Gump & Company
by Winston Groom
To my lovely wife, Anne-Clinton Groom, who has been with Forrest for lo these lovely years.
The Fool’s Prayer
The royal feast was done; the King
Sought some new sport to banish care,
And to his jester cried: Sir Fool,
Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!
The jester doffed his cap and bells,
And stood the mocking court before;
They could not see the bitter smile
Behind the painted grin he wore.
He bowed his head, and bent his knee
Upon the monarch’s silken stool;
His pleading voice arose: “O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!”
The room was hushed; in silence rose
The King, and sought his gardens cool,
And walked apart, and murmured low,
“Be merciful to me, a fool!”
Chapter 1
Let me say this: Everbody makes mistakes, which is why they put a rubber mat around spitoons. But take my word for it—don’t
But first, let me bring you up to date on my sorry tale. A lot has gone on in my life in the last ten or so years. First, I am ten or so years older, which is not as much fun as some people think. I have got a few gray hairs on my head, an I ain’t near as fast as I used to be, which is somethin I found out straightaway when I tried to make me some money playin football again.
It was down in New Orleans, where I had wound up after everthin else happened, an it was just me there. I had got a job sweepin out a strip joint called Wanda’s, which didn’t close till about three A.M., an so I got my days pretty free. One night I was just settin there in a corner watchin my friend Wanda do her thing on stage when a big fight commenced up front. They was people hollerin, cussin, thowin chairs, tables, beer bottles, an knockin each other in the head, an women screamin, too. I did not think too much of all this, account of it happened about two or three times ever night, except this time, I thought I recognized one of the participants.
It was a big ole feller with a beer bottle in his hand, swingin it in a way that I had not seen since I was up to the University of Alabama way back when. Lo an behole, it was old Snake, the quarterback who one time had thowed the ball out of bounds on fourth down to stop the clock when we was playin them cornshucker bastids from Nebraska in the Orange Bowl twenty years ago. An that, of course, lost us the game an made me have to go to Vietnam an—well, let’s don’t worry about all that now.
Anyhow, I went over an grapped the beer bottle from Snake, an he was so glad to see me he punched me on top of the head, which was a mistake because it sprained his wrist, an he commenced to holler an cuss, an about that time the police showed up an hauled all of us off to jail. Now, jail is a place I know somethin about, account of I have been there at various times. In the mornin, after everbody else sobered up, the jailer brung us some fried bologna an stale bread an begun astin if we want to call somebody to get us loose. Snake is mad as hell, an he say, “Forrest, ever time I come around your big dumb ass, I wind up in hot water. Here I ain’t seen you in years and look what happens. We is thowed in jail!” I just nodded my head, cause Snake is right.
Anyhow somebody come an bail us all out, Snake an his friends an me, too, an this guy is not very happy, an Snake, he ast me, “What in hell were you doin in that dive anyhow?” When I tole him I was the cleanup man, Snake get a kind of funny look on his face an says, “Hell, Gump, I thought you still had the big srimp company over at Bayou La Batre. What happened? You was a millionaire.” An I had to tell him the sad story. The srimp company went bust.
I had left the srimp company an gone on my way after a while, cause I got tired of all the bullshit that comes with runnin a big bidness enterprise. An I put the thing in the hands of my mama an my friends Lieutenant Dan from Vietnam an Mister Tribble, who was the chessmaster that taught me the game. First, Mama died, an that’s all I got to say about that. Next, Lieutenant Dan calls me an says he’s gonna quit, on account of he’s made enough money anyhow. An then one day I got a letter from the Internal Revenue Service, says I ain’t paid my bidness taxes an they is fixin to shut me down an take all the boats an buildins an all, an when I went over there to see what was goin on, lo an behole, ain’t
I gone around to see ole Bubba’s daddy to find out what had happened. Now, Bubba was my partner an my friend from the army over at Vietnam, which is where he was kilt, but Bubba’s daddy had helped me, an so I figgered I would get the real story from him. He is settin on the stoop of his house, lookin sad, when I walked up.
“What is goin on with the srimp bidness?” I ast.
He shook his head. “Forrest,” he says, “it is a sad and sorry thing. I’m afraid you have been ruint.”
“But why?” I ast.
“Betrayed” is what he answered.
Then he tole me the story. While I was assing around in New Orleans, good ole Lieutenant Dan had took Sue, my friend who was a ape—an orangutang, to be exact—an gone back over to Bayou La Batre to help out with some problems runnin the srimp bidness. The problems was that we was runnin out of srimp to catch. It seems that everbody in the whole world wanted srimp. People in places like Indianapolis who had never even
Bubba’s daddy didn’t know exactly what happened next, but whatever it was, things went from bad to worse. First, Lieutenant Dan quit. Bubba’s daddy says he saw him drivin off in a big limousine with a lady wearin
