So far, the months is goin by fairly peaceful, when little Forrest one night ast the question, what about ole Wanda?
"Well," I says, "I reckon they probly treatin her pretty good up at the zoo in Washington," but he ain't satisfied.
"Well," I says, "let us write them a letter an see if they will send her back."
So that's what we did.
Few months later, there come the reply.
"The National Zoo does not return animals that rightfully belong to it" was pretty much the gist of it.
"Well," little Forrest says, "that don't seem fair. I mean, after all, we raised her from a piglet, didn't we?"
"Yup, I reckon," I says. "We just lent her to the zoo while I was away with the Ayatolja."
Anyway, we went to see Colonel North, who was operatin out of a guardhouse he had built on our grounds, an tole him the situation.
"Them bastids," he began, employin his usual tact an diplomacy. "Then we will just have to organize a clandestin operation to get Wanda back."
An we did that, too.
Colonel North spent months preparin for the clandestin operation. He has bought all sorts of camouflage clothes, an greasepaint for our faces, an scalin wire an hacksaws an knives an compasses an stuff. When I ast him what the plan is, he says we will figger it out when we get there.
The day finally come when we get to Washington, an we went out near the zoo an hid out in a park till nighttime. By midnight, all we can hear from the zoo is the bears an lions an tigers growlin an an occasional bellow from the elephant.
"Arright, it's time to saddle up," says Colonel North, an the three of us begin to sneak into the zoo. We have just gone over the wall when all of a sudden seemed like ever light in the place come on, an sirens go off an bells clang, an in no time, we is surrounded by about fifty police.
"I thought you was sposed to be a expert at this sort of thing," I says to the colonel.
"Yeah, I thought I was, too," he says. "Maybe I'm just a little rusty."
Anyhow, the colonel, he tries to get us out of it by tellin the police we is spies practicin for a top secret clandestin operation in the Iraqi zoo in Baghdad, so's as to capture some of Saddamn Hussein's animals an hole them hostage, an a bunch of other shit like that. The head policeman an everbody else begun laughin so hard that it give little Forrest time to slip away in the confusion. Finally, they was loadin us up in the paddy wagon, when a shout broke out in the night, follered by a oink.
It was little Forrest an Wanda, who he had hacksawed out of her cage. They run by us so fast that the policeman drop everthin an go chasin after, which also gives me an the colonel a chance to escape. The police, I guess, do not know that one of the few things little Forrest inherited from me is my speed, an he gone sailin into the night like a bat out of hell. Colonel an me take off in the opposite direction, an finally we meet up at our secret hideout in the park, as we have agreed to do. Little Forrest an Wanda is already there. "Goddamn, Gump!" shouts the colonel, "we done pulled it off! That was a brilliant clandestin operation on my part, huh?"
"Yeah, Colonel," I says, "you was slicker than owl shit."
Anyway, we sneaked out of the park an down by the railroad tracks just about sunup, an lo an behole, they is a boxcar there on a sidin filled with pigs.
"This is great," says the colonel. "What could be a better disguise than to hide in there?"
"For Wanda, maybe," I says. "I ain't sure about us."
"Well, Gump, it's the only game in town. Climb aboard," he says.
So that's what we did, an let me say this: It was a long an uncomfortable ride home—especially since the boxcar was headed out to Oregon, but somehow we made it, an the colonel, he is pattin hissef on the back the whole way.
Anyhow, we got on home with Wanda, an little Forrest seems happy as he can be, now he has his pet back. Ever day, ole Wanda sets outside my office door, across from the lion, which, fortunately for Wanda I guess, ain't got no teeth. But he looks at her all the time in a kinda longin manner, sorta as if he wanted to marry her, or somethin.
One day, little Forrest comes up an wants to talk. We gone out to the dock, an he says what's on his mind.
"Listen," he says, "we been workin pretty hard here lately, haven't we?"
"Yup."
"So I was thinkin, maybe it's time for a vacation."
"What you got in mind?"
"Well, maybe we can get away from this bay, ya know? Maybe go up to the mountains. Maybe go river raftin, or somethin, huh?"
"Yeah, okay," I says. "You got some particular place you want to go?"
"I been studin up," he says, "an they is a place in Arkansas that looks pretty good."
"Yeah, what is it?"
"It's called the Whitewash River," he says.
So that's what we did.
Before we left, I took ole Sergeant Kranz aside an gave him his instructions as plant manager.
"Just keep things movin," I says, "an try not to get into any shit with Smitty or any of his people. We got a bidness to run, okay?"
"Sure, Gump," he says. "An I meant to tell you, I sure appreciate the opportunity here, ya know? I mean, my retirement from this man's army after thirty years wadn't somethin I was lookin forward to. An now you give me my first real job. I just want to say thanks."
"It's okay, Sergeant," I tole him. "You doin a fine job. It's good havin you around. After all, we been together more or less since them days in Vietnam, with Bubba an them, an that's been more than half my life ago."
"Yeah, well, that's so, I guess. War or peace, I guess I can't get rid of you, can I, Gump?"
"Let's just hope they ain't no more wars to fight, Sergeant," I says. But in fact, they was one more, though I didn't know it at the time.
In any case, little Forrest an me, we got packed up to go to Arkansas an the Whitewash River. Ever since we got in the oyster processin bidness, little Forrest an me have had a sort of uneasy truce. I mean, he is on his best behavior, an has saved me from mysef an my own stupidity more than once. He is vice-president an chief executive officer of Gump & Company, but in truth, he really runs the bidness, cause I certainly ain't got the brains to.
Well, it is a cool spring day when me an little Forrest get up to the Whitewash River. We hired ourselfs a canoe an packed it with pork n beans an Vienna sausages an cheeses an bologna an bread for sambwiches, an off we went.
The Whitewash River is very beautiful, an all the way down it, little Forrest is explainin to me the geologic history of the area, which you can see cut into the riverbanks from time to time. Like he says, it is to be seen in fossils—like me, I guess. We are close to the beginnin of the famous Smackover Formation, he says, which is where all the awl in the whole southeastern United States comes from.
At night we'd camp out on the banks of the river an build a little fire from driftwood an set around an cook our pork n beans an eat our supper, an I am thinkin that this is the first vacation I have ever had. Little Forrest is pretty cheery, an I am hopin me an him can get along better as the days go by. I sure am proud of the way he has growed up an taken charge of so much stuff at the Gump & Company oyster plant, but I am also worried that he is growin up too fast. I mean, I wonder if he has ever had a real boyhood, an got to play football an stuff like I did. I ast him about it, but he says it don't matter.