Tucha Ferrut

Tucha's father pulled the station wagon up to the curb outside 17 E. Windmill street and took his black Moleskine notebook out of his jacket pocket. Tucha had seen his father do this a hundred times in his life, maybe more. He opened the little book and as Tucha stared out the car window towards the house and could hear the lead of his father's mechanical pencil scratching. He was crossing out another name. His father carefully put the notebook and pencil back into his pocket and leaned over Tucha to pull up the door lock and then pointed up towards the house. It had been a beautiful house at some point. Sitting on top of a small hill surrounded now by an overgrown garden. The flowers in that garden didn't realize they had lept past any border or boundaries laid out for them. They had worked together to claim the entire yard as their own. The garden was in bloom. Tucha could smell the roses that were busy shoving over the old wrought iron fence. The heavenly odor was sneaking through the small triangular vent pushed open at the front of the passenger side window. He could smell the roses and the scent of decaying leaves at the same time. Dry Maple leaves, leftover from last fall, lay on top of damp leaves from the fall before that were smoldering now under the rose bushes. The combination of scents reminded Tucha of walking in the woods with his mother. Remembering her now didn't bring the buckets of tears it used to. He was able to think of her fondly without sobbing and that, he thought, was a little bit of a betrayal. He would make a mental note to sing to his mother the next time he was walking in the woods near his house. He would sing to her spirit and he was sure she would hear him from where she lived up in the sky and she would smile.

"That's the one." His father said gesturing towards the house.

Tucha was already looking at the house. He was taking in every detail. He noticed that the house had been sloppily painted white many years ago. The paint must have been hastily applied with some sort of large sprayer because the paint had found its way onto sections of the tar shingled roof where it didn't belong and was even coating the glass of all of the second-floor windows. Even though the paint was aging and peeling in places to Tucha it looked like a house that was being covered by snow during a ferocious blizzard.

"May I carry the box this time?" Tucha asked his father. He already knew the answer. He had grown considerably over the last year. Jumped up two shoe sizes and the ones he was wearing seemed tighter than they were yesterday. He had grown considerably, it was true, but he was still a small boy.

"I will carry the box." His father answered and smiled as he always did. "You will carry the box when you are older."

Tucha's father helped him with the latch but Tucha could push the heavy door open. He climbed out and carefully shut the door behind himself. He hopped up on the curb and walked the concrete edge along the car to the back where his father was sliding a large black box across the station wagon's carpeted tailgate.

"I made it all the way back here without touching the car." Tucha told his father this hoping that it would change his mind about who would be carrying the box.

"You have better balance than I ever had." His father lifted the box up and out of the car by its sturdy rope handles. "You will close the tailgate for me?" He asked. "Careful not to catch your fingers."

Tucha liked being of help. The tailgate was heavier than the car's door but he managed to lift it. He felt a sense of pride when he heard it click into place.

"You made it click." His father beamed. "You are growing stronger every day."

This made Tucha straighten his back and widen his shoulders just a little.

"After you." His father followed Tucha up the long broken concrete walkway that led to the house. They both carefully avoided the places where the concrete had broken and been shoved up over the years by persistent tree roots.

"I will help you." Tucha lifted gently on one corner of the box and he was surprised by the weight of it. Together they climbed the steps to the porch.

"You will guide me to the door safely?" His father asked.

"Almost there, three more steps." Tucha let go of the box and walked over to ring the doorbell. The button had been covered in the same white paint that was frosting the rest of the house. He had to push harder than he thought he would and the paint finally released its grip on the button and allowed the bell to ring.

"Shall I ring it again?" Tucha liked the sound of the bell. It wasn't an angry buzz or some hollow recorded chime. Most of the houses they visited had a buzz or a chime. It was a real bell and he could imagine an unseen electric motor pulling back a tiny hammer to strike out the tune.

"You may ring it one more time." His father could hear footsteps inside the house already but he also liked the sound of that bell.

The door opened as the bell softly rang out. The woman inside was younger than Tucha had imagined she would be. She looked first at Tucha's father then at the box he was carrying then her gaze fell on Tucha and stayed there. She looked at the boy as if she were lost in a daydream.

"You are Wendy Maywater." This was a statement from Tucha's father, not a question. He knew who she was and saying her name out loud was the cue for his son to begin.

"My name is Tucha Ferrut. My mother's name is Ibby Ferrut and I am here to give you this token of her gratitude. You helped her when few others would. Together you crossed galaxies. You stood together in the light from distant stars and saved the lives of many, including my own." Tucha was so proud he had remembered all the words. He had memorized them just as his mother had written them down for him. He practiced the words every morning while he brushed his teeth.

The box was placed at Wendy's feet and opened. Tucha could see the stacks of money reflected in the woman's thick glasses. He had sat next to his father as he had counted the cash.

"Why twenty thousand?" Tucha had asked as the cash was being nestled carefully inside the box. He was imagining what kinds of things that much money could buy in the toy and candy aisle of the Save N' Save More grocery store.

"It is exactly what this person will need right when they need it most." Tucha's father sounded joyful. Tucha didn't understand how his father knew what people would need most.

"What if they need a hug?" Tucha wondered out loud.

"Then you will know and you will hug them." His father grew quiet. He could hear a kind heart beating softly in the boy's words.

Wendy Maywater was crying now. She had stepped forward onto the porch and the screen door had slapped shut behind her. Tucha could tell she needed a hug so he gave her one. This didn't make Wendy stop crying and the boy was almost sure she may have even been crying more than before. Maybe he was getting super strong and the hug had hurt a little. He would remember to be more careful in the future.

Both he and his Father bowed their heads for a few seconds remembering the boy's mother. Then they turned without speaking and walked back to the car.

"One more box to deliver today." His father grinned.

"When will the next box be delivered?" Tucha asked.

"We will deliver it in 1994." His father answered after quickly checking his notebook to make sure.

"Then we can have spaghetti for dinner? Ice cream?" Tucha knew there would be ice cream.

"Yes." His father said. "Tonight we can have spaghetti and buttered bread and corn on the cob and if you clean your plate there will be ice cream."