Some mortar rounds (迫击炮弹) landed in a primary school in a Vietnamese (越南的) village. Several children were hurt, including one eight-year-old girl. After a few hours, an American doctor and a nurse arrived. They said that the girl would die of loss of blood without quick action. They required a person with a matching blood type. A quick test showed that only several of the kids had the correct type. The two Americans spoke a little Vietnamese and French to the kids. Together with much body language, they tried to explain to the children that unless they could give some blood to the girl, she would certainly die. Then they asked if anyone would be willing to give blood to help.
The kids were in silence. After a long time, a small hand slowly went up. "Oh, thank you," the nurse said. "What's your name?" "Heng," he replied.
The doctor inserted a needle (针) in Heng's arm. After a few minutes, he cried in a low voice, covering (遮) his face with his free hand. "Is it hurting?" the doctor asked. Heng shook his head. But some time later, he cried again and once more he tried to cover up his crying. Again the doctor asked him if the needle hurt, and again Heng shook his head. The medical team was worried. At this time, a Vietnamese nurse arrived to help. She spoke to Heng in Vietnamese, listened to his reply and answered him in a soft voice. Then he stopped crying and a look of great relief spread over his face.
The Vietnamese nurse said to the two Americans, "He thought he was dying. He misunderstood you. He thought you had asked him to give all his blood to the little girl so she would live."
"But why would he be willing to do that?" asked the doctor. The Vietnamese nurse repeated the question to the little boy, who answered simply, "Because she's my friend."
