foot Chris-Craft cabin cruiser on Hamm’s desk. Hamm picked it up and looked at it and smiled.
“You know I’ve always wanted a boat. Why?”
Rodney leaned in and said, “Because, ol’ buddy, I know a fellow that’s just dying to give you one just like that.”
“Give me one . . . what for?”
“He figured with all the stress you’re under that you need a place where you can go and relax, get away from it all. This boat he’s just dying to give you sleeps eight and can slip on down to Florida or the Bahamas for that matter, anytime you want to take a little