"We need up-an-comin young fellers who are lookin to make a career of this—not some old fart who is just wantin enough work to buy a quart of jug wine" was the way he put it.
After three or four days I got pretty discouraged, an after three or four weeks it become downright humiliatin.
Finally I took to lyin about it to Mrs. Curran an little Forrest.
I tole em I done found work so's I could support em, but the truth was, I begun usin up my separation pay from the army to pay the bills an spent my days at a soda fountain drinkin CokeCola an eatin Fritos, at least when I wadn't out poundin the pavement for a job.
One day I figgered I'd go on down to Bayou La Batre an see if they was anythin for me there. After all, one time I'd owned the biggest bidness in that town.
What I found in Bayou La Batre was pretty depressin. The ole Gump Srimp Company was in a sorry state—buildins an wharfs all dilapidated an fallin in, winders busted out, an the parkin lot's growed up in weeds. It was clear that part of my life was over.
I gone down to the docks, an they is a few srimp boats tied up, but ain't nobody hirin.
"Srimpin's finished down here, Gump," say one captain. "They done fished out all the srimp years ago. Now you gotta have a boat big enough to go all the way down to Mexico afore you can make a profit."
I was about to catch the bus back up to Mobile when it occurred to me I ought to visit poor ole Bubba's daddy. After all, I ain't seen him in nearly ten years. I gone out to where he lived, an sure enough, the ole house was still there, an Bubba's daddy was settin on the porch, drinkin a glass of iced tea.
"Well, I swear," he said when I come walkin up. "I'd heard you was in jail."
"I might of been," I said. "I guess it depends on when you heard it."
I ast him about the srimpin bidness an his picture was bleak as everbody else's.
"Nobody's catchin em, nobody's raisin em. Too few to catch an too cold to grow. Your operation was the heyday down here, Forrest. Ever since then, we been on hard times."
"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," I says. I set down, an Bubba's daddy fixed me a glass of tea.
"You ever catch up with them fellers that looted your company?" he ast.
"Which fellers?"
"That Lieutenant Dan, an ole Mr. Tribble—an that ape, too—what was its name?"
"Sue," I says.
"Yeah, them was the ones."
"Well, I don't think Dan an Sue was to blame. Besides, I guess it don't matter now, anyhow. They are dead."
"Yeah? How'd that happen?"
"It is a long story," I said, an Bubba's daddy, he didn't pursue it no further, for which I was grateful.
"So," he asts finally, "what you gonna do now?"
"I dunno," I says, "but I gotta do somethin."
"Well," say Bubba's daddy, "there is always oysters."
"Oysters?"
"Yeah. Ain't as profitable as srimp used to be, but there is some oyster beds still left out there. Problem is, people scared of eatin em raw these days—too much pollution or somethin. They can make you bad sick."
"Can a man make a livin catchin oysters?" I ast.
"Sometimes. Depends on a lot of things. Pollution gets bad, they close down the beds. Then there is storms an hurricanes an, of course, your competition."
"Competition? Who is that?"
"All them other fellers out there tryin to catch oysters," he says. "They don't take kindly to somebody new comin in here. An they is a very rough bunch, which I suppose you know."
"Yeah, I kinda remember em that way," I says. It was too true. Them oystermen was not people to fool around with, at least back in the ole days.
"So how do I get started?" I ast.
"Ain't too hard," say Bubba's daddy. "Just get you a ole skiff an some oyster tongs. Don't even have to buy a outboard motor if you don't want to—you can get some oars an row, like they did when I was young."
"That's all?"
"Pretty much, I reckon. I can show you where most of the oyster beds are. Course, you'll have to get a license from the state. That's probly the most expensive part."
"You know where I can buy me a skiff?"
"Matter of fact," says Bubba's daddy, "I got one mysef you can use. It's tied up behind the house. All you'll have to do is find some oars. Mine done broke ten or fifteen years ago."
So that's what I done.
Well, it seemed to me pretty ironic, me bein in the oyster bidness, after ole Lieutenant Dan was all the time talkin about gettin some good oysters to eat. Man, I wish he could be here today. He'd be in hog's heaven!
I started out bright an early next mornin. The day before, I'd used the last of my army pay to buy the oars an get a oysterin license. I also bought a pair of coveralls an some baskets to put the oysters in. The sun was just comin up over the Mississippi Sound when I begun to row toward where Bubba's daddy tole me some oyster beds was. What he tole me was to row out to where I could see Buoy No. 6, line it up with a water tower on shore an with the tip of Petit Bois Island to the south. When I had done this, I was to work my way toward the Lake Aux Herbes, an that's where the oysters would be.
It took me about a hour to find Buoy No. 6, but it wadn't no time from then that I got on the oyster beds. By lunch I had tonged up four bushel baskets of oysters, which was my limit, an so I rowed back into shore.
They was a oyster processin plant in Bayou La Batre, an I carried my oysters there to be counted an sold. Time they tally everthin up, I done made forty-two dollars an sixteen cents, which struck me as a little low for upwards of four hundrit oysters they would turn around an sell in restaurants for a dollar apiece. Unfortunately, though, I wadn't in no position to argue.
I was walkin down the street to catch the bus back to Mobile, the forty-two dollars an sixteen cents still warm in my pocket, when half-a-dozen fellers come aroun the corner an block my way on the sidewalk.
"Kinda new around here, ain't you?" one big feller ast.
"Sort of," I said. "What's it to you?"
"We hear you out there tongin up our oysters," another guy says.
"Since when is they your oysters? I thought they was everbody's oysters in the water."
"Oh, yeah? Well, they is everybody's oysters—if you happen to be from here. We don't take kindly of people who try to barge in on our bidness."
"Well," I says, "my name is Forrest Gump. Used to own the Gump Srimp Company. So I'm kinda from here mysef."
"Oh, yeah? Well, my name's Miller. Smitty Miller. I remember your bidness. Fished us all out of srimp an put everybody out of work to boot."
"Look, Mister Miller," I says, "I don't want no trouble. I got a family to look after, an I just want to tong up a few oysters an be on my way."
"Issat so? Well, you look here, Gump. We gonna be keepin a eye on you. We hear you was hangin aroun with that ole coon thats son got kilt over in Vietnam."
"His name was Bubba. He was my friend."
"Yeah? Well, we don't mix with them people down here, Gump. You gonna hang aroun in this town, you better learn the rules."
"Who makes the rules?" I says.
"We do."
Well, that's how it went. Smitty ain't outright tole me to stop oysterin, but I got a feelin that trouble lay ahead. Anyhow, I gone on back home an tole Mrs. Curran an little Forrest that I done got a real job, an they seemed pleased. It might even be I can earn enough to keep Mrs. Curran from sellin her place an goin to the po house. It wadn't much, but it was a start.
Anyhow, the oysterin bidness was, for now, my salvation. Ever mornin I'd ride the bus down to Bayou La Batre an tong up enough oysters to get us by another day, but what happens when the season is over or the beds is closed by pollution, I do not know. It is very worrisome.