Page 153 of Dragon 7

The children's book had cardboard corners and a rabbit on the cover with a lantern in his paw.

I held it open across my knees, and the children pressed in close around me, looking at the pictures and listening as I read to them in Japanese.

Zo snored in the bed on my right. If he woke up now and saw this, he might pass back out in shock.

My mouth easily found the sounds even though I had no knowledge of the language beforehand. My NY accent was still in there. I could hear it living underneath the vowels, softening the words and giving them a little bounce that didn't belong.

Still, the words came out clean.

The kanji made sense on the page. Every character was a small door, and I walked through each one like I'd been walking through them my whole life.

A little girl with a bandage around her wrist had her hand on my knee.

Another one, no more than five, leaned her whole weight against my hip and breathed with her mouth open.

A boy in the bed nearest to me lay on his side so he could see the pictures. He had an IV line taped to the back of his hand.

There were now thirty beds in this makeshift hospital ward, and all of them were filled. Some injured adults lay on mattresses on the floor. Three nurses in blue moved through the space. Two exhausted doctors did their best to treat everyone. They were overworked and understaffed, and I wished I could do more for them than sit there and entertain the kids while the war drummed around us.

I turned the page. “And the rabbit found the lit lantern.”

The kids cheered. Several of the injured parents clapped.

The little girl next to me tapped my knee. “Again please.”

Other kids bobbed their heads.

I raised my eyebrows. “Are you sure? This would be the third time.”

One boy begged. “Please. So good.”

I chuckled. “Alright. Let’s see if the rabbit still finds the lantern on this third read.”

Several of the kids chuckled.

The nurse closest to me smiled. “Everyone say thank you, Tiger.”

The kids gave me half-bows. “Thank you, Mrs. Tiger!”

A phone rang at the nurses' station.

I turned the page. "Long ago, on the far side of the moon, there lived a small white rabbit."

The little girl gave me the biggest smile.

"Every night, the rabbit lit a paper lantern and hung it high in the sky. The light of that lantern was what people on earth called the moon."

"The moon!" a boy called out from the bed to my left. He was too pleased with himself.

A second phone rang at a different desk with a higher pitch.

A young nurse in blue crossed the room in three quick steps, picked up the receiver, listened, and set it back in its cradle with two fingers. She smoothed her palm down the front of her scrubs, turned her face toward the double doors, and held it there for one full second before she moved.

"It was the rabbit's job." I turned the page and showed the kids the pictures, "and he loved his job, because his light helped fishermen find their boats, and travelers find their roads, and children find their way home before bedtime."

The double doors at the far end of the ward swung open.

Two men I had never seen walked in carrying a folded cot between them.