"Don't worry yourself, my boy," Mister McGivver says. "It was all probably a blessing in disguise anyway. I never dreamed the pig-shit operation would get that big, but once it did, I was under such pressure to keep up with things, it probably was taking years off my life. Maybe you even did me a favor."
As it turns out, of course, Mister McGivver has lost everthin. When the pig-shit farm blowed up, the townspeople an the environmental people shut him down an ran him out of town. Next, because he had borrowed so much money to build the pig-shit-fueled ships, the banks foreclosed on him an thew him out of bidness entirely.
"But that's all right, Forrest," he says. "The sea was my first love anyway. I didn't have any business being an executive or a magnate. Why, hell, right now I'm doing exactly what I want to."
When I ast him what was that, he tole me.
"I am a ship's captain," he says proudly. "Got me a big ole ship out in the harbor right now. You want to see it?"
"Well, I gotta get back to the weather station in a while; is it gonna take long?"
"No time at all, my boy, no time at all."
In this, Mister McGivver was never more wrong in his life.
We gone on out to his ship in a launch. At first I thought the launch was the ship, but when we finally got there, I couldn't believe my eyes. The ship is so big that from a distance it looks like a mountain range! It is about half a mile long an twenty stories high.
Exxon-Valdez is the ship's name.
"Climb aboard," Mister McGivver shouts. It is cold as a well digger's ass, but we climbed up the ladder an gone onto the ship's bridge. Mister McGivver pulls out a big bottle of scotch an offers me a drink, but since I gotta get back to the weather station, I turn it down. He proceeds to drink it hissef, no ice, no water, just straight in the glass, an we talked over ole times for a while.
"Ya know, Forrest, there's one thing I'd have given a lot of money to see," he says, "that is, if I'd had any."
"What's that?"
"The expressions on those bozos' faces when the pig shit blew up."
"Yessir," I says, "it was kinda a sight."
"By the way," Mister McGivver says, "what ever happened to that sow I gave little Forrest—what'd you call her?"
"Wanda."
"Yeah, she was a nice pig. Smart pig."
"She's at the National Zoo in Washington."
"Really? Doing what?"
"In a cage. They are showin her off."
"Well, I'll be damned," he says. "A monument to all our folly."
After a little while, it become apparent to me that Mister McGivver is drunk again. In fact, he is not only drunk, he is reelin. At one point he reeled over to the ship control panels an begun turnin on switches an pullin levers an knobs. Suddenly, the Exxon-Valdez begun to shudder an tremble. Somehow, Mister McGivver had turned on the engine.
"Wanna go for a little spin?" he ast.
"Well, ah, thanks," I says, "but I gotta get back to the weather station. I'm on duty in a hour or so."
"Nonsense!" says Mister McGivver. "This won't take but a few minutes. We'll just go out in the sound for a little spin."
By now, he is lurchin an stumblin an tryin to put the Exxon-Valdez in gear. He grapped hold of the wheel an when it begin to turn he follered with it—right down onto the floor. Then he begun to jabber.
"Hoot, mon!" Mister McGivver shouts. "I think I'm about four sheets to the wind! Arrr, me buckoes, we be forty leagues from Portobello! Run out the guns! You've a bit of the animal in you, young Jim—Long John Silver's my name—What's yours...?"
Shit like that. Anyhow, I got ole Mister McGivver up off the floor, an about that time a sailor come onto the bridge, must of heard the commotion.
"I think Mister McGivver's had one too many," I says. "Maybe we oughta take him to his cabin."
"Yeah," say the sailor, "but I seen him a lot drunker."
"It's the Black Spot for you, laddie buck!" shouts Mister McGivver. "Old Blind Pew knows the score. Hoist up the Jolly Roger! You'll all walk the plank!"
Me an the sailor carried Mister McGivver to his bunk an laid him down. "I'll keelhaul the lot of you" is the last thing Mister McGivver says.
"Say," the sailor ast, "you know why Captain McGivver turned on the engines?"
"Nope—I don't know nothin. I'm with the weather station."
"What!" says the sailor. "Hell, I thought you were the bar pilot!"
"Me, no. I am a private in the army."
"Greatgodamighty!" he says. "We got ten million gallons of crude oil on board!" An he runs out the door.
It was apparent I could not do nothin for Mister McGivver, account of he is asleep—if that's what you want to call it. So I gone on back to the bridge. Nobody is there an the ship seems to be sailin along, buoy markers an things be passin us at top speed. I didn't know what else to do, so I grapped the ship's wheel an tried to steer us at least in a straight direction. We had not gone too far when suddenly there is a great big bump. I am figgerin this is good, since the Exxon-Valdez has finally stopped. Turns out, though, it is not.
All of a sudden, it seems like there is about a hundrit people runnin around on the bridge, everbody hollerin an screamin an givin each other orders, an some of them even be givin each other the finger. Not long afterward, some fellers from the Coast Guard come aboard, complainin we has just dumped ten million gallons of crude awl into Prince William Sound. Birds, seals, fish, polar bears, whales, an Exkimos—all will be destroyed by what we has now done. An there is gonna be hell to pay.
"Who was in charge on this bridge?" says a Coast Guard officer.
"He was!" everbody on the bridge shouted at once, all pointin they fingers right at me.
I knowed right then that I am in the doghouse for sure.
MANIAC ARMY MAN AT HELM OF DISASTER SHIP, says one of the headlines. CERTIFIED NUT DRIVING OIL SPILL BOAT, says another. CATACLYSM CAUSED BY DANGEROUS FOOL; this is typical of the kind of shit I got to endure.
In any case, they sent up a three-star general from Washington to deal with me an my problems. In a way this is sort of lucky, since the army does not wish to get involved in any sense with the blame for the Exxon-Valdez mess, an the best thing they can do is get me the hell out of there—quick.
"Gump," the general says, "if it was up to me, I would have you before a firing squad for this, but since it isn't, I am gonna do the next best thing, which is to have your big stupid ass transferred as far away from here as possible, which, in this case, is to Berlin, Germany. Maybe, if we are lucky, nobody is gonna be able to find you there, and so they'll have to put all the blame on old Captain McGivver for this disaster. Do you read me?"
"Yessir," I says, "but how I'm gonna get there?"
"The plane, Gump, is on the runway. Its motors are running. You got five minutes."
Chapter Ten
Goin to Germany was not all it was cracked up to be. This was account of I was escorted there in handcuffs an leg irons by four MPs who kept remindin me that their orders was, if I done anythin funny, they was to immediately crack me over the head with their nightsticks.
Somebody high up in command had apparently give the order that I was to be assigned the dirtiest job in the entire army, an the order was faithfully carried out. I was sent to a tank company, where my duty was to clean all the mud off the tank treads—an let me say this: There is plenty of mud on the tank tracks in Germany in the winter.