“You gonna rat them out, or what?” little Forrest ast.
“Rat who out?”
“Ivan Bozosky an Mike Mulligan.”
“I dunno—Why?”
“Cause you better be thinkin about it an make a decision,” he says.
“I been thinkin about it—I just don’t know what to do.”
“Rattin’s not very nice,” he says. “You didn’t rat out Colonel North...”
“Yeah, an look where it got me—thowed in the can.”
“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!”