possible.
Tokyo, September 2000
EVER SINCE SHE HAD SENT THE LETTER TO TORONTO , Fumiko had been a bundle of nerves. Would George Brady write back? Will he help us to know Hana? Even the letter carrier who delivered the mail to the Center knew how anxious Fumiko was. “Anything from Canada today?” she would ask the minute she saw him walking up the path to the front door. He hated to see her disappointment when, day after day, the answer was no.
Then on the last day of the month, Fumiko was in the middle of welcoming forty guests at the Center. They were teachers and students who had come to learn about the Holocaust and to see the suitcase. Out of the corner of her eye, through a window, she saw the letter carrier walking very quickly toward the building with a huge smile on his face. Fumiko excused herself and ran to meet him. “Here it is,” he said, beaming. And he handed her a thick envelope from Toronto.
“Oh thank you,” Fumiko cried. “Thank you for making my day!”
She took the letter to her office and opened it. As she unfolded the pages, photos spilled out. Four photographs of Hana, her blonde hair shining around her smiling face.
Hana
Fumiko screamed. She couldn’t help it. Some of the visiting teachers and students rushed to her office door. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” they asked.
“Nothing is wrong,” she told them, stumbling over her words. “I’m just so happy, so excited. Here, look, this is a picture of Hana. This is the beautiful little girl whose story we have worked so hard to find.”
Along with the photographs, there was a long letter from George. In it, Fumiko learned about Hana’s happy early days in Nové Město na Moravě, about her family, and how she loved to ski and skate. It was comforting to know that Hana had had a good life before the war ruined everything.
And Fumiko learned about George, too. As she read about his life in Canada, his children and his grandchildren, Fumiko was bursting with happiness. She began to cry. He survived, she repeated over and over to herself. He survived. More than that, he has a beautiful family. She couldn’t wait to tell the children of Small Wings.
Tokyo, March 2001
“CALM DOWN,” FUMIKO SAID WITH A SMILE. “They’ll be here soon, I promise.”
But nothing she said could tame the excitement of the children that morning. They buzzed around the Center, checked their poems, straightened their clothes for the umpteenth time, told silly jokes just to make the time move faster. Even Maiko, whose job it was to calm everyone else down, was jumpy.
Then, finally, the waiting was over. George Brady had arrived. And he had brought with him his seventeen-year-old daughter, Lara Hana.
Now the children became very quiet. At the Center’s front entrance, they crowded around George. They bowed to him, as is the custom in Japan. George bowed back. Akira presented George with a beautiful multi-colored origami garland. All the children jostled gently for the chance to be nearest to him. After so many months of hearing about George from Fumiko, they were thrilled to finally meet him in person.
Fumiko took George’s arm. “Come with us, now, and see your sister’s suitcase.” They walked to the display area.
And there, surrounded by the children, with Fumiko holding one of his hands and his daughter, Lara, holding the other, George saw the suitcase.
Fumiko holds a picture of the suitcase as George Brady talks to children
during his trip to Japan and the Holocaust Center.
Suddenly, an almost unbearable sadness came over him. Here was the suitcase. There was her name written right on it. Hana Brady. His beautiful, strong, mischievous, generous, fun-loving sister. She had died so young and in such a terrible way. George lowered his head and let the tears flow freely.
But, a few minutes later, when he looked up, he saw his daughter. He saw Fumiko, who had worked so hard to find him and the story of Hana. And he saw the
Tokyo, September 2000
EVER SINCE SHE HAD SENT THE LETTER TO TORONTO , Fumiko had been a bundle of nerves. Would George Brady write back? Will he help us to know Hana? Even the letter carrier who delivered the mail to the Center knew how anxious Fumiko was. “Anything from Canada today?” she would ask the minute she saw him walking up the path to the front door. He hated to see her disappointment when, day after day, the answer was no.
Then on the last day of the month, Fumiko was in the middle of welcoming forty guests at the Center. They were teachers and students who had come to learn about the Holocaust and to see the suitcase. Out of the corner of her eye, through a window, she saw the letter carrier walking very quickly toward the building with a huge smile on his face. Fumiko excused herself and ran to meet him. “Here it is,” he said, beaming. And he handed her a thick envelope from Toronto.
“Oh thank you,” Fumiko cried. “Thank you for making my day!”
She took the letter to her office and opened it. As she unfolded the pages, photos spilled out. Four photographs of Hana, her blonde hair shining around her smiling face.
Hana
Fumiko screamed. She couldn’t help it. Some of the visiting teachers and students rushed to her office door. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” they asked.
“Nothing is wrong,” she told them, stumbling over her words. “I’m just so happy, so excited. Here, look, this is a picture of Hana. This is the beautiful little girl whose story we have worked so hard to find.”
Along with the photographs, there was a long letter from George. In it, Fumiko learned about Hana’s happy early days in Nové Město na Moravě, about her family, and how she loved to ski and skate. It was comforting to know that Hana had had a good life before the war ruined everything.
And Fumiko learned about George, too. As she read about his life in Canada, his children and his grandchildren, Fumiko was bursting with happiness. She began to cry. He survived, she repeated over and over to herself. He survived. More than that, he has a beautiful family. She couldn’t wait to tell the children of Small Wings.
Tokyo, March 2001
“CALM DOWN,” FUMIKO SAID WITH A SMILE. “They’ll be here soon, I promise.”
But nothing she said could tame the excitement of the children that morning. They buzzed around the Center, checked their poems, straightened their clothes for the umpteenth time, told silly jokes just to make the time move faster. Even Maiko, whose job it was to calm everyone else down, was jumpy.
Then, finally, the waiting was over. George Brady had arrived. And he had brought with him his seventeen-year-old daughter, Lara Hana.
Now the children became very quiet. At the Center’s front entrance, they crowded around George. They bowed to him, as is the custom in Japan. George bowed back. Akira presented George with a beautiful multi-colored origami garland. All the children jostled gently for the chance to be nearest to him. After so many months of hearing about George from Fumiko, they were thrilled to finally meet him in person.
Fumiko took George’s arm. “Come with us, now, and see your sister’s suitcase.” They walked to the display area.
And there, surrounded by the children, with Fumiko holding one of his hands and his daughter, Lara, holding the other, George saw the suitcase.
Fumiko holds a picture of the suitcase as George Brady talks to children
during his trip to Japan and the Holocaust Center.
Suddenly, an almost unbearable sadness came over him. Here was the suitcase. There was her name written right on it. Hana Brady. His beautiful, strong, mischievous, generous, fun-loving sister. She had died so young and in such a terrible way. George lowered his head and let the tears flow freely.
But, a few minutes later, when he looked up, he saw his daughter. He saw Fumiko, who had worked so hard to find him and the story of Hana. And he saw the
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