December 21 2020--Ladies of Forest Trace: Kapos

A number of Behind readers have been asking if I've heard from the Ladies of Forest Trace--my very ancient mother (who was 107 the last time I wrote about her) and the "girls," a group of her friends, who lived together in Lauderhill, Florida, in Forest Trace, a residence for seniors.

When George Lindberg asked about them the other day, George who has followed them here for years and who knows their histories and should have known their fate, I realized something strange was happening--George, other friends, and readers have been asking if I've heard from people who are no longer here. No other way to put it--people who are deceased, who have died.

I asked George,"What's with this? You of course know that . . ."

He cut me off. "I know what you'e asking and what more can I say. I know the truth and what's realistically possible, but with all that's happening one could think that maybe, just . . ."

This time I tried to cut him off, but George pressed on, "That your mother and her friends would have figured out a way to, you know, communicate with you and that you would then be able to pass along what they've been thinking and where they see us headed. On the other hand," he continued, "they may have decided to ignore the mess we've made of the world they left us. Who could blame them if they're looking for distractions. Like the rest of us. But if there is any way to reach out to us, mother Zwerling is the one I'd bet on to figure out a way to do so."

"What a wonderful fantasy," I said, "I would love to hear from her."

And then, shortly thereafter, wouldn't you know it, I began having a series of vivid dreams in which my mother and the Ladies were featured. 

When I told George, he didn't seem surprised.

"Don't let them tell you how wonderful it is where I am now," my dream mother said, sounding very much herself, "You would think they could at least serve a good piece of fish. But it always comes out dry and tasteless."

I leaned in, wanting to remember every word.

"Can you believe it," my mother said, "The world is coming apart at the seams and I'm talking about fish!"

"It's all right," I said, "Just hearing your voice is wonderful enough. And so . . ."

No, no, darling. I know you want to know about them. Him. What we think."

"Well, yes, but I don't want to aggravate you."

"What else do I have to do? Aggravation here is an activity. Like shuffleboard, Mah Jong, and bypasses."

She whispered, "We'll talk later. I don't want to upset the younger girls. They get cranky if they miss their beauty sleep. So I'll wait until they go to bed and come back. At 7:30. Then we'll have time to talk. As you would say, heart-to-heart. Or do I mean, head-to-head? As I told you last time I'm beginning to forget things."

I could sense her frustration. She had always been a perfectionist. Holding herself to the highest, most impossible standards. The rest of us as well.

At the stroke of 7:30 I sensed her presence.

"Did I wake you?" she asked softly.

"No," I said in jest, "It's still a half hour to my 8 o'clock bedtime."

Ignoring that, she said, as if out of the blue, "So, do you know about Kapos?"

"I do, but what about them? What do Kapos have to do with him? You promised you would tell me what you and the Ladies think."

"Tell me first what you know about them."

"Him and his people? His enablers?"

"That's a good way to talk about them. But I mean his Kapos. Tell me what you  know about them."

To talk about them was not something I relished. We lost so many relatives in the camps. This would take us well beyond aggravation.

"You can tell me. I'm still your mother and your can share anything."

I knew that to be true and so I said--

"During the Holocaust, there were Jews who were called Kapos. They were chosen by the gestapo guards to help them run the camps. Including murdering their landsmen, other Jews, in the gas chambers and ovens. They were the lowest of the low. Animals."

"And for this," my mother said, "the Nazis gave them more food to eat. They should only perish."

"Most of them did. Most of the Kapos also were exterminated. But, mom, I am still reluctant to think about him as a Nazi or a Kapo. As a despicable authoritarian, yes; unfeeling, yes; corrupt, yes; dangerous, yes. But not like an SS Nazi or a Kapo. It hasn't, and I believe it will not, come to that. I think he will begin to fade from the scene after Biden is sworn in. But," I said, "here I am telling you what I think while I'm really interested in hearing about what's on your mind. The Ladies too."

"What we see to be the worst are those you call enablers and what we call collaborators. They are the most dangerous. Without them collaborating he never would have gotten this far. We do think he has harmed our democracy but it still survives and will outlast him. About his Kapos, though, we're not so sure. That's what has us worried."

"I agree."

"How many billions voted for him?"

"Seventy-four million is bad enough. Thank God it was only millions. But too many. Especially if you're concerned about his supporters and what they might be up to."

"Now you see why the girls are always sleeping. Or trying to."

"And you?"

"Like a rock, knock wood. I'm happy to be at eternal rest. Which reminds me, it's past my bedtime. I listen to music, operas, when I'm sleeping. In spite of what is happening music that beautiful reminds me things will get better.