The female farmer shakes her head, meaning she has no idea what I’m asking for. It’s paired with an expression of annoyance I know all too well.

I try again, “His head.” I put my hand to the back of my head and then show her my hand with his blood on it. “Not me,” I defend myself realizing she might accuse me of having hurt him. I haven’t been on this planet long, but I’ve figured out that aliens are of its residents’ lowest class. “I need…” I grab the hem of my loose tunic and try to show material for a bandage.

The female farmhand finally understands me and takes me into what I’d describe as the linen closet, which is under lock and key. She gives me some old cloth. I inspect it closely, and it seems clean.

Then I say, “I need …” and pretend to eat some pills.

She shakes her head at me.

I try again, but this time using the pretend wound on my head.

The female farmer points to the bathroom, “Clean there. Do not tell the doctor. No … from the doctor.” I assume the missing word is ‘medicine,’ but it was too complicated for me to remember it.

I nod. I’m not surprised that there’s no medicine here. There’s not much of anything here. The doctor has a lot of everything, but I want to stay as far away from him as possible. Who knows what he’d do with this wounded male or to me if there’s some cultural significance to what I did?

I return to my small room and look at my patient sleeping. I decide I’ll clean his wound when he wakes.

I sit up beside him in my bed for some time, expecting something to happen, but nothing does. Not even a revelation as to who these men are. I’m as ignorant as I was yesterday about my situation here and what’s going on now. And now that most of the excitement is over and the adrenaline is out of my system, I’m tired. I lay down and allow myself to fade off to sleep. I force myself to think about Florida.

* * *

I wake up to a bright purple sky and the sun shining through my window. There are no shades. There doesn’t need to be. We all get up and go to sleep on the same schedule as the sunrise and sunset. I’m unsure if I should go to the fields or watch this male. I don’t think he will die now, but I don’t want to take any chances. It’s one thing to die in an explosion, it’s quite another to be tortured to death, and I’ve already witnessed enough torture on the farm for a lifetime.

I venture out into the main rooms and find one of the male Silver farmers.

“Do I go to the field?” I point to the field. “Or help?” I point to my bedroom.

The male farmhand doesn’t answer me but pushes past me and enters my bedroom. He walks over to the male, still unconscious, and then walks out. He gestures for me to follow him.