by Gump
"Well, I took a lot of guff about that at school, but I'd of probably taken more if you'd finked on him."
In this, little Forrest is probly correct. I just stood there on top of the Statue of Liberty, wonderin an thinkin—which is not my specialty—an worryin, which is—an finally I shook my head.
"Sometimes," I says, "a man's got to do the right thing."
Anyways, the time for our trial has finally arrived. We is herded into a big federal courtroom where the prosecutor is a Mr. Guguglianti, who looks like he oughta be mayor or somethin. He is all surly an unpleasant an address us like we is axe murders, or worse.
"Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Mr. Guguglianti says, "these three men is the worst kinds of criminals there is! They are guilty of stealing your money—your money—personally...!"
An it goes on downhill from there.
He proceeds to call us crooks, thieves, liars, frauds, an I expect he would of called us assholes, too, if we had not been in a courtroom.
Finally, when Mr. Guguglianti gets finished tar-an-featherin us, it becomes our turn to defend ourselfs. First witness to take the stand is Ivan Bozosky.
"Mr. Bozosky," our lawyer asts, "are you guilty of insider trading?"
We are bein represented, incidentally, by the big ole New York law firm of Dewey, Screwum & Howe.
"I am absolutely, positively, one-hundrit-percent innocent," Mr. Bozosky says.
"Then if you did not do it, who did?" the lawyer asts.
"Mr. Gump over there," Ivan says. "I hired him on as chief of the insider trading division with instructions to put an end to any insider trading, so as to improve my company's reputation, an what does he do? He immediately proceeds to be a crook..."
Ivan Bozosky goes on like this for a while, an paints a pitcher of me, black as a beaver's butt. I am "totally responsible" for all the deals, he says, an in fact, I have totally kept them secret from him, so as to enrich mysef. His line is that he knows nothin about anythin illegal.
"May God have mercy on his guilty soul" is the way Ivan Bozosky puts it.
Next, Mike Mulligan gets his turn. He testifies I phoned him up with stock tips, but he has no idea that I am in the know about insider tradin an so forth. By the time they are finished, I figger my goose is cooked, an Mr. Guguglianti be scowlin at me from his table.
At last it is my time to take the stand.
"Mr. Gump," says Mr. Guguglianti, "just what was your line of work before you became president of the insider trading division of Mr. Bozosky's company?"
"I was Goliath," I answers.
"You was what?"
"Goliath—you know, the giant man from the Bible."
"You stand reminded, Mr. Gump, that this is a court of law. Do not fool with the law, Mr. Gump, or the law will fool with you back—and that is a promise."
"I ain't kiddin," I says. "It was at Holy Land."
"Mr. Gump, are you some kind of a nut?"
At this, our lawyer jumps up. "Objection, Your Honor, counsel is badgering the witness!"
"Well," says the judge, "he does sound sort of nutty—claimin to be Goliath an all. I think I am gonna order a psychiatric examination of Mr. Gump, here."
So that's what they did.
They took me away to a insane asylum or someplace, where the doctors come in an begun bongin me on the knees with little rubber hammers, which, of course, is an experience I have had before. Next they give me some puzzles to work an ast me a lot of questions an give me a test an, to end it off, they bonged me on the knees some more with their hammers. After that, I am taken back to the witness stand.
"Mr. Gump," the judge say, "the psychiatrists' report on you was just what I expected. It says here that you are a 'certifiable idiot.' I overrule the objection! Counsel, you may proceed!"
Anyhow, they gone on to ast me a bunch of questions about what my role was in the insider tradin scam. Over at our table, Ivan Bozosky an Mike Mulligan are grinnin like Cheshire cats.
I admitted to signin all the papers an to callin Mike Mulligan from time to time, an that when I did, I did not tell him it was an insider tradin deal, but just a tip. Finally, Mr. Guguglianti says, "Well, Mr. Gump, it appears now that you are just gonna confess that you, an you alone, are guilty as sin in this matter, an save the court all the trouble of provin it—ain't that so?"
I just sat there for a minute or two, lookin around the courtroom. Judge is waitin with a expectant look on his face; Mr. Bozosky an Mr. Mulligan is leanin back with they arms folded across they chests, smirkin; an our lawyers be noddin they heads for me to go ahead an get it over with. Out in the gallery, I seen little Forrest lookin at me with a kinda pained expression on his face. I figger he knows what I'm gonna do, an that I gotta do it.
An so I sighs, an says, "Yup, I reckon you're right—I am guilty. I am guilty of signin papers—but that's all."
"Objection!" shouts our lawyer.
"What grounds?" ast the judge.
"Well, er, we've just established that this man is a certified idiot. So how can he testify to what he was or was not guilty of?"
"Overruled," says the judge. "I want to hear what he's got to say."
An so I tole them.
I tole them the whole story—about how I was Goliath an about the riot at Holy Land, an about Mr. Bozosky gettin me out of havin to go back to jail an all his instructions about signin the papers an not to look at them, an how, after all, I am just a poor ole idiot that didn't know shit about what was goin on.
What it amounted to was, I ratted out on Mr. Bozosky an Mr. Mulligan.
When I done finished, pandemonium broke out in the courtroom. All the lawyers are on they feet hollerin objections. Newspaper reporters rushed out to the telephones. Ivan Bozosky an Mike Mulligan are jumpin up an down shoutin at the top of they lungs that I am a no good, dirty, double-crossin, ingrateful, lyin, squeeler. The judge be bangin his gavel for order, but ain't none to be found. I looked over at little Forrest an knowed right then an there I made the right decision. An I also decided that whatever else happens, I am not gonna take the fall for nobody, noplace, nomore—an that's that.
Like I said, sometimes a man's just gotta do the right thing.
Chapter Nine
For a while, it looked like I was off the hook, but of course it turned out that was wrong.
Not long after my testimony they carted Ivan Bozosky an Mike Mulligan off to prison. The judge, he thowed the book at them—literally—big ole law book, hit Bozosky square in the head. Next day, a knock come at my door. Standin there was two military police in shiny black helmets with billy clubs an armbands.
"You PFC Gump?" one says.
"That's my name."
"Well, you gotta come along with us, account of you is AWOL from the United States Army."
"AWOL," I says. "How can that be? I was in jail!"
"Yeah," he says, "we know all about that. But your hitch runs two more years—that's what you signed up for with Colonel North. We been lookin for you everplace until we seen you in the newspapers in this Bozosky trial."
The MP hands me a copy of the New York Post, which reads: DULLARD RATS OUT ON HIGH-ROLLING FINANCIAL MEN.
A man with an IQ described as "in the low 70s" yesterday finked on two of this newspaper's most popular subjects, resulting in their sentencing to lengthy prison terms.
Forrest Gump, who sources close to the Post described as being "dumber than a rock," testified before a federal judge in Manhattan that in his capacity as president of the insider trading division of Bozosky Enterprises, he had absolutely no knowledge of any insider trading at the company.
Gump, who has had an apparently checkered career as an encyclopedia salesman, inventor, animal refuse engineer, and sometime spy for the U.S. government, was not immediately available for comment. He was not convicted in the trial, which lasted several weeks.
"So what you gonna do with me?" I ast.
"They probly gonna put you in the stockade till they figger
out somethin," the MP says. About this time, little Forrest come up behin me, tryin to see what's goin on.
"Who's this?" the MP ast. "This your boy?"
I didn't say nothin, an neither did little Forrest. He just glared at the MPs.
"You give me a minute with him?" I says. "I ain't gonna run off or nothin."
"Yeah, I reckon that'd be okay. We'll be outside here—Just don't do nothin funny."
Fact was, funny was not on my mind at this moment. I shut the door an set little Forrest down on the sofa.
"Look," I says, "them fellers come to take me back to the army, an I gotta go with em, you know? So's I want you to get a bus back home an be ready to start school when it opens. Okay?"
The little guy was statin at his shoes an not lookin at me, but he nodded his head.
"I'm sorry about this," I says, "but that's just the way things go sometimes."
He nodded again.
"Look," I tole him, "I'm gonna try to work somethin out. I'll talk to Colonel North. They ain't gonna keep me in the stockade forever. I'll get this straightened out, an then we'll make a plan."
"Yeah, right," he says. "You got a lot of great plans, don't you?"
"Well, I made my mistakes. But somethin's gotta work out. I figger I've had my share of bad luck. It's about time things start to break good."
He gets up an goes back to his room to start packin. At the door, he turn aroun an looks at me for the first time.
"Okay," he says. "You ever get out of the slammer, you look me up. An don't worry about it, hear? I'll be all right."
An so I gone on with the MPs, feelin pretty low an pretty alone. Little Forrest is a good-lookin, smart young man by now, an I done let him down again.
Well, just like the MPs said, when we got back to Washington, they put me in the stockade—thowed in jail again. But ain't long afore they come an turn me loose.
When I got there, I done sent a note to Colonel North, say I think I'm gettin a raw deal here. Couple of months later, he stops by the stockade.
"Sorry about that, Gump, but there ain't much I can do," he says. "I am no longer in the Marine Corps, an I'm pretty busy these days watchin out for some of the Ayatolja's friends who say they want to kill me. Besides, I'm thinkin about runnin for the U.S. Senate. I'll show them bastids what contempt really is."
"Well, Colonel," I says, "that is all very nice, but what about me?"
"It's what you get for makin fools of Congress," he says. "See you aroun the stockade." An then he bust out laughin. "You know what I mean?"
Anyhow, after a few more months on bread an water, I am summoned to the post commander's office.
"Gump," he says, "you just stand at attention while I look over your files." After about half an hour, he says, "At ease," an leans back in his chair. "Well, Gump, I see you have a very mixed record in this man's army. Win the Congressional Medal of Honor, and then you go over the hill. Just what kind of crapola is that?"
"Sir, I didn't go over the hill. I was in jail."
"Yeah, well that's just as bad. If it was up to me, I'd have you cashiered today with a bad-conduct discharge. But it seems some of the brass don't cotton much to havin Medal of Honor winners booted out of the service. Looks bad, I guess. So we got to figger out what to do with you. Got any suggestions?"
"Sir, if you let me out of the stockade, maybe I can go on KP or somethin," I says.
"Not on your life, Gump. I read all about your KP escapades right here in these files. Says here that one time you blew up a steam boiler tryin to make a stew or somethin. Wrecked the mess hall. Cost the army an arm and a leg. Nosiree—you ain't going anywhere near a mess hall on my post."
Then he scratch his chin for a minute. "I think I got a solution, Gump. I ain't got use for any troublemakers around here, so what I'm gonna do is, I'm gonna transfer your big ass as far away as I possibly can, an the sooner the better. That is all."
An so I am transferred. The commander, he was not kiddin about transferrin me to the fartherest place away he could find. Next thing I know, I am assigned to a army weather station in Alaska—in January, no less. But at least they begun payin me again, so's I can send home some allotment money for little Forrest. Matter of fact, I done sent nearly all my pay home, account of what in hell I'm gonna spend it on up in Alaska? In January.
"I see by your files, Gump, that you have had a somewhat checkered past in the service," says the lieutenant in charge of the weather station. "Just keep your nose clean, an they won't be any trouble."
In this, of course, he was wrong.
It was so cold in Alaska that if you went outside an said somethin, your words would freeze themsefs in the air—an if you took a pee, it would wind up as a icicle.
My job was sposed to be readin weather maps an stuff, but after a few weeks, they figgered out I am a numbnuts, an give me the job of moppin the place clean an spit-shinin the toilets an so on. On my day off I'd go out ice-fishin, an one time I got chased by a polar bear an another time by a big ole walrus that ate up all the fish I'd caught.
We was in a little ole town there by the ocean where all the people spent most of they time gettin drunk—Exkimos included. The Exkimos was very nice people, except when they got drunk an had harpoon-thowin contests in the street. Then, it could be dangerous to be out an about.
One time after a couple of months, I went with some of the other fellers into town on a Saturday night. I really didn't much want to go, but in fact I had not been anyplace much, an so I gone along, for the ride, so to speak.
We got to a place called the Gold Rush Saloon an went inside. They was all sorts of activity there—folks be drinkin an fightin an gamblin, an a striptease artist was doin her thing on the bar. Sorta made me think of Wanda's strip joint, down in New Orleans, an I figgered I probly should drop her a postcard sometime. Also got me to thinkin about ole Wanda the pig, little Forrest's pet, an how she was doin, an then, of course, I got to thinkin about little Forrest hissef. But since thinkin ain't exactly my strong point, I decided to take action. I gone out into the street to buy little Forrest a present.
It is about seven P.M. but the sun is shinin bright as can be up here near the North Pole, an all the stores is open. Most of em, however, is saloons. There wadn't no department store around, so's I gone on into a novelty shop where they is peddlin everthin from gold nuggets to eagle feathers, but finally I seen what I wanted to get for little Forrest. A genuine Alaska Indian totem pole!
It was not one of them big ole ten-feet-tall totem poles, but it was about three feet, anyway, an was carved with eagle's beaks an faces of stern-lookin Indians an bear's paws an all, an painted pretty bright colors. I ast the feller at the counter how much, an he says, "For you army grunts I make a special price—one thousan, two hundrit, and six dollars."
"Damn," I says. "What'd it cost before the discount?"
"For me to know an you to find out" was his reply.
Well, anyhow, I stood there figgerin that it is gettin late an I don't know when I'm gonna get back into town an little Forrest probly need to hear from me, so I dug down deep into my pocket for what was left of my paychedcs an bought the totem pole.
"Could you ship it down to Mobile, Alabama?" I ast.
"Sure, for another four hundrit dollars," he says. Well, who was I to argue? After all, we are within spittin distance of the top of the world, so's I dug down again an coughed up the money, figgerin wouldn't have nothin much to spend it on up here anyhow.
I ast him if I could send a note with it, an he says, "Sure, but notes are another fifty bucks."
But I thought, what the hell, this is a genuine antique Alaska Indian totem pole, an I am already gettin a bargin. So's I wrote the note, which said this:
Dear little Forrest,
I spose you been wonderin what has become of me up here in Alaska. Well, I have been workin very hard at a very important job with the United States Army an have not had much time to write. I am sendin you a totem pole to fool with. The India
ns here say they is very sacred objects, so you should put it someplace important to you. I hope you is doin well in school an mindin your grandma.
Love...
Well, I started to put "Love, Dad," but he ain't never called me that, so I just put my name. I figgered he just have to figger out the rest.
Anyhow, time I got back to the bar my guys had proceeded to get drunk. I was just settin at the bar nursin a beer when I noticed a feller in a chair all slumped over a table. I could only see half his face, but somehow he looked familiar, an I gone on over an walked aroun him a couple of times, an lo an behole, if it ain't Mister McGivver from the pig-shit farm!
I raised up his head an sort of shook him awake. At first he don't recognize me, which is understandable, account of there is a mostly empty quart of gin on the table. But then a light sort of come on in his eyes an he jumps up an give me a big hug. I figger he is gonna be real mad at me for lettin the pig shit blow up, but in fact, he ain't.
"Don't worry yourself, my boy," Mister McGivver says. "It was all probably a blessing in disguise anyway. I never dreamed the pig-shit operation would get that big, but once it did, I was under such pressure to keep up with things, it probably was taking years off my life. Maybe you even did me a favor."
As it turns out, of course, Mister McGivver has lost everthin. When the pig-shit farm blowed up, the townspeople an the environmental people shut him down an ran him out of town. Next, because he had borrowed so much money to build the pig-shit-fueled ships, the banks foreclosed on him an thew him out of bidness entirely.
"But that's all right, Forrest," he says. "The sea was my first love anyway. I didn't have any business being an executive or a magnate. Why, hell, right now I'm doing exactly what I want to."
When I ast him what was that, he tole me.
"I am a ship's captain," he says proudly. "Got me a big ole ship out in the harbor right now. You want to see it?"
"Well, I gotta get back to the weather station in a while; is it gonna take long?"
"No time at all, my boy, no time at all."
