Winston Groom - Gump & Company.jpg

by Gump

  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.

  Chapter Fourteen

  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 anoth
er 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 si
tuation.

  "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?"