Winston Groom: Gump & Company

“I guess you’ll want to go out to the cemetery,” Mrs. Curran said.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I tole her. I didn’t really know if I wanted to or not. I mean, somethin was tellin me I oughta, but it was the last place I really wanted to go.

“I’ve got little Forrest ready,” she says. “He ain’t been there since... Well, I think it would be a good thing for him to go along. Just to kind of get used to it.”

I looked behind her an there he was, standin behind the screen door, lookin sort of sad an puzzled.

“Who are you?” he ast.

“Why, I’m Forrest. You remember when I met you a while back? Up at Savannah.”

“You’re the one with the funny monkey?”

“Yeah. Sue. But he’s not a monkey. He’s a purebread orangutang.”

“Where is he now? He here?”

“Nope. Not this time,” I says. “He got bidness someplace else, I reckon.”

“We’re gonna go see my mama now,” the little boy says, an I like to choked up right then.

“Yeah, I know,” I says.

Mrs. Curran, she put us in the car an we drove out to the cemetery. Whole time, I got these horrible butterflies in my stomach. Little Forrest, he just lookin out the winder with big ole sad eyes, an I am wonderin what in hell is gonna happen to us all.

It was a really pretty cemetery, as them things go. Big ole magnolia an oak trees, an we wound around an wound around till we got to a big tree an Mrs. Curran stopped the car. It was a Sunday mornin, an someplace church bells were chimin away. When we got out, little Forrest come up beside me an looked up, an so I took him by the hand an we walked to Jenny’s grave. The ground was still wet from the rain, an a lot of leaves had blown down, pretty red an gold ones, shaped just like stars.

“Is that where Mama is?” little Forrest ast.

“Yes it is, darlin,” Mrs. Curran says.

“Can I see her?”

“No, but she’s there,” says Jenny’s mama. He was a brave little boy, he was, an didn’t cry or nothin, like I would of if I’d been him. An after a few minutes he found hissef a stick to play with an walked off a ways by hissef.

“I just can’t believe it,” Mrs. Curran said.

“I can’t neither,” I says. “It ain’t right.”

“I’ll go back to the car now, Forrest. You probably want to be alone for a while.”

I just stood there, kind of numb, twistin my hands. Everbody I really cared for seemed to have died or somethin. Bubba an Mama, an now poor Jenny. It had begun to drizzle a little bit now, an Mrs. Curran went an got little Forrest an put him in the car. I started to walk away mysef when I heard a voice say, “Forrest, it’s okay.”

I turned aroun, but ain’t nobody there.

“I said it’s okay, Forrest,” the voice says again. It was... It couldn’t be... It was Jenny!

Cept there still ain’t nobody there.

“Jenny!” I says.

“Yes, Forrest. I just wanted you to know everything’s gonna be all right.”

I must be goin crazy, I figgered! But then alls of a sudden I kind of seen her, just in my mind, I guess, but there she was, as beautiful as always.

“You’re gonna have to take little Forrest now,” she says, “an raise him up to be strong and smart and good. I know you can do it, Forrest. You’ve got a very big heart.”

“But how?” I ast. “I’m a idiot.”

“No you’re not!” Jenny says. “You might not be the smartest feller in town, but you’ve got more sense than most people. You’ve got a long life ahead of you, Forrest, so make the best you can of it. I’ve told you that for years.”

“I know, but...”

“Anytime you really get stumped, I’ll be there for you. Do you understand that?”

“No.”

“Well, I will. So go on back and get busy and try to figure out what you’re gonna do next.”

“But, Jenny, I just can’t believe it’s you.”

“Well, it’s me all right. Go on, now, Forrest,” she says. “Sometimes you act like you ain’t got sense enough to get in out of the rain.”

So I gone on back to the car, soakin wet.

“Was you talkin to somebody out there?” Mrs. Curran ast.

“Sort of,” I said. “I guess I was talkin to mysef.”

That afternoon, me an little Forrest sat in Jenny’s mama’s livin room an watched the New Orleans Saints play the Dallas Cowboys—or whatever it was they did with them. The Cowboys done scored four touchdowns the first quarter, an we ain’t scored none. I had tried to call the stadium to explain where I was, but ain’t nobody answered the phone in the locker room. I guess by the time I got around to callin, they had all done gone out on the field.

Second quarter it was worse, an by half-time the score was forty-two to nothin, an the sportscasters were all talkin about how I wadn’t there an nobody knew where I was. I finally got through to the locker room, an all of a sudden Coach Hurley got on the phone.

“Gump, you idiot!” he hollered. “Where in hell are you!”

I tole him Jenny had died, but he didn’t seem to understand.

“Who in hell is Jenny?” he screamed.

It wadn’t too easy to explain all this, so I just tole him she was a friend of mine. Then the owner got on the phone.

“Gump, I tole you that if you don’t show up for a game, I’m gonna fire your ass myself! And that’s what I’m doin. Your ass is fired!”

“But see,” I tole him, “it was Jenny. I just found out yesterday...”

“Don’t hand me that bullshit, Gump! I know all about you and your so-called agent, Mr. Butterbutt, or whatever his name is. This is just another cheap trick to get more money. An you ain’t gonna do it. Don’t never come around my football team again. You hear—never!”

“Did you explain it to them?” Mrs. Curran ast, when she came back into the room. “Yeah,” I said. “Sort of.”

An so that ended my professional football playin days.

Now I had to find some kind of job to help support little Forrest. Jenny had put most of the money I’d sent her into a bank account, an with the other thirty thousan dollars Jenny’s mama had sent back to me, there was enough to earn a little interest. But it weren’t gonna be enough for everthin, so I knew I had to find me some work.

Next mornin, I looked through the papers at the job ads. Wadn’t much goin on. Mostly they wanted secretaries an used car salesmen an such, an I figgered I needed somethin, well, more dignified.

Then I spotted a ad in the column marked “Other.”

“Promotional Representative,” it says. “No experience necessary! Huge profits for hard workers!” An it give an address for a local motel. “Interviews at 10 A.M. sharp.” “Must be able to deal with people” was the final line.

“Mrs. Curran,” I says, “what is a ‘promotional representative’?”

“I’m not sure, Forrest. I think it’s... Well, you know the guy who dresses up like that big peanut outside the peanut store downtown and hands out little samples of nuts to folks? I think it’s something like that.”

“Oh,” I says. Frankly, I was expectin somethin a little higher up on the ladder. But I am thinkin about them “huge profits” the ad talked about. An besides, if it was bein a peanut man or somethin, at least people wouldn’t know it was me inside the costume.

As it turned out, it was not the peanut man. It was somethin very very different.

“Knowledge!” says the feller. “Everthin in the world depends on knowledge! ”

They was about eight or ten of us done answered the ad for “Promotional Representative.” We had arrived at this dinky little motel an was sent into a room that had a bunch of foldin chairs set up an a phone settin on the floor. After about twenty minutes, the door suddenly bust open an in comes this tall, thin, suntanned guy wearin a white suit an white buck shoes. He don’t say his name or nothin, just comes marchin into the room an gets in front of us an begun to give us a lecture. His hair is slicked back an greasy, an he has a little pencil mustache.