Everything's Gonna Be Alright

Paully screamed, "No! I'm not going! Why must I go?”

He tugged at his father, shouting: “Don’t open the door, Daddy, don't let them in!"

Pale faced, Paully’s father, Hermann Zaltsmann, greeted us cautiously. Sandra, my colleague, and I entered the apartment. Hermann was dressed incongruously in a suit with a white shirt and tie and he doffed his black Fedora hat with old worldly courtliness.

A stone in my belly, I asked, "Is Paul ready?" We had come with a court order to take Paully into the custodial care of the Shalva Children’s Home. Sandra was the social worker who’d represented the family at the Children's Court Inquiry, and I represented Shalva. Although much of my work with children and their families was rewarding, removing a child against his parent’s will, was fraught with tension. There was the parents’ ambivalence and resistance to deal with, the child’s fear of leaving them and of being taken to a strange place and for me an uneasy dilemma about the less than satisfactory solutions we offered vulnerable children who needed care.

Hermann nodded heavily. Pressing his son's furry elephant bag to his chest, he pleaded, "Is there no other way?" He ushered us into the sparsely furnished living room, gesturing for us to sit on a worn brocade settee.

The place was dark and so musty that I had an urge to fling open the windows and curtains. My mind re-played movies I’d seen where insensitive, hard-hearted welfare officers barged into the family home, coldly ripping a child from his parents and I hated the images this brought to mind. Was this how the Zaltmann’s saw me? Though I knew that Paully’s situation at home was untenable and agreed with the necessity to remove him to a ‘place of safety’ – as the legal writ called it - my years of experience had made me less certain that placement of a young child in an institution could have a happy outcome.

Minna, Paully's mother, huddled in a corner, whimpering. Like her husband, she was in her mid forties; frumpy, overweight with a florid face and frizzy hair. Her frightened eyes darted from me to Sandra.

Paully retreated into a window-niche and wound himself in the heavy crimson drapes. He was a strange sight; a boy of about six dressed in a ridiculous red smock, shorts, heavy socks and lace-up boots. His small face peeped through the curtain folds. "What must I do, Mommy? Don’t let them take me!" His mother’s eyes brimmed and Paully whimpered, "Oh don't cry, Mommy, don't cry. I won't go. "

Minna cupped her hands to her ears. As if in a trance she placed a record on an old gramophone, scratching the platter’s surface with the needle. A chorus of cheerful dwarves from the movie Snow White, burst into song: "I whistle a happy tune and every single time, the happiness in my tune convinces me that I'm not afraid." Holding her stomach, Minna swung back and forth and when I approached to reassure her, she shrank.

"Leave my Mommy!" Paully cried from behind the curtain.

Like a gramophone winding down, his mother’s flat voice parodied the singers: "I whistle a happy --”, turning the sound into a mournful meow.

Abruptly, Hermann, yanked the gramophone’s plug out of its socket and flung the record to the floor. "Ach Paully,” he said, “You must listen to the ladies —!”
But Paully only wound himself more deeply in the thick drapes. A cloud of dust spread through the room. Sandra tried to keep matter-of-fact, "Come on, Paully,” she said evenly, “let’s get ready."

"Mein Got, that it should come to this! THAT IT SHOULD COME TO THIS! My son... my son…” Hermann lurched over the faded rug, striking his head with the palms of his hands. “You!" he snarled, waving a bony finger at his wife’s face, "You should be put away, not Paully. Machshefah[1] It’s your fault they’re taking my son!”

I leaned over to Sandra and whispered, "Weren't they expecting us? It’s as if this is the first time they’ve heard that Paully’s going to Shalva!"

Sandra gave me a look. “Don’t be ridiculous, Delia,” she replied tersely, “You were at the Court Inquiry! We’ve explained over and over again. And I called before we came. It’s not that they don’t know; they don’t want to know…” She pursed her lips, “Talk about denial!

Turning to Hermann, she said firmly: "Look, Hermann, I know this is hard, but you're making it worse. How can Paully leave you when you’re making such a tragedy of it? Do try to get hold of yourself. We’re just taking Paully to Shalva – which is not even twenty minutes away. It will give you and Minna the chance to get your lives back on track. You'll visit - of course you’ll visit! Please . . . put on a good face . . . you have to help Minna through this… and make it easier for Paul."

From his velvet cocoon, Paully shouted, "I'm not going! I’m staying with my Mommy!" I approached him warily but he pulled back. "Leave me,” he screamed, “Leave me alone! Don't touch me you fuckin ... fuckin - !"

Hermann shook his head and said dully, "Son that’s not nice. The ladies are here to help us.”

Slowly Paully unwound himself. “You liar! I hate you!” he hissed at his father. “They want to take me away. I’m not going! If she touches me, I'll bite her!"

Paully looked to his mother for encouragement, but Minna was muttering: “Happy tune … happy tune ….” She mumbled something about trucks taking the children and murmured: “Where’s my child, where’s…? Gone … the trucks… the trucks-.”

Hermann towered over her. “Stop!” he pleaded, “stop– I can’t stand it! Ayaayai! Stop! There are no trucks. We’re not in Poland!” He shook his head, “Shuh, shuh.” He went into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and a sedative. “Take it,” he said, “drink!”

Obediently, she swallowed. Then she lowered herself into a chair and rocked.

Taking a deep breath, I approached Paully, carefully. "Do you remember me, Paully? I'm Delia, from Shalva. Remember you visited my office and we played with toys? You met David and Terry, and I showed you where you'd sleep when you came to stay? Come Paully, let's get your things together and get going. Your room’s ready and I know the children are waiting to welcome you. Your Mommy and Daddy will visit you later.”

I pushed aside the curtain drapes and pointed at the rough slope of Table Mountain framed in the window. "See, Paully, we’ll just be on the other side of the mountain – just down the other side. Not far at all.”

But Paully eluded me. He raced across the rug through to his mother's bedroom and tried to lock the door. Hermann leapt up, but I calmed him with my arm on his arm. "Let me try, Hermann…” I said, “Sandra, will you stay and help Minna and Hermann?”

I shoved open the bedroom door and got my foot in but Paully stamped it.

"Get away!" he screamed. Firmly, I pressed the door and entered. The room was chaotic; clothes were scattered across the floor, the bed was a mass of jumbled sheets and blankets and the dresser was littered with toiletries.

Paully jumped frantically onto the bed. "You can't catch me, you fuckin-!"

I frowned. Controlling the tremble in my voice, I said: “No Paully, I’m not going to catch you. When you're ready, we'll go…”

"I'll never be ready!" he taunted, springing higher while sticking his tongue out at me. He seized a newspaper from the mess on the bed and threw it across the room. "Now what'll you do!" His voice rose to a scream.

"I know you don't want to leave Mommy and Daddy, Paully… I understand. But everything will be okay. You’ll be fine at Shalva, you'll have a nice room… there are other children…"

"Shut up," he screamed, "don't talk! I hate you, you fuckin -!”

"It’s okay Paully, I know you’re scared …”

“No!” He flung a pillow aside; sprang off the bed and yanked open the door to his mother's wardrobe. A mountain of shoes tumbled to the floor. He began to pick them up and pelt me.
Whoosh! Whack! "Whatyagonna do?" he shouted, wrinkling his face and baring his teeth. He clenched his childish hands into fists and swung them at me.

I wasn’t sure what to do next. I rubbed my arm. "Ouch, Paully – that hurts! I know you're upset but … that hurts!"
I lunged forward, grabbed him by an arm and engulfed him into a tight embrace.
He twisted and squirmed, "Let me go, let me GO, you fuckin . . . I hate you!" He kicked my shin hard with his boot - but I clasped him firmly.

I kept talking softly, trying to keep my voice steady and warm: "I know you're scared and you don’t want to leave your house.” I was sweating from effort and distress and my arms ached, "I know you don’t like me to hold you like this. Soon as you stop fighting, I'll let go. I don't want to hurt you, my boy…” This was by far the worst child-removal I’d ever experienced and I felt out of my depth.

As we struggled, I thought of what the Zaltzmann's had been endured in their lives. Both Minna and Hermann had been in Treblinka where they had lost relatives and almost died of starvation. Now Paully, their only son, was being taken from them. Actually, I felt as though we were ‘ripping’ the child from them.

I reassured Paully about the future, trying to paint a situation of hope but knowing that settling into Shalva would not be easy for Paul and he would probably never be able to return to his home. “It's all right Paully," I said, patting his head and mouthing platitudes I did not believe.

“You’ll be fine, my boy." From being an only child, Paully would now be one of over thirty children of all ages and he would have to share a room. Predictably, with his odd behaviors and obsessive traits, Paully would be teased and probably even bullied.

Then suddenly, all the fight seemed to drain out of Paully. His body slumped his eyes filled with tears and his chest heaved as he sobbed, "I want my Mommy! I want my MOMMY!"I released him, bit by bit. His protest fell to a whimper, "You horrible…."

"Take a breath, Paully,” I said, feeling quite washed out. Catching a glimpse of my face in the mirror of the dresser, I saw that it was red and swollen with anguish. "Let’s go back into to the living room …"

Paully looked small and defeated; a diminutive clown in weird clothing. His face was stained with dirt, snot and tears. Listlessly, he sucked his fingers.

"You're really strong, Paully. I could hardly hold you back there." I smiled, showing him the red swelling on my shin. "If you're going to bash me about, I’ll have to learn to do karate! Maybe we’ll even take lessons together!” I bent over and whispered in his ear. "Do you think we can get to Shalva without a fuss now? Let's show Mommy and Daddy how brave you are…”
Minna and Hermann sat dumbly in the lounge. Her face was blank; he held his head in his hands and his knees trembled. He gave his son the elephant bag with pajamas and his Donald Duck toothbrush.

"Shuh son. Shuh. Go with the ladies,” he said, “We'll come to see you soon." His mouth twitched as he appealed to me: “There is no choice?” Minna’s open mouth was framed with thick white spittle and I noticed that her blouse had been wrongly buttoned and was lopsided. Her slippered feet looked mottled and bruised.

Paully sobbed: "I hate you, Mommy. I’ll never come home again. "

I set my jaw and took his hand, "We’ll all get through this, you’ll see. Let’s go, Paully.”
Hermann shuffled to the door and opened it. Behind him, in the dimness of the drab, airless living room, Minna rocked on her chair and moaned.

Feeling like a criminal, I took Paully’s sticky hand and together with Sandra, we slunk out of the building.

[1] Witch, Yiddish

Everything's Gonna Be Alright has been adapted from the book, A Blanket of Many Colors by Sharon Bacher.

© 2025 Sharon Bacher. All rights reserved.