Shireen sat on the battered couch in the Szold's lobby and glanced at herself in the mirror. She liked what she saw. She'd lost
She sat hand in hand with Maurice, her new boyfriend, ten years her
junior, a swarthy Greek with a long ponytail. Maurice's large, coarse-skinned
face was scarred from acne, and his nose was a mass of blackheads. He smoked
cigarette after cigarette, every now and then passing one to Shireen, who
inhaled in deep gulps. Restlessly, his hand caressed the Szold dog, and she
giggled and said, "Stop kissing him, doll, Yggh, he's full of fleas."
She turned to me, "I wish you'd get rid of this fleabag!".
Shireen's life had changed since she'd ditched Abe Zeidner, her
partner for 20 years. Now, she didn't like to be reminded of the life they'd
once shared. She despised her old photographs showing her how middle-aged and
frumpy she'd been, a typical South African 'mouse-wife', serving her husband,
chauffeuring the kids, meeting the girls for coffee and chatting about her
endless problems with the maid.
Shireen's father, Sam Auerbach, had survived the Nazi concentration
camps and emerged a bitter and sour man. He had lost all faith in human nature
and believed the world was doomed. After the war, he hadn't wanted children,
and had only reluctantly accepted Shireen when his wife presented the pregnancy
as a fait accompli. Now Sam spent his time collecting articles and
writing letters to newspapers to advance his theory about the growing menace of
worldwide over-population.
When Shireen and Abe had not one, but two children – he'd
been furious. Resigned to accepting the older boy, he all but ignored Terry,
referring to the child as 'the extra mouth to feed' He never spoke to the child;
never held him on his knee, never patted his head or bought him the smallest
gift.
Feeling poorly at work one morning, Shireen returned home to find
her husband bouncing around in their bed, with his secretary. She was shocked
and bewildered, in no small part because she couldn't imagine anyone possibly
wanting to have an affair with Abe. He was fat and unkempt, and it had been
years since Shireen had found him in any way attractive.
With his secret out, Abe lost no time filing for divorce; marrying
the secretary and starting a new family. Now he was having the time of his
life!
Although shaken to her core, slowly and painfully, Shireen pulled herself together. After a chaotic first few months, she had placed her older son in a group home and young Terry, in Szold. Exhilarated with the mission of finding herself, she didn't want responsibilities. She was crazy about Maurice: his smooth brown body and the way he kept it in shape by exercising strenuously each day. With her svelte new figure, she joined him – pushing the limits of her endurance in jogs along the beach, mountain hikes and aerobic workouts. She had re-discovered sex; and measured time by the ache between her legs until their next lovemaking.
"When he looks at me that way – know what I mean? I just shiver," she giggled. "It's nothing like sex with Abe:
the occasional wham when he could get it up, and as soon as he was finished, he'd
fall down dead." With Maurice, she discovered ECSTASY and ORGASMS; and when she read erotic stories in her women's magazines, she trembled with desire. She saw
herself as the heroine of a passionate romance.
The remodeled Shireen had no time for children or family. Feeling
guilty, she tried to persuade her father to take Terry in for a couple of
months. "Give me a break, Daddy!" she entreated: "I need to get
my life together!" But Sam Auerbach wasn't having it. The 'extra mouth to
feed' was not his problem. In desperation, Shireen pleaded with the local child
welfare society to take Terry into care. At first, she tried to arrange for an
informal placemen,t but when investigations revealed that Terry was neglected,
he was placed in Szold under court orders.
Now Shireen breezed in and out of Szold as though Terry was some
interruption in her exhausting program of self-improvement. Unashamedly
egocentric, she couldn't focus her attention on her son for more than a moment
at a time. "Howzit?" she would exclaim, ruffling the hair on his
little head as she searched for a mirror to reassure herself that her face was
not wrinkling from an instant of neglect.
Today, she and Maurice had brought Terry a kite. "Isn't it
gorgeous? Isn't Uncle Maurrie thoughtful to bring you presents?" She
turned to her companion, "Tell Terry where we've been, Maurrie." She
laughed, "Last night we picnicked on the beach – under the stars and even
slept there! And next week, we're going on a boat to Durbs."
Terry stared at the kite. "Can I come with you?" he
asked.
His mother winked at Maurice, "No, sorry, old sport, another
time. This trip's just for grownups." She blew Terry a kiss.
After she and Maurice left, Terry lay down on the couch, sucked his
fingers and stared into space; his head on Fonzi's chest. Next to him, slumped Fonzi. I came over and
sat opposite Terry. It saddened me to see him so depressed. "So, what's
new with your mommy, Terry?" I asked gently. "Did you have a nice
visit?"
Terry was trying to cuddle into the cradle between the dog's
outstretched paws and to stroke the dog's fur with his face. I marveled at how gently
Fonzi managed to comfort Terry, while I struggled to find words. To Terry, Fonzi meant warmth and unconditional love. She was his
secure center, there to see him off in the morning when he went to school and
to welcome him home when he returned. Endlessly patient and
non-judgmental, she listened silently to his sadness, his secret pain, his
dreams, and his joys. He could ruffle her, play with her, climb on her, and snuggle into her, comforted by her doggy smell, shedding hairs, fleas, and all!
Fonzi was a good mother; the best mother of all!
The Good Mother is excerpted from A Blanket of Many Colors by Sharon Bacher, copyright 2025
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