As crew for our harvestin an processin operations, I have got the entire staff from Reverend Bakker's Holy Land: Moses from the "Burnin Bush," Jonah from the whale scene, Jacob an his "Coat of Many Colors," an all of Pharaoh's Army are now our oyster shuckers. Also, I have got the feller that played Jesus in the "Ascendin into Heaven" act an Daniel with his lion from the "Lion's Den" attraction, thowin out oyster spat in our maritime farmin bidness. The lion, who has gotten kinda ole an moldy, he just sets outside the door to my office, an lets out a roar sometimes. He has lost most of his teeth by now, but has developed a taste for oysters on the half shell, which I spose is all to the good.
Miss Hudgins, from my Ivan Bozosky days, is now our chief shippin dispatcher, an Elaine, from Elaine's restaurant in New York City, is one of our main customers for Gump & Company farm fresh oysters. The venerable old New York law firm of Dewey, Screwum & Howe represent us in our legal matters, an the prosecutor, Mr. Guguglianti, who has found hissef another job, is a sometimes "adviser" on criminal matters - assumin we have any.
I have also found jobs for all members of the army football teams in Germany, the Swagmien Sour Krauts an Wiesbaden Wizards, who do various things around the plant. An Eddie, the limo driver from my New York tycoon days, I put in charge of transportation. Furthermore, I have offered jobs to ole Saddamn Hussein an General Scheisskopf, but they both wrote back nice letters sayin they had "other weenies to roast." Saddamn, however, says he is keepin his "options open," an may be back in touch later.
Finally, I hired good ole Sergeant Kranz to be my plant manager, an it is good to see the ole sergeant again, an get his ration of shit.
But actually, I am savin the best for last. After we become successful, I got up the courage to write to Gretchen. Lo an behole, after a week I got a really beautiful letter back from her, tellin me all about hersef an how she is comin in the university, an the letter is in such good English I can hardly read it.
"Dearest Forrest," she writes, "I have missed you every day since you left for the war and was terrified something had happened to you. I even checked through the American Embassy here, and after some research, they told me you were now out of the army and were well. That was all that mattered..."
Gretchen gone on to say that aside from English, she is workin on a bidness degree an hopes one day to open a restaurant, but that she would sure like to see me. She got her wish. In two weeks she was settin right down in our plant in Bayou La Batre, headin up our international operations division. At night, we'd take long walks along the beach an hole hands like we did in the ole days, an I was finally beginnin to feel sort of happy again. Kinda like I have a purpose in life, but I am takin it slow.
Meantime, Bubba's daddy was kinda lookin for a job, so I made him processin supervisor, and let me say this: He rides them oyster shuckers hard.
An so, here we all are, growin, tongin, bargin, shuckin, processin, cannin, an shippin oysters. An makin money hand over foot! Above my desk I have a quotation that little Forrest has had done up for me. It is solid gold on a face of black velvet an is from the ole writer Jonathan Swift, an says: "He Was a Bold Man That First Ate a Oyster," which is, of course, too true.
Only problem is, ole Smitty an his crew are not likin our bidness one bit. I even offered em jobs, but Smitty say his people don't work in no "integrated" positions, an so we are havin sort of a Mexican standoff. Ever so often, somebody will cut our boat lines at night, or put sugar in our gas tanks, or other chickenshit stuff, but I am tryin to take it in stride. After all, we is doin so good, I do not want to blow it by gettin in a personal feud.
So far, the months is goin by fairly peaceful, when little Forrest one night ast the question, what about ole Wanda?
"Well," I says, "I reckon they probly treatin her pretty good up at the zoo in Washington," but he ain't satisfied.
"Well," I says, "let us write them a letter an see if they will send her back."
So that's what we did.
Few months later, there come the reply.
"The National Zoo does not return animals that rightfully belong to it" was pretty much the gist of it.
"Well," little Forrest says, "that don't seem fair. I mean, after all, we raised her from a piglet, didn't we?"
"Yup, I reckon," I says. "We just lent her to the zoo while I was away with the Ayatolja."
Anyway, we went to see Colonel North, who was operatin out of a guardhouse he had built on our grounds, an tole him the situation.
"Them bastids," he began, employin his usual tact an diplomacy. "Then we will just have to organize a clandestin operation to get Wanda back."
An we did that, too.
Colonel North spent months preparin for the clandestin operation. He has bought all sorts of camouflage clothes, an greasepaint for our faces, an scalin wire an hacksaws an knives an compasses an stuff. When I ast him what the plan is, he says we will figger it out when we get there.
The day finally come when we get to Washington, an we went out near the zoo an hid out in a park till nighttime. By midnight, all we can hear from the zoo is the bears an lions an tigers growlin an an occasional bellow from the elephant.
"Anight, it's time to saddle up," says Colonel North, an the three of us begin to sneak into the zoo. We have just gone over the wall when all of a sudden seemed like ever light in the place come on, an sirens go off an bells clang, an in no time, we is surrounded by about fifty police.
"I thought you was sposed to be a expert at this sort of thing," I says to the colonel.
"Yeah, I thought I was, too," he says. "Maybe I'm just a little rusty."
Anyhow, the colonel, he tries to get us out of it by tellin the police we is spies practicin for a top secret clandestin operation in the Iraqi zoo in Baghdad, so's as to capture some of Saddamn Hussein's animals an hole them hostage, an a bunch of other shit like that. The head policeman an everbody else begun laughin so hard that it give little Forrest time to slip away in the confusion. Finally, they was loadin us up in the paddy wagon, when a shout broke out in the night, follered by a oink.
It was little Forrest an Wanda, who he had hacksawed out of her cage. They run by us so fast that the policeman drop everthin an go chasin after, which also gives me an the colonel a chance to escape. The police, I guess, do not know that one of the few things little Forrest inherited from me is my speed, an he gone sailin into the night like a bat out of hell. Colonel an me take off in the opposite direction, an finally we meet up at our secret hideout in the park, as we have agreed to do. Little Forrest an Wanda is already there. "Goddamn, Gump!" shouts the colonel, "we done pulled it off! That was a brilliant clandestin operation on my part, huh?"
"Yeah, Colonel," I says, "you was slicker than owl shit."
Anyway, we sneaked out of the park an down by the railroad tracks just about sunup, an lo an behole, they is a boxcar there on a sidin filled with pigs.
"This is great," says the colonel. "What could be a better disguise than to hide in there?"
"For Wanda, maybe," I says. "I ain't sure about us."
"Well, Gump, it's the only game in town. Climb aboard," he says.
So that's what we did, an let me say this: It was a long an uncomfortable ride home - especially since the boxcar was headed out to Oregon, but somehow we made it, an the colonel, he is pattin hissef on the back the whole way.
Anyhow, we got on home with Wanda, an little Forrest seems happy as he can be, now he has his pet back. Ever day, ole Wanda sets outside my office door, across from the lion, which, fortunately for Wanda I guess, ain't got no teeth. But he looks at her all the time in a kinda longin manner, sorta as if he wanted to marry her, or somethin.
One day, little Forrest comes up an wants to talk. We gone out to the dock, an he says what's on his mind.
"Listen," he says, "we been workin pretty hard here lately, haven't we?"
"Yup."
"So I was thinkin, maybe it's time for a vacation."
"What you got in mind?"
"Well, maybe we can get away from this bay, ya know? Maybe go up to the mountains. Maybe go river raftin, or somethin, huh?"
"Yeah, okay," I says. "You got some particular place you want to go?"
"I been studin up," he says, "an they is a place in Arkansas that looks pretty good."