The Walnuts
Copyright 2004 Ron Zastre
Dedications
Ron Zastre
To the memory of Emerson LaGrange who never hesitated to tell anyone, I was twice as good as I really was.
To June, who did her own thing better than anyone.
To Robin who sat with me many, many hours as we laughed and reminisced about the characters and the antics, and then helped again after it was written.
To Holly, Denny, Linda, and Bonny who should recognize the characters.
Robin LaGrange
To my parents, Emerson and June. Though you are gone, you’re not forgotten. Your humor and lust for life lives on in the pages of this book. Everyone that came into contact with you wanted to be a Walnut. That’s the legacy you left behind. Rest in peace Mom and Dad.
Prelude
Seg Thouge reluctantly signed a contract to write a story about far away Earth. His planet had been sending people there for a few years to study the primitive society which was about 3,000 years behind theirs. Seg, however, was the first journalist to make the trip.
Seg’s people were busy exploring their solar system, but interstellar travel was still beyond their technology. Some years hence, they had been contacted by a very advanced race of strange little humanoids, ‘The Travelers.’ Now, if they wished to go between the star systems, they could book passage on The Travelers’s galactic transports.
Seg perfected his English on the long voyage with the Travelers, but didn’t realize that his thoughts were not entirely his. By the time he arrived at Earth, his contempt for their haughty attitude was well-known aboard their ship.
Chapter 1
Far from any city lights, the stars sparkled with intense clarity over a dense forest. Below the thick canopy of trees it was pitch black, and the sounds of night were prevalent—an owl hooting, frogs croaking, and crickets adding their night song. A gentle wind rustling the leaves completed the peaceful night setting.
*
Suddenly, the owl stopped its calling, the frogs went silent, and the insects hushed. Then the wind died. Something was descending on the forest.
*
With an unworldly, overpowering screech, a shaft of deep blue light stabbed the earth from two hundred feet in the air, destroying the serenity. A deep, rhythmic hum accompanied the light and permeated the darkness. From the source of the bright shaft came the hissing sound of machinery opening and then quickly slamming shut. A brighter orb of light rapidly descended inside the deep blue shaft. It struck the ground and bounced once, dissipating, leaving a man lying on his back in a cloud of dust. The shaft of light blinked off with another screech. A sudden downward blast of hot air forced the man to cover himself.
Two bright headlights snapped on in the dark, illuminating the man lying in the dirt. The man stood up, shielding his eyes from the intense light with one hand, while smacking dust off his tattered and worn looking clothes with the other. He was a middle aged, slender built man, in-descriptive except for a couple of twigs entwined in his dusty, windblown hair.
“Are you here for me?” the man yelled hopefulness in his voice.
“If I’m not,” a voice yelled back, “do you have a backup plan?”
“No.”
“How did you manage to annoy the Travelers?” the voice asked, moving in front of the car lights, heading toward the man.
“I do not know, but they are so sensitive.”
“Were you briefed on their mind-reading capabilities?” The voice was getting closer.
“Ah, so that is what happened.” The man sighed. “Why do we have to tolerate their indignation?”
“We can’t go as fast or as far as they can.” The voice was nearly upon him. “You wouldn’t want to spend three life time’s just getting here, would you?” A tall, handsome man walked up and offered his hand. “My name is Ray Camper. And what are you here for?”
“You have not been told?”
“No, I was only informed of your arrival and told to prepare identification. You’re now John Helms.” Ray looked at John with amusement. “So, John, what brings you to Earth?”
“I am to write a story about the culture.”
“Really? Who sent you on this, ah, quest?” asked Ray, a chuckle in his voice.
“My editor. Do you have any suggestions?”
“There’s so many different cultures here it would be difficult to define one. Your editor—he doesn’t like you, does he?”
“He thinks I am lucky.”
“You don’t look lucky to me.”
“I get the most out of my material.” John shot back, sounding annoyed.
“Ah, lucky or good? I’ll bet you got this assignment to see how far you can press either one.”
“I know that,” John replied. “Look,” John pleaded, “I must have a story and I do not want to spend any more time here than necessary.”
“Sorry, there’s not much I can do to help you.”
“What do I do now?”
“How am I supposed to know? I was just told to arrange for your arrival. But . . .”—Ray looked at John and laughed—“look, there’s some people I’ve gotten to know, but I’m not sure you’re ready for them. What preparation have you had?”
John shrugged. “I have a good grasp of the language.”
“That’s it? They’re still very primitive when it comes to centralization,” replied Ray. “Like I said, there’s probably a couple hundred different cultures here.”
“I was not aware.”
“Are you aware there are multiple religions too?”
“Oh! They do not get along at all then?”
“Not in the least.” Ray smiled. “And they still have lawyers.”
“Oh my! Are they really that primitive?”
“Well, this planet is still into enterprise.”
John seemed confused. “But a society cannot survive with enterprise as its goal. The priorities become convolute, and the basic responsibilities suffer. A system that prioritizes enterprise will eventually poison itself.”
Ray laughed. “Welcome to Earth.”
“Oh gosh.” John’s shoulders slumped. “What can I do?”
“I don’t know,” Ray said. “I guess maybe your best shot might be the Walnuts.”
“Walnuts? What could I write about a tree?”
“No, dummy, it’s that family I know. They’re a little out of the norm, so a fool like you might just blend in.”
“Why are you insulting me?”
“I’m conditioning you,” said Ray. “Forget the prim and proper because this is Earth and it is populated by barbarians, and you will constantly be assaulted with disrespect and innuendoes.”
Chapter 2
“Well, good luck with this, you’re probably going to need it,” Ray said to John, while knocking on the front door of a residence shaded by a large leafy tree.
From inside the door a loud female voice approached.
“You little snot! You listen when I tell you something!” yelled the woman. “I know all about men and what they’re up to, and you don’t know diddly squat!”
“Am not!” responded a different female. “And if you know so much about men, how come Grandpa refers to all yours as chapters?”
“Because he’s a turd-face,” exclaimed the first voice. The door opened and a beautiful woman that looked to be in her early thirties was standing there. She had a long, luxurious, chestnut colored pony tail, a slim, sexy figure, and a wonderful smile.
“Ray Camper, you dirty dog. We haven’t seen you around much, but at least you do call . . . occasionally. What’s up?”
“Not much, Danielle. I want to introduce you to the writer I called about.” Ray gestured to John who was standing back. “Are you stil
l going to take that trip?”
“Yeah, I’ve got to get away for a while because I’m going nuts.”
Danielle looked at John. “Is this him?”
“Yes, Danielle, this is Helms.”
An attractive teenage girl walked up behind Danielle. She had shorter blonde hair, but the same brown eyes and pouty lips as Danielle.
“What do you want, buddy?” the teenager asked John, eyeing him intently over Danielle’s shoulder. “He’s not living here, Mother.”
“Oh, hush up, you little snot.”
“Am not!” returned the girl.
“Heather, he’s just a friend of Camper’s. He just moved here and he wants to write a book and make some new friends.”
Heather scowled at John. “He’s got a really strange look in his eyes—probably another weirdo.”
“You little snot, go clean your room.”
“Not!”
“I’m sick of you being an arse to everyone!”
“Another friggin weirdo. Geez Camper where did you dig him up, and where did he get those clothes?” Heather rolled her eyes and stomped off.
“Don’t mind her, guys. Come in. I’m not dressed yet, but make yourselves at home.” Danielle smiled at John. “So, you’re a writer. Where are you from, Helms? God, that’s a stuffy name. They call you anything else?”
“John.”
“John Helms? Oh, that’s original,” scoffed Danielle, cocking her head suspiciously, her hands on her hips. “Sounds like someone made it up. So, where are you from, John Helms?”
John hesitated, so Camper cut in. “He’s from Montana.”
“Joohhnn from Moonnttaaannaaa,” said Danielle, bleating like a sheep.
“I do not understand,” replied John.
Danielle laughed. “Montana, where the men are men and the sheep are nervous.”
John looked confused.
Danielle tried again. “Montana, where they practice safe sex by tagging the sheep that kick?”
John looked to Camper for help.
“You haven’t heard that one either?” she asked.
“No, what does it mean?” asked John.
She gave Camper a concerned look.
“Well,” Camper explained. “He wasn’t in Montana that long.”
“Can he talk for himself, or what?”
“He’s really shy.”
Heather came back into the room to chime in. “Or really stupid.”
“I told you to be gone!” Danielle yelled. “And stop insulting people.”
“Oh, he’s perfect,” Heather said, leaving the room again. “Mother always gets the ones that are half cracked, and then she finishes them off.”
Danielle looked directly at John. “Which is it, John Helms?”
“Which what?” he asked.
“Are you from Montana, or what?”
“I have been there . . . and other places.”
“Where are you from originally?”
“Ahm, it would be hard to explain,” John fumbled.
“Camper!” Danielle turned quickly to Ray, her hands on her hips again. “Who is this guy?” What the hell are you trying to pull here?”
“He’s been out of the country for a long time,” Ray said, hoping this would satisfy her. It clearly hadn’t so he changed the subject. “John studies religions.”
“You two are up to something. Look, I don’t care if you’re on some weird mission, that’s your business, but I have a daughter to worry about. Don’t be bringing any crap into my life!”
“I will not cause any problems, I promise you,” John said. “If I seem uncooperative, it is because I have a contract to write a story.”
“That’s what Camper said. What kind of story? You want to hang around to get material, that’s it?” asked Danielle.
“Yes, Camper said your family is very colorful.”
“Well, you might have come to the right place, because The Walnuts definitely have a story to tell.”
“You do not mind if I observe you?”
“I don’t know, it might be cute.” Danielle smiled, and then gave John a serious look. “But why are you being so elusive?”
“Ahm . . . it is a new approach.”
“A new approach, huh?” Danielle scowled, looking sternly at John. “That’s covering your ass.”
“Yes, it is about a journalist who is not familiar with today’s society and is experiencing it for the first time.” John smiled. “So I am trying to be elusive to place myself in the right state of mind.”
“I told you he was a weirdo!” Heather yelled from another room.
“You little snot!” Danielle shouted back. “Mind your own business or you are going to be grounded for another week. You got me?”
“Not!” Heather yelled. “And, good, I want to stay home anyway.”
“You’re going tonight, so knock it off.”
Heather came back into the room. “Oh great, the old-fart gathering.”
“Knock it off, you’re going. You haven’t seen Grandpa for a while and he adores you. You should be thankful at least someone likes you.”
“I had a date tonight, but thanks to you—”
“You’re not going out on dates yet! We’ve already settled this. You’re too young.”
“Oh, F you Mother!” Heather stormed out of the room.
“You shut the F up, you little potty mouth!”
Danielle recomposed herself and turned to John and Camper.
“Damn kids! John, you got any?”
“No.”
“You’re lucky. They think their only purpose is making everyone’s life miserable with their continual crap.”
“She seems frustrated about something,” said John.
“Yeah, the poor thing is dripping hormones.”
“I do not know what you mean?”
“Oh, come on. You don’t know anything about teenagers?”
“Not enough, it seems.”
“Well, stick around; this one is a laugh a minute.”
“I would like to associate with a typical family for my book.”
“Typical?” Danielle laughed. “Well, if you can handle it, we’re going to a party at my parents’ neighbors place tonight, then up north for a couple of weddings tomorrow. A goofy couple my parents know are getting married. Then, we’re going right to my sister’s wedding. She’s getting married . . . again. You sure you’re not a psycho or something?”
“I am not a psycho, but your daughter seems to think I am.”
“Oh, she’s just giving you the rub. She does that to anyone she doesn’t know, especially any guy she thinks might be interested in me. She’s a good kid, though, and I do love her dearly. You’ll like her when you get to know her, but seriously, you don’t know anything about kids? You’re not married or anything?”
“Yes, I am married, but I have no children.”
“Does your wife know what you’re doing now?”
“Yes.”
“Good. If your wife knows what you’re up to, then it must be okay,” Danielle said, cocking her head in confirmation. “Where are you really from? Camper was BS-ing about the religious thing, right?”
“BS-ing?”
“A con job!”
“Oh, I am not here for sex.”
“Who said anything about sex?” chuckled Danielle.
“Well, you indicated a con job. Is that not a reference to a sexual act?”
“What the hell are you inferring?” Danielle looked angry.
Ray stepped in. “Oh, I think he got confused. I think he thought you said . . . ah, blow job.”
“No, I definitely said con job.”
“He gets confused easily,” Ray explained.
“No kidding!” Danielle stepped back to look John over. “Who dressed you, by the way?”
“Someone who didn’t like him too much,” said Ray. “We haven’t had a chance to get him some decent clothes.”
“Where the hell did you come from?” Dani
elle asked, feeling the cloth on John’s sleeve. “This stuff is out of date by a hundred years!”
“I do not really know how to explain, except to say I am not from any place that you would be familiar with.”
“You speak excellent English, but I can’t place the accent. It’s actually ‘too’ proper. What are you up to, John?”
“I told you. I am a writer. I am telling the truth.”
“But where are you from? . . . I’ll bet I can guess.”
“If you can guess correctly, I will confirm it. I promise.”
Danielle squinted at him for a moment but gave up. “You swine. I’ll figure you out, John Helms. I can guarantee you that.”
“Why are you known as the Walnuts?”
“That’s what everyone calls our family.”
“Walnuts, like in the term for nutty?”
“Yeah, that’s us. My dad’s lawyer came up with the moniker a long time ago. Everyone, and I mean, everyone, wants to be around us because there’s never a dull moment. Everybody wants to be a Walnut,” Danielle declared proudly.
“How did this happen?”
“My father made a lot of money so my parents have always had enough to do what they want, and they don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. The Walnuts just do their thing. They have a big, beautiful ranch, called Rancho de Los Retardos. I told you, we’re going to a party at the neighbors’ tonight where you’ll get to meet them, but just remember one thing—”
“What is that?”
Danielle laughed. “People beware.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means watch out for Grandma, the ‘queen,’” said Heather, returning. “Camper can tell you.”
“Just hope she takes a liking to you,” said Ray.
“Yeah, you’ll get to meet my mother, the queen,” said Danielle. “She’s an extremely pushy, take-charge individual, but luckily, she does have a sense of humor . . . and timing.” She grinned at Ray. “Camper made a big impression on her, didn’t you, stud?”
“Hey, she started it.”
“And, she also finished it, if I remember correctly,” Danielle boasted. “He stays clear of her now.”
Ray shrugged.
“You come from the same place as Camper?” Heather asked John.
“Yes.”
“Ah, huh! Heather looked at Ray. “You two know each other from before.”
“No, we just met, but we work for the same people,” said Ray.