One day I done got a letter from Mrs. Curran. She says it is gonna be summertime pretty soon, an she thinks it might be a good idea for little Forrest to spend some time with me. She don’t put it exactly in the letter, but I get the impression little Forrest is not doin too good. It is like “boys will be boys,” but also she adds that his school grades ain’t high as they used to be an “it might be helpful if he could spend some time with his daddy.” Well, I wrote her back, sayin to send him on up on the train when school let out, an a few weeks later, he arrived at the station in Coalville.
When I first see him, I can hardly believe it! He has grown about a foot an a half an is a fine-lookin boy, with sandy brown hair an good clear blue eyes like his mama had. But when he sees me, he ain’t smilin.
“How’s it goin?” I ast.
“What is this place?” he says, lookin around an sniffin like he has arrived at the city dump.
“It is where I live now,” I tole him.
“Yeah?” he says.
I get the impression little Forrest has developed an attitude.
“They used to mine coal here,” I say, “afore it run out.”
“Grandma says you are a farmer—that so?”
“Sort of. You wanna go on up to the farm?”
“Might as well,” he says. “I don’t see no reason to stay here.”
So I took him up to Mister McGivver’s farm. Half a mile fore we arrive, little Forrest be holdin his nose an fannin the air. “What is that smell?” he ast.
“It is the hogs,” I say. “What we raise on the farm is hogs.”
“Shit! You expect me to stay here all summer with a bunch of stinkin hogs!”
“Look,” I say, “I know I ain’t been that good a daddy to you, but I am tryin to get us both by, an this is the only work I got right now. An I got to tell you, you ain’t sposed to be using words like ‘shit’ around here. You is too young for that.”
He didn’t say nothin for the rest of the drive, an when we got to Mister McGivver’s house, he gone on inside to his room an shut the door. Didn’t come out till suppertime, an when he did he mostly just sat at the table an played with his food. After he gone to bed, Mister McGivver lit up his pipe an say, “The boy don’t seem to be very happy, does he?”
“I reckon not,” I says, “but I think he’ll come around in a day or so. After all, he ain’t seen me in a pretty long time.”
“Well, Gump, I think it might be a good thing for him to pull his weight around here, you know. Might make him grow up a little bit.”
“Yeah,” I says, “maybe so.” I gone on to bed mysef an was feelin pretty low. I closed my eyes an tried to think about Jenny, hopin she’d turn up to help me, but she didn’t. This time, I am on my own.
Next mornin I got little Forrest to help me slop the pigs, an the whole time he acted disgusted. All that day an the next, he didn’t say nothin to me cept when he had to, an then it wadn’t but a word or two. Finally I had a idea.
“You got a dog or anythin at home?” I ast.
“Nope.”
“Well, you want a pet?”
“Nope.”
“You know, I bet you do, if I showed you one.”
“Yeah? What sort of pet?”
“Foller me,” I says.
I took him to a little stall in the barn, an there is a big ole Duroc sow, nursin half-a-dozen piglets. They is about eight weeks ole, an I had my eye on one of them in particular for a while. I figger it be the pick-of-the-litter, so to speak. It has good clear eyes an comes when you call it, an it is white with little black spots, an its ears perk up when you talk to it.
“I call this one Wanda,” I says, pickin it up an handin it to little Forrest. He don’t look too happy takin it, but he does, an Wanda begun rootin an lickin him like a puppy will.
“How come you call her Wanda?” he says finally.
“Oh, I dunno. I sort of named her after a ole friend of mine.”
Well, after that, little Forrest seemed happier. Not so much with me, but Wanda become his constant companion. She was ready to be weaned anyhow, an Mister McGivver says it is okay with him, if it makes the boy happy.
One day it is time to truck some hogs up to Wheeling for the auction. Little Forrest helped me load them in the truck, an we set off early in the morning. Took half a day to get there, an then we got to come back for another load.
“How come you always drivin all those hogs up to Wheeling in this old truck?” he ast, which is probly the longest words he has had for me so far.
“Cause we gotta get em there, I guess. Mister McGivver’s been doin it for years.”
“Well, don’t you know there’s a railroad runs right through Coalville? Goes up to Wheeling, cause it said so when I rode in here on it. Why don’t you just put the hogs on the railroad an let them take em up?”
“I dunno,” I says. “Why?”
“Because you’d save time, for cryin out loud!” He looks very exasperated at me.
“What’s time to a hog?” I ast.
Little Forrest just shakes his head an looks out the winder. I guess he is now figgered out that he has got a pea brain for a daddy.
“Well,” I says, “maybe that is a good idea. I’ll talk to Mister McGivver about it in the mornin.”
But little Forrest ain’t impressed. He just settin there with Wanda in his lap. Lookin kinda scared an alone.
“Fantastic!” shouts Mister McGivver. “Trains to carry the hogs to auction! It’ll save us thousands! Why in hell didn’t I think of that!”
He is so excited he’s about to bust, an he picks up little Forrest an give him a big ole hug. “You’re a genius, my boy! Why, we’re all gonna be rich!”
Anyhow, Mister McGivver give us both a raise an let us have Sunday an Saturday off, an so on weekends I’d take little Forrest down to Coalville to Etta’s diner an we’d get to talk to the ole miners an other folks that come around. They bein real nice to little Forrest, an he is all the time astin them questions about stuff. It weren’t a bad way to spend the summer, actually, an as the weeks gone by I felt that little Forrest an me is gettin somewhat closer.
Meantime, Mister McGivver is tryin to solve a very messy problem, namely, what we gonna do with all the pig shit that is pilin up as our operation expands? By now, we has got more than ten thousan hogs, an that number is expandin ever day. By the end of the year, Mister McGivver say we ought to have upwards of twenty-five thousan hogs an, at about two pounds of pig shit per hog per day... well, you can see where this is leadin to.
Anyways, Mister McGivver is sellin the hog shit for manure at a pretty fast clip, but at this point he is about run out of folks to buy it, an besides, the folks in town are complainin louder an louder about the smell we are creatin.
“We could try to burn it,” I says.
“Hell, Gump, they already bitchin about the odor as it is. How you think they’d react to a bonfire of fifty thousand pounds of pig shit ever day?”
Over the next few days we kicked around a few more ideas, but ain’t none of them gonna work, an then one night at the supper table when the conversation turned to pig shit again, little Forrest piped up.
“I been thinkin,” he says, “suppose we use it to generate power?”
“Do what?” ast Mister McGivver.
“Look here,” Little Forrest says, “we got that big ole coal seam runnin right underneath our property....”
“What makes you think that?” says Mister McGivver.
“Cause one of the miners tole me so. He says the coal mine goes for nearly two miles from where the entrance is in town right across this land where the hogs are, and stops just before it gets to the swamp.”