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Underpromise; overdeliver.

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Zastava 44°49′N - 20°29′E
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Apple iPhone 6s
Chapter 11

   Wellsir, Gretchen an me caught a train back to Oogamooga or whatever it is that we lived, an when I got to the post, a surprise was in store for me. The post commander done took me off tank tread cleanin duty an put me on permanent latrine duty, right out of No Time for Sergeants.
   He is furious because, as he say, what I have done is probably put him out of a job.
   “Gump, you moron,” shouts the post commander, “do you realize what has happened because of your screw-ups? The Germans have torn down their wall and now everbody’s talkin about the end of communism!
   “Just look at what The New York Times has to say about this!” he hollers, and hands me the paper.
   Dimwit Secures End of Cold War, says the headline.





   What was apparently an accidental football punting mistake has led to what some experts believe will be the end of the nearly fifty-year-long breach between the East and West.
   Sources told the Times that a U.S. Army private named Forrest Gump allegedly miskicked a football during an interservice playoff game in Germany, yesterday, which sailed across the Berlin Wall and landed in midfield on East German territory during the final seconds of the World Cup soccer match between East Germany and the Soviet Union.
   The sources said that Mr. Gump then scaled the wall to retrieve the errant football, which had by that time created a disturbance in the soccer match. Irate soccer fans, estimated at 85,000 to 100,000 strong, then proceeded to chase Mr. Gump, with the apparent intention of doing him bodily harm.
   Mr. Gump, who has been described as mentally retarded, fled back to the wall and began to climb over into West German territory. Sources said the soccer fans, in their efforts to apprehend Mr. Gump, pursued him across the wall and in the process began to dismantle the barrier which has stood as a symbol of Communist oppression for several decades.
   Subsequently, joyous Berliners of all political persuasions joined hands in tearing down the wall and ultimately held what sources described as “the world’s largest free-floating street party and beer bash.”
   In the confusion, Mr. Gump apparently escaped unharmed.
   The final score of the East Berlin-Soviet Union soccer match was a 3 to 3 tie. The score of the American football game at the time of its disruption was not immediately available.


   “Gump, you numbnuts,” the post commander says, “we got no more communism, we got no more reason to be here! Even the goddamn Russians are talkin about givin up communism! Who in hell are we gonna fight if we ain’t got the communists to fight? You have rendered this whole army superfluous! Now they will send our asses home to some godforsaken post in Palookaville and we will lose the best duty we could of dreamed of, which is right here in a quaint village in the German Alps! Gump, you have destroyed a soldier’s dream—you must be out of your mind!”
   He goes on like that for a while, poundin on his desk an thowin shit around the headquarters, but I get the drift of what his argument is, an it ain’t doin much good to argue with it. Anyway, I gone on down to the latrine an assumed my new duties, which is to constantly scrub ever tile with a toothbrush an some bathroom cleanser. Sergeant Kranz, for his association with me, is given the task of wipin up behind me with Spic and Span, an he is none too happy about that, neither.
   “We never had it so good, cleanin them tank treads” is the way he puts it.
   Once a week, on Sundays, I get a pass to go into town, but the post commander have ordered two MPs to escort me everwhere I go, an to not let me out of their sight. This, of course, makes it somewhat hard for me to have a decent relationship with Gretchen, but we done the best we could. It was now generally too cold to go on picnics up in the mountains, as the Alps become chilly in the winter. Most of the time, we gone into the beer hall an set at a table an just held hands while the MPs was glarin at us from nearby.
   Gretchen is really a nice person, an does not wish to spend the rest of her life as a beer maid, but she don’t know what else to do. She is very beautiful, but say she thinks life’s done pretty much passed her by.
   “I am too old to be a model,” she says, “und too young to give up on everything else. Maybe I’ll go to university. I want to make something of myself.”
   “Yeah,” I says, “that would be good. I went to the university once.”
   “Ja, Forrest? Und what did you study?”
   “Football,” I says.
   “Ach!”

   Good things, as my mama Gump used to say, are not meant to last forever, an this was no exception.
   It wadn’t before too long when the post commander called us all to the parade ground, an made an announcement.
   “Men, there is the good news and the bad news.”
   At this, they was some low mumblin from the troops.
   “The bad news,” he says, “is for those of you cowards who are just drawin your pay and do not wish to perform your duties as soldiers.”
   They was some more mumblin.
   “The good news is, for those of you who wish to start killin an dyin—which, if you din’t know, is your bidness—you are gonna be afforded ever opportunity—thanks to some sombitch called Saddamn Hussein, who is the A-rab in charge of Iraq, an who has now started a war with our own commander-in-chief, the United States of America President George Herbert Walker Bush.”
   At this, some of the mumblin turned to cheerin.
   “And,” the commander says, “we are all gonna go over to Iraq an whip his heathen ass!”
   So that’s what we did.

   The night before we left I got a pass to go see Gretchen for a last time. She has just saved up enough money to enter the university, an in fact is takin her first classes. I waited outside the schoolroom for her to come out.
   “Oh, Forrest,” she says, “it is so wonderful! I am studying English!”
   We helt hands an walked for a while, an then I tole her what was goin on. She didn’t scream or carry on or nothin, she just hugged my arm tighter an said she figgered this kind of thing would happen one day.
   “All my life,” Gretchen says, “I have learned not to depend on good things happening, but I still always hope they will. One day you will come back, ja?”
   “Ja,” I tole her, but I didn’t know if it was the truth or not. After all, things don’t seem to work out too good in my life, neither.
   “When you come back,” Gretchen says, “I will be speaking English as well as you.”
   “Ja,” I says.

   Anyhow, next mornin we left Germany.
   First, we loaded up all our stuff, which was tanks an self-propelled guns an things, an flowed off to Saudi Arabia. When we arrived there, our division was eighteen thousan strong. Added to the rest of our army, we is about a million against twice as many A-rabs, which our leader, General Norman Scheisskopf, says should make for a fair fight.
   Saddamn an his A-rab army are occupyin the little country of Kuwait, which was known mostly for havin a bunch of awl wells. Matter of fact, they was enough awl in Kuwait to run the entire United States of America for ten years—which I spose was why we is here. We is fixin to thow them out, so’s we can keep the awl.
   The one thing that stood out in my mind about Saudi Arabia was sand an dust. They was mountains of sand an dust everwhere we went. Got in your eyes an ears an nose an clothes, an soon as you’d wash it out, more dust an sand would come along. Somebody says the army have trucked in the dust an sand just so’s we would not get to feelin too comfortable before we had to fight Saddamn Hussein.
   Since there is no latrine here except a hole in the ground, Sergeant Kranz an me have been returned to our duty cleanin tank treads, although this time it is not mud, but sand an dust we have to get out. Everday me an the sergeant be whiskin out the treads, which of course are just as dirty in five minutes than they ever were.
   Anyway, one day we all get some time off an go into town.
   The men are unhappy account of in Saudi Arabia they is virtually no whisky or women. In fact, whisky an women is against the law—well, whisky is anyway, an women might as well be, account of they run aroun inside big ole cloaks so’s you can’t see nothin but they eyes. The A-rab men wear them cloaks, too, an most of em have on them little shoes with toes that curl up at the ends. Somebody says that is because when they is out in the desert an gotta take a shit, they can grap ahold of the ends of the shoes when they bend over an it keeps them on balance. Whatever.
   Anyhow, I am figgerin that long as I am here in the bazaar, I might as well send another present to little Forrest so’s he don’t think I have dropped off the edge of the earth. I gone into one of the shops an am lookin around at all the shit when the shopkeeper come up an ast what I want. I tole him a present for my son, an his eyes lighted up. He disappeared behind a ole curtin to the back of the store an reappear with a dusty wood box, which he laid out on the counter. When he open it up, I see inside a big shiny knife.
   The shopkeeper very carefully run his fingers over the handle of the knife, which is black wood with a bunch of jewels set into it. It is a curved knife, with a fat blade that is inscribed with all sorts of fancy Arab writin.
   “This was the dirk that our great liberator, Saladin the Magnificent, wore when he defeated the European crusaders in the twelfth century!” says the shopkeeper. “It is priceless!”
   “Yeah?” I says. “So how do I know how much it cost?”
   “For you,” he says, “nineteen ninety-five.”
   So I gone on an bought it, thinkin there must be a catch—like maybe the note I wanted to send with it was gonna be a thousan bucks, but it wadn’t. In fact, the feller says he will ship it to the U.S. free of charge. I figgered you can’t beat that, an wrote little Forrest, tellin him the history of the knife that the shopkeeper tole me, an I warned him it was so sharp it would cut paper, so not to be rubbin his fingers on it. I just knew he was gonna go bananas when he got it.

   Meantime, me an the guys continued walkin down the streets, everbody sort of grousin since they is really nothin to do but buy souvenirs an drink coffee. We gone down a bunch of dark ole alleys, where folks are sellin everthin from bananas to Band-Aids, when I seen somethin that sort of makes me stop. They is a little sunshade laid out with poles in the dirt, an under it is a feller drinkin from a big ole jar of Kool-Aid, an playin a hurdy-gurdy. I can’t see his face right away, but on the end of a rope he is holdin there is a big ole orangutang that looks pretty familiar. The orangutang is doin dances, an the man has a tin cup on the ground in front of him an, basically, he is a beggar.
   I walked up closer, an the orangutang kind of looks at me funny for a second an then jumped up into my arms. It weighs so much, it knocked me flat on the ground, an when I looked up, I am starin into the face of ole Sue, from the good ole days when I was a spaceman back in New Guinea. Sue be clackin his teeth an givin me big ole slobbery kisses an chatterin an whimperin.
   “Take your hands off that ape,” a voice says, an guess what? I looked over under the little sunshade an who do I see settin there but good ole Lieutenant Dan! I was so surprised, I like to of fainted.
   “Great God!” says Lieutenant Dan. “Is that you, Gump?”
   “Yessir,” I says. “I reckon it is.”
   “What in hell are you doing here?” he says.
   “I reckon I could ast you that same question” was my reply.

   Lieutenant Dan, he is lookin a good deal healthier than the last time I seen him. That was even after Colonel North got him put in the Walter Reed Army Hospital. They has somehow got rid of his cough an he has put on weight an there is a luster to his eyes that was not there before.
   “Well, Gump,” he says, “I read in the newspapers you ain’t wasted no time stayin in the doghouse. You done tricked the Ayatolja, got thowed in jail for contemptin the Congress, caused a riot down at some religious theme park, got arrested an put on trial for swindling millions of people, was responsible for the greatest single maritime environmental disaster of the world, an somehow managed to put an end to communism in Europe. All in all, I’d say you’ve had a fair few years.”
   “Yup,” I says, “that’s about the size of it.”
   All the while, Lieutenant Dan has been tryin to improve hissef. At first he done almost give up when he got to Walter Reed, but the doctors finally persuaded him he had a few more good years left. He got his army pension bidness straightened out, an so he don’t quite have to live from hand to mouth anymore. He traveled around for a while, mostly on military aircraft, which the pension entitles him to do, an which is also how he got here to Saudi Arabia.
   One time a while back, he says, he was in New Orleans, just to take in the sights from the days when we lived there an to get him some good oysters on the half shell. He says that unlike most places, it ain’t changed a whole lot. One day he was settin in Jackson Square, where I used to play my one-man band, when lo an behole, along comes a ape that he recognized as Sue. Sue had been supportin hissef by kinda taggin along behind the fellers that was singin or dancin for money in the streets, an had learned to do a little dance hissef. Then, when everbody done thowed enough money in the tin cups, Sue would grap what he thought was his share an haul ass.
   Anyhow, the two of them teamed up, an Sue would push Dan around town in a little grocery cart, account of his artificial legs still bothered him pretty much, although he still carries them around.
   “If I need em, I’ll put em on,” Dan says, “but frankly it’s easier just sittin on my ass.”
   “I still don’t understand why you is here,” I says.
   “Cause it’s a war goin on, Forrest. My family ain’t missed a war in nine generations, an I ain’t gonna be the one to change that record.”
   Lieutenant Dan says he knows he is technically unfit for military service, but he is sort of hangin around, waitin for his chance to do somethin useful.
   When he finds out I’m with a mechanized armored outfit, he is overjoyed.
   “That’s just what I need—transportation! Legs or no legs, I can kill A-rabs good as anybody else” is how he puts it.
   Anyway, we gone over to the Casbah, or whatever they call it, an got Sue a banana, an me an Lieutenant Dan ate soup that had toad larva or somethin in it. “Y’know,” he says, “I sure wish these A-rabs had some oysters, but I bet there ain’t one within a thousand miles of here.”
   “What?” I ast. “A-rabs?”
   “No, you stupo, oysters,” says Dan.
   In any case, by the end of the afternoon Dan had talked me into takin him back to my tank company. Before I took him in the compound, I gone to the quartermaster an drawn two more sets of fatigue uniforms, one for Dan an one for Sue. I am figgerin it might take some explainin about ole Sue, but that we would give it a try, anyhow.

   As it turned out, nobody much give a shit that Lieutenant Dan has joined us. In fact, some fellers are glad to have him around, since besides Sergeant Kranz an me, he is the only other person in our outfit to have had any real combat experience. Whenever he is in public, Dan now wears the artificial legs, just suckin it up when they hurt him. Says it ain’t military to go crawlin around or ridin in a cart. Also, most of the fellers taken a shine to Sue, who has turned into quite a scrounger. Whatever we need to have to steal from somebody else, Sue is the man for the job.
   Ever night we set out in front of our tent an watch the Scud missiles that Saddamn Hussein is shooting at us. Most of the time, they is blowed up in the air by our own missiles, an it is all like a big fireworks show, with occasional accidents.
   One day the battalion commander come around an call us all together.
   “Arright, men,” he says. “Tomorrow we gonna saddle up. At dawn, all our jet planes an missiles an artillery an everthin else in our grab bag gonna open up on the A-rabs. Then our asses is gonna hit em so hard in our tanks they will think ole Allah himself has come back to do them in. So get some rest. You gonna be needin it for the next few days.”
   That night I walked out away from camp a little bit, right to the edge of the desert. I have never seen a sky so clear as over the desert—seemed like every star in the heaven was shinin brighter than ever before. I begun to say a little prayer that nothin would happen to me in the battle, cause for the first time in my life, I got a responsibility to take care of.
   That day, I had got a letter from Mrs. Curran, sayin she was gettin too ole an sick to take care of little Forrest. She says she is gonna have to go in the rest home pretty soon, an she is puttin her house up for sale, account of the rest home won’t take her unless she’s dead broke. Little Forrest, she says, “is gonna have to go live with the state or somethin, until I can figger out what else to do.” He is just startin to be a teenager, she says, an is a fine-lookin boy, but is kind of wild sometimes. She say he makes some extra money on weekends by thumbin over to the casinos in Mississippi an countin cards at the blackjack tables, but that most of the casinos done kicked him out, account of he is so smart he can beat them at their own game.
   “I really feel sorry about this,” Mrs. Curran writes, “but there’s nothing else I can do. I’m sure you’ll come home soon, Forrest, and everything will be okay.”
   Well, I feel pretty sorry for Mrs. Curran, too. She done all she could. But my heart don’t feel good that I can do anythin to help, even if I do get home in one piece. I mean, look at my record so far. Anyway, I am thinkin about all this when all of a sudden from out of the desert, a kind of whirlwind comes blowin up toward me. It whirled an blew under the clear desert stars, an then, before I knowed it, there was Jenny, shimmerin in the sand an wind. I am so glad to see her after all this time, I am about to bust.
   “Well,” she says, “looks like you’ve done it again, huh?”
   “Done what?”
   “Got your ass in a sling. Aren’t you gonna go out an fight the A-rabs tomorrow?”
   “Yup, that’s what the orders are.”
   “What if something happens to you?”
   “What happens, happens,” I said.
   “And little Forrest?”
   “I been thinkin about that.”
   “Yeah, I know. But you don’t have any plan, do you?”
   “Not yet. I gotta get outta this mess, first.”
   “I know that, too. And I can’t tell you what’s gonna happen, cause it’s against the rules. But I will tell you one thing, though. Stick with Lieutenant Dan. And listen to him. Listen real carefully.”
   “Oh, I will,” I says. “He is the best combat leader there is.”
   “Well, just pay attention to him, okay?”
   I nodded, an then Jenny sort of begun to disappear in the whirlwind. I wanted to call her back, but her face begun to fade, an she says somethin else that was very faint, but I heard it.
   “That German girl—I like her.” Jenny’s voice is almost gone. “She’s got spirit, and a good heart…”
   I tried to say somethin, but my words caught up in my throat, an then the whirlwind gone on its way, an I am left alone under the desert sky.

   I ain’t never seen nothin like what I saw next dawn, an I hope I don’t ever see it again.
   Far as the eye could see out in the desert, from horizon to horizon, our tanks an personnel carriers an mechanized guns is lined up in all directions. All the motors is runnin so’s the sound from half a million men an machines is like one big constant growl from a giant tiger. A mad giant tiger.
   At daybreak the order is given to move forward an kick Saddamn Hussein’s A-rabs’ asses out of Kuwait. An that’s what we done.
   Me an Sergeant Kranz, who has now been promoted to corporal, an Lieutenant Dan are in command of one of the tanks. Also, we has brought ole Sue along for good luck. Now, these tanks is not at all like the tanks we had in Vietnam, which were as simple to run as a tractor. But that was twenty-five years ago. Nosiree, these tanks look like the inside of a spaceship, with all sorts of computers an calculators an electrical stuff flashin an beepin. They even got air-conditionin.
   We is in the first wave of attack, an afore long, we has spotted Saddamn Hussein’s army in front of us, cept they are goin backwards. Sergeant Kranz done fired a few rounds from our big gun an Lieutenant Dan done pushed the throttle forward to maximum speed. Seems like we is actually skimmin over the desert, an all around us ever tank has opened fire an pretty soon the whole land is alive with big explosions. The noise is frightful, an ole Sue’s got his fingers stuck in his ears.
   “Wahoooo!” shouts Lieutenant Dan. “Lookit them bastards run!”
   It was true. Seems like we is out in front of the whole pack. Ole Saddamn’s army is flyin off like a huge covey of quail, leavin everthin behind, vehicles, clothes, stolen cars an furniture from Kuwait. At one point we done crossed a big long bridge an just afore we got to the end of it, one of our own jet planes dives down an blows it in half. We got to the other end in the nick of time, afore the whole thing collapsed down into a gorge!
   When I look back through the mirror, I can see we is well ahead of everbody an was about to get on the radio to ast for instructions, when a big ole sandstorm blowed up in the desert in front, an in no time, we was engulfed inside it. Then the radio went dead.
   “You reckon we oughta stop an wait for somebody to tell us what to do?” I ast.
   “Hell, no,” says Dan. “We got them bastids on the run—Let’s keep em there!”
   So that’s what we did. We was in the sandstorm all day an most of the night. Couldn’t see two feet in any direction, or tell if it was night or day, but we kep on goin. Couple of times we passed stalled-out tanks of Saddamn Hussein’s army an refilled our fuel tanks from em.
   “You know,” says Lieutenant Dan, “way I figger it, we’ve come nearly three hundred miles.”
   Sergeant Kranz done looked at the map.
   “If that is the case,” he says, “why, we oughta be damn near to Baghdad by now.”
   Sure enough, just then the sandstorm let up an we come out to a bright sunshine. A sign on the road says Baghdad—10 kilometers.
   We stopped for a minute an popped open the tank hatch an looked out. Sure enough, we can see Baghdad up ahead—a big ole white-lookin city with gold spires on the tops of buildins. But we don’t see nothin else all around.
   “We must of outrunned our own line,” says Sergeant Kranz.
   “I suppose we ought wait for them,” Dan says.
   All of a sudden, ole Sue, whose natural eyesight is like binoculars, begun to chatter an wave his hands an point behind us.
   “What’s that?” Sergeant Kranz ast.
   Over the horizon, we could barely make out a bunch of vehicles in a line comin up behind us.
   “It’s our tanks, finally,” says Lieutenant Dan.
   “Hell it is!” hollers Sergeant Kranz. He has got out the field glasses an is starin at the line of vehicles.
   “That’s the whole goddamn A-rab army!” he shouts. “We ain’t only outrunned our own army—we’ve outrunned theirs, too!”
   “Well,” says Dan, “this is a fine kettle of fish. Looks like we is caught between the proverbial rock an the hard place.”
   That is the understatement of the year, far as I’m concerned. Here is the entire A-rab army bearin down on us in one direction, an up ahead is where Saddamn Hussein hissef lives!
   “Well, we gotta get some more gas anyhow,” Dan says. “I reckon we might as well go into town an find a fillin station.”
   “What! Are you nuts?” shouts Sergeant Kranz.
   “Well, what do you suggest?” Dan says. “We run outta gas, we walk. You rather walk, or ride in a tank?”
   I reckon Dan’s got a point here. I mean, it probably ain’t gonna make no difference one way or the other how we are kilt, so we might as well get kilt ridin in our tank.
   “What about you, Gump,” Sergeant Kranz asts, “you got a opinion?”
   “I don’t give a shit,” I says. An that was the truth.
   “Arright,” say Dan, “then let’s go to Baghdad an take in the sights.”
   So that’s what we did.
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Zodijak Gemini
Pol Muškarac
Poruke Odustao od brojanja
Zastava 44°49′N - 20°29′E
mob
Apple iPhone 6s
Chapter 12

   Let me say this: Us bein in the city of Baghdad was about as welcome as a tankful of bastids at a family reunion.
   People done seen us an run off screamin an hollerin, an some of them begun thowin rocks at us. We drove down a bunch of streets, lookin for some kind of fuel depot, an at one point Dan says we better stop an try to figger out some way to disguise ourselfs, or we will be in real trouble. We got out of the tank an looked around. The tank was so covered with dust it was barely recognizable, except for the American flag painted on the side, which showed through a little. Sergeant Kranz observes that it is too bad we ain’t got any mud on our tank treads now, cause we could use it to hide over the flag. Dan says that ain’t a bad idea, an sends me over to a ditch in the street to get some water for to make our own mud. Turns out, it ain’t water in the ditch, but sewage, which makes my job somewhat less than pleasant.
   When I come back with the bucket, everbody be holdin they nose an fannin the air, but we gone ahead an mixed up some dirt with the sewage an slapped it over our American flag. Dan remarks that if we are caught, we will now probly be shot for spies. Anyhow, we all got back in the tank an Sergeant Kranz give Sue the slop bucket, with some fresh slop, in case the mud wears off an we have to do it again.
   So, off we go. We drove around some more, an our disguise seems to be workin. People might look up when we go by, but other than that, they don’t take much notice. Finally we come to a fillin station, looks like ain’t nobody home. Dan says for me an Sergeant Kranz to go see if they got any diesel fuel. We get out but ain’t got three steps when all sorts of commotion begins. Jeeps an armored vehicles suddenly begun roarin down the streets from all directions an slam to a stop right across from us. Me an Sergeant Kranz crouched down behind a garbage bin to wait an see what’s goin on.
   Presently, from one of the armored vehicles a man come out, got a big bushy mustache an is wearin a green fatigue uniform an a little red beret. Everbody be sort of kowtowin to him.
   “Sombitch!” whispers Sergeant Kranz. “That’s Saddamn Hussein hissef!”
   I squinted over, an sure enough, it look like all the pitchers I seen of him.
   At first, he don’t seem to take no notice of us, an begun walkin into a buildin, when all of a sudden, he stops an spins around an does sort of a double take at our tank. Suddenly, all the A-rabs around Saddamn Hussein begun wavin automatic weapons an come rushin over an surround the tank. One of em gets up on top an knocks on the hatch. I guess Dan an Sue done thought it was us, cause they opened the hatch an found themsefs starin at about two-dozen gun barrels.
   The A-rabs drag them down from the tank an stand them up against a wall with their hands in the air. Actually, since Dan has took off his artificial legs he, of course, has to sit.
   Saddamn Hussein stands in front of them with his hands on his hips, an begun laughin to his guards an flunkies.
   “See,” he says, “I tole you you ain’t got nothin to fear from these American soldiers! Look what we got here drivin one of their best tanks—one’s a cripple an the other guy’s so fuckin ugly he almost looks like a ape!”
   At this, Sue get a pained look on his face.
   “Well,” Saddamn say, “since they ain’t no identification on your tank, you must be spies—Give em a cigarette, boys, an see if they got any last words to say.”
   Seems that things are lookin pretty bleak, an Sergeant Kranz an me, we can’t figger out what to do next. Ain’t no sense in us tryin to rush the guards, account of they is so many of them we would just be shot down. Can’t get back in the tank, neither, cause they are guardin it as well. Can’t even run away, cause it’d be cowardly, an besides, where’d we run away to?
   By now, Dan is smokin his last cigarette an Sue begun to take his apart an eat it. I guess he is figgerin it for a last meal. Anyhow, all of a sudden ole Saddamn turns around an goes up to our tank an climbs in. Few minutes later, he come out again an hollers for the guards to bring Dan an Sue over to him. Next thing you know, all three of em are inside the tank.
   Turns out, ole Saddamn ain’t never been in a modern tank before, an don’t understand how it works, an so he has decided to give Dan an Sue a reprieve, at least until they can show him how to run the tank.
   They is down inside it for a little bit, an then the tank suddenly starts up. Slowly, the turret begun to turn around, an the barrel of the big ole cannon begun to depress till it was sort of lookin right in the faces of the guards. The guards got kind of funny expressions on an begun chatterin to theyselfs, when Saddamn’s voice come over the tank’s loudspeaker, tellin the guards to lay down they automatic weapons an put they hands up. They done as they was tole, an as soon as they did, ole Sue pop up out of the hatch an motion for me an Sergeant Kranz to hurry over an get in the tank. Soon as we had, ole Sue lifted up the slop bucket an thowed the whole load of shit right in the guards’ faces, an we took off at top speed. In the dust behind us, we could see the guards all gaggin an flailin aroun an holdin they noses. Inside the tank, Dan is drivin with one hand an holdin a pistol to Saddamn Hussein’s head with the other.
   “Forrest,” he says, handin me the pistol, “take over an keep this sombitch covered. An if he makes any false moves, blow his ass away.”
   Saddamn Hussein is one unhappy bastid, an he is cussin an cryin an callin up to his Allah.
   “We got to get us some damn gas or this whole scheme is gonna be foiled,” Dan says.
   “What scheme?” I ast.
   “To deliver this goddamn sand wog back to General Scheisskopf so’s he can thow him under the jail—or even better, line his ass up against the wall like he did to us.”
   By this time Saddamn Hussein is got his hands folded together an is tryin to get down on the floor of the tank an is prayin an beggin us for mercy an all that kind of shit.
   “Make him be quiet,” Dan says. “He is disturbin my concentration. Besides,” he says, “the bastid is stingy. When I asked him if I could have a last meal of some fried oysters, he claimed he didn’t have any. Whoever heard of a man that runs a whole country couldn’t get himself some oysters if he wanted to?”
   Just about then, Dan slams on the brakes of the tank.
   “Here’s a damn BP station,” he says, an starts backin the tank around to one of the pumps. A A-rab guy comes out to see what’s goin on, an Sergeant Kranz pops out of the hatch an motions for him to fill up our tank. The A-rab guy is shakin his head an chatterin away an trying to wave us off when I snatched up Saddamn Hussein an lifted his head out of the hatch, too, with the pistol still pointed at it.
   At this, the A-rab guy shut up an got a kind of astonished look on his face. Saddamn Hussein is now sort of grinnin an pleadin, an this time when Sergeant Kranz motions for the A-rab to fill up the tank, he does what he is tole.
   Meantime, Dan says we got to get a better disguise for the tank, account of we is gonna have to drive back through the whole damn A-rab army, which is headed this way. He suggests we go find a Iraqi flag an tie it on our radio antenna, which is not hard to do, since there is about one billion Iraqi flags draped all over Baghdad.
   So that’s what we done. With me, Lieutenant Dan, Sue, Sergeant Kranz, an Saddamn Hussein tucked away inside the tank, we headed off to find our way home, so to speak.

   One good thing about the desert is that it is flat. It is also hot, an with five people inside the tank it is even hotter. Everbody was sort of complainin about this when all of a sudden we got somethin else to complain about, namely the whole damn A-rab army appeared on the horizon, headed right for us.
   “What we gonna do now?” Sergeant Kranz ast.
   “Fake it,” Dan says.
   “How you gonna do that?” I ast.
   “Just watch me an marvel,” says Lieutenant Dan.
   He keeps headin the tank toward the whole damn A-rab army until I think he means to smash into it an get us kilt. But that is not Dan’s plan. Just about the time we are fixin to collide with the A-rab tanks, Dan slams on the brakes an wheels our tank around like we was joinin the A-rabs. I reckon they are so scared from whatever it was General Scheisskopf had done to them, they ain’t worrin none about us. Anyhow, soon as we got in line with the A-rab tanks, Dan pulls on the throttle an slows us down, so that the A-rabs go on past an we are finally left settin in the desert all alone.
   “Now,” Dan says, pointin at Saddamn Hussein, “let’s get this Kuwait-invadin bastid to higher headquarters.”
   From there on, it seemed like smooth sailin, at least till we got near our own lines. Then Dan say it is time to “reveal ourselfs.” He stopped the tank an tole me an Sergeant Kranz to go out an get rid of the Iraqi flag an scrape the mud off the American flag on the side of the tank—so that’s what we done. And let me say this: It was the first time in all the mud scrapin I had done that I actually felt like I was accomplishin somethin. Turns out, it was the last time, too.

   Well, with our American flag all shiny an bright on the side of the tank, we got through the American lines all right. On the way we done drove through big ole clouds of smoke from where Saddamn Hussein had ordered his men to blow up all the awl wells in Kuwait. It struck us all as a very sour grapes thing to do. Inside our lines, we ast some MPs for directions to General Scheisskopf’s headquarters. We found it okay after about five hours of drivin around in circles, after which Sergeant Kranz remarked that givin directions is not the MPs’ strong suit, but arrestin people is—to which Dan responded that “Gump is livin proof” of that.
   Me an Sergeant Kranz gone on into the general’s headquarters to tell him what we has got out in our tank. Inside, General Scheisskopf is givin a big press briefin on the day’s activities, an all the cameras are whirlin an flashbulbs are goin off. He is showin the reporters some footage from a camera inside the nose of one of our jet fighters as it dived down on a bridge an dropped a bomb to blow it up. Just ahead of where the bomb went off was a tank hightailin it across the bridge, which barely escaped to the other side when the bridge collapsed.
   “An you see here,” says General Scheisskopf, pointin at the tank with his ruler, “looking through his rearview mirror, is the luckiest man in the whole damn A-rab army!” At this, everbody in the room got a big chuckle, cept for mysef an Sergeant Kranz, who were horrified, account of that picture was of us when we crossed over that bridge!
   Anyhow, we did not tell this to anybody, because it would spoil General Scheisskopf’s story, so we waited till he was finished an then Sergeant Kranz gone up to him an whispered in his ear. The general, who is a big ole jolly-lookin feller, got a sort of weird look on his face, an the sergeant whispered in his ear again, an the general’s eyes done bugged out an he grapped Sergeant Kranz by the arm an had him lead him outside. Me, I follered along.
   When we got to the tank, General Scheisskopf climbed up an stuck his head down the hatch. Few moments later he jerked back up again. “Jesus God!” he said, an jumped down on the ground.
   Meantime, Dan hoisted hissef out of the hatch an set down on the deck of the tank, an Sue, he done come out, too. While we was in the headquarters Dan an Sue had tied up Saddamn Hussein hand an foot an to keep him from blabberin so much had stuck a gag in his mouth.
   “I don’t know what in hell happened here,” says the general, “but you boys have screwed up royally.”
   “Huh?” says Sergeant Kranz, forgettin his manners for a moment.
   “Don’t you understand it is against my orders to capture Saddamn Hussein?”
   “What you mean, sir?” ast Dan. “He’s the head enemy. He is why we is fightin over here, ain’t he?”
   “Well, er, yes. But my orders come directly from the President of the United States—George Herbert Walker Bush.”
   “But, sir…” starts Sergeant Kranz.
   “My orders,” says the general, kinda lookin around to make sure nobody is watchin, “were specifically not to capture that butthole you got in that tank. And now what have you done? You’re gonna get my ass in a sling with the President himself!”
   “Well, General,” Dan says, “we’re sorry about that. We didn’t know. But, I mean, we got him now, don’t we? I mean, what are we gonna do with him?”
   “Take him back,” says the general.
   “Take him back!” we all shout.
   General Scheisskopf wave his hands for us not to be so loud.
   “But, sir,” say Sergeant Kranz, “you gotta understand that we was within a inch of our lifes tryin to bring him here. It ain’t easy bein the only American tank in Baghdad in the middle of a war.”
   “Yeah,” says Dan. “An what’s worse, the whole damn A-rab army is now back in Baghdad, just waitin for us.”
   “Well, boys,” the general says, “I know how you feel, but orders is orders, an I’m orderin you to take him back.”
   “But, sir,” I says, “maybe can’t we just leave him out in the desert an let him find his own way back?”
   “Much as I’d like to, that would be inhumane,” General Scheisskopf says piously. “Tell you what though, just get him within four or five miles of Baghdad—so’s he can see it himself, an then turn his ass loose.”
   “Four or five miles!” we all shouted. But like the man said, orders was orders.

   Anyway, we gassed up an got somethin to eat at the chow tent an saddled up the tank for our return trip. By this time it was gettin night, but we Jiggered at least it might not be so hot. Sergeant Kranz brought Saddamn Hussein a big ole plate of greasy pork chops, but he say he don’t care for any, so hungry or not, off we went.
   It was quite a spectacle out in the desert, which was lit up like a stadium from all the awl fires burnin. We made pretty good time though, considerin havin to dodge all the junk left over from the whole damn A-rab army. Seems that while they was occupying Kuwait, they had also occupied some of the Kuwait people’s things—like their furniture an their Mercedes-Benzes an such, but when they left in such a hurry, they didn’t bother to take them with them.
   The ride back to Baghdad was actually kind of borin, an to pass the time I took the gag out of ole Saddamn’s mouth to see what he had to say. When I tole him we was takin him home, he begun to cry an shout an pray again cause he figgered we was lyin an was gonna kill him. But finally we settled him down an he begun to believe us, though he could not understand why we was doin this. Lieutenant Dan tole him it was a “gesture of goodwill.”
   I piped up an tole Saddamn I was friends with the Ayatolja Koumani, an in fact had once transacted some bidness with him.
   “That ole fart,” Saddamn says, “he has caused me a lot of trouble. I hope he roasts in hell an has to eat tripe an pickled pigs’ feet for the rest of eternity.”
   “I can see you are a man of great Christian charity,” says Lieutenant Dan.
   To this, Saddamn has no response.

   Pretty soon, we could see the lights of Baghdad in the distance. Dan slowed down the tank to hide the noise.
   “Well, that’s about five miles, as I make it,” says Dan.
   “It is not,” says Saddamn. “It’s more like seven or eight.”
   “That’s your tough luck, buster. We got other shit to do, so this is as far as you go.”
   With that, Sergeant Kranz an me hoisted Saddamn out of the tank. Then Sergeant Kranz, he made Saddamn take off all his clothes, except for his boots an his little beret. Then he pointed him at Baghdad.
   “On your way, you degenerate turd,” says Sergeant Kranz, an he give ole Saddamn a big kick in the ass. Last we seen of him, he was joggin across the desert, tryin to cover hissef in front an behind.
   Now we are headed back to Kuwait, an everthin seems to be goin smoothly, more or less. Though I am missin little Forrest, at least me an Lieutenant Dan an Sue is back together again, an besides, I figger my army hitch is almost up.
   It is almost pitch black dark inside the tank an ain’t no sounds cept the noise of the engine, an the instrument panels is glowin faint red in the dark.
   “Well, Forrest, I reckon we have seen our last war,” says Dan.
   “I hope so,” I says.
   “War is not a pretty thing,” he goes on, “but when the time comes to fight it, it is us who have to go. We are the professional army. The shit-shovelers in peacetime, but it’s ‘Tommy get yer rifle, when the drums begin to beat…’ Saviors of your country an all that crap.”
   “Well, maybe that’s true of you an Sergeant Kranz,” I says, “but me an Sue, here, we are peace-lovin folks.”
   “Yeah, but when the balloon goes up, you’re there every time,” says Dan. “And don’t you think I don’t appreciate it.”
   “I’ll sure be glad when we’re home,” I says.
   “Uh oh,” Dan says.
   “What?”
   “I said, ‘Uh oh.’ “ He is staring into the instrument screen.
   “Whassamatter?” ast Sergeant Kranz.
   “We locked on to.”
   “What? Who?”
   “Somebody’s got us locked on. Aircraft. I imagine it must be one of ours.”
   “One of ours?”
   “Yeah, they ain’t got any Iraqi air force left.”
   “But why?” I ast.
   “Uh oh!” Dan says again.
   “What?”
   “They have fired!”
   “At us?”
   “Who else,” Dan says. He had begun to spin the tank aroun when there is a huge explosion that literally blew the tank apart. All of us is thowed ever which way, an the cabin is filled with smoke an fire.
   “Out! Out!” Dan screams, an I pulled mysef out the hatch an reached back for Sergeant Kranz right behind me. He come out an I reached for ole Sue, but he was lyin in back of the cabin, hurt an pinned down by somethin. So I leaned in to grap Dan, but he can’t reach my hand. For a instant we looked in each other’s eyes, an he says, “Damn, Forrest, we almost made it…”
   “C’mon, Dan!” I shout. The flames is all over the cabin by now an the smoke thicker an thicker. I kep reachin way down to get him, but it wadn’t no use. He kinda smiled an looked up at me. “Well, Forrest, we have had ourselfs a hell of a war, haven’t we?”
   “Hurry, Dan, grap holt of my hand,” I screamed.
   “See you around, pal” is all he says, an then the tank blowed up.
   It blowed me in the air an singed me up a little, otherwise I was not much hurt. I couldn’t believe it, though. I got up an just stood there, watchin the tank burn up. I wanted to go back an try to get em out, but I knew it wadn’t no good. Me an the sergeant, we waited a while, until the tank had burned itself out, an then he says, “Well, c’mon, Gump. We got a long walk home.”
   All the way back across the desert that night I felt so terrible I couldn’t even bring mysef to cry. Two of the best friends a man ever had—an now they are gone, too. It is a loneliness almost too sad to believe.

   They had a little service for Lieutenant Dan an Sue at the air base where our fighter planes was. I couldn’t help but think that one of them pilots was responsible for all this, but I guess he must of felt pretty bad about it hissef. After all, we wadn’t sposed to of been out there, cept we had to return Saddamn to Baghdad.
   They had a pair of flag-covered caskets lined up on the tarmac, an they shimmered in the heat of the mornin. Wadn’t anythin in em, though. Fact was, they wadn’t enough left of Dan an Sue to fill a can of beans.
   Sergeant Kranz an me was in the little group, an one time he turned to me an says, “Ya know, Gump, them was good soldiers, them two. Even the ape. It never showed no fear.”
   “Probly too dumb to understand it,” I says.
   “Yeah, probly. Kinda like you, huh?”
   “I spose.”
   “Well, I’m gonna miss em,” Sergeant Kranz says. “We had ourselfs a helluva ride.”
   “Yup,” I says, “I reckon.”
   After a chaplain said a little somethin, they had a band that played taps an a rifle squad that fired a twelve-gun salute. An then it was over.
   Afterward, General Scheisskopf come up an put his arm aroun my shoulder. I guess he could see I was finally beginnin to get little bitty tears in my eyes.
   “I’m sorry about this, Private Gump,” he says.
   “So’s everbody else,” I tole him.
   “Look, these fellers was friends of yours, I understand. We couldn’t find any military records on them.”
   “They was volunteers,” I said.
   “Well,” says the general, “maybe you’d want to take these.” One of his aides come up with two little cans, got tiny plastic American flags pasted on the tops.
   “Our graves registration people thought it would be appropriate,” General Scheisskopf says.
   I took the cans an thanked the general, though I don’t know what for, an then I gone on off to find my outfit. Time I got back, the company clerk was lookin for me.
   “Where you been, Gump? I got important news.”
   “It’s a long story,” I says.
   “Well, guess what? You ain’t in the army no more.”
   “That so?”
   “Sure is. Somebody done figgered out you got a criminal record—hell, you wadn’t sposed to of ever been let in this man’s army in the first place!”
   “So what I’m sposed to do now?” I ast.
   “Pack up your shit an get the hell out of here” was his answer.
   So that’s what I done. I found out I was due to leave on a plane that night for the States. Didn’t even have time to change my clothes. I put the little cans with Sue’s and Dan’s ashes in my pack an signed out for the last time. When I got on the plane, it was only half full. I got me a seat in the back, by mysef, cause my clothes, well, they had the stink of death on em, an I was embarrassed of the way I smelled. We was flyin high over the desert, an the moon was full an the clouds was silver all over the horizon. It was dark inside the plane an I begun to feel terribly alone an downcasted, when all of a sudden I look over at the seat across the aisle, an there is Jenny, just settin there, lookin at me! She is got a kind of sad expression on her face, too, an this time, she don’t say nothin, but just looks at me an smiles.
   I couldn’t hep it. I reached out for her, but she waved me off. But also, she stayed there in the seat across the aisle, I reckon to keep me company, all the way home.
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Pol Muškarac
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Chapter 13

   It was a cloudy an gray day when I got back to Mobile. I gone to Mrs. Curran’s house, an she was settin inside in a rockin chair, knittin a doily or somethin. She was glad to finally see me.
   “I don’t know how much longer I could of lasted,” she said. “Things have been pretty hard around here.”
   “Yeah,” I says, “I can imagine.”
   “Forrest,” she says, “like I told you in my letter, I gotta sell the house so’s I can get into the Little Sisters of the Poor old folks home. But once I do, they’ll take care of me for good, so I will turn over the money from the house to you to help raise little Forrest.”
   “Aw, no, Mrs. Curran,” I says, “that’s your money—I can’t accept that.”
   “You got to, Forrest. I can’t even get into the Little Sisters of the Poor home unless I’m dead broke. And little Forrest is my grandson and the only family I have left. Besides, you gonna need all the money you can get. You ain’t even got a job.”
   “Well, you are right about that, I guess.”
   About that time the front door opened an a big ole young man come bustin in, says, “Gramma, I’m home.”
   I didn’t recognize him at all at first. Last time I seen him was nearly three years ago. Now he has growed up to be almost a man, fine an straight an tall. Only thing is, he is wearin a earrin in his ear, which leads me to wonder what sort of underwear he has got on.
   “So, you’re back, huh?” he says.
   “Looks that way.”
   “Yeah, for how long this time?”
   “Well,” I says, “way I got it figgered, for good.”
   “What you gonna do?” he ast.
   “That one I ain’t figgered out yet.”
   “I wouldn’t of thought so,” he says, an gone on back to his room.
   Ain’t nothin like a warm welcome home, is it?

   Anyhow, next mornin I begun lookin for work. Unfortunately, it ain’t as though I have got a lot of high-end skills, an so my choices are limited. Like becomin a ditchdigger or somethin. But even that was a hard card to play. Seems they weren’t no big market for ditchdiggin at the moment, an besides, one of the bosses tole me I was too old for such work.
   “We need up-an-comin young fellers who are lookin to make a career of this—not some old fart who is just wantin enough work to buy a quart of jug wine” was the way he put it.
   After three or four days I got pretty discouraged, an after three or four weeks it become downright humiliatin.
   Finally I took to lyin about it to Mrs. Curran an little Forrest.
   I tole em I done found work so’s I could support em, but the truth was, I begun usin up my separation pay from the army to pay the bills an spent my days at a soda fountain drinkin CokeCola an eatin Fritos, at least when I wadn’t out poundin the pavement for a job.
   One day I figgered I’d go on down to Bayou La Batre an see if they was anythin for me there. After all, one time I’d owned the biggest bidness in that town.
   What I found in Bayou La Batre was pretty depressin. The ole Gump Srimp Company was in a sorry state—buildins an wharfs all dilapidated an fallin in, winders busted out, an the parkin lot’s growed up in weeds. It was clear that part of my life was over.
   I gone down to the docks, an they is a few srimp boats tied up, but ain’t nobody hirin.
   “Srimpin’s finished down here, Gump,” say one captain. “They done fished out all the srimp years ago. Now you gotta have a boat big enough to go all the way down to Mexico afore you can make a profit.”
   I was about to catch the bus back up to Mobile when it occurred to me I ought to visit poor ole Bubba’s daddy. After all, I ain’t seen him in nearly ten years. I gone out to where he lived, an sure enough, the ole house was still there, an Bubba’s daddy was settin on the porch, drinkin a glass of iced tea.
   “Well, I swear,” he said when I come walkin up. “I’d heard you was in jail.”
   “I might of been,” I said. “I guess it depends on when you heard it.”
   I ast him about the srimpin bidness an his picture was bleak as everbody else’s.
   “Nobody’s catchin em, nobody’s raisin em. Too few to catch an too cold to grow. Your operation was the heyday down here, Forrest. Ever since then, we been on hard times.”
   “Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” I says. I set down, an Bubba’s daddy fixed me a glass of tea.
   “You ever catch up with them fellers that looted your company?” he ast.
   “Which fellers?”
   “That Lieutenant Dan, an ole Mr. Tribble—an that ape, too—what was its name?”
   “Sue,” I says.
   “Yeah, them was the ones.”
   “Well, I don’t think Dan an Sue was to blame. Besides, I guess it don’t matter now, anyhow. They are dead.”
   “Yeah? How’d that happen?”
   “It is a long story,” I said, an Bubba’s daddy, he didn’t pursue it no further, for which I was grateful.
   “So,” he asts finally, “what you gonna do now?”
   “I dunno,” I says, “but I gotta do somethin.”
   “Well,” say Bubba’s daddy, “there is always oysters.”
   “Oysters?”
   “Yeah. Ain’t as profitable as srimp used to be, but there is some oyster beds still left out there. Problem is, people scared of eatin em raw these days—too much pollution or somethin. They can make you bad sick.”
   “Can a man make a livin catchin oysters?” I ast.
   “Sometimes. Depends on a lot of things. Pollution gets bad, they close down the beds. Then there is storms an hurricanes an, of course, your competition.”
   “Competition? Who is that?”
   “All them other fellers out there tryin to catch oysters,” he says. “They don’t take kindly to somebody new comin in here. An they is a very rough bunch, which I suppose you know.”
   “Yeah, I kinda remember em that way,” I says. It was too true. Them oystermen was not people to fool around with, at least back in the ole days.
   “So how do I get started?” I ast.
   “Ain’t too hard,” say Bubba’s daddy. “Just get you a ole skiff an some oyster tongs. Don’t even have to buy a outboard motor if you don’t want to—you can get some oars an row, like they did when I was young.”
   “That’s all?”
   “Pretty much, I reckon. I can show you where most of the oyster beds are. Course, you’ll have to get a license from the state. That’s probly the most expensive part.”
   “You know where I can buy me a skiff?”
   “Matter of fact,” says Bubba’s daddy, “I got one mysef you can use. It’s tied up behind the house. All you’ll have to do is find some oars. Mine done broke ten or fifteen years ago.”
   So that’s what I done.

   Well, it seemed to me pretty ironic, me bein in the oyster bidness, after ole Lieutenant Dan was all the time talkin about gettin some good oysters to eat. Man, I wish he could be here today. He’d be in hog’s heaven!
   I started out bright an early next mornin. The day before, I’d used the last of my army pay to buy the oars an get a oysterin license. I also bought a pair of coveralls an some baskets to put the oysters in. The sun was just comin up over the Mississippi Sound when I begun to row toward where Bubba’s daddy tole me some oyster beds was. What he tole me was to row out to where I could see Buoy No. 6, line it up with a water tower on shore an with the tip of Petit Bois Island to the south. When I had done this, I was to work my way toward the Lake Aux Herbes, an that’s where the oysters would be.
   It took me about a hour to find Buoy No. 6, but it wadn’t no time from then that I got on the oyster beds. By lunch I had tonged up four bushel baskets of oysters, which was my limit, an so I rowed back into shore.
   They was a oyster processin plant in Bayou La Batre, an I carried my oysters there to be counted an sold. Time they tally everthin up, I done made forty-two dollars an sixteen cents, which struck me as a little low for upwards of four hundrit oysters they would turn around an sell in restaurants for a dollar apiece. Unfortunately, though, I wadn’t in no position to argue.
   I was walkin down the street to catch the bus back to Mobile, the forty-two dollars an sixteen cents still warm in my pocket, when half-a-dozen fellers come aroun the corner an block my way on the sidewalk.
   “Kinda new around here, ain’t you?” one big feller ast.
   “Sort of,” I said. “What’s it to you?”
   “We hear you out there tongin up our oysters,” another guy says.
   “Since when is they your oysters? I thought they was everbody’s oysters in the water.”
   “Oh, yeah? Well, they is everybody’s oysters—if you happen to be from here. We don’t take kindly of people who try to barge in on our bidness.”
   “Well,” I says, “my name is Forrest Gump. Used to own the Gump Srimp Company. So I’m kinda from here mysef.”
   “Oh, yeah? Well, my name’s Miller. Smitty Miller. I remember your bidness. Fished us all out of srimp an put everybody out of work to boot.”
   “Look, Mister Miller,” I says, “I don’t want no trouble. I got a family to look after, an I just want to tong up a few oysters an be on my way.”
   “Issat so? Well, you look here, Gump. We gonna be keepin a eye on you. We hear you was hangin aroun with that ole coon thats son got kilt over in Vietnam.”
   “His name was Bubba. He was my friend.”
   “Yeah? Well, we don’t mix with them people down here, Gump. You gonna hang aroun in this town, you better learn the rules.”
   “Who makes the rules?” I says.
   “We do.”
   Well, that’s how it went. Smitty ain’t outright tole me to stop oysterin, but I got a feelin that trouble lay ahead. Anyhow, I gone on back home an tole Mrs. Curran an little Forrest that I done got a real job, an they seemed pleased. It might even be I can earn enough to keep Mrs. Curran from sellin her place an goin to the po house. It wadn’t much, but it was a start.

   Anyhow, the oysterin bidness was, for now, my salvation. Ever mornin I’d ride the bus down to Bayou La Batre an tong up enough oysters to get us by another day, but what happens when the season is over or the beds is closed by pollution, I do not know. It is very worrisome.
   Second day I was there, I gone to the dock where my skiff is, an it ain’t there. I look down in the water, an it is settin on the bottom. Took me a hour to pull it on shore, an when I did, I find somebody has knocked a hole in the bottom. Took me three hours to fix the hole, an I only got enough oysters to make twenty dollars that day. I am figgerin this is some kind of message from Smitty an his friends, but I got no proof for sure.
   Another time, my oars is missin, an I got to buy new ones. Few days later, somebody done smashed up my bushel baskets, but I am tryin to take it in stride.
   Meantime, I am havin some problems with little Forrest. Seems he is engagin hissef in some typical teenage activities, such as stayin in trouble all the time. First, he come home drunk one night. I noticed this, since he fell down twice tryin to get up the steps. I didn’t say nothin about it next mornin, though—the truth was, I wadn’t really sure of what my position with him was sposed to be. When I ast Mrs. Curran, she shakes her head an say she don’t know, either. She says he ain’t a bad boy, but he is very hard to discipline.
   Next, I caught him smokin a cigarette in his bathroom. I set him down an tole him how bad it was. He listened, but was kinda sullen, an when I was finished, he don’t promise to stop, he just walked out of the room.
   An then there was his gamblin. Account of his brilliance, he could beat just about anybody at cards an stuff, an proceeded to do so. This got him a stern note from the school principal sayin that little Forrest was fleecin all the other kids at school with his gamblin activities.
   Finally, he didn’t come home one night. Mrs. Curran stayed up till midnight, but finally went to bed. I was up till dawn, when he finally tried to sneak in the bedroom winder. I decided the time had come to set him down an have a serious talk.
   “Look,” I says, “this shit has got to stop. Now, I know young fellers like you gotta sow some wile oats ever so often, but you is carryin it to the extreme.”
   “Yeah?” he says. “Like what?”
   “Like sneakin in past midnight—an smokin cigarettes in your bathroom.”
   “Whatsittoyou?” he says. “You been spyin on me, huh?”
   “I ain’t spyin. I’m noticin.”
   “Well, it ain’t nice to notice. Besides, it’s the same as spyin.”
   “Listen,” I says, “that ain’t the point. I got some responsibility here. I’m sposed to look after you.”
   “I can look after myself,” he says.
   “Yeah, I can see that. Like you lookin after yoursef by hidin a six-pack of beer in your toilet tank, huh?”
   “So you have been spyin on me, haven’t you?”
   “I have not. The toilet started runnin, an when I went to look I saw one of your beer cans have fallen over an plugged up the flusher hole. How could I not notice that?”
   “You could of kept it to yourself.”
   “The hell I will! If you can’t behave yoursef, it is my duty to make you—an that’s what I’m gonna do.”
   “You can’t even speak English right—or keep a decent job. What gives you the idea you got some authority over me? I mean, who are you to tell me what to do? Is it because you sent me those cheap presents from everyplace? A goddamn fake Alaska totem pole? An that ridiculous ooompa horn that I’d look like a fool playin? Or that great antique knife from Saudi Arabia—when it got here, the little pieces of glass you said were jewels had all fallen out, and besides, the thing’s so dull it can’t cut butter, let alone paper! I threw em all away! If you’ve got some authority over me and what I do in life, I’d like to know what it is!”
   Well, that did it—an so I showed him. I snatched him up an thowed him across my knees an afore I raised my hand I said the only thing that come to my mind.
   “This is gonna hurt me more than it’s gonna hurt you.”
   An I give him a big ole spankin. I ain’t sure if what I just said was true, but ever time I swatted him, it was like I was swattin mysef. But I didn’t know what else to do. He was so smart I couldn’t reason with him, cause that ain’t my specialty. But somebody gotta exercise some control around here, an see if we can get back on track. Whole time, little Forrest ain’t sayin nothin, ain’t hollerin or cryin or anythin, an when I am through, he got up, face beet red, an gone to his room. He didn’t come out the whole day, an when he come to the supper table that night, he ain’t sayin much, cept things like “Pass the gravy, please.”
   But also, over the next days an weeks, I noticed a marked improvement in his behavior. An I hope he noticed that I noticed that.

   A lot of days when I am out oysterin or doin my other stuff, I am thinkin about Gretchen. But what I’m gonna do about it, anyway? I mean, after all, here I am livin barely hand to mouth, while she is gonna be a college graduate one day. A lot of times I thought about writin her, but can’t figger out what to say. It would probly just make it worse, is what I am thinkin. So’s I just kept the memories an went on about my bidness.
   One time after he got home from school, little Forrest come into the kitchen, where I am tryin to clean up an wash my hands after a long day on the oyster beds. I have cut my finger on a oyster shell, an though it don’t hurt much, it bled pretty good, an that is the first thing he noticed.
   “What happened?” he ast.
   I tole him, an he says, “Want me to get you a Band-Aid?”
   He gone in an got the Band-Aid, but before he put it on my finger he washed out the cut with some peroxide or somethin that stang like hell.
   “You gotta be careful with oyster-shell cuts,” he say. “They can give you a pretty serious infection, ya know?”
   “Yeah, how come?”
   “Cause the best kind of place for oysters to grow is where there is the dirtiest nastiest kind of pollution there is. Din’t you know that?”
   “Nope. How’d you find out?”
   “Cause I studied up on it. If you could ask a oyster where it wanted to live, it’d probly say, in a cesspool.”
   “How come you studin up on oysters?”
   “Cause I’m figgerin I need to start pullin my weight around here,” he says. “I mean, you goin out there every day an tongin up oysters, an all I’m doin is goin to school.”
   “Well, that’s what you sposed to do. You gotta learn somethin so’s you don’t wind up like me.”
   “Yeah, well, I already learned enough. I mean, to tell you the truth, I don’t do nothin in school. I’m so far ahead of everybody in the class that the teachers just let me go sit in the library an read whatever books I want.”
   “That so?”
   “Yeah, that’s so. And I am figgerin that maybe I could just not go to school every day anymore, but maybe come down to Bayou La Batre sometimes an help you out with the oyster-tongin bidness.”
   “Uh, well, I appreciate that, but uh…”
   “That is, if you want me to. Maybe you don’t want me around.”
   “No, no, it ain’t that. It just that about the school. I mean, your mama would of wanted…”
   “Well, she ain’t here to have a say-so. And I think you might could use some help. I mean, tongin oysters is hard work, and maybe I could be of some use.”
   “Well, yeah, sure you could. But…”
   “Okay then, that’s it,” he says. “How about I start tomorrow mornin?”
   An so, right or wrong, that’s what we done.

   Next mornin before dawn I got up an fixed us some breakfast an then I peeked in little Forrest’s room to see if he’s awake. He ain’t, so’s I tippy-toed in an stood there lookin at him, sound asleep in Jenny’s bed. In a way, he looks so much like her I kinda got choked up for a moment, but I caught mysef, account of no matter what, we got work to do. I leaned over to shake him awake, when my foot touched somethin under the bed. I looked down, an damn if it ain’t the head of the big ole totem pole from Alaska I had sent him. I bent over an peered under the bed, an sure enough, there is the other stuff, too, the ooompa horn an the knife, still in its case. He ain’t thowed them away after all, but is keepin em right there. Maybe he don’t play with em much, but at least he has em close, an all of a sudden I am beginnin to understand somethin about children. For just a second I felt like reachin over an kissin him on the cheek, but I didn’t. But I sure felt like it.
   Anyhow, after breakfast me an little Forrest set out for Bayou La Batre. I have been able finally to make a down payment on a ole truck so’s I don’t have to ride the bus no more, but it is a real question ever day whether or not the truck will make it there an back. I have named the truck Wanda, in honor of, well, all the Wandas I have known.
   “What you spose happened to her?” little Forrest ast.
   “Who?” I said. We was drivin on a ole two-lane road in the dark, past broke-down houses an farm fields, toward the water. The lights on the dashboard of the ole truck, a 1954 Chevy, was glowin green an I could see little Forrest’s face in the reflection.
   “Wanda,” he says.
   “Your pig? Well, I reckon she’s still up at the zoo.”
   “You really think so?”
   “I guess. I mean, why wouldn’t she be?”
   “I dunno. It’s been a long time. Maybe she died. Or they sold her.”
   “You want me to find out?”
   “Maybe both of us should,” he says.
   “Yeah. Maybe so.”
   “Hey,” he says, “I wanted to tell you I was sorry about what happened to Sue an Lieutenant Dan, ya know?”
   “Well, I appreciate that.”
   “They was real good friends, huh?”
   “Yup, they was.”
   “So what’d they die for?”
   “Oh, I dunno. Cause they was doin what they was tole to, I guess. Ole Bubba’s daddy ast me the same question a long time ago. They was just in the wrong place in the wrong time, maybe.”
   “Yeah, I know that, but what was the war about?”
   “Well, they tole us it was account of Saddamn Hussein done attacked the people in Kuwait.”
   “That so?”
   “It’s what they said.”
   “So what do you really think?”
   “A lot of people said it was about awl.”
   “Oil—yeah, I read that, too.”
   “I reckon they died for awl” was what I had to say about that.

   Well, we got on down to Bayou La Batre an put the baskets in the boat, an I rowed us out to the oyster beds. The sun was comin up off the Gulf of Mexico an they was pink fluffy clouds in the mornin sky. The water was clear an flat as a tabletop, an the oars was the only sounds. We got out to the beds, an I showed little Forrest how to stick one oar in the mud to hold the boat still while I raked over the beds an then used the tongs to pull up big globs of oysters. It was a pretty good mornin, an after a while little Forrest said he wanted to do some tongin, too. He seemed happy as he could be, almost like he was tongin pearls instead of oysters, which in fact there were some—but they wadn’t worth nothin, at least not for money to amount to anythin. Wadn’t them kind of oysters.
   Anyhow, after we had got all our limit, I begun to row us back to the oyster processin plant, but I ain’t got halfway there before little Forrest ast if he can try his hand at rowin the boat. I moved over an he begun to pull on the oars, an after about half a hour of weavin us this way an that, he got the hang of it.
   “How come you don’t get a motor for the boat?” he ast.
   “I dunno,” I says. “Sometimes I kinda like rowin. It’s pretty quiet an peaceful. An it gives me time to think.”
   “Yeah, about what?”
   “I dunno,” I says. “Nothin much. After all, thinkin ain’t my specialty.”
   “A motor would save time,” he says, “and efficiency.”
   “Yeah, I spose.”
   Well, we got on into the dock where the oyster packin plant was an unloaded our bushels of oysters. Price was a little higher today, account of, the man says, they has closed a bunch of oyster beds because of pollution, an so our oysters were rarer than yesterday, which was arright by me. I tole little Forrest to go on over to the truck an get us our lunch buckets so’s we could have our sambwiches down here on the dock, kinda like a waterfront picnic.
   I had just settled up with the paymaster when little Forrest come up, lookin unhappy.
   “You know a guy called Smitty?” he ast.
   “Yup, I know him. Why?”
   “Well, somebody’s punched a hole in both our front tires on Wanda. An this guy was standin across the street laughin, an when I asked if he knew who did it, he just said, ‘Nope, but tell your friend that Smitty says hello.’ “
   “Umph” was all I could manage.
   “So who is this guy?”
   “Just a feller,” I says.
   “But he looked like he was enjoyin it.”
   “Probly. He an his friends don’t like me oysterin down here.”
   “He had a oyster knife in his hand. You spose he was the one who did it?”
   “Maybe. Problem is, I got no proof.”
   “So why don’t you go find out? Ask him?”
   “I think it’s best to let them people alone,” I says. ‘It ain’t nothin but trouble to fool with them.”
   “You ain’t scared, are you?”
   “Not exactly. I mean, they all live here. They’re mad cause I’m tongin their oysters.”
   “Their oysters! Oysters in the water are anybody’s oysters.”
   “Yeah, I know that, but they don’t see it that way.”
   “So you gonna let them push us around?”
   “I’m gonna go on about my bidness an let them be,” I says.
   Little Forrest, he turn around an went on back to the truck an begun fixin the flat tire. I could see him from down the street, talkin an cussin to hissef. I knowed how he felt, but I just can’t afford no screw-ups now. I have got a family to look after.
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Zodijak Gemini
Pol Muškarac
Poruke Odustao od brojanja
Zastava 44°49′N - 20°29′E
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Chapter 14

   Then one day it happened. They shut us down.
   Me an little Forrest got down to the dock one mornin an they is big ole signs posted everwhere, say Due to Pollution in the Water There Will Be No More Oysterin Under Penalty of Law Till Further Notice.
   Well, this come as bad news, indeed. After all, we is hangin on by just about a thread, but they wadn’t nothin to do cept go on back home. It was a pretty dreary night all around, an in the mornin I am feelin glum, settin at the breakfast table, drinkin coffee, when little Forrest come in the kitchen.
   “I got a idea,” he says.
   “Yeah, what?”
   “I think I have figgered out a way to start harvestin oysters again.”
   “How is that?” I ast.
   “Well, I been studyin up on it,” little Forrest says. “Spose we can convince the state fish n wildlife people that any oysters we harvest is gonna be free of any pollution?”
   “How is we gonna do that?”
   “Move em,” he says.
   “Move what?”
   “The oysters. See, a oyster thrives in pollution, but you can’t eat em, cause it’ll make you sick. We all know that. But accordin to the research I done, a oyster purges itself completely every twenty-four hours.”
   “So what?”
   “Well, spose we tong up the oysters in the polluted water, an then move them out to the Gulf, where it is clear an clean an salty? All we have to do is sink the oysters in a few feet of water for a day or so, an they’ll be clean an pure an fresh as a whistle.”
   “We can do that?” I ast.
   “Yeah. I’m pretty sure. I mean, all we need to do is get another ole skiff an tow it out to one of them islands where the water is clear, put the oysters we tonged up here in it, an sink it for a day. Those oysters will have purged themselfs entirely of anything bad and I bet they’ll taste better, too, cause they’ll pick up the salt from the Gulf water.”
   “Hey,” I says, “that sounds like it really might work.”
   “Yeah. I mean, it’ll be a little more to do, account of we gotta move the oysters and then pick em up again, but it’s better than nothin.”
   So that’s what we did.

   Somehow we managed to convince the state Fish an Wildlife Service that our oysters wasn’t gonna be no threat to nobody. We started out movin em from the bay beds to the Gulf in the skiff, but pretty soon we was so busy we had to buy us a barge. An also, the price we got for our oysters went sky high, account of we was the only big-time game in town.
   As the weeks an months went by, we added to our operation by gettin more an more barges, an we had to hire more people to help us in the oysterin bidness.
   Little Forrest also done come up with another idea, an in fact, it was what made us rich.
   “Listen,” he says one day after we brought in a big load of oysters, “I been thinkin—Where is the best place to grow a oyster?”
   “In shit,” I answered.
   “Exactly,” he says. “An where is there the most shit in the whole bay?”
   “Probly by the sewage treatment plant,” I says.
   “Exactly! So here’s what we do, we go out there an plant oysters! Thousands of em—millions. We can use planks or somethin to mature the spat—which is the baby oysters. Set the whole thing up on a regular basis with boats tongin up the new oysters an movin em to our barges out in the Gulf. I’ve even got a idea for a submersible barge, so’s we just take it out an sink it with the polluted oysters, then in a day or so pump it out, an presto, we got a bargeload of pure, fresh oysters!”
   So that is also what we done.
   In a year, we are harvestin more oysters by the sewage treatment plant than the law ought to allow an we have expanded our operation to include a oyster processin plant an shippin section, an we have also got a marketin division, too.
   GUMP & COMPANY is what I have named ourselfs, an we is sellin premium-grade oysters all over the United States of America!
   All this has cheered up Jenny’s mama so, that she become our receptionist. She says she feels “totally rejuvenated” an don’t want to go to the po house no more. She has even bought hersef a new Cadillac convertible that she drives around with the top down, wearin a sleeveless sundress an a bonnet.
   As the months go by, we have got so big I went on a hirin spree. I located Mr. Ivan Bozosky an Mike Mulligan, an put them in charge of the accountin department, figgerin they have learned a lesson durin their terms in jail.
   Ole Slim, from my encyclopedia days, I put in charge of sales, an he has increased our volume by five-hundrit percent! Curtis an Snake, whose football playin days with the Giants an Saints is over, I put in charge of “security.”
   Now, ole Alfred Hopewell, from the new CokeCola bidness, I put him in the position of research an development. His wife, Mrs. Hopewell, whose circumstances have been considerably reduced since the riot in Atlanta, she is now our government liaison director, an let me say this: We ain’t had no problems with the state Fish an Wildlife Service since she got on the job. Ever time she have a meetin with them fellers in her office, I hear her Chinese gong sound, an know that all is well.
   Mister McGivver, from the pig-farmin enterprise, was havin trouble findin a job after the Exxon-Valdez disaster, an so I put him in charge of our oyster barge operations. He has quit drinkin, an none of our barges have had so much as a bump on the bottom, now that he is in control. However, he still enjoys talkin like a pirate, which I figger might help keep his crews in line.
   Ole Colonel North is also havin a bit of trouble of his own, an I give him a job runnin our covert operations department, which is basically makin sure that our oysters come up fresh an pure, an have no taint or stain to em.
   “One day, Gump,” he says, “I am gonna run for the U.S. Senate, an show them bastids what common decency is all about.”
   “Right, Colonel,” I tell him, “but meantime, just keep our oysters’ noses clean down here—You know what I mean?”
   I was gonna try to hire the Ayatolja to run our moral an spiritual relations department, but he gone an died, an so I got the Reverend Jim Bakker for the job. He is doin pretty good, blessin all our boats an barges an everthin, but his wife, Tammy Faye, don’t get along so good with Mrs. Hopewell an her Chinese gong, an so I am gonna have to do somethin about that.
   As crew for our harvestin an processin operations, I have got the entire staff from Reverend Bakker’s Holy Land: Moses from the “Burnin Bush,” Jonah from the whale scene, Jacob an his “Coat of Many Colors,” an all of Pharaoh’s Army are now our oyster shuckers. Also, I have got the feller that played Jesus in the “Ascendin into Heaven” act an Daniel with his lion from the “Lion’s Den” attraction, thowin out oyster spat in our maritime farmin bidness. The lion, who has gotten kinda ole an moldy, he just sets outside the door to my office, an lets out a roar sometimes. He has lost most of his teeth by now, but has developed a taste for oysters on the half shell, which I spose is all to the good.
   Miss Hudgins, from my Ivan Bozosky days, is now our chief shippin dispatcher, an Elaine, from Elaine’s restaurant in New York City, is one of our main customers for Gump & Company farm fresh oysters. The venerable old New York law firm of Dewey, Screwum & Howe represent us in our legal matters, an the prosecutor, Mr. Guguglianti, who has found hissef another job, is a sometimes “adviser” on criminal matters—assumin we have any.
   I have also found jobs for all members of the army football teams in Germany, the Swagmien Sour Krauts an Wiesbaden Wizards, who do various things around the plant. An Eddie, the limo driver from my New York tycoon days, I put in charge of transportation. Furthermore, I have offered jobs to ole Saddamn Hussein an General Scheisskopf, but they both wrote back nice letters sayin they had “other weenies to roast.” Saddamn, however, says he is keepin his “options open,” an may be back in touch later.
   Finally, I hired good ole Sergeant Kranz to be my plant manager, an it is good to see the ole sergeant again, an get his ration of shit.
   But actually, I am savin the best for last. After we become successful, I got up the courage to write to Gretchen. Lo an behole, after a week I got a really beautiful letter back from her, tellin me all about hersef an how she is comin in the university, an the letter is in such good English I can hardly read it.
   “Dearest Forrest,” she writes, “I have missed you every day since you left for the war and was terrified something had happened to you. I even checked through the American Embassy here, and after some research, they told me you were now out of the army and were well. That was all that mattered…”
   Gretchen gone on to say that aside from English, she is workin on a bidness degree an hopes one day to open a restaurant, but that she would sure like to see me. She got her wish. In two weeks she was settin right down in our plant in Bayou La Batre, headin up our international operations division. At night, we’d take long walks along the beach an hole hands like we did in the ole days, an I was finally beginnin to feel sort of happy again. Kinda like I have a purpose in life, but I am takin it slow.
   Meantime, Bubba’s daddy was kinda lookin for a job, so I made him processin supervisor, and let me say this: He rides them oyster shuckers hard.
   An so, here we all are, growin, tongin, bargin, shuckin, processin, cannin, an shippin oysters. An makin money hand over foot! Above my desk I have a quotation that little Forrest has had done up for me. It is solid gold on a face of black velvet an is from the ole writer Jonathan Swift, an says: “He Was a Bold Man That First Ate a Oyster,” which is, of course, too true.
   Only problem is, ole Smitty an his crew are not likin our bidness one bit. I even offered em jobs, but Smitty say his people don’t work in no “integrated” positions, an so we are havin sort of a Mexican standoff. Ever so often, somebody will cut our boat lines at night, or put sugar in our gas tanks, or other chickenshit stuff, but I am tryin to take it in stride. After all, we is doin so good, I do not want to blow it by gettin in a personal feud.

   So far, the months is goin by fairly peaceful, when little Forrest one night ast the question, what about ole Wanda?
   “Well,” I says, “I reckon they probly treatin her pretty good up at the zoo in Washington,” but he ain’t satisfied.
   “Well,” I says, “let us write them a letter an see if they will send her back.”
   So that’s what we did.
   Few months later, there come the reply.
   “The National Zoo does not return animals that rightfully belong to it” was pretty much the gist of it.
   “Well,” little Forrest says, “that don’t seem fair. I mean, after all, we raised her from a piglet, didn’t we?”
   “Yup, I reckon,” I says. “We just lent her to the zoo while I was away with the Ayatolja.”
   Anyway, we went to see Colonel North, who was operatin out of a guardhouse he had built on our grounds, an tole him the situation.
   “Them bastids,” he began, employin his usual tact an diplomacy. “Then we will just have to organize a clandestin operation to get Wanda back.”
   An we did that, too.
   Colonel North spent months preparin for the clandestin operation. He has bought all sorts of camouflage clothes, an greasepaint for our faces, an scalin wire an hacksaws an knives an compasses an stuff. When I ast him what the plan is, he says we will figger it out when we get there.
   The day finally come when we get to Washington, an we went out near the zoo an hid out in a park till nighttime. By midnight, all we can hear from the zoo is the bears an lions an tigers growlin an an occasional bellow from the elephant.
   “Anight, it’s time to saddle up,” says Colonel North, an the three of us begin to sneak into the zoo. We have just gone over the wall when all of a sudden seemed like ever light in the place come on, an sirens go off an bells clang, an in no time, we is surrounded by about fifty police.
   “I thought you was sposed to be a expert at this sort of thing,” I says to the colonel.
   “Yeah, I thought I was, too,” he says. “Maybe I’m just a little rusty.”
   Anyhow, the colonel, he tries to get us out of it by tellin the police we is spies practicin for a top secret clandestin operation in the Iraqi zoo in Baghdad, so’s as to capture some of Saddamn Hussein’s animals an hole them hostage, an a bunch of other shit like that. The head policeman an everbody else begun laughin so hard that it give little Forrest time to slip away in the confusion. Finally, they was loadin us up in the paddy wagon, when a shout broke out in the night, follered by a oink.
   It was little Forrest an Wanda, who he had hacksawed out of her cage. They run by us so fast that the policeman drop everthin an go chasin after, which also gives me an the colonel a chance to escape. The police, I guess, do not know that one of the few things little Forrest inherited from me is my speed, an he gone sailin into the night like a bat out of hell. Colonel an me take off in the opposite direction, an finally we meet up at our secret hideout in the park, as we have agreed to do. Little Forrest an Wanda is already there. “Goddamn, Gump!” shouts the colonel, “we done pulled it off! That was a brilliant clandestin operation on my part, huh?”
   “Yeah, Colonel,” I says, “you was slicker than owl shit.”
   Anyway, we sneaked out of the park an down by the railroad tracks just about sunup, an lo an behole, they is a boxcar there on a sidin filled with pigs.
   “This is great,” says the colonel. “What could be a better disguise than to hide in there?”
   “For Wanda, maybe,” I says. “I ain’t sure about us.”
   “Well, Gump, it’s the only game in town. Climb aboard,” he says.
   So that’s what we did, an let me say this: It was a long an uncomfortable ride home—especially since the boxcar was headed out to Oregon, but somehow we made it, an the colonel, he is pattin hissef on the back the whole way.
   Anyhow, we got on home with Wanda, an little Forrest seems happy as he can be, now he has his pet back. Ever day, ole Wanda sets outside my office door, across from the lion, which, fortunately for Wanda I guess, ain’t got no teeth. But he looks at her all the time in a kinda longin manner, sorta as if he wanted to marry her, or somethin.

   One day, little Forrest comes up an wants to talk. We gone out to the dock, an he says what’s on his mind.
   “Listen,” he says, “we been workin pretty hard here lately, haven’t we?”
   “Yup.”
   “So I was thinkin, maybe it’s time for a vacation.”
   “What you got in mind?”
   “Well, maybe we can get away from this bay, ya know? Maybe go up to the mountains. Maybe go river raftin, or somethin, huh?”
   “Yeah, okay,” I says. “You got some particular place you want to go?”
   “I been studin up,” he says, “an they is a place in Arkansas that looks pretty good.”
   “Yeah, what is it?”
   “It’s called the Whitewash River,” he says.

   So that’s what we did.
   Before we left, I took ole Sergeant Kranz aside an gave him his instructions as plant manager.
   “Just keep things movin,” I says, “an try not to get into any shit with Smitty or any of his people. We got a bidness to run, okay?”
   “Sure, Gump,” he says. “An I meant to tell you, I sure appreciate the opportunity here, ya know? I mean, my retirement from this man’s army after thirty years wadn’t somethin I was lookin forward to. An now you give me my first real job. I just want to say thanks.”
   “It’s okay, Sergeant,” I tole him. “You doin a fine job. It’s good havin you around. After all, we been together more or less since them days in Vietnam, with Bubba an them, an that’s been more than half my life ago.”
   “Yeah, well, that’s so, I guess. War or peace, I guess I can’t get rid of you, can I, Gump?”
   “Let’s just hope they ain’t no more wars to fight, Sergeant,” I says. But in fact, they was one more, though I didn’t know it at the time.
   In any case, little Forrest an me, we got packed up to go to Arkansas an the Whitewash River. Ever since we got in the oyster processin bidness, little Forrest an me have had a sort of uneasy truce. I mean, he is on his best behavior, an has saved me from mysef an my own stupidity more than once. He is vice-president an chief executive officer of Gump & Company, but in truth, he really runs the bidness, cause I certainly ain’t got the brains to.

   Well, it is a cool spring day when me an little Forrest get up to the Whitewash River. We hired ourselfs a canoe an packed it with pork n beans an Vienna sausages an cheeses an bologna an bread for sambwiches, an off we went.
   The Whitewash River is very beautiful, an all the way down it, little Forrest is explainin to me the geologic history of the area, which you can see cut into the riverbanks from time to time. Like he says, it is to be seen in fossils—like me, I guess. We are close to the beginnin of the famous Smackover Formation, he says, which is where all the awl in the whole southeastern United States comes from.
   At night we’d camp out on the banks of the river an build a little fire from driftwood an set around an cook our pork n beans an eat our supper, an I am thinkin that this is the first vacation I have ever had. Little Forrest is pretty cheery, an I am hopin me an him can get along better as the days go by. I sure am proud of the way he has growed up an taken charge of so much stuff at the Gump & Company oyster plant, but I am also worried that he is growin up too fast. I mean, I wonder if he has ever had a real boyhood, an got to play football an stuff like I did. I ast him about it, but he says it don’t matter.
   One night he give me a big surprise. He reaches in his knapsack an pulls out a ole harmonica, which in fact is the one I have kep all these years when I played it over in Vietnam an later with Jenny’s band, The Cracked Eggs. To my amazement, he done begun to play some of the ole tunes, an he played em sweeter an prettier than I ever could of. I ast him how he learned to play the thing, an he just says, “Natural instinct, I guess.”
   We is almost finished with our trip down the river when I seen a feller on the banks hollerin an wavin at us an motionin to come over. So that’s what we did. We pulled in at the bank, an he come on down an grap our bow line.
   “Hi,” he says. “You fellers new in these parts?”
   We tole him we was from Mobile, Alabama, an that we was just passin through, but he says we gotta come up an look at some property he is tryin to sell on the river. He says it is the best property in the whole state of Arkansas, an will give it to us real cheap.
   Now, I tole him we was not in the property buyin bidness just yet, but he is so persistent that I figgered it wouldn’t hurt to foller him to his property, so as not to hurt his feelins. Well, when we got there, I gotta admit, I was somewhat disappointed. I mean, it was nice land an all, but they was a lot of sort of shabby buildins aroun, an people with car gardens an rubber tires in they yards, painted white. It kinda looked like a place I might of lived in mysef—at least till a year or so ago.
   Anyhow, he says to just call him Bill, an not to worry about how the “outstructures” looked, account of in a week or so they would all be torn down an replaced by million-dollar houses, an so if we signed up now, we would be the first to get in on this good deal.
   “Let me tell you fellers somethin,” Bill says, “I am a politician in these parts, but politician don’t pay enough, an so I have made the investment of my lifetime in the Whitewash River enterprise, an I guarantee it can’t bring none of us nothin but satisfaction and success. You know what I mean?”
   Well, ole Bill looked like sort of a nice guy. I mean, he seemed pretty genuine an had a husky down-to-earth voice, white woolly hair, a big ole reddish nose look like Santa Claus’s, an a nice laugh—an he even introduced us to his wife, Hillary, who come out of a trailer wearin a granny dress an a hairdo look like a Beatle wig an brung us some Kool-Aid.
   “Listen,” Bill says in almost a whisper, “I ain’t sposed to say anythin to anybody about this, but the truth is, this Whitewash River property is right over the Smackover Awl Formation, an even if you don’t build you a house here, if you buy it now, afore anybody else finds out, you will be millionaires a hundrit times over, account of the awl.”
   Just about then, a ole feller shows up on the scene, an when I seen him, I like to of fainted dead away.
   “Fellers,” Bill says, “I want you to meet my partner.”
   It was Mister Tribble, my ole chess championship mentor, who everbody says was the one that stole all the money from me in the srimp bidness way back when.
   When he seen me, Mister Tribble jumped back an looked sort of like he’s gonna run off, but then he got hissef together an come up an shakes my hand.
   “Well, it’s good to see you again, Forrest,” he says.
   “Yeah,” I says. “What you doin here?”
   “It is a long story,” he says. “But after your srimp bidness went bust, I needed a job. So I heard the governor, here, needed an adviser, an he took me on.”
   “Governor?” I ast.
   “Why, yes, Bill is the governor of this state.”
   “Then how come you out sellin real estate?” I ast him.
   “Cause it’s the steal of a lifetime,” Bill says. “Why, all you gotta do is sign here an the deal is done. An ole Mr. Tribble here, he will make his commission an profits, an we will all get rich.”
   “We is already rich,” somebody says. It was little Forrest done piped up at last an said that.
   “Well, then, you can get even richer,” Bill says. “Why, it is rich people makes the world go around. I love rich people. Rich people are my friends.”
   Kinda sounded to me like he was runnin for president, but then, I am just a poor ole idiot. What in the world do I know?
   “Now, I guess, Forrest,” says Mister Tribble, “you are wonderin what happened to all your money from the srimp bidness?”
   “Well, it crosses my mind, from time to time,” I answered.
   “Frankly, I took it,” Mister Tribble says. “I mean, you were away assin around in New Orleans, an when the srimp begun to run out, I figgered I’d better put it in safekeepin for you.”
   “Yeah? How’d you do that?” I ast.
   “Why, I purchased this lovely tract here on the Whitewash River. It is the investment of a lifetime,” Mister Tribble says.
   “That’s bullshit,” says little Forrest. “This land ain’t worth a peehole in the snow.”
   “Ah, now, who are you, son?” Mister Tribble ast.
   “Name’s Forrest—An I ain’t your son.”
   “Oh, I see. Well…”
   “An what you’re sayin is, we own this dump?”
   “Ah, well, not exactly. You see, I used the srimp company money just for a down payment. I mean, a man has to live on somethin. So with the exception of the one-point-seven-million-dollar loan I had to take out, you own every square inch of this place.”
   “Yeah,” Bill says, “but don’t worry about the debt or anythin. After all, you know how federal savins and loan bidnesses are. They don’t care if you pay it back or not.”
   “Issat so?” I ast.
   “Never will, if I ever get to be president,” Bill says.

   Well, after that, we took our leaves from Bill an Mister Tribble, an little Forrest is hoppin mad.
   “You oughta sue them bastids,” he says.
   “For what?”
   “For stealin your money an puttin it in that hole of dirt, damnit! Can’t you see that place is one of them scam real estate deals? Who the hell would want to live there?”
   “I thought you liked this river. You could go campin out on it ever night.”
   “Not anymore, I don’t,” he says. An so we paddled down the Whitewash River the rest of the day, an little Forrest, he ain’t sayin much. It look like I am in the doghouse again.

   Well, like it will happen, spring turned to summer an the summer to autumn, an the Gump & Company bidness is still goin great guns. It almost seems like we can do no wrong, an sometimes I just can’t believe it, you know? But me an Gretchen is doin fine together, an little Forrest seems to be happy as a clam—or a oyster. One day I ast Gretchen an little Forrest if they wanted to go see a football game. Actually, I first thought about astin just little Forrest, account I remember all Gretchen used to say about football was “ach!” But this time, she didn’t say no such thing.
   “I have been reading about your football now, Forrest, and I’m looking forward to the game” was how she put it.
   Well, it wasn’t exactly a game I took them to, it was more like a event. This was the Sugar Bowl down in New Orleans where the University of Alabama was to play the University of Miami for the national championship on New Year’s Day.
   The University of Miami players was runnin all over town before the game braggin about how they was gonna whup the Crimson Tide an make us ashamed to show our faces anyplace. Kind of sounded like them cornshucker jackoffs from the University of Nebraska that we had to play in the Orange Bowl when I was on the team. But that was a long, long time ago, an gettin longer.
   Anyhow, we gone on to the game, an let me say this: It was a sight! They play the game these days inside a big ole dome on fake grass an all, but they ain’t nothin fake about the game. In fact, it was a war. I had me a private box an invited some of the rinky dinks I had assed around with over the years, includin good ole Wanda from the strip joint down in the quarter. She an Gretchen got on just fine, especially when Gretchen tole her she’d been a barmaid back in Germany.
   “They all just want one thing, honey—but it ain’t a bad deal” was how Wanda handled the situation.
   Well, not to get to describin things too far, let me just say that the Crimson Tide of Alabama whupped them Hurricanes from the University of Miami so bad they left town with they tails between they legs, an so I finally got to see my ole alma mater win a national championship—an so did Gretchen.
   Little Forrest was beside hissef—especially when they announced my name at halftime as bein one of the ole fellers present—but Gretchen, now, she like to of gone crazy!
   “Defense! Defense! Defense!” was all she could shout, an lo an behole, our defense got so good it would literally snatch the ball out of the hands of them Hurricanes.
   When it was over, we all hugged each other, an I could see that whatever else happened, we was all three gonna be friends forever. Which is good, account of I am always fond of havin friends.

   One day it is sort of misty on the bay, an I been thinkin that now is the time for me to do my thing with ole Lieutenant Dan an Sue. Poor ole Sue.
   So I got out the little ashes cans General Scheisskopf give me back in Kuwait that day, an I gone an got me my ole skiff an untied it from the dock an started to row out of the bayou. I had tole Gretchen an little Forrest what I was fixin to do an they both ast to come with me, but I says, no, this is somethin I gotta do by mysef.
   “Hey, Mr. Gump,” somebody shouts out from shore. “Why don’t you take one of these new boats with the motors on em? You don’t have to row no boat anymore.”
   “Aw, sometimes I kinda like to,” I called back to him, “just for ole times’ sake.”
   So that’s what I done.
   All through the channel an out into the back bay I could hear the foghorns of boats an bells from the buoys an things, an the sun is settin like a big ole red biscuit through the mist. I rowed on out to our new oyster beds by the sewage treatment plant. Everbody else done gone home by this time, so I got the place to mysef—an man, it shore smells ripe!
   I drifted downwind a little an then pointed the bow of the skiff up a bit so’s to have some room, an where I figgered the biggest an fattest oysters would be growin I open the little cans an I begun to say a prayer that Dan an Sue was gonna be okay, an then I thowed em overboard, into the dark waters, an while I ought to of been sad, I wadn’t, somehow. They done come to the end of their journey, was the way I looked at it. Actually, I would of preferred to have a jungle to leave Sue in, but since there ain’t any around here, I figgered the oyster beds was the next best thing. After all, he’d be down there with Dan, who was his pal. I watched the tin cans sort of flutter to the bottom, an for just a moment, they kind of shined back up at me like stars, an then they was gone.
   I turned the skiff around an was fixin to row back when I heard a gong from one a them big ole bell buoys, an when I look up, there is Jenny settin on top of it, slowly rockin back an forth, an lookin as beautiful as ever. Good ole Jenny. She always seems to be there when I need her.
   “Well, Forrest,” she says, “I guess you finally listened to me, huh?”
   “What about?”
   “Way back when. About payin attention to Dan.”
   “Oh,” I says. “Yeah, I spose I did. Pretty good, huh?”
   “Yes, I’d say it was. You just needed somebody to keep repeating ‘oysters’ to you, and finally you’d get the picture.”
   “Well, I hope I don’t screw it up this time,” I says.
   “I don’t think you will. Not this time.”
   “You look kinda sad,” I said. “Somethin wrong?”
   “Nope. It’s just this time might be our last, you know? I mean, I think you’re really all right now. An I got other fish to fry—or oysters to shuck—if you get my meaning.”
   “But what about little Forrest? I thought it was all about him?”
   “Nope, not really. It was always about you. Little Forrest is a fine young man. He can take care of himself. But you, you needed a little lookin after.”
   “I ain’t sure he likes me,” I said.
   “I think he does,” Jenny says. “It’s just kids. I mean, remember how we were at his age?”
   “It’s been a long time ago.”
   “Now, what about Gretchen?” Jenny ast. “How’s that comin along? You know I told you I liked her a while ago. She’s, well—she’s real people.”
   “I dunno,” I says. “It’s kinda embarrassin, you astin stuff like that.”
   “It ought not to be. After all, we had our run.”
   “Yeah, well, not all the way. I mean, it kinda got cut short.”
   “That’ll happen. Memories are what counts in life, Forrest; when there’s nothing else left, it’ll be the memories that mean everything.”
   “But, is what you’re sayin is, I won’t get to…?”
   “Probly, but look, you got the rest of your life in front of you. An I think you’re okay now. I don’t know how you’re gonna do it, but would you say good-bye for me to my mama an little Forrest—just in your own special way?”
   “Well, sure, but…”
   “I just want you to know that I loved you, and also, Forrest, you are very fine.”
   “Hey,” I says, but when I looked up, they was just the big ole bell buoy rockin back an forth in the mist. Nothin else. An so I rowed on back to shore.

   So I gone back into the processin plant that afternoon. Most everbody else has went home now, an I sort of wandered around by mysef, feelin a little bit alone. In a few offices I could see lights on, people workin late, so’s we could have a successful bidness.
   They was one little room in the plant that I liked. It was where we kept the pearls. It wadn’t no bigger than a closet, but inside, with some tools an other stuff, we kept a bucket. Actually, it was the workers that kept the bucket, an in the bucket was the pearls.
   They weren’t much as pearls go. Japanese oysters got all the nice pearls, but ever so often our shuckers will find a ole pearl or so, usually kinda funny-shaped or ugly-colored, but by the end of the year, they would usually be enough pearls that was usable for us to sell em an get enough cash for a beer bust for the shuckin an floor crews, so that’s what we did.
   But when I gone by the pearl closet, I heard a odd sound comin from it, an when I opened the door, there was Sergeant Kranz, settin on a stool, an when I looked at him, settin under a twenty-watt bulb, I could see his eyes was red.
   “Why, Sergeant, what’s wrong?” I ast.
   “Nothin” was what he said.
   “Sergeant Kranz. I have known you for many years. I ain’t never seen you cryin before.”
   “Yeah, well, you won’t again, neither. Besides, I ain’t cryin.”
   “Uh-huh. Well, I am the head of this here operation, an it is my bidness to know what’s wrong with my people.”
   “Since when have I become ‘your people,’ Gump?” he says.
   “Since the day I met you, Sergeant.” An we kind of stared at each other for a moment, an then I seen big ole tears begun to roll down his cheeks.
   “Well, damn, Gump,” he says, “I just guess I’m too ole for this shit.”
   “What you mean, Sergeant Kranz?”
   “It was that Smitty, an his crew,” he says.
   “What happened?”
   “I gone down to check on our boats, an he come after me with his gang. An when I was checkin the lines on our skiffs, he begun to pee in one of my boats, an when I said somethin, he an the others grapped me an begun beatin me with dead mullets…”
   “They done what!”
   “An Smitty, he called me a nigger. First time anybody ever done that to my face.”
   “Issat so?” I ast.
   “You heard what I said, Gump. Wadn’t nothin I could do—Hell, I’m fifty-nine years old. How I’m gonna defend mysef against eight or ten big ole white boys, ain’t half my age?”
   “Well, Sergeant…”
   “Well, my ass. I never thought I’d see the day I wouldn’t of fought them. But it wouldn’t of done no good. I’d of just got beat up—an that wouldn’t of mattered, either, cause of what he called me—except you tole me not to get into any shit with Smitty an his bunch. I would of tried, but it wouldn’t of done no good.”
   “You look here, Sergeant Kranz. That don’t matter now. You just stay here till I get back, you hear. An that’s a order.”
   “I don’t take orders from privates, Gump.”
   “Well, you’ll take this one,” I says.
   An so I gone on down to see about this Smitty bidness.
   All my life I have tried to do the right thing, the only way I saw it. An my mama always tole me the right thing is not to start pickin fights with folks, especially account of I am so big an dumb. But sometimes, you cannot let the right thing stand in your way.

   It was a long walk down the street in Bayou La Batre to where the docks is, an so I spose Smitty an his people seen me comin, cause when I got there, they is all lined up, an Smitty is standin in front of the bunch.
   Also, I din’t notice it, but a lot of the folks from our Gump & Company oyster plant has follered me down there, an the ones that can, are lookin unhappy, like they mean bidness, too.
   I gone up to Smitty an ast him what happened with Sergeant Kranz.
   “Ain’t nothin to you, Gump,” he says. “We was just havin some fun.”
   “You call a gang of you beatin a fifty-nine-year-ole man with dead mullets fun?”
   “Hell, Gump, he ain’t nothin but a ole nigger. Whatsittoyou?”
   An so I showed him.
   First I grapped him by the jacket an lifted him off the ground. Then I thowed him into a pile of seagull shit that had been collectin on the dock. An wiped his nose in it.
   Then I turned him around an kicked his big ass over the dock into one of his own oyster boats. An when he landed in it on his back, I unzipped my pants an peed on him from the wharf above.
   “You ever fool with one of my people again,” I tole him, “you will wish you had been brought up as a vegetable or somethin.” It was probly not the wittiest thing I could of thought of to say, but at the moment I was not feelin witty.
   Just about then somethin hit me in the arm. One of Smitty’s men has got a board with nails in it, an let me say this: It hurt. But I was not in no mood to be screwed with. So I grapped him, too, an they happened to be a big ole ice machine nearby, an I stuffed him into it, headfirst. Another guy come at me with a tire tool, but I seized him by the hair an begun swingin him around an around until I let him go, like a discus or somethin, an last time I looked, he was headin for Cuba or maybe Jamaica. All them other goons, after seein this, they backed off.
   All I says was “Remember what you seen here. You don’t want it to happen to you.” An that was it.
   It was gettin dark by now, an all the folks from Gump & Company was cheerin, an also booin Smitty an his collection of turds. In the dimness I got a glance of Sergeant Kranz standin there, noddin his head. I give him a wink an he give me the thumbs-up sign. We has been friends for a long time, me an Sergeant Kranz, an I think we understand one another.
   About this time, I feel a tuggin at my sleeve. It is little Forrest, who is lookin at the blood on my arm from where the goon hit me with the board full of nails.
   “You anight, Dad?” he ast.
   “Huh?”
   “I said you arright, Dad; you are bleedin.”
   “What you call me?”
   “I love you, Dad” was what he said. An that was enough for me. Yessir.
   Yessir.

   An so that’s how it ends, more or less. After the crowd drifted away I walked on down to the bayou where they is a point that looks out over the bay an the Mississippi Sound an then on out into the Gulf beyond it, an if you could, you could see clear down to Mexico, or South America. But it was still a little misty that evenin, an so I went an set down on a ole park bench, an little Forrest come an set beside me. We didn’t say nothin, cause I think it had been about all said, but it got me to thinkin what a lucky feller I am. I got me a job, a son proud an tall, an I had me some friends in my day, too. I couldn’t help but remember em all. Ole Bubba, an Jenny, an my mama, an Dan, an Sue, is gone now, but probly not too far, cause ever time I hear a big ole foghorn on the water, or a bell from a bell buoy, I think of them; they is out there someplace. An there is little Forrest, an Jenny’s mama, an Sergeant Kranz, an all the rest, still here. An I ain’t forgot what Jenny said about Gretchen, neither. An so, in a way, I am the luckiest feller in the world.

   They is just one more thing to tell, an that is when they decided to make a movie of my life’s story. That is unusual, even for me. Somebody got wind of the fact that I am a idiot who has made good, an in these days it is what they call a “man bites dog” sort of story.
   So one day these Hollywood producers come an inform me I am gonna be in the motion pitchers. Well, a lot of you know the rest. They done made the show, an everbody all over the world went to see it. Mr. Tom Hanks that I met in New York that night, he played my part in the movie—an was pretty good, too.
   Well, finally it become the night to go to the Academy Awards show in California, an I took everbody that was my friends there, an we set in the audience—I even got to set with Bubba’s folks. An damn if the pitcher didn’t win most of the Academy Awards, an at the end, after they get through thankin everbody else, they decided to thank me, too.
   They was a Mister Letterman, as the host, a nice feller with big picket teeth an a trick dog an shit, an as the last item on the menu, so to speak, he announces they is a special award for ole Forrest Gump, for bein “The Most Lovable Certified Idiot in America,” an I am called to the stage.
   An after they give me the award, Mister Letterman ast if they is anythin I would like to say to the TV cameras. An in fact, they is, an I been savin it up. An so I look out there on all them fancy dresses an expensive jewelry an pretty women an handsome men, an says the first thing that comes to mind, which is, of course, “I got to pee.”
   Well, at first, ain’t nobody clappin or commentin or nothin. I think they is all embarrassed, account of we is on national television an all. An after a moment or two, the audience begun a kind of deep mumblin an whisperin to theyselfs.
   An Mister Letterman, who feels like he must be in charge, I think he ain’t sure what to do, so he motions behind the curtains for the hands to get a big ole stage hook, an haul my fat ass off the stage. An the stage hook has just grapped me behind the collar when all of a sudden, out of the audience, a missile sails across the footlights. Little Forrest, it seems, has got so excited he has chewed up his entire Academy Award program, account of they don’t serve no popcorn at the Oscars, an so he is armed with what might be the world’s largest spitball. An when they are tryin to pull me off the stage, little Forrest thows the spitball an hits Mister Letterman square between the eyes!
   Gretchen is horrified, of course, an cries out, “Oh, my goodness!” But let me say this: It was a sight! All of a sudden, all hell bust loose. People begun jumpin up an hollerin an pointin an shoutin, an the nice Mister Letterman is flounderin around behind the speaker’s platform, tryin to pick the spitball off his face.
   But then from out in the audience, I hear one shout above all the rest, an it is this: “That’s my dad! That’s my dad!” An I gotta tell you, that was enough for sure. So I reckon you can say we been there, an then the curtain comes down on all of us.
   You know what I mean?
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