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“I want to talk to you about the future of your children,” I says, which is part of the rehearsed speech.
“What is your interest in my children?” she asts, sort of suspiciously.
“They are badly in need of knowledge,” I answers.
“What are you, one of those religious nuts?” she says.
“No, m’am, I am here to make a free gift to your home of the world’s best encyclopedias.”
“Encyclopedias! Ha,” she says. “Do I look like I can afford to buy encyclopedias?”
I could see her point, but anyhow, I went on with the speech: “M’am, as I have said, I’m not astin you to buy encyclopedias. I am gonna place them in your home.”
“What do you mean—loan them to me?”
“Not exactly,” I says. “If I could just come in for a minute…”
So she let me in an set me down in the livin room. Slim had done tole us if we got this far, we was almost home free! I opened my kit an begun explainin everthin to her, just like Slim had said to do. The speech was about fifteen minutes long, an she just looked an listened. Three little kids about the age of little Forrest come in an begun crawlin all over her. When I am through, she bust into tears.
“Oh, Mr. Gump,” she says. “I wish I could afford them encyclopedias. But I just can’t.” An then she begun to tell me her sad tale. Her husband done run off with a younger woman an left her without a cent. She lost her job as a diner cook cause she fell asleep from overwork fryin eggs an ruint the griddle. The power company done shut down her electricity, an the phone company is about to do the same. She also got to have a operation but can’t afford it, an the kids is hungry half the time. That night the landlord is comin around to collect the fifty-dollar rent an she ain’t got it, so she’s about to be thowed out of her house. An there is a bunch of other stuff, too, but you get the gist of it.
Anyhow, I done loaned her the fifty bucks an got out of there. Man, she was pitiful.
All that day I done knocked on doors. Most people wouldn’t even let me in. About half of them says they have already been taken by other encyclopedia salesmen, an they was the unhappiest ones of all. Four or five slammed the door in my face, an somebody sicced a big ole ugly dog on me. By late that afternoon, when Slim’s truck pulled up to haul us off, I was exhausted an discouraged.
“Now, don’t none of you worry about this first day,” Slim says. “First day’s always the hardest. Just think, if any of you had sold just one of them contracts, you would be a thousand dollars richer. It don’t take but one, an I guarantee you there is plenty of suckers out there.” Then he turns to me.
“Gump,” he says, “I been watchin you. You got energy boy! An charm, too. You just need a little practice with an expert! An I am the man to show you. Tomorrow mornin, you are comin along with me!”
That night when I got back to Mrs. Curran’s, I didn’t even feel like eatin no supper. Here I was, a great “Promotional Representative,” fifty bucks poorer an got nothin to show for it but thinner shoe soles an a hole in my pants where the dog got me.
Little Forrest was playin on the livin room floor, an ast me where I been.
“Sellin encyclopedias,” I said.
“What kind of encyclopedias?”
An so I showed him. I did just what I was tole to do. I gave my whole speech, openin out the folder with all the pictures an layin down the samples of the encyclopedias an yearbooks. When I was finished, he looked at one of the books an says, “This is a bunch of shit.”
“What is that?” I said. “Who taught you to talk that way?”
“Sometimes my mama would say that,” he replied.
“Well, it ain’t no proper way for a seven-year-ole boy to be talkin,” I says. “Besides, why you call my books that?”
“Because it’s true,” he said. “Look at all this stuff. Half of it’s wrong.” He points to a part of the encyclopedia that’s open. “Look at this,” he says, pointin to a drawin that said “1956 Buick.” “That’s a fifty-five Buick,” he says. “The fifty-six didn’t have fins like that. And look at this, too,” he said. “That’s an F-eighty-five fighter plane—not an F-one-hundred!” Little Forrest gone on to point out a bunch of other stuff, too, he said wasn’t right.
“Any dummy would know all this is wrong,” he says.
Well, almost any dummy, I figgered. I didn’t know if he was right or not, but I intended to ask Slim about it next mornin.
“You got to catch em at just the right time,” Slim says. “Right after the husband has gone off to work an before they take their kids to school. If you see a yard with toys for little kids who ain’t old enough to go to school, save it for later in the day.”
We had got off the truck in a neighborhood an was walkin down the street, an Slim was teachin me the tricks of the trade.
“Next best time,” he says, “is right after the soap operas is over an before they got to go pick up the kids again, or the husband gets home from work.”
“Look,” I said, “I need to ast you somethin. Somebody done tole me a lot of the things in the encyclopedia ain’t right.”
“Yeah, who tole you that?”
“I’d rather not say. Question is, is it true?”
“How the hell would I know?” Slim says. “I don’t read that crap. I’m just here to get people to buy it.”
“But what about the folks who do?” I says. “I mean, it don’t seem fair to be gettin them to pay all that money for stuff that ain’t so.”
“Who cares?” Slim answers. “Ain’t any of them people know the difference—an besides, you don’t think they actually use this shit, do you? They get it to put on a shelf, and it probly don’t ever get opened up.”
Anyhow, Slim pretty soon spotted the house he was gonna make a sale at. It needed some paint an all, but outside there was an old tire hangin from a tree branch by a rope an some small bikes on the porch.
“This is it,” Slim said. “I can feel it in my bones. Two kids, just about school age. I bet Mama’s in there right now opening her checkbook for me.”
Slim knocked on the door, an pretty soon a lady appeared, sort of sad-eyed an tired lookin. Slim went right into his pitch. As he kept on talkin, he just sort of worked his way inside the house, an the next thing the lady knew, the two of us was settin in her livin room.
“But I really don’t need any more encyclopedias,” she says. “Look I’ve already bought the Encyclopedia Britannica and the Encyclopedia Americana. We’ll be payin on those the next ten years.”
“Exactly!” Slim says. “And you won’t be using them until then, either! You see, them encyclopedias are for older kids—late high-school and college students. But you gotta have somethin now, while your kids are still young—somethin they can get interested in! And here it is!”
Slim begun handin the lady all his samples, pointin out how many pictures an all were there an how the writin was simplified an much more understandable than them other encyclopedias the lady already had bought. Time he was through, Slim had got the lady to serve us some lemonade, an when we left, Slim walked away with a contract in his hand.
“Now, Gump! See how easy it is! Lookee here, I just made myself a thousand dollars for twenty minutes’ work—just like takin candy from a baby!”
In fact, he was correct. Cept I didn’t feel exactly right about it. I mean, what was that poor lady gonna do with all them encyclopedia sets? But Slim said she was just the kind of “client” he liked. “They believe all the bullshit you can lay on em,” he said. “Most of em are grateful just to have somebody to talk to.”
Anyway, he says for me to go on now an start pushin the encyclopedias on my own, an he expects me to have a sale or two by the end of the day—now that he has showed me how to do it.
So that’s what I did. But by late that afternoon, I had knocked on two-dozen doors an hadn’t even once got ast inside. Four or five times the people wouldn’t even open the door—they spoke through the mail slot an tole me to go away. One lady was hoein some crabgrass out of her driveway an when she found out why I was there, she ran me off with the hoe.
I was walkin on back to the truck pickup point when I looked down a street that was different from the ones I had been workin on. This was a nice street, with real pretty houses an gardens an expensive cars in the driveways. An at the very end of the street, up on a little hill, was the biggest house of them all—a mansion, I guess you could call it. I figgered, what the hell. I know Slim has tole us these kinds of folks don’t buy encyclopedias, but I got to try somethin, an so I gone on up to the mansion an rang the doorbell. It was the first doorbell I seen all day. First, nothin happened, an I figgered ain’t nobody home. I rang two or three more times, an was about to go on my way, when suddenly the door opened. It was a lady standin there, wearin a red silk gown, an carryin a cigarette holder in her hand. She was older than me, but she was still very beautiful, with long wavy brown hair an a lot of makeup. When she saw me, she looked me over two or three times, an then gave a big ole smile. Afore I had a chance to say anythin at all, she opened the door an invited me in.
Mrs. Hopewell was her name, but she says for me to call her Alice.
Mrs. Hopewell—Alice—took me into a great big room with high ceilins an a lot of fancy furniture an ast me if I wanted somethin to drink. I nodded, an she says, “What’ll it be then, bourbon, gin, scotch?” But I remembered what Slim had tole us about drinkin on the job, so I tole her a CokeCola would be just fine. When she come back with the CokeCola, I went into my spiel. About halfway through, Mrs. Hopewell says, “Thank you, Forrest. I have heard enough. I’ll buy them.”
“What?” I ast. I ain’t believin my luck.
“The encyclopedias,” she says. “I’ll take a set.”
She ast me how much to write the check for, an I explained about how she ain’t really buyin them, just makin a contract to buy the annual yearbook for the rest of her life, but she waved me off. “Just show me where to sign,” she said, an that’s what I did.
Meantime, I took a swig of the CokeCola. Uggh! It tasted horrible! For a moment I thought she done poured me somethin else besides CokeCola, but in fact she hadn’t, account of she done left the can right there on the side table.
“And now, Forrest, I am gonna go slip into somethin more comfortable,” Mrs. Hopewell says.
I am thinkin she looks comfortable enough already, but of course, this is none of my bidness.
“Yes’m,” I says.
“Just call me Alice,” she says, and disappears out of the room with her skirts sashayin behind her.
I set there lookin at the CokeCola an gettin thirstier an thirstier. I really wish I had a RC or somethin. Anyhow, I figger she is gonna be a few minutes, so I gone on back to where the kitchen was. I have never seen such a kitchen as this! I mean, it is bigger than the whole house Jenny growed up in, with tiles an wood an stainless stuff an lights that come out of the ceiling! I looked in the icebox to see if there was another CokeCola, thinkin maybe that one had just gone bad. To my surprise there was about fifty cans of it in there, an so I popped open another one an took a great big swig. Arrrragh! I had to spit it out. It tasted like shit!
Well, actually it didn’t taste exactly like shit, whatever shit tastes like. It tasted more like a combination of turpentine an bacon grease, with a little sugar an fizzy-water thowed in. I am thinkin somebody done played a trick on Mrs. Hopewell.
Just about this time, Mrs. Hopewell come through the door. “Ah, Forrest, I see you have found the CokeCola. I didn’t know you were that thirsty, you poor boy. Here, let me put that in a glass for you.” She had put on a little pink nighty that showed everthin she had, which was considerable, an was wearin little fluffy pink slippers, an I am thinkin that she must be gettin ready for bed.
But now I was really on the spot. She got a fresh glass that sparkled like a rainbow an poured the CokeCola over some ice. I could hear it cracklin in the glass an was wonderin how I was gonna drink it when Mrs. Hopewell says she will be right back, that she is goin to “freshen up.” I was about to thow the CokeCola out again, when a idea come to me. Maybe I could make it better. I was rememberin the time back at the University when I wanted a limeade so bad I could just taste it, but there wadn’t no limes, an my mama had sent me some peaches an I made a peach-ade by squeezin the peaches through a sock. Bad as it was, I am thinkin that I can salvage somethin out of this CokeCola, account of my tongue is dry as my toe an I might even be dyin of thirst. I could of just got me some water, but by now, I have definitely got CokeCola on my mind.
They was a big ole pantry, an inside it was hundrits of little jars an bottles of all sorts of sizes an shapes. One says cumin, an another says Tabasco, an another says tarragon vinegar. They was jars an bottles an little boxes of other stuff, too. I found some olive oil I figgered might cut the bacon grease taste some, an then a jar of chocolate sauce that might take off some of the turpentine flavor. I mixed up about twenty or thirty different things in a bowl that was settin out on the counter, an when I was finished, I mushed them all together with my fingers an then dipped out a couple of spoonfuls an thowed it into the CokeCola glass. For a moment, the stuff begun to boil an hiss like it was gonna blow up, but the more I stirred it in with the ice, the better it looked, an after a few minutes, it begun to look like CokeCola again.
At this point I was startin to feel like one of them desert gold prospectors that was bakin to death under the sun, an so I lifted the glass an drunk it down. This time, it gone on down pretty good, an while it wadn’t exactly CokeCola, it didn’t taste like shit, neither. It was so good, in fact, that I poured mysef another glass.
Just then, Mrs. Hopewell returned to the kitchen.
“Ah, Forrest,” she says, “how is that CokeCola?”
“It is pretty good,” I tole her. “Matter of fact, I’m gonna have some more. You want some?”
“Ah, thank you, but thank you, no, Forrest.”
“Why not?” I ast. “Ain’t you thirsty?”
“Why, as a matter of fact I am,” she says. “But I’d prefer, well, a little libation of a different sort.” She went over an poured hersef a glass about half full of gin an then put some orange juice in it.
“You see,” she says, “I am always amazed that anybody can drink that crap. My husband, in fact, is the feller that invented it. Somethin they want to call ‘New Coke.’ “
“Yeah?” I say. “Well, it don’t exactly taste like the ole one.”
“You’re tellin me, buster! I never had anything so wretched in my life. Kinda tastes like—hell, I dunno—turpentine or something.”
“Yeah,” I says. “I know.”
“Some stupid deal his bosses up at the Coke company in Atlanta have dreamed up. ‘New Coke’ my ass,” she says. “They always screwing with something just so’s they can figger a new angle to sell it with. Ask me, it’s gonna be a bunch of bullshit.”
“That so?” I ast.
“Damn right. Matter of fact, you’re the first person ever got a whole glass of it down without gagging. You know, my husband’s the vice president of CokeCola—in charge of research and development. Some research—some development, if you ask me!”
“Well, it ain’t half bad if you put some other stuff in it,” I says. “Just fix it up a little.”
“No? Well, that’s not my problem. Look,” she says, “I didn’t get you in here to talk about my husband’s harebrained schemes. I bought your goddamn encyclopedias, or whatever they are, now I want a favor. I had a masseuse coming over this afternoon and he didn’t show. You know how to give a back rub?”
“Huh?”
“A back rub—you know, I lie down and you give me a rub. You’re so big on books about world knowledge, you gotta know how to rub somebody’s back, right? I mean, even an idiot can figure out how to do that.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Listen, buster,” she says, “bring the goddamn CokeCola and come with me.”
She took me around to a room that had mirrors on all the walls an a big old raised bed in the middle of it. Music was playin through speakers in the ceilin, an they was a big ole Chinese gong settin there by the bed.
Mrs. Hopewell got up on the bed an thowed off her little slippers an nighty an put a big towel over her bottom half, an she was laid down on her stomach. I tried not to look at her while this was goin on, but account of the whole room was mirrors, this was not very easy to do.
“Okay,” she says, “start rubbing.”
I got sort of aside of her an begun to rub her shoulders. She begun to make little oh-ah sounds. The more I rubbed, the louder they got. “Lower. Lower!” Mrs. Hopewell says. I gone on an rubbed lower, an the more I did, the lower I got! It was beginnin to get awkward for sure. In fact, I was now at the top of the towel. Finally she begun to pant an then she reaches over an hits the Chinese gong! It made the room shake an the mirrors seem like they gonna fall off the walls.
“Take me, Forrest,” she moans.
“Where you want to go?” I ast.
“Just take me!” she screams. “Now!”
At this point I suddenly begun to think about Jenny an about a bunch of other things, an Mrs. Hopewell was grappin at me an writhin an pantin on the bed, an this shit seemed about to get out of hand when, without no warnin, the door to the mirror room bust open an they is a little man standin there wearin a suit an tie an steel-rimmed glasses, kinda look like a Nazi German.
“Alice,” he shouts, “I think I have got it figured out! If we put some steel-wool shavings into the formula, it will make it quit tasting like turpentine!”
“Jesus God, Alfred!” Mrs. Hopewell hollers. “What are you doing home this time of day!” She done bolted upright an was tryin to pull the towel up around hersef to look decent.
“My researchers,” the feller says, “have found the solution!”
“Solution! Solution to what?” Mrs. Hopewell asts.
“The ‘New Coke,’ “ he says. The feller strides into the room, actin like I’m not even there. “I think we got a way to get people to drink it.”
“Oh, for godssake, Alfred. Who would want to drink that crap anyhow?” Mrs. Hopewell looks like she’s about to burst into tears. She ain’t got but that one towel, an she is tryin to cover hersef up, bottom an top, with it. Ain’t workin too good, an so she is grappin for her nighty, which is on the floor, but ever time she graps for it, the towel falls off. I am tryin to look away again, but the mirrors won’t give me no other view.
About this time, Alfred, I guess was his name, noticed me.
“Are you the masseuse?” he ast.
“Sort of,” I says.
“That your CokeCola?”
“Yup.”
“You’re drinking it?”
“Uh huh.”
“No shit?”
I nodded. I didn’t exactly know what to say, account of it is his new invention.
“And it don’t taste awful?” His eyes got big as biscuits.
“Not now,” I says. “I fixed it.”
“Fixed it? How?”
“I put some stuff in it from the kitchen.”
“Let me see that,” he says. He took the glass an helt it up to the light an examined it, sort of like a person will examine somethin nasty in a laboratory jar. Then he drunk a little sip of it an got a kind of squinty look in his eyes. He look at me, then at Mrs. Hopewell, then he slugged down a big ole swallow.
“My God!” he says. “This shit ain’t half bad!”
He drunk some more an get a real amazed look on his face, like he was seein a vision or somethin.
“You fixed this!” he shouts. “How in hell did you fix it?”
“I done put a few things from that pantry in it,” I says.
“You! The masseuse?”
“He’s not exactly a masseuse,” Mrs. Hopewell says.
“He’s not? Then what is he?”
“I’m a encyclopedia salesman,” I says.
“Encyclopedias—Huh?” Alfred says. “Then what are you doing here? With my wife?”
“It is kind of a long story,” I tole him.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he says. “We’ll get to that later. What I want to know now is what in hell did you do to this CokeCola? Tell me! My God, tell me!”
“I dunno, exactly,” I says. “It was like, well, it didn’t taste so good at first, an I thought it could have stood some doctorin up, you know?”
“Didn’t taste good! Why, you moron, it tasted like shit! Don’t you think I know that? And you have made it at least drinkable! Do you have any idea what something like this is worth? Millions! Billions! C’mon now, try to 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 world!”
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
“What is your interest in my children?” she asts, sort of suspiciously.
“They are badly in need of knowledge,” I answers.
“What are you, one of those religious nuts?” she says.
“No, m’am, I am here to make a free gift to your home of the world’s best encyclopedias.”
“Encyclopedias! Ha,” she says. “Do I look like I can afford to buy encyclopedias?”
I could see her point, but anyhow, I went on with the speech: “M’am, as I have said, I’m not astin you to buy encyclopedias. I am gonna place them in your home.”
“What do you mean—loan them to me?”
“Not exactly,” I says. “If I could just come in for a minute…”
So she let me in an set me down in the livin room. Slim had done tole us if we got this far, we was almost home free! I opened my kit an begun explainin everthin to her, just like Slim had said to do. The speech was about fifteen minutes long, an she just looked an listened. Three little kids about the age of little Forrest come in an begun crawlin all over her. When I am through, she bust into tears.
“Oh, Mr. Gump,” she says. “I wish I could afford them encyclopedias. But I just can’t.” An then she begun to tell me her sad tale. Her husband done run off with a younger woman an left her without a cent. She lost her job as a diner cook cause she fell asleep from overwork fryin eggs an ruint the griddle. The power company done shut down her electricity, an the phone company is about to do the same. She also got to have a operation but can’t afford it, an the kids is hungry half the time. That night the landlord is comin around to collect the fifty-dollar rent an she ain’t got it, so she’s about to be thowed out of her house. An there is a bunch of other stuff, too, but you get the gist of it.
Anyhow, I done loaned her the fifty bucks an got out of there. Man, she was pitiful.
All that day I done knocked on doors. Most people wouldn’t even let me in. About half of them says they have already been taken by other encyclopedia salesmen, an they was the unhappiest ones of all. Four or five slammed the door in my face, an somebody sicced a big ole ugly dog on me. By late that afternoon, when Slim’s truck pulled up to haul us off, I was exhausted an discouraged.
“Now, don’t none of you worry about this first day,” Slim says. “First day’s always the hardest. Just think, if any of you had sold just one of them contracts, you would be a thousand dollars richer. It don’t take but one, an I guarantee you there is plenty of suckers out there.” Then he turns to me.
“Gump,” he says, “I been watchin you. You got energy boy! An charm, too. You just need a little practice with an expert! An I am the man to show you. Tomorrow mornin, you are comin along with me!”
That night when I got back to Mrs. Curran’s, I didn’t even feel like eatin no supper. Here I was, a great “Promotional Representative,” fifty bucks poorer an got nothin to show for it but thinner shoe soles an a hole in my pants where the dog got me.
Little Forrest was playin on the livin room floor, an ast me where I been.
“Sellin encyclopedias,” I said.
“What kind of encyclopedias?”
An so I showed him. I did just what I was tole to do. I gave my whole speech, openin out the folder with all the pictures an layin down the samples of the encyclopedias an yearbooks. When I was finished, he looked at one of the books an says, “This is a bunch of shit.”
“What is that?” I said. “Who taught you to talk that way?”
“Sometimes my mama would say that,” he replied.
“Well, it ain’t no proper way for a seven-year-ole boy to be talkin,” I says. “Besides, why you call my books that?”
“Because it’s true,” he said. “Look at all this stuff. Half of it’s wrong.” He points to a part of the encyclopedia that’s open. “Look at this,” he says, pointin to a drawin that said “1956 Buick.” “That’s a fifty-five Buick,” he says. “The fifty-six didn’t have fins like that. And look at this, too,” he said. “That’s an F-eighty-five fighter plane—not an F-one-hundred!” Little Forrest gone on to point out a bunch of other stuff, too, he said wasn’t right.
“Any dummy would know all this is wrong,” he says.
Well, almost any dummy, I figgered. I didn’t know if he was right or not, but I intended to ask Slim about it next mornin.
“You got to catch em at just the right time,” Slim says. “Right after the husband has gone off to work an before they take their kids to school. If you see a yard with toys for little kids who ain’t old enough to go to school, save it for later in the day.”
We had got off the truck in a neighborhood an was walkin down the street, an Slim was teachin me the tricks of the trade.
“Next best time,” he says, “is right after the soap operas is over an before they got to go pick up the kids again, or the husband gets home from work.”
“Look,” I said, “I need to ast you somethin. Somebody done tole me a lot of the things in the encyclopedia ain’t right.”
“Yeah, who tole you that?”
“I’d rather not say. Question is, is it true?”
“How the hell would I know?” Slim says. “I don’t read that crap. I’m just here to get people to buy it.”
“But what about the folks who do?” I says. “I mean, it don’t seem fair to be gettin them to pay all that money for stuff that ain’t so.”
“Who cares?” Slim answers. “Ain’t any of them people know the difference—an besides, you don’t think they actually use this shit, do you? They get it to put on a shelf, and it probly don’t ever get opened up.”
Anyhow, Slim pretty soon spotted the house he was gonna make a sale at. It needed some paint an all, but outside there was an old tire hangin from a tree branch by a rope an some small bikes on the porch.
“This is it,” Slim said. “I can feel it in my bones. Two kids, just about school age. I bet Mama’s in there right now opening her checkbook for me.”
Slim knocked on the door, an pretty soon a lady appeared, sort of sad-eyed an tired lookin. Slim went right into his pitch. As he kept on talkin, he just sort of worked his way inside the house, an the next thing the lady knew, the two of us was settin in her livin room.
“But I really don’t need any more encyclopedias,” she says. “Look I’ve already bought the Encyclopedia Britannica and the Encyclopedia Americana. We’ll be payin on those the next ten years.”
“Exactly!” Slim says. “And you won’t be using them until then, either! You see, them encyclopedias are for older kids—late high-school and college students. But you gotta have somethin now, while your kids are still young—somethin they can get interested in! And here it is!”
Slim begun handin the lady all his samples, pointin out how many pictures an all were there an how the writin was simplified an much more understandable than them other encyclopedias the lady already had bought. Time he was through, Slim had got the lady to serve us some lemonade, an when we left, Slim walked away with a contract in his hand.
“Now, Gump! See how easy it is! Lookee here, I just made myself a thousand dollars for twenty minutes’ work—just like takin candy from a baby!”
In fact, he was correct. Cept I didn’t feel exactly right about it. I mean, what was that poor lady gonna do with all them encyclopedia sets? But Slim said she was just the kind of “client” he liked. “They believe all the bullshit you can lay on em,” he said. “Most of em are grateful just to have somebody to talk to.”
Anyway, he says for me to go on now an start pushin the encyclopedias on my own, an he expects me to have a sale or two by the end of the day—now that he has showed me how to do it.
So that’s what I did. But by late that afternoon, I had knocked on two-dozen doors an hadn’t even once got ast inside. Four or five times the people wouldn’t even open the door—they spoke through the mail slot an tole me to go away. One lady was hoein some crabgrass out of her driveway an when she found out why I was there, she ran me off with the hoe.
I was walkin on back to the truck pickup point when I looked down a street that was different from the ones I had been workin on. This was a nice street, with real pretty houses an gardens an expensive cars in the driveways. An at the very end of the street, up on a little hill, was the biggest house of them all—a mansion, I guess you could call it. I figgered, what the hell. I know Slim has tole us these kinds of folks don’t buy encyclopedias, but I got to try somethin, an so I gone on up to the mansion an rang the doorbell. It was the first doorbell I seen all day. First, nothin happened, an I figgered ain’t nobody home. I rang two or three more times, an was about to go on my way, when suddenly the door opened. It was a lady standin there, wearin a red silk gown, an carryin a cigarette holder in her hand. She was older than me, but she was still very beautiful, with long wavy brown hair an a lot of makeup. When she saw me, she looked me over two or three times, an then gave a big ole smile. Afore I had a chance to say anythin at all, she opened the door an invited me in.
Mrs. Hopewell was her name, but she says for me to call her Alice.
Mrs. Hopewell—Alice—took me into a great big room with high ceilins an a lot of fancy furniture an ast me if I wanted somethin to drink. I nodded, an she says, “What’ll it be then, bourbon, gin, scotch?” But I remembered what Slim had tole us about drinkin on the job, so I tole her a CokeCola would be just fine. When she come back with the CokeCola, I went into my spiel. About halfway through, Mrs. Hopewell says, “Thank you, Forrest. I have heard enough. I’ll buy them.”
“What?” I ast. I ain’t believin my luck.
“The encyclopedias,” she says. “I’ll take a set.”
She ast me how much to write the check for, an I explained about how she ain’t really buyin them, just makin a contract to buy the annual yearbook for the rest of her life, but she waved me off. “Just show me where to sign,” she said, an that’s what I did.
Meantime, I took a swig of the CokeCola. Uggh! It tasted horrible! For a moment I thought she done poured me somethin else besides CokeCola, but in fact she hadn’t, account of she done left the can right there on the side table.
“And now, Forrest, I am gonna go slip into somethin more comfortable,” Mrs. Hopewell says.
I am thinkin she looks comfortable enough already, but of course, this is none of my bidness.
“Yes’m,” I says.
“Just call me Alice,” she says, and disappears out of the room with her skirts sashayin behind her.
I set there lookin at the CokeCola an gettin thirstier an thirstier. I really wish I had a RC or somethin. Anyhow, I figger she is gonna be a few minutes, so I gone on back to where the kitchen was. I have never seen such a kitchen as this! I mean, it is bigger than the whole house Jenny growed up in, with tiles an wood an stainless stuff an lights that come out of the ceiling! I looked in the icebox to see if there was another CokeCola, thinkin maybe that one had just gone bad. To my surprise there was about fifty cans of it in there, an so I popped open another one an took a great big swig. Arrrragh! I had to spit it out. It tasted like shit!
Well, actually it didn’t taste exactly like shit, whatever shit tastes like. It tasted more like a combination of turpentine an bacon grease, with a little sugar an fizzy-water thowed in. I am thinkin somebody done played a trick on Mrs. Hopewell.
Just about this time, Mrs. Hopewell come through the door. “Ah, Forrest, I see you have found the CokeCola. I didn’t know you were that thirsty, you poor boy. Here, let me put that in a glass for you.” She had put on a little pink nighty that showed everthin she had, which was considerable, an was wearin little fluffy pink slippers, an I am thinkin that she must be gettin ready for bed.
But now I was really on the spot. She got a fresh glass that sparkled like a rainbow an poured the CokeCola over some ice. I could hear it cracklin in the glass an was wonderin how I was gonna drink it when Mrs. Hopewell says she will be right back, that she is goin to “freshen up.” I was about to thow the CokeCola out again, when a idea come to me. Maybe I could make it better. I was rememberin the time back at the University when I wanted a limeade so bad I could just taste it, but there wadn’t no limes, an my mama had sent me some peaches an I made a peach-ade by squeezin the peaches through a sock. Bad as it was, I am thinkin that I can salvage somethin out of this CokeCola, account of my tongue is dry as my toe an I might even be dyin of thirst. I could of just got me some water, but by now, I have definitely got CokeCola on my mind.
They was a big ole pantry, an inside it was hundrits of little jars an bottles of all sorts of sizes an shapes. One says cumin, an another says Tabasco, an another says tarragon vinegar. They was jars an bottles an little boxes of other stuff, too. I found some olive oil I figgered might cut the bacon grease taste some, an then a jar of chocolate sauce that might take off some of the turpentine flavor. I mixed up about twenty or thirty different things in a bowl that was settin out on the counter, an when I was finished, I mushed them all together with my fingers an then dipped out a couple of spoonfuls an thowed it into the CokeCola glass. For a moment, the stuff begun to boil an hiss like it was gonna blow up, but the more I stirred it in with the ice, the better it looked, an after a few minutes, it begun to look like CokeCola again.
At this point I was startin to feel like one of them desert gold prospectors that was bakin to death under the sun, an so I lifted the glass an drunk it down. This time, it gone on down pretty good, an while it wadn’t exactly CokeCola, it didn’t taste like shit, neither. It was so good, in fact, that I poured mysef another glass.
Just then, Mrs. Hopewell returned to the kitchen.
“Ah, Forrest,” she says, “how is that CokeCola?”
“It is pretty good,” I tole her. “Matter of fact, I’m gonna have some more. You want some?”
“Ah, thank you, but thank you, no, Forrest.”
“Why not?” I ast. “Ain’t you thirsty?”
“Why, as a matter of fact I am,” she says. “But I’d prefer, well, a little libation of a different sort.” She went over an poured hersef a glass about half full of gin an then put some orange juice in it.
“You see,” she says, “I am always amazed that anybody can drink that crap. My husband, in fact, is the feller that invented it. Somethin they want to call ‘New Coke.’ “
“Yeah?” I say. “Well, it don’t exactly taste like the ole one.”
“You’re tellin me, buster! I never had anything so wretched in my life. Kinda tastes like—hell, I dunno—turpentine or something.”
“Yeah,” I says. “I know.”
“Some stupid deal his bosses up at the Coke company in Atlanta have dreamed up. ‘New Coke’ my ass,” she says. “They always screwing with something just so’s they can figger a new angle to sell it with. Ask me, it’s gonna be a bunch of bullshit.”
“That so?” I ast.
“Damn right. Matter of fact, you’re the first person ever got a whole glass of it down without gagging. You know, my husband’s the vice president of CokeCola—in charge of research and development. Some research—some development, if you ask me!”
“Well, it ain’t half bad if you put some other stuff in it,” I says. “Just fix it up a little.”
“No? Well, that’s not my problem. Look,” she says, “I didn’t get you in here to talk about my husband’s harebrained schemes. I bought your goddamn encyclopedias, or whatever they are, now I want a favor. I had a masseuse coming over this afternoon and he didn’t show. You know how to give a back rub?”
“Huh?”
“A back rub—you know, I lie down and you give me a rub. You’re so big on books about world knowledge, you gotta know how to rub somebody’s back, right? I mean, even an idiot can figure out how to do that.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Listen, buster,” she says, “bring the goddamn CokeCola and come with me.”
She took me around to a room that had mirrors on all the walls an a big old raised bed in the middle of it. Music was playin through speakers in the ceilin, an they was a big ole Chinese gong settin there by the bed.
Mrs. Hopewell got up on the bed an thowed off her little slippers an nighty an put a big towel over her bottom half, an she was laid down on her stomach. I tried not to look at her while this was goin on, but account of the whole room was mirrors, this was not very easy to do.
“Okay,” she says, “start rubbing.”
I got sort of aside of her an begun to rub her shoulders. She begun to make little oh-ah sounds. The more I rubbed, the louder they got. “Lower. Lower!” Mrs. Hopewell says. I gone on an rubbed lower, an the more I did, the lower I got! It was beginnin to get awkward for sure. In fact, I was now at the top of the towel. Finally she begun to pant an then she reaches over an hits the Chinese gong! It made the room shake an the mirrors seem like they gonna fall off the walls.
“Take me, Forrest,” she moans.
“Where you want to go?” I ast.
“Just take me!” she screams. “Now!”
At this point I suddenly begun to think about Jenny an about a bunch of other things, an Mrs. Hopewell was grappin at me an writhin an pantin on the bed, an this shit seemed about to get out of hand when, without no warnin, the door to the mirror room bust open an they is a little man standin there wearin a suit an tie an steel-rimmed glasses, kinda look like a Nazi German.
“Alice,” he shouts, “I think I have got it figured out! If we put some steel-wool shavings into the formula, it will make it quit tasting like turpentine!”
“Jesus God, Alfred!” Mrs. Hopewell hollers. “What are you doing home this time of day!” She done bolted upright an was tryin to pull the towel up around hersef to look decent.
“My researchers,” the feller says, “have found the solution!”
“Solution! Solution to what?” Mrs. Hopewell asts.
“The ‘New Coke,’ “ he says. The feller strides into the room, actin like I’m not even there. “I think we got a way to get people to drink it.”
“Oh, for godssake, Alfred. Who would want to drink that crap anyhow?” Mrs. Hopewell looks like she’s about to burst into tears. She ain’t got but that one towel, an she is tryin to cover hersef up, bottom an top, with it. Ain’t workin too good, an so she is grappin for her nighty, which is on the floor, but ever time she graps for it, the towel falls off. I am tryin to look away again, but the mirrors won’t give me no other view.
About this time, Alfred, I guess was his name, noticed me.
“Are you the masseuse?” he ast.
“Sort of,” I says.
“That your CokeCola?”
“Yup.”
“You’re drinking it?”
“Uh huh.”
“No shit?”
I nodded. I didn’t exactly know what to say, account of it is his new invention.
“And it don’t taste awful?” His eyes got big as biscuits.
“Not now,” I says. “I fixed it.”
“Fixed it? How?”
“I put some stuff in it from the kitchen.”
“Let me see that,” he says. He took the glass an helt it up to the light an examined it, sort of like a person will examine somethin nasty in a laboratory jar. Then he drunk a little sip of it an got a kind of squinty look in his eyes. He look at me, then at Mrs. Hopewell, then he slugged down a big ole swallow.
“My God!” he says. “This shit ain’t half bad!”
He drunk some more an get a real amazed look on his face, like he was seein a vision or somethin.
“You fixed this!” he shouts. “How in hell did you fix it?”
“I done put a few things from that pantry in it,” I says.
“You! The masseuse?”
“He’s not exactly a masseuse,” Mrs. Hopewell says.
“He’s not? Then what is he?”
“I’m a encyclopedia salesman,” I says.
“Encyclopedias—Huh?” Alfred says. “Then what are you doing here? With my wife?”
“It is kind of a long story,” I tole him.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he says. “We’ll get to that later. What I want to know now is what in hell did you do to this CokeCola? Tell me! My God, tell me!”
“I dunno, exactly,” I says. “It was like, well, it didn’t taste so good at first, an I thought it could have stood some doctorin up, you know?”
“Didn’t taste good! Why, you moron, it tasted like shit! Don’t you think I know that? And you have made it at least drinkable! Do you have any idea what something like this is worth? Millions! Billions! C’mon now, try to 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 world!”
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 she’d be better off explainin all that, but she say no.
“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 am your daddy.”
“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 not!” Forrest says. “Grandma says he’s comin to get me pretty soon! Any day now.”
“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.
So I gone into the pantry, where all the stuff is on the shelves. Truth is, I can’t remember exactly what I put in the CokeCola that might of improved it. But I went on anyhow an started mixin the shit up. All the time, four or five fellers be follerin me around, takin notes whenever I do somethin.
First I took a pinch of cloves an a dab of cream of tartar. Next I put in some root beer extract an meat tenderizer an popcorn cheese seasoning an added some blackstrap molasses an crab boil. After that I done opened a can of chili con carne an skimmed the little orange fat that floats around the top an put that in, too. An then I added a little bakin soda, for good measure.
Finally, I stirred the whole thing up with my finger, just like I done at Mrs. Hopewell’s, an I took a big ole swig of it. Everbody be holdin their breaths an watchin me with they eyes all bugged out. I swished the stuff around in my mouth for a second, then said the only thing that come to mind, which was “Ugggh!”
“What’s wrong?” one of the fellers ast.
“Can’t you see he don’t like it?” says another.
“Say, let me taste that,” Alfred says.
He takes a drink an spits it out on the floor. “Christ! This shit is worse than the stuff we made!”
“Mr. Hopewell,” one of the fellers says, “you spit that out on the floor. Gump spit his in the sink. We’re losin control of the experiment.”
“Yeah, well, all right,” Alfred says, an he got down on the floor an wiped up the Coke with his handkerchief. “But that don’t seem too important to me, where he spit it. Main thing is, Gump, we gotta get back to work.”
So that’s what we did. All that day an most of the night. I got so confused at one point I accidentally poured half a saltcellar in the CokeCola instead of garlic powder, which I thought might take some of the edge off the turpentine taste. When I drank it down, it made me half crazy for a while, like they say happens to people in lifeboats that drink seawater. Finally Alfred says, “Okay, I guess that’s enough for today. But we gotta get back at this bright an early tomorrow mornin. Right, Gump?”
“I reckon so,” I says, but I am figgerin we might be up against a hopeless cause.
All that next day an the next weeks an the next months that gone by, I done tried to fix the CokeCola. Didn’t work. I put in cayenne pepper an Spanish saffron an vanilla extract. I used cumin an food colorin an allspice an even MSG. The fellers follerin me aroun had gone through about five hundrit notebooks by now, an everbody was gettin on everbody else’s nerves. Meantime, at night I would go back to the big ole hotel suite where we was all stayin, an sure enough, there would be Mrs. Hopewell, loungin aroun in next to nothin. Couple of times she ast for a back rub an I give it to her, but when she ast for a front rub, that’s where I drawed the line.
I am beginnin to believe this whole thing is a bunch of crap. They feed me an give me a place to stay, but I ain’t seen no money yet, an that’s why I am here, on account of I gotta take care of little Forrest. One night lyin in bed, I am wonderin what I’m gonna do, an start thinkin about Jenny an some of the good ole times, an all of a sudden, I see her face in front of me, just like I did at the cemetery that day.
“Well, you big bozo,” she says. “Can’t you figger this one out for yourself?”
“What you mean?” I ast.
“You ain’t never gonna be able to make that stuff taste right. Whatever you did the first time was just a fluke or something.”
“Well, what I’m gonna do, then?” I says.
“Quit! Leave! Go find yourself a real job, before you spend the rest of your life trying to do what’s impossible!”
“Well, how?” I ast. “I mean, these people are countin on me. They says I am their only hope to save the CokeCola Company from rack an ruin.”
“Screw em, Forrest. They don’t care anything about you. They’re just trying to save their jobs, and using you as a fool.”
“Yeah, well, thanks,” I says. “I guess you’re right. You usually were.”
An then she is gone, an I am alone again.
Next mornin I am up at the crack of dawn when Alfred come an got me. When we got in to the experiment kitchen, I gone through the motions of makin the CokeCola good again. Bout halfway through the day, I done mixed up a batch of some shit, but this time, when I drunk it down, instead of sayin “Uggh!” an spittin it out, I done grinned an says “Ahhhh!” an drunk down some more.
“What’s that?” one of the fellers shouts. “He likes it?”
“I reckon I got it,” I says.
“Praise the Lord!” hollers Alfred, an slaps himself in the forehead.
“Gimme that,” says one of the other fellers. He takes a sip an sort of rolls it around in his mouth.
“Say, that ain’t half bad!” he says.
“Let me taste it,” Alfred says. He takes a swallow an gets a really funny look on his face, like he is goin through an unusual experience.
“Ahhhh!” Alfred says. “It is wonderful!”
“Let me have some, too,” another feller asts.
“No, no, damnit!” Alfred says. “We gotta save this shit for chemical analysis. What’s in this glass is worth billions! Do you hear me, billions!” He rushes out an calls in two armed guards an says for them to take the CokeCola glass to the vault an to guard it with their lives.
“Gump, you have done it!” Alfred shouts, an begun poundin hissef on the knee with his fist an get so red in the face he looks like a beet. Them other fellers is holdin hands an jumpin up an down, an hollerin, too. Pretty soon the door to the experimental kitchen bust open, an there is a tall, gray-haired man standin there, lookin very distinguished in a dark blue suit.
“What is all this?” he ast.
“Sir, we have performed a miracle!” Alfred cries. “Gump, this is the chairman of the board and chief executive officer of CokeCola—go shake his hand.”
“What is the miracle?” the feller ast.
“Gump here has made the New Coke taste good!” says Alfred.
“Yeah? How you do that?” he ast.
“I dunno,” I says. “Just lucky I guess.”
Anyhow, a few days later, the CokeCola Company has arranged for a big preview tastin party to be held at their headquarters at Atlanta, an have invited about five thousan people consistin of press, politicians, socialites, stockholders, an other elite folks—even includin about five hundrit grade-school kids from around the city. Outside, big spotlights crisscross in the sky, an them what wadn’t invited were standin behind ropes wavin at them what was. Most everbody wearin tuxedos an ball gowns, an they is all millin aroun an makin small talk when suddenly a curtin on the stage is pulled back, an me an Alfred an Mrs. Hopewell an the president of CokeCola are standin there.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” says the president, “I have a momentous announcement to make.” Everbody get real quiet an be lookin straight at us.
“The CokeCola Company is proud to announce a new product that is gonna revitalize our bidness. As you know, CokeCola has been around for more than seventy years, an we have not once changed our original formula, because we figgered everbody liked CokeCola. But that is not the way of the nineteen-eighties. Everbody got to change sometime. General Motors changes about every three or four years. So does politicians. People change clothes once or twice a year…”
At this last remark, there is some low mumblin from the audience.
“What I meant was,” the president goes on, “that clothes designers change their product with great regularity—and just look at the money they make!”
He lets this sink in for a moment an then proceeds: “And so we here at CokeCola have decided to throw away our time-honored formula for CokeCola and try somethin different. ‘New Coke’ is what it is called, and we have to thank for this a brilliant young scientist, Forrest Gump, who has invented this amazing product! Now, right at your tables, our staff is passing out bottles and cans of New Coke for your enjoyment, but first, I think a few words from its inventor are appropriate. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Forrest Gump!”
He leads me to the speaker’s stand, an I am dumbfounded. I am so scared, what I am thinking is, I got to pee, but I ain’t gonna say it this time. Nope. So I just says, “I hope it is good,” an stepped back away from the microphone.
“Wonderful,” the president shouts when the applause dies down. “And now, let the tasting begin!”
All over the auditorium you can hear the sounds of cans poppin an bottles bein opened, an then you can see the people drinkin the new CokeCola. At first there is some ooohs and ahhs, an a few people be lookin at each other an noddin their heads. But then there come a cry from one of the little kids they has invited, says, “Ugggh! This shit is awful!” an spits it out. Then the other kids start doin the same thing, an in no time, seemed like everbody be spittin the New Coke on the floor an gaggin an cussin. Some people even spit it on other people, an this began to cause a disturbance out in the audience, an all of a sudden seems like a fight or somethin break out. Pretty soon, the people be thowin the cans an bottles of New Coke at us an at each other, too, an you can see all sorts of fists flyin an kickin an gougin, an tables turned over an all. Some of the ladies’ dresses be ripped off, an they gone screamin out into the night. Cameras be flashin an the TV people is tryin to capture it all on film. Me an the president an Alfred an Mrs. Hopewell are just standin on the stage, dodgin the bottles an cans, an we are sort of dumbstruck. Somebody shouts, “Call the police!” But I am lookin out at the crowd, an the police seem to be in the middle of everthin themselfs.
After a little bit, the whole thing spills out onto the street, an we hear a lot of sirens an so on. The president an me an Alfred an Mrs. Hopewell try to make our way out, but we get caught up in the thing, too, an it ain’t long fore Mrs. Hopewell’s dress is ripped off. We is covered with Coke an shit, an also with stuff from cupcakes an Moon Pies, which the CokeCola Company has thoughtfully handed out with the New Coke. Somebody shouts that the mayor of Atlanta has declared “a state of emergency,” on account of there is a riot, an afore it is all over, they has busted out all the winders on Peachtree Street an looted most of the stores, an a few people is now settin fire to the buildins.
We is all standin under the awnin outside the CokeCola headquarters when somebody recognize me, shouts, “There he is!” an before I know it, about a thousan people commenced chasin me, includin the president of CokeCola an Alfred an even Mrs. Hopewell, who is only wearin her underpants! This ain’t somethin I got to think about long! I start runnin fast as I can, across the Interstate an up hills an side roads, rocks an bottles landin all around me. Shit, seems like I been here before. Anyhow, I outrunned the mob, cause that is my specialty, but let me say this: It was scary!
Pretty soon, I found mysef on a ole two-lane highway leadin I knew not where, but along come a pair of headlights an I stuck out my thumb. The headlights stopped, an lo an behole, it was a pickup truck. I ast the driver where he was headed, an he say, “North, to West Virginia,” but that if I want a ride, I gotta ride in the back, account of he’s got a passenger in the front. I look over at the passenger, an damn if it weren’t a great big ole sow pig, must of weighed four hundrit pounds, settin there gruntin an pantin.
“This is a registered Poland China swine,” the feller say. “Name’s Gurtrude. Gonna make me rich one day, so she gotta ride in the cab. But you can bunk out in the back, there. Them other hogs is just common swine. Might root you around a little, but they don’t mean no harm.”
Anyhow, I got on the truck an away we went. They was about a dozen of them pigs in there with me, oinkin an squeelin an gruntin an all, but after a while they settled down an give me some livin space. Pretty soon it begun to rain. What I am thinkin is, I have had my ups an downs.
About sunup that next mornin the pickup done pull up at a truck stop, an the driver gets out an comes around to the back.
“Say,” he says, “you sleep okay?”
“Pretty good,” I answer. At this point I am lyin under a hog that is twice as big as me, but at least it kept me warm.
“Let’s go in an get a cup of coffee an somethin to eat,” he says. “By the way, my name’s McGivver.”
Outside the restaurant is a newspaper box with a copy of The Atlanta Constitution, headline says:
The story reads somethin like this:
“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 she’d be better off explainin all that, but she say no.
“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 am your daddy.”
“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 not!” Forrest says. “Grandma says he’s comin to get me pretty soon! Any day now.”
“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.
So I gone into the pantry, where all the stuff is on the shelves. Truth is, I can’t remember exactly what I put in the CokeCola that might of improved it. But I went on anyhow an started mixin the shit up. All the time, four or five fellers be follerin me around, takin notes whenever I do somethin.
First I took a pinch of cloves an a dab of cream of tartar. Next I put in some root beer extract an meat tenderizer an popcorn cheese seasoning an added some blackstrap molasses an crab boil. After that I done opened a can of chili con carne an skimmed the little orange fat that floats around the top an put that in, too. An then I added a little bakin soda, for good measure.
Finally, I stirred the whole thing up with my finger, just like I done at Mrs. Hopewell’s, an I took a big ole swig of it. Everbody be holdin their breaths an watchin me with they eyes all bugged out. I swished the stuff around in my mouth for a second, then said the only thing that come to mind, which was “Ugggh!”
“What’s wrong?” one of the fellers ast.
“Can’t you see he don’t like it?” says another.
“Say, let me taste that,” Alfred says.
He takes a drink an spits it out on the floor. “Christ! This shit is worse than the stuff we made!”
“Mr. Hopewell,” one of the fellers says, “you spit that out on the floor. Gump spit his in the sink. We’re losin control of the experiment.”
“Yeah, well, all right,” Alfred says, an he got down on the floor an wiped up the Coke with his handkerchief. “But that don’t seem too important to me, where he spit it. Main thing is, Gump, we gotta get back to work.”
So that’s what we did. All that day an most of the night. I got so confused at one point I accidentally poured half a saltcellar in the CokeCola instead of garlic powder, which I thought might take some of the edge off the turpentine taste. When I drank it down, it made me half crazy for a while, like they say happens to people in lifeboats that drink seawater. Finally Alfred says, “Okay, I guess that’s enough for today. But we gotta get back at this bright an early tomorrow mornin. Right, Gump?”
“I reckon so,” I says, but I am figgerin we might be up against a hopeless cause.
All that next day an the next weeks an the next months that gone by, I done tried to fix the CokeCola. Didn’t work. I put in cayenne pepper an Spanish saffron an vanilla extract. I used cumin an food colorin an allspice an even MSG. The fellers follerin me aroun had gone through about five hundrit notebooks by now, an everbody was gettin on everbody else’s nerves. Meantime, at night I would go back to the big ole hotel suite where we was all stayin, an sure enough, there would be Mrs. Hopewell, loungin aroun in next to nothin. Couple of times she ast for a back rub an I give it to her, but when she ast for a front rub, that’s where I drawed the line.
I am beginnin to believe this whole thing is a bunch of crap. They feed me an give me a place to stay, but I ain’t seen no money yet, an that’s why I am here, on account of I gotta take care of little Forrest. One night lyin in bed, I am wonderin what I’m gonna do, an start thinkin about Jenny an some of the good ole times, an all of a sudden, I see her face in front of me, just like I did at the cemetery that day.
“Well, you big bozo,” she says. “Can’t you figger this one out for yourself?”
“What you mean?” I ast.
“You ain’t never gonna be able to make that stuff taste right. Whatever you did the first time was just a fluke or something.”
“Well, what I’m gonna do, then?” I says.
“Quit! Leave! Go find yourself a real job, before you spend the rest of your life trying to do what’s impossible!”
“Well, how?” I ast. “I mean, these people are countin on me. They says I am their only hope to save the CokeCola Company from rack an ruin.”
“Screw em, Forrest. They don’t care anything about you. They’re just trying to save their jobs, and using you as a fool.”
“Yeah, well, thanks,” I says. “I guess you’re right. You usually were.”
An then she is gone, an I am alone again.
Next mornin I am up at the crack of dawn when Alfred come an got me. When we got in to the experiment kitchen, I gone through the motions of makin the CokeCola good again. Bout halfway through the day, I done mixed up a batch of some shit, but this time, when I drunk it down, instead of sayin “Uggh!” an spittin it out, I done grinned an says “Ahhhh!” an drunk down some more.
“What’s that?” one of the fellers shouts. “He likes it?”
“I reckon I got it,” I says.
“Praise the Lord!” hollers Alfred, an slaps himself in the forehead.
“Gimme that,” says one of the other fellers. He takes a sip an sort of rolls it around in his mouth.
“Say, that ain’t half bad!” he says.
“Let me taste it,” Alfred says. He takes a swallow an gets a really funny look on his face, like he is goin through an unusual experience.
“Ahhhh!” Alfred says. “It is wonderful!”
“Let me have some, too,” another feller asts.
“No, no, damnit!” Alfred says. “We gotta save this shit for chemical analysis. What’s in this glass is worth billions! Do you hear me, billions!” He rushes out an calls in two armed guards an says for them to take the CokeCola glass to the vault an to guard it with their lives.
“Gump, you have done it!” Alfred shouts, an begun poundin hissef on the knee with his fist an get so red in the face he looks like a beet. Them other fellers is holdin hands an jumpin up an down, an hollerin, too. Pretty soon the door to the experimental kitchen bust open, an there is a tall, gray-haired man standin there, lookin very distinguished in a dark blue suit.
“What is all this?” he ast.
“Sir, we have performed a miracle!” Alfred cries. “Gump, this is the chairman of the board and chief executive officer of CokeCola—go shake his hand.”
“What is the miracle?” the feller ast.
“Gump here has made the New Coke taste good!” says Alfred.
“Yeah? How you do that?” he ast.
“I dunno,” I says. “Just lucky I guess.”
Anyhow, a few days later, the CokeCola Company has arranged for a big preview tastin party to be held at their headquarters at Atlanta, an have invited about five thousan people consistin of press, politicians, socialites, stockholders, an other elite folks—even includin about five hundrit grade-school kids from around the city. Outside, big spotlights crisscross in the sky, an them what wadn’t invited were standin behind ropes wavin at them what was. Most everbody wearin tuxedos an ball gowns, an they is all millin aroun an makin small talk when suddenly a curtin on the stage is pulled back, an me an Alfred an Mrs. Hopewell an the president of CokeCola are standin there.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” says the president, “I have a momentous announcement to make.” Everbody get real quiet an be lookin straight at us.
“The CokeCola Company is proud to announce a new product that is gonna revitalize our bidness. As you know, CokeCola has been around for more than seventy years, an we have not once changed our original formula, because we figgered everbody liked CokeCola. But that is not the way of the nineteen-eighties. Everbody got to change sometime. General Motors changes about every three or four years. So does politicians. People change clothes once or twice a year…”
At this last remark, there is some low mumblin from the audience.
“What I meant was,” the president goes on, “that clothes designers change their product with great regularity—and just look at the money they make!”
He lets this sink in for a moment an then proceeds: “And so we here at CokeCola have decided to throw away our time-honored formula for CokeCola and try somethin different. ‘New Coke’ is what it is called, and we have to thank for this a brilliant young scientist, Forrest Gump, who has invented this amazing product! Now, right at your tables, our staff is passing out bottles and cans of New Coke for your enjoyment, but first, I think a few words from its inventor are appropriate. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Forrest Gump!”
He leads me to the speaker’s stand, an I am dumbfounded. I am so scared, what I am thinking is, I got to pee, but I ain’t gonna say it this time. Nope. So I just says, “I hope it is good,” an stepped back away from the microphone.
“Wonderful,” the president shouts when the applause dies down. “And now, let the tasting begin!”
All over the auditorium you can hear the sounds of cans poppin an bottles bein opened, an then you can see the people drinkin the new CokeCola. At first there is some ooohs and ahhs, an a few people be lookin at each other an noddin their heads. But then there come a cry from one of the little kids they has invited, says, “Ugggh! This shit is awful!” an spits it out. Then the other kids start doin the same thing, an in no time, seemed like everbody be spittin the New Coke on the floor an gaggin an cussin. Some people even spit it on other people, an this began to cause a disturbance out in the audience, an all of a sudden seems like a fight or somethin break out. Pretty soon, the people be thowin the cans an bottles of New Coke at us an at each other, too, an you can see all sorts of fists flyin an kickin an gougin, an tables turned over an all. Some of the ladies’ dresses be ripped off, an they gone screamin out into the night. Cameras be flashin an the TV people is tryin to capture it all on film. Me an the president an Alfred an Mrs. Hopewell are just standin on the stage, dodgin the bottles an cans, an we are sort of dumbstruck. Somebody shouts, “Call the police!” But I am lookin out at the crowd, an the police seem to be in the middle of everthin themselfs.
After a little bit, the whole thing spills out onto the street, an we hear a lot of sirens an so on. The president an me an Alfred an Mrs. Hopewell try to make our way out, but we get caught up in the thing, too, an it ain’t long fore Mrs. Hopewell’s dress is ripped off. We is covered with Coke an shit, an also with stuff from cupcakes an Moon Pies, which the CokeCola Company has thoughtfully handed out with the New Coke. Somebody shouts that the mayor of Atlanta has declared “a state of emergency,” on account of there is a riot, an afore it is all over, they has busted out all the winders on Peachtree Street an looted most of the stores, an a few people is now settin fire to the buildins.
We is all standin under the awnin outside the CokeCola headquarters when somebody recognize me, shouts, “There he is!” an before I know it, about a thousan people commenced chasin me, includin the president of CokeCola an Alfred an even Mrs. Hopewell, who is only wearin her underpants! This ain’t somethin I got to think about long! I start runnin fast as I can, across the Interstate an up hills an side roads, rocks an bottles landin all around me. Shit, seems like I been here before. Anyhow, I outrunned the mob, cause that is my specialty, but let me say this: It was scary!
Pretty soon, I found mysef on a ole two-lane highway leadin I knew not where, but along come a pair of headlights an I stuck out my thumb. The headlights stopped, an lo an behole, it was a pickup truck. I ast the driver where he was headed, an he say, “North, to West Virginia,” but that if I want a ride, I gotta ride in the back, account of he’s got a passenger in the front. I look over at the passenger, an damn if it weren’t a great big ole sow pig, must of weighed four hundrit pounds, settin there gruntin an pantin.
“This is a registered Poland China swine,” the feller say. “Name’s Gurtrude. Gonna make me rich one day, so she gotta ride in the cab. But you can bunk out in the back, there. Them other hogs is just common swine. Might root you around a little, but they don’t mean no harm.”
Anyhow, I got on the truck an away we went. They was about a dozen of them pigs in there with me, oinkin an squeelin an gruntin an all, but after a while they settled down an give me some livin space. Pretty soon it begun to rain. What I am thinkin is, I have had my ups an downs.
About sunup that next mornin the pickup done pull up at a truck stop, an the driver gets out an comes around to the back.
“Say,” he says, “you sleep okay?”
“Pretty good,” I answer. At this point I am lyin under a hog that is twice as big as me, but at least it kept me warm.
“Let’s go in an get a cup of coffee an somethin to eat,” he says. “By the way, my name’s McGivver.”
Outside the restaurant is a newspaper box with a copy of The Atlanta Constitution, headline says:
Moron Would-Be Inventor Causes Riot in City
The story reads somethin like this:
A sometime Alabama encyclopedia salesman who professed knowledge of a new formula for the CokeCola Company caused one of the most violent riots in Atlanta’s history yesterday when his scam was uncovered before several thousand of this city’s most prominent citizens.
The incident broke out at about 7 P.M. when Forrest Gump, an itinerant tinkerer and peddler of phony reference books, was introduced by the president of the CokeCola Company as having conceived a new brand of the nation’s favorite soft drink.
Witnesses said that when the new concoction was served to the audience for the first time, it induced a violent reaction in all present, which included the mayor and his wife, as well as various council members and their spouses and corporate chairpeople of all descriptions.
Police called to the scene described the melee as “uncontrollable” and told of horrible depredations inflicted on Atlanta’s most fashionable citizens, including the ripping off of women’s gowns and dresses and fighting and throwing objects of all descriptions.
At some point, the affair spilled out into the streets and turned into a riot, causing extensive damage in the chic downtown area. One source prominent in Atlanta’s high society who wished to be unnamed said: “It was the wust thing I ever seen since Lester Maddox begun handin out them axe handles at his restaurant back in sixty-four.”
Little is known of the perpetrator, Mr. Gump, who witnesses said fled the scene shortly after the brouhaha started. Sources said that Gump, thought to be in his early forties, was once a football player at the University of Alabama.
An assistant football coach at Georgia Tech who wished to remain anonymous recalled that “Yeah, I remember that Gump feller. Wadn’t too smart, but the sombitch sure could run.”
Police have put out an all-points bulletin for Gump, and the CokeCola Company, headquartered here, has offered a $1 million reward for his capture, dead or alive…