The Bradbury Chronicles

Of Walruses and Eggmen

Prompt and Intro ▼

The song used for this story was "I Am The Walrus" . For some this song can came across as silly and goofy; which on the surface does appear that way (and the video didn't help either!), but after reading the lyrics and the poem that sort-of-inspired it - The Walrus and the Carpenter by Lewis Carroll   - I couldn't help feeling it was something much deeper and darker than it appears. Rachel mentioned that this was written after a good friend of theirs passed away, so perhaps it was a way for John to express his grief. Whatever the reason, the story below is an interpretation and combination of both song and poem.

         "I am the walrus, goo-goo g'joob, g'goo goo g'joob."

         "What the hell you been singing under your breath for, man? Sound like you trying to get that damn baby to stop all that wailing. Don’t know why his mama can’t do the job. This whole thing is driving me nuts, man. I mean-"

         "I am the eggman, they are the eggmen."

         Or maybe we’re just the dumb oysters who followed the Walrus in the first place, Manuel Vargas mused as he tuned out, his best friend, Luis’s rant. He winced as they hit another pothole which caused the inhabitants of the cramped truck to bump into each other with groans, whines and muted curses.

         The air was thick with the stench of sweat, stale beer, cigarette, and baby vomit. Yet, the overwhelming scent of fear wallowed beneath it all.

         How many of them were here?

         Manuel had lost count after Alonzo’s family of six were shoved into the vehicle by an impatient driver eager to get to their destination on time.

         About sixty of us, he figured as his wife, Emilia, wiped the snot from the face of their five-year-old son, Deigo. In her arms, she cradled their ten-month-old daughter, Sofia, within a swaddle where a few valuable heirlooms remained hidden.

         They had nothing to their name but a suitcase and two small backpacks. They were the lucky ones. Others barely made it out with a shopping bag.

         And to think that just a few months ago he had been in the finest of suits, speaking passionately to a crowd of voters - some now stuck with him in here - all eager to nominate the next president of the country.

         Someone to give us hope.

         He could still remember how proud he'd been when he was introduced on stage to stand next to the man proposing a future where anything was possible. He could recall posing for photos and mugging for the television cameras; happily showing off his picture-perfect family with the whispered promise that he could soon find himself becoming the mayor of his community, and who knows? If he played his cards right, he could be eyeing something as grand as the governorship in a couple of years.

         Like most in his community, he felt the previous government had failed them. Crime rates were still up. The healthcare system was still unfair, and the minimum wage was barely keeping most families afloat.

         Then came the man; the infamous billionaire with the tanned skin and booming voice with a take-no-prisoner attitude. He painted a world where potential was limitless. All they had to do was put their trust in him.

         Everything was going to work out just fine.

         Until it didn’t.

         "Fifty-five years," Old Man Fernando muttered into his wrinkled cupped hands. "I served this country. I paid my taxes. I committed no crimes but look…look at what they’re doing to us now. Driving us out like cattle. Dios nos perdone."

         No, not cattle, but oysters, Manuel thought bitterly, unable to meet the rheumy gaze now trained on him as if seeking answers he could not give. We foolishly followed, and he ate us up with crocodile tears.

         Don't you think the joker laughs at you?

         Election night was spent getting drunk with joy in the local bar with his friends. Emilia had sobbed in his arms as they made love later, her petite body an added comfort to the sense of finally belonging to a country he loved more than anything.

         Unfortunately, it didn’t take long before the terrified whispers began to seep into their living rooms.

         I heard they started in that county down South.
         Yeah, they raided the factory at two in the morning.
         Just barged into their homes, Dios mio, with no regard for the children.

         Manuel did his best to ignore the warning signs.

         He was safe. His family was safe. They had to be. Didn’t he shake hands with the new president? Didn't they have his name on their special list of those to be considered for bigger and better things?

         Everything was going to work out just fine.

         “It’s no longer safe,” Luis whispered fervently in their huddled meeting in his kitchen. He, along with six other men, watched the events unfolding on television. Eyes widening, breaths quickening, someone already cursing as the headline blared – as if in jest – to their various states of confusion and disbelief.

Deportation Law Now in Effect

         One’s immigration status – whether they’d been in the country for two weeks or twenty years –made no difference. If you were one of his kind, you were a target.

         It’s not fair, Emilia would wail while their children watched cartoons. They took Carla and Rodriguez...everyone just disappeared! What will happen to us?


         We’ll be fine, he reassured her even as the panic began to settle in. We are safe. We have our papers. There’s nothing to worry about.

         However, when Pedro’s convenience store – an institution for over fifty years in the neighborhood - failed to open that Monday morning, when Manuel would find himself returning home from another tension-filled day at the plant to a once bustling street now mimicking catacombs, he knew better than to keep believing in that word – hope.

         Paranoia soon set in like a virus.

         No one able to trust anyone else for fear of being ratted out.

         Eventually, he – along with Luis and a few others – began making desperate plans and calls to a country willing to accept them on such short notice. It was a risky move. The last time he had seen his native country, he was five-years-old fleeing with his parents. Some had never even been there before, yet they all had to believe that they would be welcomed with open arms.

         Emilia asked no questions as she began to pack the necessities for the journey. Manuel would stare longingly at the things he’d have to leave behind, especially his precious collection of Beatles albums. He sincerely hoped that whoever ended up raiding his home would take good care of them, just as the four boys from Liverpool had done the same for him while growing up. It was his father who introduced him to their music, and Manuel hoped to someday pass on the tradition to his little one as well.

         “Papa,” Diego muttered in his sleep, causing Manuel to cradle him tighter.

         He caught Emilia’s weary gaze, and he tried to smile, but even that was now a chore. They had been forced to stay up until midnight, waiting for the delivery truck to arrive. It would only be a eight-hour drive to the border, yet Manuel felt a lifetime had gone by.

         We should be close now, he mused. We should be-

         “Eh? Wha...what’s happening? Why are we slowing down?” Someone cried out. “Have we arrived? Are we there?!”

         A hesitant wave of excitement and hope swept through the truck, and many began sitting up in anticipation, some now praying aloud, others sobbing in relief, while others – like Manuel – frowned in worry.

         Something wasn’t right.

         He and Luis shared a look. Luis’s expression was a mirror of his.

         What would happen next would replay over and over, like a cheap D-horror flick, in his mind for years to come.

         First were the loud bangs on the roll-up door before it was lifted open to let in the arid warmth of early dawn. The high-powered flashlights bathed them in a sea of white so bright they could barely make out the figures of the shouting men in uniform draped with machine guns ordering them to step out as they were all under arrest.

         Manuel reached for Emilia’s hand.

         It slipped away as he was sent tumbling to the cold muddy earth with a blow to the back of his head.

         He heard his son screaming out his name.

         There were gunshots. Desperate ones trying to escape.

         He might have screamed in return. He could not remember.

         And as he felt the strong hands drag him up from the ground, only to dump him into another truck; where the chill of its caged interior would seep into his bones, he wearily welcomed John Lennon’s haunting verse serenading him into a future now unknown -

See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly
I'm crying I'm crying
I'm crying I'm crying






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Word Count: 1395