“Is that so?”
“It’s what he tole me,” little Forrest says. “Now, looka here...” He pulls out a composition book he has brought an lays it out on the table. When he opens it up, damned if it don’t contain some of weirdest drawins I have ever seen, but it look like little Forrest might have saved our asses again.
“My God!” Mister McGivver hollers after he has looked at the drawins. “This is wonderful! First rate! You deserve a Nobel Prize, young man!”
What little Forrest has come up with is this: First we plug up the entrance to the coal mine back in town. Next, we drill holes down to the shaft under our property an bulldoze the pig shit into it ever day. After a while, the pig shit will begin to ferment an give off methane gas. Once that happens, we have a vent for the gas that runs through some kind of machinery an stuff that little Forrest has figgered out, an in the end winds up in a big ole generator that will produce enough power not only to run our farm, but it will run the power for the whole town of Coalville!
“Just think of it,” Mister McGivver shouts, “a whole city run on pig shit! And furthermore, it’s so simple an idiot can run it!” I am not so sure about this last statement.
Well, that was just the beginnin. It took the rest of the summer to get the operation goin. Mister McGivver had to talk to the city fathers, but they come up with a government grant to let us start the deal. Pretty soon we got all sorts of engineers an drillers an EPA people an equipment drivers an construction workers millin around on the farm, an people are installin the machinery in a big ole blockhouse they built. Little Forrest is named “honorary chief engineer.” He is so proud, he is about to bust!
I gone on about my duties sloppin hogs an cleanin barns an pens an so on, but one day Mister McGivver comes an says for me to get the bulldozer, because it is time to start shovelin the pig shit into the mine shaft. I worked at that bidness for a week or so, an when I am done, they put a big mechanical seal over the holes they has drilled an little Forrest say now all we got to do is set an wait. That afternoon as the sun begins to go down, I watched him disappear over a little hill that leads down to the swamp, ole Wanda trottin along beside him. She’s gettin big now, an so is he, an I ain’t never been prouder of anythin in my life.
A week or two later, when it is almost the end of summer, little Forrest come an say it is finally time to start up the pig-shit-power operation. He took Mister McGivver an me into the blockhouse just before dark, where there is a big heap of machinery with a bunch of pipes an dials an gauges, an he begun to explain to us how the thing works.
“First,” he says, “the methane gas is released from the mine shaft through this pipe, an a flame ignites it here.” He points to what look like a big ole hot water heater. “Then,” he says, “the condenser gets the steam compressed an it turns this generator, which makes electricity that moves out through these wires, and that’s where the power comes from.” He stands back, grinnin from ear to ear.
“This is wonderful!” cries Mister McGivver. “Edison, Fulton, Whitney, Einstein—none of them have done better!”
Little Forrest suddenly begun turnin valves an handles an thowin switches, an pretty soon the needles on the pressure gauges begun to climb an the meters on the wall begun to turn around. All of a sudden, lights flickerd on in the blockhouse an we is all jumpin for joy. Mister McGivver rushes outside an begun to holler—all the lights in the house an barns be on, bright as day, an in the distance we can see lights comin on in Coalville, too.
“Eureeka!” shouts Mister McGivver. “We have turned a sow’s ear into a silk purse, an we are now eatin high on the hog!”
Anyhow, next day little Forrest got me back into the blockhouse an begun showin me how the operation ran. He explained all the valves an gauges an meters, an after a while, they didn’t seem so hard to understand. I just had to check it all once a day an make sure that one or two of the gauges was not registerin more than they should be, an that this or that valve was turned on or off. I guess Mister McGivver was right, even a idiot like me could run this thing.
“There is somethin else I been thinkin about,” little Forrest says at supper that night.
“What is that, my brilliant lad?” says Mister McGivver.
“Well, I been thinking. You said you were having to slow down the breeding a little bit cause there are just so many hogs you can sell in Wheeling and the other places around here.”
“That is correct.”
“So what I’m thinking is, why not ship the hogs overseas? South America, Europe—even China?”
“Ah, well, my boy,” says Mister McGivver, “that is another fine idea. The problem is, it costs so much to ship hogs that it becomes uneconomical. I mean, time you get em to some foreign port, the shipping costs eat up your profit.”
“That’s what I been thinkin about,” he says, an he pulls out the little composition book, an damned if they ain’t another whole section of sketches he’s drawn.
“Fantastic! Unbelievable! Terrific!” Mister McGivver cries, leaping up. “Why, you should be in the Congress or something!”
Little Forrest has been at it again. He has done sketched a model of a hog transport ship. I did not understand all of it exactly, but the gist of it is this: Inside the ship the hogs is kept in layers from top to bottom. The floorin is nothin but heavy mesh steel, an so when the hogs on the top layer shit, it drops on the second layer an the second on the third an so on, until finally all the hog shit winds up in the bottom of the boat, where there is a machine like we have made here that runs the entire ship.
“So the energy costs are virtually nil!” Mister McGivver roars. “Why, think of the possibilities! Shipping hogs for less than half the normal cost! This is simply amazing! Whole fleets of ships powered by shit! And it doesn’t have to stop there, either! Think of it—trains, planes, airplanes! All of it! Even washers and dryers and television sets! Screw atomic energy. This may usher in a whole new era!” He is so excited he is now wavin his hands, an for a minute I worry he is gonna have a fit or somethin.
“I’m gonna turn this over to somebody first thing in the mornin,” Mister McGivver says. “But first, I want to make an announcement. Gump, you have been so helpful around here that I want to show my gratitude by cutting you in on one third of our profits. Now, how about that?”
Well, I was kind of surprised, but it sounded pretty good, an I tole him so.
“Thanks,” I said.
Finally the time come for little Forrest to go back to school. I was not lookin forward to it, but it had to be. The leafs was just beginnin to turn on the sycamore trees when I carried him to the train station in the truck. Wanda was ridin in the back, account of she was too big now for the cab.
“I want to ask you somethin,” little Forrest says.
“What is that?”
“It’s about Wanda. I mean, you ain’t gonna...”
“Oh, no—no, I ain’t gonna do anythin like that. I think we’ll keep her on here as a brood hog, you know? She’ll be fine.”
“You promise?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, thanks.”
“I want you to be good when you get home, hear? An do what your grandma tells you, okay?”
“Yeah.”
He just set there lookin out the winder, an I got the feelin there was somethin wrong.
“You ain’t unhappy about anythin, is you?”
“Well, I was sort of wondering, why can’t I just stay here and help run the hog farm?”