AFTER THE BRUNCH, FAUSTINA sent the man on his way because she needed to prepare for a deposition in San Francisco the next day. It would be a one-day trip, no more. The man kissed Faustina and wished her luck. When he got back to his apartment, he walked straight to his study. He turned on the desk lamp and opened the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. The man pulled out the battered cardboard box, placed it on his desk, lifted its lid, took out the children’s picture book, and sat in his desk chair. He removed the business card that was clipped to the book’s cover, laid it carefully to one side of the desk, and tapped it three times. The man opened the book. He smiled, sighed, and read the title aloud: “The Story of Fernando.” He turned to the first page and started to read the picture book to himself:
This is the story of how Fernando became my very best friend. He possesses every quality one could ask for in a friend. He knows his manners, he speaks many languages—like Spanish and English—and he could only be described as most handsome. Fernando’s hair is shiny, like a moist winter night, and his eyes sparkle with great intelligence and wit.
Fernando has only one drawback. When Fernando gets caught in the rain he, well, how can I put this delicately? When he gets wet, Fernando stinks. Not just a little stink. But a big stink.
Why, do you ask, does he stink when he gets wet? Well, that’s a really good question. You see, Fernando is a furry animal. From the very first day he was born in the hills of the San Fernando Valley, he was a member of the weasel family. Specifically, Fernando is a ferret. In Spanish, un hurón.
Some of you might be wriggling up your noses and shaking your heads now that you know that Fernando is a ferret. And some of you may also know that it is illegal to own a ferret as a pet in California (and Hawaii, too, for that matter). Granted, ferrets don’t have the kind of reputation enjoyed by cute puppies and cuddly kittens. But they are beautiful creatures. Most ferrets have lustrous cream-colored coats with dark tips on their feet and tails and a dusky mask of fur around their eyes. But none of this is really important, because I can’t own pets. You see, I’m an insect known as a beetle. My name is Betty. Glad to make your acquaintance.
My story begins a year before I actually met Fernando. That’s when Fernando was born in the hills of the San Fernando Valley, in that large city known as Los Angeles, in the state of California. The night Fernando came into this world could only be described as warm and treacherous because of the hot winds that blew hard and relentlessly that night. Scientists call them the Santa Ana winds, but a lot of people simplify by calling them santanas. But the winds are also called devil winds because they are so hot, and strange things can happen when they blow through the San Fernando Valley.
The night Fernando was born, the moon shone bright and hard on the trees, shrubs, and hills where Fernando’s parents, Isabel and Miguel, tried to keep their minds off the heat. Crickets were too hot to chirp, and even the moths could do nothing more than lounge about and think about cooler nights.
“And what shall we name him?” asked Isabel.
“Hmm,” thought Miguel. “Didn’t we say that we would try to name one of our males after my grandfather?”
“Yes, we did,” said Isabel.
“Then it’s decided, isn’t it?”
Isabel looked down at her new baby. “Yes, it’s decided. We will call him Fernando.”
Just then, Fernando let out a little yelp.
“Ha!” laughed Miguel. “He already knows his name!”
“Yes, he does,” said Isabel. “He’s our little Fernando.”
Isabel and Miguel were very fine parents, as are most ferrets. And because they were who they were, they taught little Fernando everything a young ferret should learn. In other words, Isabel and Miguel taught Fernando how to hunt. Lessons started in earnest just after Fernando’s first birthday. At first Fernando thought that the whole thing was just another game. He laughed and giggled as his father showed him how to wriggle and point his nose to pick up a scent.
“All ferrets must first learn to aim their noses into the wind to pick up a scent,” said Miguel to his son.
With that, Miguel lifted his elegant nose, closed his eyes, and sniffed into the warm summer breeze. Fernando kept his sharp eyes trained on his father. Fernando’s little nostrils flared as he concentrated on the lesson. Though Miguel kept his eyes shut, he could sense that Fernando was quietly observing his every move.
“What is the magic word that every ferret must remember?” asked Miguel as he wriggled his nose back and forth.
Fernando thought for a moment. “Please?”
“No.”
“Thank you?”
“No,” said Miguel. “Besides, that’s two words.”
“Oh,” said Fernando.
“I’m talking about hunting now,” said Miguel. “Not manners.”
“Yes, Papá,” said Fernando, feeling a bit embarrassed. Indeed, if ferrets could blush, Fernando would have been a bright shade of crimson right then.
Miguel, becoming a bit impatient, said, “The magic word is ‘patience.’”
“Oh yes!” Fernando smiled with his tiny but sharp teeth. “Patience!”
“Do not forget that!” said Miguel as he lifted his nose back up into the breeze. Just then, I crawled by Fernando’s left paw.
“Oh, hello,” said Fernando to me.
I jumped not because I was afraid of Fernando but because I couldn’t believe that a ferret could speak such perfect beetle.
“Why, hello to you,” I said once I recovered from my surprise. “You speak beetle very well.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Fernando, putting his nose closer to me. “I like speaking different languages. I guess I have what’s called a gift.”
“It is truly a gift,” I said.
“Thank you,” said Fernando.
Miguel suddenly realized that he had lost the attention of his student. He opened his left eye and saw Fernando chattering away to the ground.
“Fernando, what are you doing making such odd noises to the dirt?” asked Miguel as he opened his other eye and lowered his snout.
“Talking to a beetle, Papá.”
Miguel shook his head in disbelief. “Why would you do a thing like that?”
“Well, Papá, I like to talk to different creatures,” smiled Fernando. “They’re interesting.”
Fernando then looked back at me. “By the way, what is your name?”
“Betty,” I said.
Fernando’s father grew impatient. “Interesting?” asked Miguel. “What can be interesting about a bug?”
“That’s the thing,” answered Fernando. “A beetle is different from a fly, a ladybug, a gnat, a butterfly, a caterpillar, a moth, or a bee.“
“All right, Fernando, all right!” Miguel laughed. “I think I understand what you mean. Now, go ahead and eat it and move on!”
At this I jumped. “What did he say?”
Fernando whispered to me: “Don’t worry. I never eat anything that has introduced itself to me. When I give you a wink, jump into that little hole behind you.”
Fernando’s father said impatiently, “Well?”
Fernando looked up and said in a loud voice, “Yes, I’ll eat him right away. He sure looks delicious!”
Even though I knew he was not going to eat me, this last comment made me a bit nervous. Then Fernando gave me a wink. As agreed, I jumped into the little hole so that Fernando’s father couldn’t see me. Fernando dipped his head, made a gulping sound, and then smacked his lips.
“Yum!” he said. “Delicious!”
“Good job!” Fernando’s father said. “Now let’s get moving.”
Fernando gave me another wink and whispered, “See you later, Betty.”
I whispered, “Yes, later!”
And that is how Fernando and I became friends. Friends can come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Don’t you agree? But this is not the end of my story. Oh no! Something else happened that I must tell you about.
Pretty soon Fernando’s father, Miguel, figured that Fernando knew all there was for a ferret to know about hunting for food. So Miguel would let Fernando go out on his own to search for something good to eat. This is when Fernando and I would meet and play.
One day I was lolling around the nice, warm dirt waiting for Fernando. The wildflowers had recently bloomed into beautiful bursts of yellows, purples, and reds. A family of quail scurried about, and the fluffy white clouds blew across the brilliant blue sky. Suddenly, I heard Fernando calling me. He was speaking in perfect beetle. I looked up and saw him standing near a large pile of rocks.
“Fernando!” I said as loudly as I could. But he didn’t hear me. Suddenly, the ground started to shake and rumble, and I thought to myself that some large animal must be stomping close by. Then I realized that this was no animal! It was an earthquake! Then I noticed that the pile of rocks above Fernando started to shift, just a bit. The earthquake had set the rocks in motion. They started to teeter and Fernando didn’t notice what was happening!
“¡Temblor!” I yelled. This time Fernando heard me. He ran in my direction as the rocks came crashing down and landed where Fernando had been standing! Fernando ran even faster and eventually reached me.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He was out of breath. “I’m fine,” Fernando finally said.
“Oh good!” I said.
“I’m so lucky you’re my friend,” he said.
Is there a moral to my story about Fernando? I don’t know. All I know is that he is a wonderful friend even though we are very different. And wouldn’t the world be a boring place if we were all exactly the same? I think so. What do you think?
The man had read the book perhaps a hundred times since his reanimation. He’d found the battered cardboard box with his meager, government-issued belongings in the transitional housing he lived in before starting his first job and had enough money to rent an apartment. And each time he read the book, he heard the soft voice of an older woman with an accent similar to Faustina’s mother’s. But the man did not recognize the voice in his head—he had no idea to whom it belonged.
The man turned to the frontispiece of the book. Below the title was the name FERNANDO OCHOA written in block letters in alternating green and red crayon. He traced each letter with his right index finger. The man closed the book, examined the cover one more time—appreciating the colorful painting of the smiling young ferret with his friend, the beetle—then carefully placed it back into the battered cardboard box, closed the lid, and set it on the desk rather than returning it to the drawer. He then touched the business card as if to make certain it was still there. The man pulled out his phone and looked at Faustina’s flight schedule for tomorrow. He knew that he should explain his plan to her in person, not by text or phone. But Faustina needed to prepare for her deposition, so it would need to wait until tomorrow night when she was back in town. The man turned off the desk lamp with a loud click.