Jeannette awoke with a start. What was that? There had been a noise, an unexpected noise. Was she dreaming? What had woken her? What had that been about? She listened intently, feeling her heart beating fast. What had penetrated through her deep sleep? It was definitely some kind of noise, some kind of 'different' noise.

    She looked at the luminous-faced clock beside her bed. 3.10 a.m. That was late or rather early; very, very early. She had three hours before she would have to even think about getting up.

    She realized she was shivering. Why did she always feel so afraid and vulnerable when her husband was away on business? But she wasn't alone in the house. Her two sons, age 11 and 13, were in the bedroom next door, and there was the dog. He would have barked if anything was wrong, if there was an intruder or anything. Again she shivered. That noise had been unusual. What was it? She couldn't even remember. It was just something that had woken her, making her feel decidedly uneasy.

    The front door bell rang, its noise echoing through the house, sounding shriller than it usually did at normal times of day. Their dog, Muffo, barked loudly, running down the stairs towards the hallway. Who was it? Who would ring the doorbell at this hour of the night, or rather, this hour of the morning?

    She walked slowly down the stairs. Muffo had stopped barking and was standing next to the door, whining. She had expected to see the form of a person through the glassed upper part of the door. Strangely, she couldn't see anyone.

    "Who is there?" she shouted through the door. "Who is there?"

    She heard crying, moaning, and it sounded like a child.

    She opened the door. It most definitely was a child. In the half light she could see that he was covered in scratches, some of which were bleeding. He was also full of mud and leaves as if he had been crawling through undergrowth or forest. He had obviously had to stand on the low wall to be able to reach the bell.

    "Come in, come in," she said. "What has happened to you? Where did you come from?

    "He pointed in the direction he had come, crying as he did so.

    "Come in and let us look at you in the light," she said. She noticed that the boy had on a yarmulka. He was obviously Jewish.

    As he came inside, she noticed he had strings sticking out from under his torn and tattered shirt. He was obviously very Jewish. As far as she knew, only very Jewish people wore those.

    With a start, she realized that he was not a normal child, and that is why he was not able to speak to her. He was probably not able to speak at all. And he was very, very agitated, trying to communicate with her and attract her attention to something which was going on outside. Had the child run away? Where had he come from?

    She was relieved to hear her two sons coming down the stairs. Barry was looking somewhat agitated and Michael had a confused expression on his face. It turned to one of wonderment when he saw the child.

    The visitor looked relieved to see them and started to babble a lot of nonsense syllables hoping, obviously, that they would understand him. Both of her sons looked completely blank. The child was becoming more and more desperate. He obviously wanted the two boys to follow him into the night.

    "We must call the police," said Jeannette. "This child has obviously run away from home. People are probably looking for him. We must find out right away."

    The child turned large, rather too large green eyes on her as if trying to communicate by thought alone. She could not figure out what it was he wanted. She must return him to his parents and do it quickly.

    As she went to the phone, he suddenly made a dash for the door. Barry was too quick for him, and as he caught onto him and held him, the boy broke into loud, screeching sobs.

    Determinedly, she phoned the police. No, as far as the officer knew, there had been no alert sent out to look for him, but as the policeman said, he could have climbed out of a window when the household was sleeping. By her description, he might even have escaped from an institution.

    The boy continued to sob, becoming more and more uncontrollable as time went on.

    Rebbetzin Schmidt was the first to regain consciousness. Where was she? What had happened? What was this terrible, almost unbearable pain in her ankle and her arm? Why couldn't she move freely? Why was everything so cold?

    She tried to move and realized with a stab of terror where she was, where they all were. She had seen the deer crossing the road in front of them. She had heard her husband's exclamation as he tried to slam on the brakes, and she had felt the strange sensation of being taken through the air. Further than that she could remember nothing.

    The car had obviously gone off the road and had landed somewhere. Where were they? Where was her husband? Where were the children?

    She tried to get up, to turn around to look at them. There was some moonlight. Surely she could see. As she moved, the car moved with her, lurching quite heavily towards the rear.

    She was now fully awake, her senses returning her to sharp focus. Yes, her husband Chaim was there, hunched over the driver's seat. She called him and he responded slightly. Relieved that he was alive, she looked again towards the back seat, aware, now, that any movement could move the car. She could see three of her children, Gila, Shoshanna and Moishe. They seemed to be sleeping and she could see that Gila's wrist seemed to be bending at an impossible angle. But where was Boruch? Where was Boruch?

    She looked out of her window and stifled a scream. There was nothing there. Next to her, all she could see was a sheer drop stretching endlessly into the night. It took her several minutes to realize that the car, hurtling down a cliff, had come to rest very precariously on a small, jutting-out piece of land. Perhaps it was simply a rock. The family was in terrible danger. Any movement would send the car into who knows where. There seemed no possible hope. Who would come looking for a car at 3:00 am? Had they been foolish to set out on their holiday so early? They had always done so. The Rabbi had found it the most pleasant time to drive on an almost empty road.

    She realized what must have happened to Boruch, and her tears started to flow as she thought of the small form being thrown out of the open window and hurtling into what seemed like a ravine beneath them. She could not bear to lose Boruch. He had been exactly what his name represented, a blessing to the whole family. She went back to the time he was born. It had been obvious from the start that Boruch was not and never would be a normal child. The doctor had immediately recommended an institution. Such children were difficult to raise and would profoundly affect the rest of the family. The child had no intelligence to speak of. He would not even know whether he had a family or not. He was grossly retarded.

    "They call these children 'special' children," the Rabbi had said to the doctor that day.

    "Sorry to be so blunt," said the doctor. "I don't think you understand what I mean. This child isn't just going to be special. He is extra special. Let us say very extra special."

    "My very extra special son," said the Rabbi softly.

    Where was Boruch? Was there any hope that he had survived and was alive? She gave a sigh that came from deep within her. Yes, Boruch had come to be special, as his father said, very extra special. He had advanced beyond their wildest dreams, much to the surprise of his doctor and his therapists. He had never been able to communicate, however, in anything except sign language and babble and his strange whines and groans. His speech therapist had worked hard to get him to learn to say even a few basic words, but without success.

    What was Boruch's mental age? In many respects it was difficult to tell. On certain levels, he was way below even a two-year-old child. In other ways, he seemed to have an understanding and a grasp of a situation.

    Her elder son groaned and started to move, making the car sway a little to one side. Their situation was dangerous, highly dangerous. She found herself breaking out into a sweat. Any minute they would tumble to their death. She began to say tehillim in earnest.

    The child was whining, by now quite frantic and hysterical.

    In desperation, Barry searched his old toy box. Surely he could find something to quiet the child until the police arrived. He gave a sigh of satisfaction as he found one of his old cars and brought it triumphantly into the lounge.

    The child reacted immediately. He ran towards the car and, holding it, made funny grunting noises. He ran it along the edge of the table and then screamed as he made the car land precariously on the edge of the chair. He did this several times staring at Jeannette and the boys as if begging them to understand.

    "There was an accident," said Jeannette at last.

    The boy continued to stare at her.

    "The car is somehow balanced on a ledge.

    "He looked blank. The language she had used was too complicated for him.

    "Look," said Michael, taking the car from his hand and repeating the boy's action. "The car fell off the road and it is here."

    The boy nodded vigorously, almost with a certain rhythm.

    "Where is the car? "asked Barry.

    The child got up and went to the door, looking to see if they would follow. He gave a start as the doorbell rang, and jumped away. Two policemen were there and they immediately assessed the situation.

    "I think I know the place he is referring to. If the car had gone off the road at any other place, it would be smashed up on the rocks far, far below. There is one other place with hardly enough room for a car. We have to get there soon and secure the car with ropes, otherwise there is no hope at all that the car won't go hurtling down the ravine.

    It was nearly two hours later that Boruch was able to see his parents. He had shown the policemen where the car had gone down and had been taken back to Jeannette's house until his family was out of danger. His mother seemed to be only minimally hurt-nothing more than a sprained ankle-and his sisters were scratched and bruised. One had a wrist that might be broken. Moishe seemed to have a broken leg and his hands were badly bruised.

    Only the Rabbi remained unconscious. They had put a collar on him and had strapped him to a board in case of back injury. He had a large, ugly wound in his chest where the steering wheel had penetrated.

    Boruch crept over to him, tears streaming down his face. He patted him softly and then kissed him on the cheek.

    "Tatty," he whispered. "Tatty."

    "He spoke!" said Gila, forgetting her anxiety for a moment. "Boruch spoke. He said, 'Tatty.'"

    His mother painfully took him by the hand. "My Boruch," she said. "You have saved us all. The policeman told us all about it. Without you, we would have all been..."

    "My Boruch," came a voice from behind them. "Come to your Tatty. I was dreaming. I was dreaming that you spoke to me, dreaming that you called me 'Tatty.' Please will you call me 'Tatty' one day?"

    "Tatty, Tatty, Tatty, Tatty...Tatty," said the boy as he planted another kiss firmly on his cheek.

    "My very, very extra special son," said his father. "My extra special very special son."