“Perfect! That’s exactly what we need here!” Miss Brody exclaimed.
For the first week, the other children bombarded Ichimei with the insults against his race that were common during the war but that he had never heard at Topaz. He did not know either that the Japanese were more hated than the Germans, and he had not seen the comics where they were portrayed as degenerate and ruthless. He accepted the jibes with his usual placidity, but the first time a bully laid a finger on him, he threw him through the air with a judo move he had learned from his father—the same one he had used years earlier to show Nathaniel what martial arts were capable of. He was sent to the principal’s room to be punished. “Well done, Ichimei,” was her only comment. After that crucial feat, he was able to go through the four years of schooling without ever being attacked again.
February 16, 2005
I went to Prescott, Arizona, to see Miss Brody. It was her ninety-fifth birthday, and many of her ex-pupils gathered to celebrate. She is doing very well for her age, and recognized me as soon as she saw me. Just imagine! How many children passed through her hands? How can she possibly remember them all? She recalled that I painted the posters for the school parties, and that on Sundays I worked in her garden. I was a dreadful student, but she always gave me good grades. Thanks to Miss Brody I’m not completely illiterate and can write to you now, my dear friend.
This week that we have not been able to meet has been an eternity. The rain and cold have made it especially sad. And I’m sorry, but I haven’t been able to find any gardenias to send you. Please call me.
Ichi
BOSTON