Anyhow, things has gotten real big-time. We got a fleet of refrigerator trucks an a fleet of srimp, oyster an fishin boats. We got our own packin house, an a office buildin, an have invested heavily in real estate such as condominiums an shoppin centers an in oil an gas leases. We done hired ole Professor Quackenbush, the English teacher from up at Harvard University, who have been fired from his job for molestin a student, an made him a cook in Mama’s йtouffйe operation. We also hired Colonel Gooch, who got drummed out of the Army after my Medal of Honor tour. Mister Tribble put him in charge of “covert activities.”
Mama has gone an had us a big ole house built cause she say it ain’t right for a corporate executive like me to be livin in no shack. Mama say Sue can stay on in the shack an keep an eye on things. Ever day now, I got to wear a suit an carry a briefcase like a lawyer. I got to go to meetins all the time an listen to a bunch of shit that sound like pygmie talk, an people be callin me “Mister Gump,” an all. In Mobile, they done give me the keys to the city an axed me to be on the board of directors of the hospital an the symphony orchestra.
An then one day some people come by the office an say they want to run me for the United States Senate.
“You’re an absolute natural,” this one feller say. He is wearing a searsucker suit an smokin a big cigar. “A former star football player for Bear Bryant, a war hero, a famous astronaut and the confidant of Presidents-what more can you ask?!” he axe. Mister Claxton is his name.
“Look,” I tell him, “I am just a idiot. I don’t know nothin bout politics.”
“Then you will fit in perfectly!” Mister Claxton say. “Listen, we need good men like you. Salt of the earth, I tell you! Salt of the earth!”
I did not like this idea any more than I like a lot of the other ideas people have for me, on account of other people’s ideas are usually what get me into trouble. But sure enough, when I tole my mama, she get all teary-eyed an proud an say it would be the answer to all her dreams to see her boy be a United States Senator.
Well, the day come when we is to announce my candidacy. Mister Claxton an them others hired the auditorium up in Mobile an hauled me out on the stage in front of a crowd that paid fifty cents apiece to come listen to my shit. They begin with a lot of long-winded speeches an then it come my turn.
“My feller Americans,” I begin. Mister Claxton an the others have writ me a speech to give an later they will be questions from the audience. TV cameras are rollin an flashbulbs are poppin an reporters are scribblin in their notebooks. I read the whole speech, which ain’t very long an don’t make much sense-but what do I know? I am jus a idiot.
When I am finished talkin, a lady from the newspaper stand up an look at her notepad.
“We are currently on the brink of nuclear disaster,” she say, “the economy is in ruins, our nation is reviled throughout the world, lawlessness prevails in our cities, people starve of hunger every day, religion is gone from our homes, greed and avarice is rampant everywhere, our farmers are going broke, foreigners are invading our country and taking our jobs, our unions are corrupt, babies are dying in the ghettos, taxes are unfair, our schools are in chaos and famine, pestilence and war hang over us like a cloud-in view of all this, Mister Gump,” she axe, “what, in your mind, is the most pressing issue of the moment?” The place was so quiet you coulda heard a pin drop.
“I got to pee,” I says.
At this, the crowd went wile! People begun hollerin an cheerin an shoutin an wavin they hands in the air. From the back of the room somebody started chantin an pretty soon the whole auditorium was doin it.
“WE GOT TO PEE! WE GOT TO PEE! WE GOT TO PEE!” they was yellin.
My mama had been settin there behind me on the stage an she got up an come drug me away from the speaker’s stand.
“You ought to be ashamed of yoursef,” she say, “talkin like that in public.”
“No, no!” Mister Claxton says. “It’s perfect! They love it. This will be our campaign slogan!”
“What will?” Mama axed. Her eyes narrowed down to little beads.
“We Got to Pee! ” Mister Claxton say. “Just listen to them! No one has ever had such a rapport with the common people!”
But mama ain’t buyin none of it. “Whoever heard of anybody usin a campaign slogan like that!” she says. “It’s vulgar an disgusting-besides, what does it mean?”
“It’s a symbol,” Mister Claxton says. “Just think, we’ll have billboards and placards and bumper stickers made up. Take out television and radio ads. It’s a stroke of genius, that’s what it is. We Got to Pee is a symbol of riddance of the yoke of government oppression-of evacuation of all that is wrong with this country… It signifies frustration and impending relief!”
“What!” Mama axed suspiciously. “Is you lost your mind?”
“Forrest,” Mister Claxton says, “you are on your way to Washington.”
An so it seemed. The campaign was goin along pretty good an “We Got to Pee” had become the byword of the day. People shouted it on the street an from cars an busses. Television commentators an newspaper columnists spent a lot of time trying to tell folks what it meant. Preachers yelled it from their pulpits an children chanted it in school. It was beginnin to look like I was a shoo-in for the election, an, in fact, the candidate runnin against me, he got so desperate he made up his own slogan, “I Got to Pee, Too,” an plastered it all over the state.
Then it all fell apart, jus like I was afraid it would.
The “I Got to Pee” deal done come to the attention of the national media an pretty soon the Washington Post an the New Yawk Times sent down their investigating reporters to look into the matter. They axed me a lot of questions an was real nice an friendly-sounding, but then they went back an begun to dig up my past. One day the stories broke on the front page of ever newspaper in the country. “Senatorial Candidate Has Checkered Career,” say the headlines.
First, they write that I done flunked out of the University my first year. Then they dug up that shit about me an Jenny when the cops hauled me in from the movie theater. Next they drag out the photograph of me showin my ass to President Johnson in the Rose Garden. They axed aroun about my days in Boston with The Cracked Eggs an quote people sayin that I done smoked marijuana an also mention “a possible arson incident” at Harvard University.
Worst-they done find out about the criminal charges I got for thowin my medal at the U.S. Capitol an that I been sentenced by a judge to a loony asylum. Also, they knew all about my rasslin career, too, an that I was called The Dunce. They even ran a photo of me being tied up by The Professor. Finally, they mention several “unnamed sources” sayin I was involved in a “Hollywood sex scandal with a well-known actress.”
That did it. Mister Claxton come rushin into campaign headquarters screamin, “We are ruint! We have been stabbed in the back!” an shit like that. But it was over. I had no choice cept to withdraw from the race, an the next day Mama an me an Mister Tribble set down for a talk.
“Forrest,” Mister Tribble say, “I think it might be good for you to lay low for a while.”
I knowed he was right. An besides, there is other things that been naggin at my mind for a long time now, though I ain’t said nothin about them before.
When the srimp bidness first started up, I kind of enjoyed the work, gettin up at dawn an goin down to the ponds an puttin up the nets an then harvestin the srimp an all, an me an Sue settin at night on the porch of the fishin shack playin the harmonica, an gettin a six-pack of beer on Saturday an gettin drunk.
Now it ain’t nothing like that. I got to go to all sorts of dinner parties where people servin a lot of mysterious-lookin food an the ladies wearin big ole earrings an shit. All day long the phone don’t never stop ringin an people be wantin to axe me bout everthin under the sun. In the Senate, it would have jus been worse. Now I ain’t got no time to mysef as it is, an somehow, things are slippin past me.
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.
26
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,” and 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.”
