Winston Groom - Gump & Company

“No, no, it ain’t that. It just that about the school. I mean, your mama would of wanted...”

“Well, she ain’t here to have a say-so. And I think you might could use some help. I mean, tongin oysters is hard work, and maybe I could be of some use.”

“Well, yeah, sure you could. But...”

“Okay then, that’s it,” he says. “How about I start tomorrow mornin?”

An so, right or wrong, that’s what we done.

Next mornin before dawn I got up an fixed us some breakfast an then I peeked in little Forrest’s room to see if he’s awake. He ain’t, so’s I tippy-toed in an stood there lookin at him, sound asleep in Jenny’s bed. In a way, he looks so much like her I kinda got choked up for a moment, but I caught mysef, account of no matter what, we got work to do. I leaned over to shake him awake, when my foot touched somethin under the bed. I looked down, an damn if it ain’t the head of the big ole totem pole from Alaska I had sent him. I bent over an peered under the bed, an sure enough, there is the other stuff, too, the ooompa horn an the knife, still in its case. He ain’t thowed them away after all, but is keepin em right there. Maybe he don’t play with em much, but at least he has em close, an all of a sudden I am beginnin to understand somethin about children. For just a second I felt like reachin over an kissin him on the cheek, but I didn’t. But I sure felt like it.

Anyhow, after breakfast me an little Forrest set out for Bayou La Batre. I have been able finally to make a down payment on a ole truck so’s I don’t have to ride the bus no more, but it is a real question ever day whether or not the truck will make it there an back. I have named the truck Wanda, in honor of, well, all the Wandas I have known.

“What you spose happened to her?” little Forrest ast.

“Who?” I said. We was drivin on a ole two-lane road in the dark, past broke-down houses an farm fields, toward the water. The lights on the dashboard of the ole truck, a 1954 Chevy, was glowin green an I could see little Forrest’s face in the reflection.

“Wanda,” he says.

“Your pig? Well, I reckon she’s still up at the zoo.”

“You really think so?”

“I guess. I mean, why wouldn’t she be?”

“I dunno. It’s been a long time. Maybe she died. Or they sold her.”

“You want me to find out?”

“Maybe both of us should,” he says.

“Yeah. Maybe so.”

“Hey,” he says, “I wanted to tell you I was sorry about what happened to Sue an Lieutenant Dan, ya know?”

“Well, I appreciate that.”

“They was real good friends, huh?”

“Yup, they was.”

“So what’d they die for?”

“Oh, I dunno. Cause they was doin what they was tole to, I guess. Ole Bubba’s daddy ast me the same question a long time ago. They was just in the wrong place in the wrong time, maybe.”

“Yeah, I know that, but what was the war about?”

“Well, they tole us it was account of Saddamn Hussein done attacked the people in Kuwait.”

“That so?”

“It’s what they said.”

“So what do you really think?”

“A lot of people said it was about awl.”

“Oil—yeah, I read that, too.”

“I reckon they died for awl” was what I had to say about that.

Well, we got on down to Bayou La Batre an put the baskets in the boat, an I rowed us out to the oyster beds. The sun was comin up off the Gulf of Mexico an they was pink fluffy clouds in the mornin sky. The water was clear an flat as a tabletop, an the oars was the only sounds. We got out to the beds, an I showed little Forrest how to stick one oar in the mud to hold the boat still while I raked over the beds an then used the tongs to pull up big globs of oysters. It was a pretty good mornin, an after a while little Forrest said he wanted to do some tongin, too. He seemed happy as he could be, almost like he was tongin pearls instead of oysters, which in fact there were some—but they wadn’t worth nothin, at least not for money to amount to anythin. Wadn’t them kind of oysters.

Anyhow, after we had got all our limit, I begun to row us back to the oyster processin plant, but I ain’t got halfway there before little Forrest ast if he can try his hand at rowin the boat. I moved over an he begun to pull on the oars, an after about half a hour of weavin us this way an that, he got the hang of it.

“How come you don’t get a motor for the boat?” he ast.

“I dunno,” I says. “Sometimes I kinda like rowin. It’s pretty quiet an peaceful. An it gives me time to think.”

“Yeah, about what?”

“I dunno,” I says. “Nothin much. After all, thinkin ain’t my specialty.”

“A motor would save time,” he says, “and efficiency.”

“Yeah, I spose.”

Well, we got on into the dock where the oyster packin plant was an unloaded our bushels of oysters. Price was a little higher today, account of, the man says, they has closed a bunch of oyster beds because of pollution, an so our oysters were rarer than yesterday, which was arright by me. I tole little Forrest to go on over to the truck an get us our lunch buckets so’s we could have our sambwiches down here on the dock, kinda like a waterfront picnic.

I had just settled up with the paymaster when little Forrest come up, lookin unhappy.

“You know a guy called Smitty?” he ast.

“Yup, I know him. Why?”

“Well, somebody’s punched a hole in both our front tires on Wanda. An this guy was standin across the street laughin, an when I asked if he knew who did it, he just said, ‘Nope, but tell your friend that Smitty says hello.’ ”

“ Umph ” was all I could manage.

“So who is this guy?”

“Just a feller,” I says.

“But he looked like he was enjoyin it.”

“Probly. He an his friends don’t like me oysterin down here.”

“He had a oyster knife in his hand. You spose he was the one who did it?”

“Maybe. Problem is, I got no proof.”

“So why don’t you go find out? Ask him?”

“I think it’s best to let them people alone,” I says. “It ain’t nothin but trouble to fool with them.”

“You ain’t scared, are you?”

“Not exactly. I mean, they all live here. They’re mad cause I’m tongin their oysters.”

“ Their oysters! Oysters in the water are anybody’s oysters.”

“Yeah, I know that, but they don’t see it that way.”

“So you gonna let them push us around?”

“I’m gonna go on about my bidness an let them be,” I says.

Little Forrest, he turn around an went on back to the truck an begun fixin the flat tire. I could see him from down the street, talkin an cussin to hissef. I knowed how he felt, but I just can’t afford no screw-ups now. I have got a family to look after.

Then one day it happened. They shut us down.

Me an little Forrest got down to the dock one mornin an they is big ole signs posted everwhere, say Due to Pollution in the Water There Will Be No More Oysterin Under Penalty of Law Till Further Notice.

Well, this come as bad news, indeed. After all, we is hangin on by just about a thread, but they wadn’t nothin to do cept go on back home. It was a pretty dreary night all around, an in the mornin I am feelin glum, settin at the breakfast table, drinkin coffee, when little Forrest come in the kitchen.

“I got a idea,” he says.

“Yeah, what?”

“I think I have figgered out a way to start harvestin oysters again.”

“How is that?” I ast.

“Well, I been studyin up on it,” little Forrest says. “Spose we can convince the state fish n wildlife people that any oysters we harvest is gonna be free of any pollution?”