“What about Wanda?” I ast.
“I been thinkin about that,” he says. “Here’s what we do.”
While I am takin my bath, Dan has found a ole piece of rope, an when Wanda got through with hers, he ties it around her neck for a leash. He has also picked up a long stick, an when he takes Wanda’s leash in his hand an walks behin her with the stick, tappin it on the ground, damn if he don’t look like a blind man on the street! Well, sort of, anyhow.
“We’ll see how this works,” he says. “You let me do the talking.”
So we gone on into the Union Station, which is filled with all sorts of fancy-lookin people, most of who is lookin right at us.
I looked down on a empty bench an there is a copy of The Washington Post, all messed up, but somebody done turned to a page inside that says: IDIOT CAUSES NOXIOUS BLAST IN WEST VIRGINIA. I just couldn’t help but read it:
Longtime Senator Robert Byrd of West Virginia said he has “seen some shit in his lifetime,” but nothing to compare with the humiliating experience he underwent in the small mining village of Coalville yesterday.
Byrd, a staunch supporter of businesses small and large in his native state, was standing on a speakers’ platform with a dozen other luminaries, including representatives of the U.S. Army and the federal EPA, when a terrible methane gas explosion tore through the town, covering everything and everyone in sight with an unsightly patina of swine manure.
The explosion apparently was set off when a certified idiot, later identified as Forrest Gump, of no fixed address, failed to properly attend a cutoff valve in a plant that received federal funds to convert pig manure into energy.
Police Chief Harley Smathers described the scene this way: “Well, I cain’t hardly describe it at all. I mean, they was all them important people standin there up on the stage. And after it happened, ain’t none of them said nothin for a moment or two, I reckon they was just too startled or something. Then the ladies, they begun to holler and cuss, and the men, they begun to sort of flinch around an mutter—look like the Swamp Thing character on TV. After a while, they must of figgered who the culprit was—this Gump feller, I guess—an organized a posse of sorts to run him down.
We chased after him for a while till he took into Mud Bottom Swamp. Apparently he had a accomplice with him, big ole fat feller disguised as a pig or somethin. We lost him there after dark. Legend around here is, don’t go into Mud Bottom Swamp at night. No matter who’s in there.”
“You got any money?” Dan ast.
“Bout ten or fifteen dollars,” I says. “How bout you?”
“Twenty-eight cents.”
“Well, maybe we can get some breakfast,” I says.
“Hell,” Dan says. “I sure wish we had enough to go to the oyster bar. Man, what I wouldn’t give for a dozen oysters on the half shell right now. Served up over crushed ice, with one of them little crystal bowls for sauce on the side—lemons and Tabasco and some Worcestershire an horseradish.”
“Well,” I says, “I reckon we could do that.” Matter of fact, I know I ain’t got much cash on me, but what the hell. I remember ole Lieutenant Dan in Vietnam, always talkin about how much he liked raw oysters. I figger, bad off as he is now, why not?
Ole Dan, he is so excited he is about to bust, an his legs begun to clatter as we go down the hallways.
“Assateague or Chincoteague oysters,” he says, “don’t matter which. Even good ole Chesapeake Bay oysters’ll do! Hell, mysef, I prefer the Pacific Coast variety—Puget Sound salties, or some of the Oregon State breeds. Or, then, down from the Gulf Coast, where you come from—Bon Secour or Heron Bay oysters, or over at Apalachicola, Florida, they used to have some delicious mollusks!”
Dan was kinda gettin beside hissef, an I think his mouth was waterin as we walked across a great big marble-floored hall toward where the signs say Restaurant an Oyster Bar. But just afore we go inside it, a policeman come up an order us to halt.
“What you clowns think you’re doin?” he ast.
“Gettin our breakfast,” says Dan.
“That so?” says the policeman. “An what’s that hog doin here?”
“That is a licensed seein-eye hog,” Dan says. “Can’t you see I’m blind?”
The cop be lookin at Dan pretty hard in the face, an finally he say, “Well, you look kinda blind, but we can’t let no hog inside the Union Station. It’s against the rules.”
“I tole you, this is a seein-eye hog. It’s perfectly legal,” Dan says.
“Yeah, well, I heard of seein-eye dogs. But ain’t no such thing as a seein-eye hog,” say the cop.
“Yeah,” say Dan. “Well, I am livin proof that there is—ain’t that right, Wanda?” He reach down an patted Wanda on the head, an she give out a single loud grunt.
“So you say,” the policeman answers, “but I ain’t never heard of any such thing. Besides, I think you better show me your driver’s licenses. You fellers look kinda suspicious.”
“Driver’s licenses!” Dan shouts. “What kind of people would give a driver’s license to a blind man?”
The cop, he thinks a minute, an pointin his thumb at me, says, “Yeah, maybe you’re right—but what about him?”
“Him!” Dan shouts. “Why he’s a certified idiot. You want him drivin around in your city?”
“Yeah, well, how come he’s all wet?”
“On account of he fell down in a big mud puddle outside the station here. What kind of people are you, allowin such mud puddles? Why, I think you oughta be sued or somethin.”
The cop be scratchin his head now, an I guess tryin to figger out how to deal with this situation without makin hissef look like a fool.
“Well, all this may be so,” he says, “but if he’s a idiot, what’s he doin here? Looks like maybe we oughta lock him up or somethin.”
“It’s his hog,” Dan answers. “He is the best seein-eye hog trainer in the world. He might not be smart, but it’s one thing he can do. Hogs are smarter than dogs—most of em even smarter than people. But they need a good trainer.”
At this, Wanda give out another big grunt an then peed right on the nice marble floor.
“All right—that’s it!” the cop holler. “I don’t care what you say! You bozos are outta here!”
He grapped Dan an me by the collars an start draggin us to the doors. In the confusion, Dan done dropped Wanda’s leash, an by the time the cop turn aroun to see where she was, he suddenly got a real funny look on his face. Wanda is back about twenty yards behin, lookin at the cop with them squinty little yeller eyes of hers, an she is pawin the marble an gruntin an snortin to beat the band. Then, without no further warnin, she done charged across the floor straight at us, but Dan an me, we knew who she’s aimin at, an so does the cop.
“Oh, my Lord! Oh, my Lord!” he shouts an takes off runnin fast as he can. I let Wanda chase after him for a moment or two an then called her back. Last we see of that cop, he is headed for the Washington Monument. Dan picks up the end of Wanda’s leash again, an we walked on out the door of the Union Station an onto the street, with Dan tappin the ground with his stick.
“Sometimes a man gotta stand up for his rights,” he says.
I ast Dan what we gonna do next, an he say we need to go on down to Lafayette Park, across from the White House, account of it is the prettiest piece of public property in the town, an is also the main place in the city where they let folks like us camp out an do our thing.
“All we gotta do is get us a sign,” Dan says. “Then we become legitimate protesters, an ain’t nothin nobody can do to us. We can live there long as we want.”