Just bout this time, I am sposed to enter into the hovel carrying a torch, which Professor Quackenbush have borrowed from the drama department. The fool call out, “Look! Here come a walking fire!” an Professor Quackenbush light my torch an I go across the room into the hovel.
“This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet,” Tom o’Bedlam say.
“What’s he?” the king axes.
An I say, “What are you there? Your names?”
Mad Tom say he is jus “Po Tom, that eats the swimmin frawg, the toad, the tadpole and the newt…” an a bunch of other shit, an then I sposed to suddenly recognize the king, an say:
“What! Hath your grace no better company?”
An Mad Tom, he answer, “The prince of darkness is a gentleman—Modo he’s call’d, and Mahu.”
The wind machine be blowin hard now, an I reckon Professor Quackenbush have not considered that I am six feet six inches tall when he built the hovel, cause the top of my torch is bumpin against the ceiling.
Mad Tom, he is now sposed to say, “Poor Tom’s a-cold,” but instead, he say, “Watch that torch!”
I look down at my book to see where that line come from, an Elmer Harrington III say to me, “Look out for that torch, you idiot!” an I say back to him, “For once in my life I am not the idiot—
“Turn off the goddamn wind machine!” somebody shout, but it is too late. Everthing burning up!
Mad Tom is hollerin an yellin an King Lear take off his colander an jam it on Mad Tom’s head to put the fire out. People is jumpin aroun an choakin an coughin an cussin an the girl playin the fool gets hysterical an commence to shriek an cry, “We will all be kilt!” For a moment or two, it actually looks that way.
I turn behin me, an damn if my cape ain’t caught on fire, an so I thowed open the winder an grapped the fool aroun her waist an out we leaped. It was only from the secont story winder, an they was a bunch of shrubs down there that broke our fall, but it was also lunchtime an hundrits of people was wanderin aroun the Yard. There we was, all a-fire an smolderin.
Black smoke come pourin from up in the open winder of the class an all of a sudden there is Professor Quackenbush, leanin out an lookin aroun, shakin his fist, face all covered up with soot.
“Gump, you fuckin idiot—you stupid asshole! You will pay for this!” he shoutin.
The fool is grovelin aroun on the groun an bawlin an wringing her hans but she is okay—just singed up a bit—so I just took off—bounded across the Yard fast as I could run, cape still on fire, smoke trailin behin me. I didn’t stop till I got home, an when I get into the apartment, Jenny say, “Oh, Forrest, how was it? I bet you was wonderful!” Then she get a peculiar look on her face. “Say, do you smell somethin burnin?” she axes.
“It is a long story,” I say.
Anyhow, after that I did not attend the “Role of the Idiot in World Literature” no more, as I have seen quite enough. But ever night I an Jenny are playin with The Cracked Eggs an all day long we is makin love an takin walks an havin picnics on the banks of the Charles River an it is heaven. Jenny has written a nice tender song called “Do It to Me Hard an Fast,” in which I get to take bout a five-minute ride on my harmonica. It were a splendid spring an summer, an we went down to New Yawk an made the tapes for Mister Feeblestein an a few weeks later he call up to say we is gonna have a record album. Not too long after that, everbody be callin us up to play in their towns an we took the money we got from Mister Feeblestein an bought us a big bus with beds an shit in it an go on the road.
Now there is somethin else durin that period that played a great role in my life. One night after we is finished the first set at the Hodaddy Club, Mose, the drummer for The Cracked Eggs, take me aside an say, “Forrest, you is a nice clean-cut feller an all, but they is somethin I want you to try that I think will make you play that harmonica better.”
I axe what it is, an Mose say, “Here,” an he give me a little cigarette. I tell him I don’t smoke, but thanks, an Mose say, “It is not a regular cigarette, Forrest. It have got somethin in it to expand your horizons.”
I tole Mose I ain’t sure I need my horizons expanded, but he sort of insisted. “At least try it,” he say, an I thought for a minute, an conclude that one cigarette ain’t gonna hurt none, an so I do.
Well let me say this: my horizons indeed become expanded.
Everthing seem to slow down an get rosy keen. That secont set we played that night was the best of my life, I seemed to hear all the notes a hundrit times as I was playin them, an Mose come up to me later an say, “Forrest, you think
I did, an he was right bout that too. I used some of my money to buy me some of that stuff, an before you know it, I was doin it day in an day out. The only problem was, it kind of made me stupider after a wile. I just get up in the mornin an light up one of them joints, which is what they called them, an lie there all day till it was time to go an play. Jenny didn’t say nothin for a wile, cause she been known to take a puff or two hersef, but then one day she say to me, “Forrest, don’t you think you been doin too much of that shit?”
“I dunno,” I says, “how much is too much?”
An Jenny say, “As much as you are doin is too much.”
But I didn’t want to stop. Somehow, it got rid of everthing I might be worried bout, tho there wadn’t too much of that at that time anyway. At night I’d go out between sets at the Hodaddy Club an set in the little alley an look up at the stars. If they weren’t any stars, I’d look up anyway, an one night Jenny come out an find me lookin up at the rain.
“Forrest, you has got to quit this,” she say. “I am worried bout you, cause you ain’t doin nothin cept playin an lyin aroun all day. It ain’t healthy. I think you need to get away for a wile. We ain’t got no concerts booked after tomorrow down in Provincetown, so I think maybe we ought to go someplace an take a vacation. Go up to the mountains maybe.”
I jus nod my head. I ain’t even sure I heard all she said.
Well, the nex night in Provincetown, I find the backstage exit an go on outside to lite up a joint. I am settin there by mysef, mindin my business, when these two girls come up. One of them say, “Hey, ain’t you the harmonica player with The Cracked Eggs?”
I nod yes, an she jus plop hersef down in my lap. The other girl is grinnin an squealin an suddenly she take off her blouse. An the other girl is tryin to unzip my pants an have her skirt pulled up an I am jus settin there blowed away. Suddenly the stage door open an Jenny call out, “Forrest, it is time to…” an she stop for a secont an then she say, “Awe shit,” an slam the door.
I jumped up then, an the girl in my lap felled on the groun an the other one is cussin an all, but I went inside an there is Jenny leaned up against the wall cryin. I went up to her but she say, “Keep away from me, you shithead! You men is all alike, jus like dogs or somethin—you got no respect for anybody!”
I ain’t never felt so bad. I don’t remember much bout that last set we played. Jenny went up to the front of the bus on the trip back an wouldn’t speak to me none at all. That night she slep on the sofa an the nex mornin she say maybe it is time for me to find my own place. An so I packed up my shit an left. My head hangin very low. Couldn’t explain it to her or nothin. Thowed out again.
Jenny, she took off someplace after that. I axed aroun, but nobody knowed where she was. Mose say I can bunk with him till I find a place, but it is a terrible lonely time. Since we ain’t playin none for the moment, there ain’t nothin much to do, an I be thinkin maybe it’s time I go on back home an see my mama an maybe start up that little srimp bidness down where po ole Bubba used to live. Perhaps I is not cut out to be a rock an roll star. Perhaps, I think, I ain’t nothin but a bumblin idiot anyhow.
But then one day Mose come back an he say he was over to a saloon on the corner watchin the tv news, an who should he see but Jenny Curran.
She is down in Washington, he say, marchin in a big demonstration against the Vietnam War, an Mose say he wonderin why she botherin with that shit when she ought to be up here makin us money.
I say I has got to go see her, an Mose say, “Well, see if you can bring her back.” He say he knows where she probly is stayin, on account of they is this group from Boston that has taken an apartment in Washington to demonstrate against the war.
I packed up all my shit—everthin I own—an thanked Mose an then I am on my way. Whether I come back or not, I do not know.
