“Governor?” I ast.
“Why, yes, Bill is the governor of this state.”
“Then how come you out sellin real estate?” I ast him.
“Cause it’s the steal of a lifetime,” Bill says. “Why, all you gotta do is sign here an the deal is done. An ole Mr. Tribble here, he will make his commission an profits, an we will all get rich.”
“We is already rich,” somebody says. It was little Forrest done piped up at last an said that.
“Well, then, you can get even richer,” Bill says. “Why, it is rich people makes the world go around. I love rich people. Rich people are my friends.”
Kinda sounded to me like he was runnin for president, but then, I am just a poor ole idiot. What in the world do I know?
“Now, I guess, Forrest,” says Mister Tribble, “you are wonderin what happened to all your money from the srimp bidness?”
“Well, it crosses my mind, from time to time,” I answered.
“Frankly, I took it,” Mister Tribble says. “I mean, you were away assin around in New Orleans, an when the srimp begun to run out, I figgered I’d better put it in safekeepin for you.”
“Yeah? How’d you do that?” I ast.
“Why, I purchased this lovely tract here on the Whitewash River. It is the investment of a lifetime,” Mister Tribble says.
“That’s bullshit,” says little Forrest. “This land ain’t worth a peehole in the snow.”
“Ah, now, who are you, son?” Mister Tribble ast.
“Name’s Forrest—An I ain’t your son.”
“Oh, I see. Well...”
“An what you’re sayin is, we own this dump?”
“Ah, well, not exactly. You see, I used the srimp company money just for a down payment. I mean, a man has to live on somethin. So with the exception of the one-point-seven-million-dollar loan I had to take out, you own every square inch of this place.”
“Yeah,” Bill says, “but don’t worry about the debt or anythin. After all, you know how federal savins and loan bidnesses are. They don’t care if you pay it back or not.”
“Issat so?” I ast.
“Never will, if I ever get to be president,” Bill says.
Well, after that, we took our leaves from Bill an Mister Tribble, an little Forrest is hoppin mad.
“You oughta sue them bastids,” he says.
“For what?”
“For stealin your money an puttin it in that hole of dirt, damnit! Can’t you see that place is one of them scam real estate deals? Who the hell would want to live there?”
“I thought you liked this river. You could go campin out on it ever night.”
“Not anymore, I don’t,” he says. An so we paddled down the Whitewash River the rest of the day, an little Forrest, he ain’t sayin much. It look like I am in the doghouse again.
Well, like it will happen, spring turned to summer an the summer to autumn, an the Gump & Company bidness is still goin great guns. It almost seems like we can do no wrong, an sometimes I just can’t believe it, you know? But me an Gretchen is doin fine together, an little Forrest seems to be happy as a clam—or a oyster. One day I ast Gretchen an little Forrest if they wanted to go see a football game. Actually, I first thought about astin just little Forrest, account I remember all Gretchen used to say about football was “ach!” But this time, she didn’t say no such thing.
“I have been reading about your football now, Forrest, and I’m looking forward to the game” was how she put it.
Well, it wasn’t exactly a game I took them to, it was more like a event. This was the Sugar Bowl down in New Orleans where the University of Alabama was to play the University of Miami for the national championship on New Year’s Day.
The University of Miami players was runnin all over town before the game braggin about how they was gonna whup the Crimson Tide an make us ashamed to show our faces anyplace. Kind of sounded like them cornshucker jackoffs from the University of Nebraska that we had to play in the Orange Bowl when I was on the team. But that was a long, long time ago, an gettin longer.
Anyhow, we gone on to the game, an let me say this: It was a sight! They play the game these days inside a big ole dome on fake grass an all, but they ain’t nothin fake about the game. In fact, it was a war. I had me a private box an invited some of the rinky dinks I had assed around with over the years, includin good ole Wanda from the strip joint down in the quarter. She an Gretchen got on just fine, especially when Gretchen tole her she’d been a barmaid back in Germany.
“They all just want one thing, honey—but it ain’t a bad deal” was how Wanda handled the situation.
Well, not to get to describin things too far, let me just say that the Crimson Tide of Alabama whupped them Hurricanes from the University of Miami so bad they left town with they tails between they legs, an so I finally got to see my ole alma mater win a national championship—an so did Gretchen.
Little Forrest was beside hissef—especially when they announced my name at halftime as bein one of the ole fellers present—but Gretchen, now, she like to of gone crazy!
“Defense! Defense! Defense!” was all she could shout, an lo an behole, our defense got so good it would literally snatch the ball out of the hands of them Hurricanes.
When it was over, we all hugged each other, an I could see that whatever else happened, we was all three gonna be friends forever. Which is good, account of I am always fond of havin friends.
One day it is sort of misty on the bay, an I been thinkin that now is the time for me to do my thing with ole Lieutenant Dan an Sue. Poor ole Sue.
So I got out the little ashes cans General Scheisskopf give me back in Kuwait that day, an I gone an got me my ole skiff an untied it from the dock an started to row out of the bayou. I had tole Gretchen an little Forrest what I was fixin to do an they both ast to come with me, but I says, no, this is somethin I gotta do by mysef.
“Hey, Mr. Gump,” somebody shouts out from shore. “Why don’t you take one of these new boats with the motors on em? You don’t have to row no boat anymore.”
“Aw, sometimes I kinda like to,” I called back to him, “just for ole times’ sake.”
So that’s what I done.
All through the channel an out into the back bay I could hear the foghorns of boats an bells from the buoys an things, an the sun is settin like a big ole red biscuit through the mist. I rowed on out to our new oyster beds by the sewage treatment plant. Everbody else done gone home by this time, so I got the place to mysef—an man, it shore smells ripe!
I drifted downwind a little an then pointed the bow of the skiff up a bit so’s to have some room, an where I figgered the biggest an fattest oysters would be growin I open the little cans an I begun to say a prayer that Dan an Sue was gonna be okay, an then I thowed em overboard, into the dark waters, an while I ought to of been sad, I wadn’t, somehow. They done come to the end of their journey, was the way I looked at it. Actually, I would of preferred to have a jungle to leave Sue in, but since there ain’t any around here, I figgered the oyster beds was the next best thing. After all, he’d be down there with Dan, who was his pal. I watched the tin cans sort of flutter to the bottom, an for just a moment, they kind of shined back up at me like stars, an then they was gone.
I turned the skiff around an was fixin to row back when I heard a gong from one a them big ole bell buoys, an when I look up, there is Jenny settin on top of it, slowly rockin back an forth, an lookin as beautiful as ever. Good ole Jenny. She always seems to be there when I need her.
“Well, Forrest,” she says, “I guess you finally listened to me, huh?”