remember. What was it, er—What’s your name, anyhow?”
“Gump,” I says. “Forrest Gump.”
“Yes, Gump—well, c’mon now, Gump—let’s go real slow through exactly what you did to this stuff. Show me what you put in it.”
So that’s what I did, except I couldn’t remember everthin. I got out some of the little bottles an jars an stuff an tried to do it again, but I never could seem to get it quite right again. We tried an tried again, maybe fifty times, until it was way past midnight, but each time ole Alfred spit the stuff out in the sink an says it ain’t like the first batch. Meantime, Mrs. Hopewell is about on her twentieth gin an orange juice.
“You fools,” she says once. “There ain’t no way to make that crap any good. Why don’t we all go lay down in the bed an see what happens?”
“Shut up, Alice,” Alfred says. “Don’t you see this is the opportunity of a lifetime!”
“Opportunity of a lifetime is what I just suggested,” says Mrs. Hopewell, an she goes back out in the mirror room an starts beatin on the gong. Finally, Alfred leans up against the icebox an puts his head in his hands.
“Gump,” he says, “this is incredible. You have snatched me from the jaws of defeat, only to throw me back again. But I’m not finished yet. I am gonna call the police to seal this kitchen off. And tomorrow, we are gonna get an entire staff down here to pack up every conceivable thing you might have put in this stuff and ship it all back to Atlanta.”
“Atlanta?” I ast.
“You bet your sweet ass, Gump. And the most prized item of all is going to be yourself!”
“Me?” I ast.
“Goddamn right, Gump. Your big ass is coming along to our lab in Atlanta to put this thing together right. Just think of it, Gump. Today Atlanta! Tomorrow the
Mrs. Hopewell’s face is smilin from the winder as I leave, an upon considerin all this, I have a feelin that trouble lies ahead.
Chapter 3
Anyhow, I gone on back to Mrs. Curran’s that night an phoned up Slim at his motel to say I ain’t gonna be placin no more encyclopedias in people’s homes.
“Well, Gump, so this is how you repay me for all my kindness!” he says. “Stabbed in the back! I should of known better.” An he concludes with a bunch of other shit that ain’t any nicer, after which, he hung up in my face. At least I got that over with.
Little Forrest is of course long asleep in the bedroom time I get through with all that, an Mrs. Curran ast me what is goin on? I tole her I am quittin the encyclopedia bidness to go up to Atlanta an help Alfred make his new CokeCola, an that I figger I got to do this, account of it is a lot of money involved an we need to fix up little Forrest with some backup income. She agrees with me, cept she say she thinks I oughta have a conversation with little Forrest fore I go, an explain to him about exactly who I am, since his mama an daddy are dead now. I ast her don’t she think
“There comes a time, Forrest, when I believe a person has got to take the responsibility on himself, and that time is now. Might not be easy, but you gotta do it. And you gotta do it right, because it is gonna make a lastin impression on him.”
In this, I know Mrs. Curran is correct, but it is not somethin I look forward to.
Next mornin I get up bright an early, an Mrs. Curran made me some cereal an helped me get my bag packed. Alfred says he is gonna pick me up at nine A.M. sharp, an so I have got to deal with little Forrest right about now. When he gets finished eatin his breakfast, I call him out on the porch.
“I have got to be gone for a while,” I says, “an there is some things you better know before I go.”
“What is that?” he ast.
“Well, for one thing, I don’t know how long I’m gonna be gone, an I want you to be real nice to Mrs. Curran while I’m away.”
“She’s my grandma; I’m always nice to her,” little Forrest says.
“An I want you to do real good in school, an don’t get into no kind trouble, okay?”
A kind of frown come over his face, an he look at me sort of funny.
“Say, you ain’t my daddy. Why you tellin me all this?”
“I guess that’s what I want to talk to you about,” I says. “You see, I
“No you’re not!” he hollers. “My daddy’s sick back home. He’s comin to get me just as soon as he gets well.”
“That’s somethin else I got to tell you,” I says. “Your daddy ain’t gonna get well, Forrest. He’s with your mama now, you see?”
“He is
“Well, your grandma’s wrong,” I says. “You see, he done took sick like your mama, an he didn’t get well, an so I am gonna have to take care of you now.”
“You!—That’s not so! My daddy is comin!”
“Forrest,” I says. “You got to listen to me, now. I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but I got to. You see, I’m your real daddy. Your mama tole me that a long time ago. But you was livin with them, an I was just—well, like a bum or somethin, an it was better that you stayed with them. But see, they gone now, an ain’t nobody but me to take care of you.”
“You’re a liar!” he says, an begun to beat on me with his little fists, an then he begun to cry. I knew he was gonna, an it was the first time I seen him do it, but I figger it is good for him now—although I still don’t think he understands. I would rather be doin anythin but this.
“Forrest is tellin you the truth, son.” Mrs. Curran had been standin in the doorway durin all this. She come out on the porch an pick the little boy up an set him in her lap.
“I didn’t want to have to tell you this myself,” she says, “so I got Forrest to do it for me. I should have tole you, but I just couldn’t.”
“It’s not so. It’s not so!” he shouts, an begun to kick an cry. “You’re liars. You’re both liars!”
About this time a big ole black limousine pull up in front of the house an Alfred get out an motion for me to come on an get inside. I can see Mrs. Hopewell’s face grinnin out the backseat winder.
An so I took my bag an went on down the sidewalk to the car, an behind me, all I could hear was little Forrest screamin, “Liar, liar, liar!” If this is what Mrs. Curran meant when she says tellin little Forrest the truth will make a “lastin impression,” I sure do hope she is wrong.
Anyhow, we went on up to Atlanta, an the whole time Mrs. Hopewell is puttin her hands on my leg an stuff like that, an ole Alfred, he is pourin over papers an books an talkin to hissef a lot. When we arrive at the CokeCola headquarters buildin, they is a big ole mob of people there to welcome us, an when I come in everbody be pumpin my hand an clappin me on the back.
They led me down a long hall to a door marked Experimental Research Lab, Top Secret, Keep Out! When we gone inside, I like to fainted! They has set up a whole kitchen exactly like Mrs. Hopewell’s, right down to the half-empty glasses where I had drunk the CokeCola.
“Everthing is right here, Gump, just like you left it back at Mobile,” Alfred says. “Now, what we want you to do is just what you did when you fixed that CokeCola. Trace every step you took, and think real hard, because the fate of this whole company might be riding on it!”
To me, it seems a sort of unfair burden to shoulder. After all, I ain’t done anythin but try to fix me somethin to drink. Anyhow, they put me in a big ole white smock, like Dr. Kildare or somethin, an I begun the experiment. First I take a can of the “new CokeCola” an put it in a glass with some ice cubes. I tasted it, just like I done at Mrs. Hopewell’s, an it still taste like shit or whatever.
