I tell him I'm sorry, but that it don't exactly seem fair to blame me for what happened.
"Yeah, probly you're right, Gump. It's just that I put in twenty-eight years of a thirty-year hitch, only to find mysef spendin my final time as a buck private," he says. "Somebody got to be responsible - that's the way it is in the army. Couldn't of been me, else how do you explain that I worked my way up to the highest enlisted rank in the army?"
"Maybe you was just lucky," I says. "I mean, at least you got to be a sergeant for a long time. Me, I have always been at the bottom of the shit heap."
"Yeah," he says, "maybe so. Anyway, it don't matter anymore, I guess. An besides, it was almost worth it."
"What was?" I ast.
"Seein the fan give that old bastid a flattop," he says.
Anyhow, me an Sergeant Kranz have got our work cut out for us. Seems like the division is always on maneuvers, an the mud is two feet deep. We are scrapin an hoein an shovelin an hosin mud from daylight to dark. When we get back to the barracks, we is too dirty to let inside, an they make us hose off in the cold.
Sergeant Kranz, when he talks at all, mostly talks about Vietnam, which, for some reason, he remembers fondly.
"Yeah, Gump, them was the good old days," he says. "A real war - not this police-action crap they got goin for us now. Man, we had tanks and howitzers and bombers could sure bring down a load of pee on the enemy."
"Seems like they brought down a load of pee on us, too, sometimes," I say.
"Yeah, well, that the way it is. In war, people are gonna get killed. That's why it's called a war."
"I never kilt nobody," I says.
"What! How you know that?"
"Well, I don't think I did. I never done fired my weapon but once or twice, an then it was just at bushes or somethin."
"That ain't nothin to be proud of, Gump. In fact, you oughta be ashamed of yoursef."
"Well, what about Bubba?" I ast.
"What about him? Who was that?"
"My friend. He got kilt."
"Oh, yeah, I remember now - the one you went out after. Well, he probably done somethin stupid."
"Yeah," I says, "like joinin the army."
It went on like that day after day. Sergeant Kranz was not the most interestin person to talk to, but at least he was somebody. Anyway, I was beginnin to believe I would never get off the mud detail, when one day somebody come up an say the post commander wants to see me. They hosed me down an I went up to headquarters.
"Gump, I understand you played a little football at one time. That so?" the commander asts.
"Yeah, a little," I says.
"Tell me about it."
An so I did. An when I get finished, the commander says, "Greatgodamighty!"
At least, I ain't got to clean tanks all day no more. Unfortunately, I have now got to clean them all night. But durin the day, I play football for the post team, Swagmien Sour Krauts, we is called.
The Sour Krauts is not a very good football team, to say the least. We was 0 for 11 last year, an 0 for 3 so far this season. Kinda remind me of the old Ain'ts, back in New Orleans. Anyhow, the quarterback is a little wiry guy called Pete, played a little ball in high school. He is fast an slippery an thows the ball okay, but he ain't no Snake, that is for sure. The post commander is of course unhappy about our record, an makes sure we get in a lot of practice. Like about twelve hours a day. An after that, I gotta go back an clean tanks till about three A.M., but it's all right by me - at least it keeps my mind off other things. Also, they has made Sergeant Kranz - oops, Private Kranz - the team manager.
Our first football game is against the steam heat company of the post in Hamburg. They are a dirty, filthy lot, an bite an scratch an cuss the whole game, but I runned over most of them, an at the end it is 45 to 0, our way. It was like that the next three games, too, an so we are now ahead of ourselfs for the first time in memory. The commander is beside hissef an to everbody's amazement, he give us a Sunday off, so's we can go into town.
It is a nice little ole town, with ole buildins an little cobblestone streets an gargoyles on the winder sills. Everbody in town be speakin German, about which none of us understands nothin. The extent of my German is "ja."
Immediately, of course, the guys found a beer hall, an before long is swillin down huge glasses of beer, served by waitresses wearin German smocks. It is so good to be off post an around civilians that I even had a beer mysef - even if I couldn't understand a word anybody around us had to say.
We was in the beer hall a number of hours, an I think we are startin to get rowdy, account of there is a bunch of German guys sort of glarin at us from the other end of the room. They is mutterin stuff at us, such as affenarschs an scheissbolles, but we do not understand them, an so go on about our bidness. After a while, one of our fellers puts his hand on the ass of one of the waitresses. It is not that she minded it so much, but it seems the German guys did. Couple of em come over to our table an begun to say a bunch of stuff real loud.
"Du kannst mir mal en den Sac fassen!" says one of the German fellers.
"Huh?" says our right tackle, whose name is Mongo.
The German guy repeated hissef, an Mongo, who is about ten feet tall, just set there lookin puzzled. Finally, one of our guys who understood a little German says to Mongo, "Whatever it was, I don't think it was very nice."
Mongo stood up an face the German. "Whatever you want, pal, we ain't buyin it - so why don't you shove off."
German ain't buyin it neither. "Scheiss," he says.
"What's that?" ast Mongo.
"It is somethin to do with shit," our feller says.
Well, that was it. Mongo grapped up the German feller an thowed him through a winder. All the other Germans come racin over, an a big ole brawl commenced. People be pokin an gougin an bitin an shoutin. Waitress be screamin an chairs be flyin. It was just like the good ole times back at Wanda's strip joint in New Orleans.
A feller was about to crack me over the head with a beer bottle when I felt somebody grap my wrist an pull me back. It was one of the waitresses, done decided to hep me get out of there. She pulled me to a back doorway, an nex thing I knowed, we was outside. In the distance, I heard the sirens of a police car, an figgered that this time, at least, I am gonna get away from here so as not to wind up back in jail. The waitress is a nice-lookin German girl an she leads me down a side street, away from the commotion. Gretchen is her name.
Gretchen don't speak much English, but we kind of communicated by hand an arm signals, me smilin an sayin ja an her tryin to tell me somethin in German. Anyhow, we walked for a long time, right out of the village an up onto some pretty hills outside of town. Little yellow flowers be bloomin an they is snow-covered mountain peaks in the distance, an down below, the valley is all green an dotted with little houses. In the distance, I think I hear somebody yodelin. Gretchen pointed to me an ast my name, an I tell her.
"Ja," she says. "Forrest Gump is nice name."
After a while, we got up to a pretty meadow an set down, takin in the scenery. They is some sheep in the meadow an away across the valley the sun is beginnin to set in the Alps. You can look down an see a river from here that is shinin in the afternoon sun, an it is so peaceful an beautiful it makes you want to stay here forever.
Gretchen an me, we is findin it a little easier to communicate. She gets across that she is from East Germany, which has been captured by the Russians who have built a big ole wall to keep the people from leavin. But Gretchen somehow managed to escape an has been workin as a waitress for about five years, hopin that one day she can get her family out of East Germany an over here, where they do not put you inside a wall. I tried to tell Gretchen some of my story, but I am not sure it is gettin across. That don't matter, though, account of we seems to be gettin to be friends anyhow. At one point, she took hold of my hand again an give it a squeeze, an before it was over with, she done put her head on my shoulder while we just set there, watchin the end of the day.
Over the next few months we played a lot of football. We played some fellers from the navy an some from the air force an a lot more from the army. I used to get Gretchen to come to some of the games when we was playin close to home. She didn't seem to understand much about it, an mostly what she said was "ach!" but it didn't matter. It was just sort of nice to have her around. In a way, I guess it was a good thing we didn't speak the same language, account of she would of probly found out what a stupo I am, an gone her own way.