Forrest Gump (31 page)

Furthermore, I look in the mirror now an I got wrinkles on my face, an my hair is turnin gray at the edges an I ain’t got as much energy as I used to. I know things are movin along with the bidness, but mysef, I feel like I’m jus spinnin in place. I’m wonderin jus why am I doin all this for? A long time ago, me an Bubba had a plan, which has now gone beyon our wildest dreams, but so what? It ain’t haf as much fun as the time I played against them Nebraska corn shucker jackoffs in the Orange Bowl, or took a ride on my harmonica up at Boston with The Cracked Eggs, or, for that matter, watched “The Beverly Hillbillies” with ole President Johnson.

An I spose Jenny Curran has somethin to do with it, too, but since ain’t nobody can do nothin bout that, I might as well forget it.

Anyhow, I realize I got to get away. Mama be weepin an bawlin an daubbin at her eyes with the handkerchief like I figgered she woud, but Mister Tribble understan completely.

“Why don’t we jus tell everbody you are taking a long vacation, Forrest,” he say. “An of course your share of the bidness will be here whenever you want it.”

So that’s what I done. One mornin a few days later I got a little cash, an thowed a few things in a dufflebag an then gone down to the plant. I tole Mama an Mister Tribble goodbye an then went aroun an shook hans with everbody else—Mike an Professor Quackenbush an The Turd an The Vegetable an Snake an Coach Fellers an his goons an Bubba’s daddy an all the rest.

Then I gone to the shack an foun ole Sue.

“What you gonna do?” I axed.

Sue grapped holt of my han an then he picked up my bag an carried it out the door. We got in the little rowboat an paddled up to Bayou La Batre an caught the bus to Mobile. A lady in the ticket office there say, “Where you want to go?” an I shrugged my shoulders, so she say, “Why don’t you go to Savannah? I been there once an it is a real nice town.”

So that’s what we did.

We got off the bus at Savannah, where it was rainin to beat the band. Sue an me went in the depot an I got a cup of coffee an took it out under the eaves an tried to figger out what we gonna do nex.

I ain’t got no plan, really, so after I finish my coffee I took out my harmonica an begun to play. I played a couple of songs, an lo an behole, a feller that was walkin by, he thowed a quarter in my coffee cup. I played a couple of more songs, an after a wile the coffee cup is bout haf full of change.

It done quit rainin so Sue an me walked on off an in a little bit come to a park in the middle of town. I set down on a bench an played some more an sure enough, people begun to drop quarters an dimes an nickels in the coffee cup. Then ole Sue, he caught on, an when folks would pass by, he’d take the coffee cup an go up to them with it. At the end of the day, I’d got nearly five dollars.

We slep in the park that night on a bench an it was a fine, clear night an the stars an moon was out. In the mornin we
got some breakfast an I begun to play the harmonica again as folks started showin up for work. We made eight bucks that day an nine the nex, an by the end of the week we had done pretty good, considerin. After the weekend, I foun a little music shop an went in there to see if I could find another harmonica in the key of G on account of playing in C all the time was gettin monotonous. Over in a corner I seen that the feller had a used keyboard for sale. It look pretty much like the one ole George used to play with The Cracked Eggs an that he had taught me a few chords on.

I axed how much he wanted for it, an the feller say two hundrit dollars, but he will make me a deal. So I bought the keyboard an the feller even rigged up a stand on it so’s I could play my harmonica too. It definately improved our popularity with the people. By the end of the nex week we was makin almost ten bucks a day, so I gone on back to the music shop an bought a set of used drums. After a few days practice, I got to where I could play them drums pretty good too. I chucked out the ole Styrofoam coffee cup an got a nice tin cup for Sue to pass aroun an we was doin pretty good for ourselfs. I was playin everthing from “The Night They Drove Ole Dixie Down” to “Swing Lo, Sweet Chariot,” an I had also foun a roomin house that let ole Sue stay there, an served breakfast an supper too.

One morning Sue an me is going to the park when it started to rain again. One thing about Savannah—it rains buckets ever other day there, or so it seems. We was walking down the street in front of a office building when suddenly I seen something that looked vaguely familiar.

There is a man in a business suit standing on the sidewalk with a unbrella an he is standin right in front of a big plastic garbage bag. Somebody is under the garbage bag, keepin out of the rain, an all you can see is a pair of hands reachin out from under the bag, shinin the shoes of the man in the suit. I gone acrost the street and looked closer, an lo and behol, I
can just make out the little wheels of one of them dolly-wagons stickin out from under the bag too. I was so happy I could of just about bust, an I went up an thowed the garbage bag off an sure enough, it was ole Dan hissef, shinin shoes for a livin!

“Gimme that bag back you big oaf,” Dan say, “I’m gettin soakin wet out here.” Then he saw Sue. “So you finally got married, huh?” Dan say.

“It’s a
he
,” I tole him. “You remember—from when I went to space.”

“You gonna shine my shoes, or what?” say the feller in the suit.

“Fuck off,” Dan says, “before I chew your soles in half.” The feller, he walked away.

“What you doin here, Dan?” I axed.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he say. “I’ve become a Communist.”

“You mean like them we was fightin in the war?” I axed.

“Nah,” says he, “them was gook Communists. I’m a real Communist—Marx, Lennin, Trotsky—all that bullshit.”

“Then what you shinin shoes for?” I say.

“To shame the imperialist lackeys,” he answers. “The way I got it figured, nobody with shined shoes is worth a shit, so the more shoes I shine, the more I’ll send to hell in a handbasket.”

“Well, if you say so,” I says, an then Dan thowed down his rag an wheel himself back under the awnin to git outta the rain.

“Awe hell, Forrest, I ain’t no damned Communist,” he say, “They wouldn’t want nobody like me anyhow, way I am.”

“Sure they would, Dan,” I says, “You always tole me I could be anythin I wanted to be an do anythin I want to do—an so can you.”

“You still believin that shit?” he axed.

“I got to see Raquel Welch butt neckit,” I says.

“Really?” Dan say, “what was it like?”

Well, after that, Dan an Sue an me kinda teamed up. Dan didn’t want to stay in the boardin house, so he slep outside at night under his garbage bag. “Builds character,” was how he put it. He tole bout what he’d been doin since he left Indianapolis. First, he’d lost all the money from the rasslin business at the dog track an what was lef he drank up. Then he got a job at a auto shop working under cars cause it was easy for him with the little dolly-wagon an all, but he said he got tired of oil an grease bein dripped on him all the time. “I may be a no-legged, no-good, drunken bum,” he say, “but I ain’t never been no greaseball.”

Nex, he gone back to Washington where they’s havin a big dedication for some monument for us what went to the Vietnam War, an when they seen him, an foun out who he was, they axed him to make a speech. But he got good an drunk at some reception, an forgot what he was gonna say. So he stole a Bible from the hotel they put him up in, an when it come his time to speak, he read them the entire book of Genesis an was fixin to do some excerpts from Numbers when they turned off his mike an hauled his ass away. After that, he tried beggin for a wile, but quit because it was “undignified.”

I tole him about playin chess with Mister Tribble an about the srimp bidness bein so successful an all, an about runnin for the United States Senate, but he seemed more interested in Raquel Welch.

“You think them tits of hers are real?” he axed.

We had been in Savannah about a month, I guess, an was doin pretty good. I done my one-man band act an Sue collected the money an Dan shined people’s shoes in the crowd. One day a guy come from the newspaper an took our pitchers an ran them on the front page.

“Derelicts Loitering in Public Park,” says the caption.

One afternoon I’m settin there playin an thinkin maybe we outta go on up to Charleston when I notice a little boy standin right in front of the drums, jus starin at me.

I was playin “Ridin on the City of New Orleans,” but the little feller kep lookin at me, not smilin or nothin, but they was somethin in his eyes that kinda shined an glowed an in a wierd way reminded me of somethin. An then I look up, an standin there at the edge of the crowd was a lady, an when I saw her, I like to fainted.

Lo an behole, it was Jenny Curran.

She done got her hair up in rollers an she looked a bit older, too, an sort of tired, but it is Jenny all right. I am so surprised, I blowed a sour note on my harmonica by mistake, but I finished the song, an Jenny come up an take the little boy by the han.

Her eyes was beamin, an she say, “Oh, Forrest, I knew it was you when I heard the harmonica. Nobody plays the harmonica like you do.”

“What you doin here?” I axed.

“We live here now,” she say. “Donald is assistant sales manager with some people make roofin tiles. We been here bout three years now.”

Cause I quit playin, the crowd done drifted off an Jenny set down on the bench nex to me. The little boy be foolin aroun with Sue, an Sue, he done started turnin cartwheels so’s the boy would laugh.

“How come you playin in a one-man band?” Jenny axed. “Mama wrote me you had started a great big ole srimp bidness down at Bayou La Batre an was a millionaire.”

“It’s a long story,” I says.

“You didn’t get in trouble again, did you, Forrest?” she say.

“Nope, not this time,” I says. “How bout you? You doin okay?”

“Oh, I reckon I am,” she say. “I spose I got what I wanted.”

“That your little boy?” I axed.

“Yep,” she say, “ain’t he cute?”

“Shore is—what you call him?”

“Forrest.”

“Forrest?” I say. “You name him after me?”

“I ought to,” she say sort of quietly. “After all, he’s haf yours.”

“Haf what!”

“He’s your son, Forrest.”

“My what!”

“Your son. Little Forrest.” I looked over an there he was, gigglin an clappin cause Sue was now doin han-stands.

“I guess I should of tole you,” Jenny say, “but when I lef Indianapolis, you see, I was pregnant. I didn’t want to say anything, I don’t know just why. I felt like, well, there you was, callin yourself ‘The Dunce’ an all, an I was gonna have this baby. An I was worried, sort of, bout how he’d turn out.”

“You mean, was he gonna be a idiot?”

“Yeah, sort of,” she say. “But look, Forrest, can’t you see! He ain’t no idiot at all! He’s smart as a whip—gonna go into second grade this year. He made all ‘A’s’ last year. Can you believe it!”

“You sure he’s mine?” I axed.

“Ain’t no question of it,” she say. “He wants to be a football player when he grows up—or a astronaut.”

I look over at the little feller again an he is a strong, fine-lookin boy. His eyes is clear an he don’t look like he afraid of nothin. Him an Sue is playin tic-tac-toe in the dirt.