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an shavin lotion an I go on over to the Student Union building. They is a big crowd there an sure enough, Jenny Curran an three or four other people is up on stage. Jenny is wearin a long dress an playin the guitar, an somebody else has a banjo an there is a guy with a bull fiddle, pluckin it with his fingers.
    They sound real good, an Jenny seen me back in the crowd, an smiles an points with her eyes for me to come up an set in the front. It is just beautiful, settin there on the floor listenin an watchin Jenny Curran. I was kinda thinkin that later, I would buy some divinity an see if she wanted some too.
    They had played for an hour or so, an everbody seemed happy an feelin good. They was playin Joan Baez music, an Bob Dylan an Peter, Paul an Mary. I was lying back with my eyes closed, listenin, an all of a sudden, I ain’t sure what happen, but I had pulled out my harmonica an was jus playin along with them.
    It was the strangest thing. Jenny was singin “Blowin in the Wind” an when I begun to play, she stopped for a secont, an the banjo player, he stopped too, an they get this very suprised looks on they faces, an then Jenny give a big grin an she commence to pick up the song again, an the banjo player, he stop an give me a chance to ride my harmonica for a wile, an everbody in the crowd begun to clap an cheer when I was done.
    Jenny come down from the stage after that an the band take a break an she say, “Forrest, what in the world? Where you learn to play that thing?” Anyhow, after that, Jenny got me to play with their band. It was ever Friday, an when there wasn’t an out of town game, I made twenty-five bucks a night. It were jus like heaven till I foun out Jenny Curran been screwin the banjo player.
    Unfortunately, it was not goin so good in English class. Mister Boone had called me in bout a week or so after he read my autobiography to the class and he say, “Mister Gump, I believe it is time for you to stop tryin to be amusin and start gettin serious.” He han me back an assignment I had writ on the poet Wordsworth.
    “The Romantic Period,” he say, “did not follow a bunch of ‘classic bullshit’. Nor were the poets Pope and Dryden a couple of ‘turds.’ ”
    He tell me to do the thing over again, an I’m beginnin to realize Mister Boone don’t understand I’m a idiot, but he was bout to find out.
    Meantime, somebody must of said somethin to somebody, cause one day my guidance counselor at the atheletic department call me in an tells me I’m excused from other classes an to report the next mornin to a Doctor Mills at the University Medical Center. Bright an early I go over there an Doctor Mills got a big stack of papers in front of him, lookin through them, an he tell me to sit down and start axin me questions. When he finished, he tell me to take off my clothes—all but my undershorts, which I breathed easier after hearin cause of what happen the last time with the Army doctors—an he commenced to studyin me real hard, lookin in my eyes an all, an bongin me on the kneecaps with a little rubber hammer.
    Afterward, Doctor Mills axed if I would mine comin back that afternoon an axed if I would bring my harmonica with me, cause he had heard bout it, an would I mine playin a tunefor one of his medical classes? I said I would, although it seemed peculiar, even to somebody dumb as me.
    They was about a hundrit people in the medical class all wearin green aprons an takin notes. Doctor Mills put me up on the stage in a chair with a pitcher an a glass of water in front of me.
    He’s sayin a whole bunch of crap I don’t follow, but after a wile I get the feelin he’s talkin bout
me
.
    “Idiot savant,”
he say loudly, an everbody be starin my way.
    “A person who cannot tie a necktie, who can barely lace up his shoes, who has the mental capacity of perhaps a six- to ten-year-old, and—in this case—the body of, well, an
Adonis
.” Doctor Mills be smilin at me in a way I don’t like, but