"Scuse me, Mr. Ayatolja," I says. "Have you heard the one about the drunk caught drivin down a one-way street?"
"Nope."
"Well, the policeman says to him, 'Say, din't you see them arrows?' An the drunk says, 'Arrows? I din't even see the Indians!' "
"For Chrissakes, Gump..." the colonel hisses, but just then the Ayatolja busts out in a big laugh an begun slappin his thighs an stampin his feet.
"Why, Mr. Gump, you do have a sense of humor, don't you? Why don't you an me take a little walk in my garden?"
So that's what we did. I looked back over my shoulder as we was goin out the door, an Colonel North was just standin there with his jaw hangin down past his chin.
"Look here, Mr. Gump," the Ayatolja says when we get outside, "I don't like this Colonel North of yours. His diplomacy is too slick, and my impression is that he is tryin to put a fast one over on me."
"Oh, I don't know about that," I says. "He seems to me like a truthful feller."
"Well, be that as it may, I ain't got all day to listen to his bullshit. It's about time for me to go pray again. So tell me, what do you think of all this arms for hostages stuff?"
"I don't know much about it. I mean, if it's a fair trade, I guess it's okay. The President seemed to think it was. But, like I say, it ain't exactly in my sphere of influence."
"Just what is your sphere of influence, Mr. Gump?"
"Well, I was a pig farmer, before all this."
"Father of God," the Ayatolja mutters, claspin his hands an rollin his eyes up toward heaven. "Allah has sent me a swine merchant."
"But basically," I added, "I guess I am a military man."
"Ah, that is a little better I suppose. So, from that standpoint, how do you think these missiles will help the poor ole Ayatolja in his war against the infidels in Iraq?"
"Damn if I know."
"Ah—that's the kind of answer the Ayatolja likes to hear. Not this slick car salesman crap of your Colonel North. You go back and tell your people we got a deal. Arms for hostages."
"You gonna get our hostages out, then?"
"I can't promise it, of course. Those fellers in Lebanon are a bunch of maniacs. All the Ayatolja can do is try—You just make sure them missiles get here on the double."
So that's how it was. Colonel North, when he got through chewin me out for hornin in on his diplomacy, he was happy as a pig in sunshine, so to speak.
"Great God, Gump," he says on the flight home, "this is the deal of a lifetime! We have finally tricked that old moron into givin us back our hostages for some old beat-up missiles that an army of Norwegians wouldn't know what to do with. What a lovely coup!"
All the way till we landed, the colonel be pattin hissef on the back for his brilliance. Me, I figger I might have found some kind of career in this bidness, so's I can send some money home for little Forrest. As it turned out, that was not the way it worked.
We ain't back in Washington but a while when all hell breaks loose.
But meantime, I tried to get my affairs straight. First, I gone on up to Walter Reed Hospital, and, sure enough, just like Colonel North said, there is ole Lieutenant Dan, lyin up in a hospital bed. And he was lookin one hell of a lot better than when I seen him last.
"Where've you been, you big asshole?" Dan ast.
"I have been on a top secret mission," I says.
"Yeah? Where to?"
"To Iran."
"What for?"
"To see the Ayatolja."
"What'd you go to see that sombitch for?"
"We was there to make a deal for arms for hostages."
"That so?"
"Yup."
"What kind of arms?"
"Bunch of ole rusty missiles."
"What kind of hostages?"
"Them over in Lebanon."
"Deal go through?"
"Sort of."
"What you mean, sort of?"
"Well, we give the Ayatolja his missiles."
"You get back the hostages?"
"Not yet."
"Yeah, an you never will, you dumb cluck! Not only have you just revealed to me, a civilian, all this top secret bullshit—which is a firin-squad offense—but it sounds like you have been had again! Forrest, you are a shit-for-brains for sure."
Well, after exchangin our pleasantries, I took ole Dan in his wheelchair down to the cafeteria to get some ice cream. Since they don't serve oysters on the half shell at the hospital, ice cream has become Dan's favorite food. He says that aside from raw oysters, ice cream is sort of easy on his teeth. Anyhow, it kind of made me remember when I was a little kid settin out on Mama's back porch, churnin away on Saturday afternoons, makin our own ice cream, an Mama would always let me lick the paddles when the ice cream was good an soft an cold.
"What you reckon is gonna happen to us, Dan?"
"What the hell kind of question is that?"
"I dunno. It just sort of come to me."
"Hell it did—You been thinking again—which is not exactly your specialty."
"Yeah, sort of, I guess. I mean, seems like everthin I touch turns to shit. I can't keep no job more than a while, an even when it's goin okay, I screw up. An I am always missin my mama an Jenny an Bubba an everbody. An now there is little Forrest to look after. Listen, I know I am not the smartest feller around, but people half the time be treatin me like some kinda freak. Seems like the only way I'm gettin anyplace is when I dream at night. I mean, when's this shit gonna stop?"
"Probly it won't," Dan says. "That's just the way it is sometimes. Folks like us, we is just screw-ups, an there's no getting around it. Me, I ain't worried what's gonna happen, cause I know. I ain't long for this earth, myself, an far as I'm concerned, good riddance."
"Don't say that kind of stuff, Dan. You're about the only friend I got left."
"I'll say the truth if I want to. I probly done a lot of wrong shit in my life, but one thing you can't say is that I don't tell the truth."
"Yeah, but that's not how it is. Nobody can know how long they gonna live."
"Forrest," he say, "you got the mind of a mole."
Anyway, this will sort of give you an idea of Dan's frame of mind. Me, I was feelin pretty low mysef. I had begun to realize that Colonel North an me has been bamboozled by the Ayatolja, who has now got his missiles, an we ain't seen no hostages returned. Colonel North done been busy arrangin for the money we got for the missiles to be sent down to Central America to the gorillas, an he is not feelin nearly as bad about things as me.
"Gump," he says one mornin, "I gotta go up to Congress in a day or so to testify to some committee about my activities. Now, they may call you, too, or they may not, but in any case, you don't know nothin about any deals for arms for hostages, do you?"
"I know somethin about the arms, but I ain't seen no hostages yet."
"That's not what I meant, you big ox! Don't you realize what we have done is illegal! We could all go to jail! So you better keep your big mouth shut and do what I tell you, you hear?"
"Yes, sir," I says.
Anyhow, I had other shit to worry about, namely, that Colonel North had got me billeted at the marine barracks, an it was not goin too pleasant there. Marines is different from army folks. They is always goin aroun hollerin at everbody an chewin ass an makin you keep everthin clean as a whistle. The one thing it seemed they liked least was havin an army private in their barracks, an frankly, they made my life so miserable that I finally moved out. I didn't have nowhere to go, so I gone on back to Lafayette Park to see if I could find my crate. Turned out, somebody was usin it, so I went an found me another one. An after I got things fixed up, I got the bus out to the National Zoo to see if I could find ole Wanda.