Daisy Fay and the Miracle Man: A Novel

by Fannie Flagg

  They went outside and screamed at each other for a while and then Daddy brought me some orange juice, which I threw up. I don’t know why he always brings me orange juice when I’m upset. I hate orange juice. I would rather have a malt. Daddy told me he had talked it over with Mother and she was right. Roy Grimmett was a liar. Roy said those things just to be a big shot. I knew it.

  CREEP … CREEP … CREEP … SNAKE SHIT … CREEP.

  September 6, 1952

  I got a letter from Roy Grimmett today, telling me he was sorry he lied to me and that Edna had too been married. As a matter of fact, her dead husband was a war hero, like Jimmy Snow. So there. I’ll bet it killed him to have to write that letter. I still hate him and on top of that, he writes just like my mother, real little with curlycues. I write exactly like my daddy. We have the same color of blue eyes and the same color hair. We could be identical twins if we were the same age.

  Momma says I am beginning to act more and more like him every day in every way. I was sweet when I was little, but when Daddy came home from the war, he played too rough with me and turned me into a tomboy. What’s so bad about that? I can’t stand sissy girls for nothing. The initials K.B.B. come to my mind.

  School doesn’t start until the middle of September because most of the kids that go to school at Magnolia Springs live on potato farms and have to help pick potatoes. Just think, I’ll be socializing with shrimpers’ daughters and potato farmers.

  Mr. Romeo said Shell Beach is deserted after Labor Day. I can’t wait. I am tired of tourists with mean children. Speaking of mean, I am so mad at Felix I don’t know what to do. She chewed all the yellow fringe off the sweetheart pillow that Jessie LeGore left me. My one and only inheritance is ruined. I guess she is just bored.

  Daddy and I are excited because the Big Speckled Trout Rodeo Contest is next week and he and I are going to enter and we are going to win. I know that for a fact.

  Daddy already bought the winning fish off of Harvey Underwood a month ago and put it in the freezer. He told Momma it was a fish, he was going to stuff later on this year. It weighs twelve pounds and two ounces. I don’t see how anybody could catch a fish bigger than that. The all-time record holder weighed thirteen pounds and that was six years ago. Our chances are excellent!

  The person, us, who catches the biggest speckled trout during three days of fishing wins first prize and first prize is an Evinrude outboard motor, valued at $146.90 and second prize is a Ply-Flex fishing rod valued at $36. Now all we need is a boat to go with it!

  September 13, 1952

  Boy, wait till you hear this. I have some top-secret information about Kay Bob Benson. Momma and Mrs. Romeo get together every day for coffee and talk, talk, talk. Today I just happened to be under the window when Mrs. Romeo told Momma that the reason Kay Bob Benson’s mother spoils her so bad is because she is a special-order child.

  When Mrs. Benson was forty years old and hadn’t had a baby yet, she went to the doctor and found out she was fine and that something was the matter with Mr. Benson. She didn’t have the nerve to tell him so, Mrs. Romeo said, Kay Bob Benson is an artificial incinerator child that Mrs. Benson got from a doctor in New Orleans! Since Mr. Benson has prostate trouble and she can’t get another one without Mr. Benson being suspicious, Kay Bob is the only child she will ever have.

  Mrs. Romeo was getting ready to tell Momma about some woman that Mrs. Dot’s husband was running around with, but she slammed the window down before I could hear any more. Ha! I knew there was something funny about Kay Bob Benson!

  September 15, 1952

  Tomorrow is the last day of the Speckled Trout Rodeo and everything is going just as Daddy and I planned. We went down to the Speckled Trout Rodeo Headquarters the first day and registered early in the morning and headed on up to our spot on the river. Daddy made a big show of how he didn’t expect to win, but thought it would be fun for his little girl since he had been so busy all summer and hadn’t had a chance to spend any time with her. He made me paddle up and down the river for a while every day so people could see us fishing.

  Then every day we went and napped and didn’t even fish at all. I took my Red Ryder BB gun and shot at snakes. I ate candy and Daddy drank his beer and told me war stories. At five o’clock we would go back to the Speckled Trout Rodeo Headquarters at the live bait shop. Daddy would say, “Well, no luck today. Those fish just aren’t biting,” and act real disappointed to throw them off the track.

  I got to wave at the crippled girl, Betty Caldwell, the first day we were there. She said, “Hey, Fay, how are you?”

  I said, “Fine.” Then her mother marched down to where we were and handed me the oyster ashtray that I’d sent Betty and told me she’d thank me not to send any more ashtrays because they don’t drink or smoke and turned around and left. She could have used it for bobby pins or something. Bette Davis smokes. I don’t see anything wrong with it.

  While I was shooting my BB gun killing time, Daddy told me all about when he met Momma and how they would go out to the roadhouses and have fun. They went to one called the Silver Slipper and one called the Casa Loma and one called the Dew Drop Inn. Daddy’s story of their romance is different than Momma’s. He made it sound like she was after him to get married, but I know better. Daddy said he could have had any girl in Jackson, but he chose Momma because she was so shy. He went to pick her up one afternoon to take her on a date in his blue DeSoto convertible and didn’t know she had burned her legs on the seat until she started to cry. She was too much of a lady to say anything. I know my momma is a lady. Everybody says so, but I don’t think she is shy anymore.

  We are going to take the winning speckled trout out of the freezer tonight before we go to bed so it will be good and thawed for tomorrow.

  September 18, 1952

  That trout was still frozen stiff as a board when we took it out of the freezer. So Daddy put it in a pan of boiling water and locked it in the trunk of the car. When we got up to the Speckled Trout Rodeo Headquarters, Daddy carried on some more how he had not caught one fish and how he hoped he caught something today. What kind of fisherman would his little girl think he was? We rowed up and down the river long enough for everyone to see us, just as we always did. Then we went back up to our spot and waited for that trout to thaw out. Daddy sure got his money’s worth when he bought those freezers. About two o’clock in the afternoon the trout finally thawed, but putting it in the hot water had turned his eyes all cloudy. It didn’t look like a fresh fish to me. Daddy didn’t think so either and started cussing. Then he got an idea.

  He said, “Don’t move from this spot. If anybody comes up here, tell them I have gone to the bathroom.” I sat there and waited and I tell you nothing smells worse than a dead trout.

  About an hour later he came sneaking through the bushes and nearly scared me half to death. He had me drag the fish up to the bushes where he’d brought his whole taxidermy kit, right down to the artificial eyes, and some airplane glue. It took us forever, but we found some trout eyes. They were a little too big and the wrong color, but he said he didn’t think the judges would notice. He cut the real eyes out of that trout and glued those plastic eyes in their place. We sat there and blew on them so they’d dry and at about four o’clock that fish started to look pretty good. The glue had dried funny, but Daddy said it made it appear like the trout had died terrified. I told you my daddy likes to see the bright side of things.

  We were just getting ready to go when some old country man came by in a boat and saw us and yelled out, “I heard Emmet Weaverly caught a thirteen-pounder this morning.” Our trout was only twelve pounds and two ounces. I thought Daddy was going to be sick. But he’s a quick thinker. He grabbed my box of BBs and stuffed every one of them down that trout’s throat. By the time we got to the headquarters, everyone had weighed in but us.

  So far the winner was Emmet Weaverly’s fish that weighed twelve pounds and eight ounces, not thirteen like that man had said.

  When Daddy got
in the room, do you know what he did? He handed me that trout and said, “Hey, folks, look what my little girl just caught.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I said, “Oh, no, Daddy. You’re the one who really caught it.”

  He said, “No, honey, you caught it. Run up there and have it weighed.”

  If looks could kill, he’d be deader than that fish with the plastic eyes. I knew what he was doing. He was acting like he really caught it, but he was letting his little girl get all the glory. I tried to hand it back to him, but by then everybody thought the idea was so cute they pushed me up to where the scales were. I put the fish down on the scales very carefully. I didn’t want those plastic eyes making a noise if they hit anything.

  Our trout weighed twelve pounds and nine ounces. I did some fast figuring in my head; that was seven ounces of BBs. Everybody started applauding and saying, “Bill Harper’s little girl won.” I looked around and there was Daddy, smiling, getting patted on the back, taking all the credit. Just then Mrs. Dot ran over and grabbed and kissed me and said how proud she was that a Jr. Debutante had won first prize and to come and have my picture taken for the paper.

  I never took my eyes off the trout. Just as a judge was about to pick it up, I grabbed it in the nick of time. The official Speckled Trout Rodeo photographer started posing me for the picture for the paper. They said for me to hold it up by the tail and smile real big. It was hard to smile because if one of those plastic eyes fell out on the floor and they found out that fish had been dead for a month, I would go to jail. Mrs. Dot would die if one of her Jr. Debutantes became a jailbird. The more I thought about it, the worse it got. My heart started pounding and my lips began to tremble. I couldn’t smile if my life depended on it. They made me stand there longer and said, “We’re not going to let you go until you give us a big smile. So smile big, honey.” My hands started to shake and that trout was shaking like crazy, too. I just knew those eyes were going to fall out. One had slipped a little anyway, but I needn’t have worried about the eyes because at that moment the BBs started coming out of that trout’s mouth one by one all over the floor. I was in a cold sweat, but you never saw anybody smile as big as I did.

  I knew they had to get that picture fast! Mrs. Dot said, “Oh, look she caught a female fish, it’s just full of caviar!” I sure was glad she didn’t know the difference between BBs and caviar. Thank goodness Daddy came over and grabbed the fish out of my hand and turned it right side up and said, “I’m taking this trout home and stuffing it to make it into a trophy to donate to the Speckled Trout Rodeo as a gift.” Everybody thought that was a fine idea, especially me. He said he had to get it home right away before the trout went bad.

  Momma was waiting up for us. Daddy said, “Look what Daisy caught,” and didn’t even give her time to look at it good before he threw it back in the freezer. He told Momma not to open the freezer until at least twenty-four hours because it would ruin the trout if she did. She believed him. She was so proud of me for winning, it was all worth it.

  Daddy won’t have a hard time stuffing that fish. He’s already got the eyes in.

  You should have seen that picture they took of me. The first time I have my picture in the paper and I look awful, not like Celeste Holm at all. In the “Dashes from Dot” column, Mrs. Dot said, “Jr. Debutante Daisy Fay Harper is the champion fishing woman,” and then she devoted the rest of the column to discussing the rules of etiquette for men and women while fishing. Did you know that a lady never baits her own hook?

  My daddy has the outboard motor in the shack out by the side of the malt shop. He doesn’t have a boat yet, so I don’t know what good it is doing him. Momma and I want him to sell it. We need the money for the payment on the malt shop, but Daddy says as soon as he starts stuffing his animals, he will have enough money to pay the note and buy a boat besides. Not one word about a pony. He’s already started stuffing the electric eel.

  Mr. Romeo was right about this place being deserted after Labor Day. There is not a single person down here anymore and most everybody has left for the winter except Michael and myself and the shrimpers’ daughters. Kay Bob Benson has gone to visit her grandparents and to get another doll out of them, I guess.

  September 21, 1952

  Momma and Daddy went deep-sea fishing with Mr. and Mrs. Dot today, but I stayed home because they were afraid I would throw the fish back.

  I was playing around by myself up by the highway when I saw a car parked a block up the road and there were two people in it, kissing and carrying on in broad daylight. Puke!

  About an hour later they drove up to the malt shop and I went over to tell them we were closed. When I got there, guess who was in that car? CLAUDE PISTAL!!!! I almost fainted. He asked me where my momma and daddy were and I told him that they were right up the road and would be back any minute, which was a lie, they weren’t coming back until six, but he must have forgotten he hated me because he asked me if I would let his friend Ruby use our bathroom. No wonder she had to go to the bathroom, that car was full of empty Jax beer cans.

  When I helped her around the side of the malt shop and showed her the bathroom, she asked, “Whose little boy are you?”

  I said, “I am a little girl” … she must have been really loaded, I have a ponytail and everything. She has long brown hair and isn’t bad-looking, but she must be pretty hard up to go out with someone as ugly as Claude Pistal.

  After she finished with the bathroom, she decided to comb her hair and put on some lipstick. I figure she’s pretty rich because she had on the biggest, reddest ruby ring I have ever seen. I asked her if it was a real ruby and she said it was. She told me her name was Ruby Bates and she has a twin sister named Opal. Her daddy had given her that ruby ring and gave Opal a big opal ring when they were both twenty-one. Then she started crying over her daddy and said he had been the sweetest man that ever lived. I didn’t know what to say, but she must be a little crazy because she stopped crying just as fast as she started. She did a terrible job of combing her hair and put her lipstick on all crooked. My mother applies her makeup perfectly.

  Ruby asked me what my name was and I told her Daisy Fay Harper. She acted as though that was the funniest name she had ever heard and about laughed her head off. I told her it wasn’t my fault that I was named after a vase of flowers that happened to be in my mother’s room. I didn’t have anything to do with it. When I got her back to the car, I told her, “Nice to meet you,” and took off. I wasn’t taking any chances with Claude Pistal. Now that I think about it I don’t think being named after a vase of flowers is any funnier than being named after a ring!

  September 22, 1952

  Jimmy Snow came down to see us and Daddy had to tell him that he didn’t have his half of the payment on the malt shop. Jimmy said that was OK, he didn’t have his half either. He is a great guy. Momma is worried to death, but Daddy said he would figure out something.

  He is busy stuffing that electric eel, but it has lumps all over it. Momma wants to know who in the world is going to buy an electric eel anyway. If Daddy can’t get the eel right, he will start on the flamingo.

  That preacher Billy Bundy came down and tried to sell Momma a religious sewing machine. Daddy asked Billy what made that sewing machine so religious and Billy said, “Because if you buy one, God will bless you.” He’s sold a lot of them over the radio, but Momma didn’t want one and we can’t afford it anyway.

  Last week was the last meeting of the Jr. Debutantes for the season, and Mrs. Dot put in her “Dashes from Dot” column that an hour of Mexican folk dancing led by Corky King of the Corky King School of Dancing was enjoyed by all. This is false reporting. I didn’t enjoy it one bit. Kay Bob Benson thought it was the grandest thing in the world. She claims she is Corky King’s best student and that Corky King told her she could be a professional dancer when she grows up.

  Do you know what Kay Bob Benson called me when I accidentally stepped in the middle of that big hat we were dancing on? A beach rat! I didn’t
say anything, but she was walking on a thin line. I could have called her an artificial incinerator, but I didn’t. And as far as that stupid hat dance goes, what good is learning a foreign dance? Just how many times do you think we’ll be going to Mexico anyway? Besides, I hate anything Spanish, especially Spanish mackerel. Momma and Daddy caught about 300 Spanish mackerel when they went deep-sea fishing. If I eat one more, I’ll throw up.

  I’m glad it was the last meeting. All Mrs. Dot does anymore is talk about when she was a girl. She has told us the story of her coming-out party in Memphis at least ten times. I always enjoy it, but the rest of the Jr. Debutantes are mean and laugh at her behind her back. When Momma and Daddy went fishing with Mrs. Dot and her husband, all Mr. Dot did was make fun of her all day until she started to cry. He’s a jerk. She must be getting pretty upset because at the last meeting she didn’t even have a thought for the day for us. She just told how happy she had been when she was a young girl, without a care in the world and going to party after party with so many nice young men. Then she looked at us kind of sad like and said “I wish someone could take all those days, hours and minutes and put them in an envelope and slip them back under my door.”

  September 30, 1952

  School has started and am I glad. All Momma and Daddy do is Fight Fight Fight … I usually don’t like school, but I am crazy about my teacher. Her name is Mrs. Sybil Underwood and she is beautiful, a real Gene Tierney type. And guess what? She is related by marriage to Mr. Roy Underwood, who raised the chicken with the ten toes.

  The schoolwork is easy compared to the school I came from. These potato farmer children aren’t as smart as the fifth grade in Jackson. I won’t even have to do homework, but I am having a very hard time with shyness. Mrs. Underwood winked at me once and I turned so red that I had to put my head down on the desk. It’s terrible to have light skin that shows when you blush. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. If she calls on me to read out loud, I think I will die.