An so I tole them.

I tole them the whole story—about how I was Goliath an about the riot at Holy Land, an about Mr. Bozosky gettin me out of havin to go back to jail an all his instructions about signin the papers an not to look at them, an how, after all, I am just a poor ole idiot that didn't know shit about what was goin on.

What it amounted to was, I ratted out on Mr. Bozosky an Mr. Mulligan.

When I done finished, pandemonium broke out in the courtroom. All the lawyers are on they feet hollerin objections. Newspaper reporters rushed out to the telephones. Ivan Bozosky an Mike Mulligan are jumpin up an down shoutin at the top of they lungs that I am a no good, dirty, double-crossin, ingrateful, lyin, squeeler. The judge be bangin his gavel for order, but ain't none to be found. I looked over at little Forrest an knowed right then an there I made the right decision. An I also decided that whatever else happens, I am not gonna take the fall for nobody, noplace, nomore—an that's that.

Like I said, sometimes a man's just gotta do the right thing.

Chapter Nine

For a while, it looked like I was off the hook, but of course it turned out that was wrong.

Not long after my testimony they carted Ivan Bozosky an Mike Mulligan off to prison. The judge, he thowed the book at them—literally—big ole law book, hit Bozosky square in the head. Next day, a knock come at my door. Standin there was two military police in shiny black helmets with billy clubs an armbands.

"You PFC Gump?" one says.

"That's my name."

"Well, you gotta come along with us, account of you is AWOL from the United States Army."

"AWOL," I says. "How can that be? I was in jail!"

"Yeah," he says, "we know all about that. But your hitch runs two more years—that's what you signed up for with Colonel North. We been lookin for you everplace until we seen you in the newspapers in this Bozosky trial."

The MP hands me a copy of the New York Post, which reads: DULLARD RATS OUT ON HIGH-ROLLING FINANCIAL MEN.

A man with an IQ described as "in the low 70s" yesterday finked on two of this newspaper's most popular subjects, resulting in their sentencing to lengthy prison terms.

Forrest Gump, who sources close to the Post described as being "dumber than a rock," testified before a federal judge in Manhattan that in his capacity as president of the insider trading division of Bozosky Enterprises, he had absolutely no knowledge of any insider trading at the company.

Gump, who has had an apparently checkered career as an encyclopedia salesman, inventor, animal refuse engineer, and sometime spy for the U.S. government, was not immediately available for comment. He was not convicted in the trial, which lasted several weeks.

"So what you gonna do with me?" I ast.

"They probly gonna put you in the stockade till they figger out somethin," the MP says. About this time, little Forrest come up behin me, tryin to see what's goin on.

"Who's this?" the MP ast. "This your boy?"

I didn't say nothin, an neither did little Forrest. He just glared at the MPs.

"You give me a minute with him?" I says. "I ain't gonna run off or nothin."

"Yeah, I reckon that'd be okay. We'll be outside here—Just don't do nothin funny."

Fact was, funny was not on my mind at this moment. I shut the door an set little Forrest down on the sofa.

"Look," I says, "them fellers come to take me back to the army, an I gotta go with em, you know? So's I want you to get a bus back home an be ready to start school when it opens. Okay?"

The little guy was statin at his shoes an not lookin at me, but he nodded his head.

"I'm sorry about this," I says, "but that's just the way things go sometimes."

He nodded again.

"Look," I tole him, "I'm gonna try to work somethin out. I'll talk to Colonel North. They ain't gonna keep me in the stockade forever. I'll get this straightened out, an then we'll make a plan."

"Yeah, right," he says. "You got a lot of great plans, don't you?"

"Well, I made my mistakes. But somethin's gotta work out. I figger I've had my share of bad luck. It's about time things start to break good."

He gets up an goes back to his room to start packin. At the door, he turn aroun an looks at me for the first time.

"Okay," he says. "You ever get out of the slammer, you look me up. An don't worry about it, hear? I'll be all right."

An so I gone on with the MPs, feelin pretty low an pretty alone. Little Forrest is a good-lookin, smart young man by now, an I done let him down again.

Well, just like the MPs said, when we got back to Washington, they put me in the stockade—thowed in jail again. But ain't long afore they come an turn me loose.

When I got there, I done sent a note to Colonel North, say I think I'm gettin a raw deal here. Couple of months later, he stops by the stockade.

"Sorry about that, Gump, but there ain't much I can do," he says. "I am no longer in the Marine Corps, an I'm pretty busy these days watchin out for some of the Ayatolja's friends who say they want to kill me. Besides, I'm thinkin about runnin for the U.S. Senate. I'll show them bastids what contempt really is."

"Well, Colonel," I says, "that is all very nice, but what about me?"

"It's what you get for makin fools of Congress," he says. "See you aroun the stockade." An then he bust out laughin. "You know what I mean?"

Anyhow, after a few more months on bread an water, I am summoned to the post commander's office.

"Gump," he says, "you just stand at attention while I look over your files." After about half an hour, he says, "At ease," an leans back in his chair. "Well, Gump, I see you have a very mixed record in this man's army. Win the Congressional Medal of Honor, and then you go over the hill. Just what kind of crapola is that?"

"Sir, I didn't go over the hill. I was in jail."

"Yeah, well that's just as bad. If it was up to me, I'd have you cashiered today with a bad-conduct discharge. But it seems some of the brass don't cotton much to havin Medal of Honor winners booted out of the service. Looks bad, I guess. So we got to figger out what to do with you. Got any suggestions?"

"Sir, if you let me out of the stockade, maybe I can go on KP or somethin," I says.

"Not on your life, Gump. I read all about your KP escapades right here in these files. Says here that one time you blew up a steam boiler tryin to make a stew or somethin. Wrecked the mess hall. Cost the army an arm and a leg. Nosiree—you ain't going anywhere near a mess hall on my post."

Then he scratch his chin for a minute. "I think I got a solution, Gump. I ain't got use for any troublemakers around here, so what I'm gonna do is, I'm gonna transfer your big ass as far away as I possibly can, an the sooner the better. That is all."

An so I am transferred. The commander, he was not kiddin about transferrin me to the fartherest place away he could find. Next thing I know, I am assigned to a army weather station in Alaska—in January, no less. But at least they begun payin me again, so's I can send home some allotment money for little Forrest. Matter of fact, I done sent nearly all my pay home, account of what in hell I'm gonna spend it on up in Alaska? In January.

"I see by your files, Gump, that you have had a somewhat checkered past in the service," says the lieutenant in charge of the weather station. "Just keep your nose clean, an they won't be any trouble."

In this, of course, he was wrong.

It was so cold in Alaska that if you went outside an said somethin, your words would freeze themsefs in the air—an if you took a pee, it would wind up as a icicle.