“Have you ever heard of displaced persons?” Sister Anselm asked. “In conjunction with World War Two, or from some other war?” Ali asked. “World War Two,” Sister Anselm said. “I’ve heard about them,” Ali replied. “They were people set adrift in Europe in the aftermath of the war. Often they were people whose homes and livelihoods had been destroyed. In some cases their very countries had disappeared, or if the country remained, they had no way of getting back there.” “That’s my history in a nutshell,” Sister Anselm said with a sad smile. “How is that possible?” Ali returned. “You’re an American, aren’t you?” “I was born an American,” Sister Anselm said. “And I’m an American now, but that wasn’t always the case. My mother was born and raised in Milwaukee. My father was born in Germany, but he immigrated to this country in the mid-thirties. I suppose you’ve heard of the Japanese war-relocation centers that were operated in this country during World War Two.” “Yes,” Ali said with a nod.
