I leave with the soiled sheets and his clothing in my hands. I know where the clothing washer is, but I don’t know how to wash his clothing. I’ve never touched any fabric like this. I set down the washing next to the machine and then go and find a Silver farmworker.

I find a female worker taking a break just outside the building. “Question. How do I wash clothing?”

“You know how,” she snaps back at me.

“No. Transport male clothing. Not my clothing.”

She passes me and comes into the house. I follow her to the washer. She picks up his clothing and then sets the outer garments to the side. “No, clean these.” She makes sure she’s very clear about that and repeats it to me a few times. Then she picks up the underclothing, takes out a special machine I’ve never seen before, and shows me how to work it. It looks like an electric razor, but out of it comes a blue light. She shows me how I must run it over all of his undergarments. “Three times,” she says.

I get to work, and I know when the light turns from blue to green, the clothing is clean. However, this seems to take a very long time. In the end, I go over his underclothing at least six to eight times before it’s clean.

I realize now I haven’t seen any of the other males from the transport we dragged in. I wonder where they are and how many of them survived. As if the other farm workers could have heard me thinking that question, another volunteer enters the laundry room with similar clothing to clean. She indicates she wants the machine after me, and then just sits and watches me.

“Your transport male alive?” I ask.

“Yes. Yours?”

“Yes. I hope he go soon. I’m hungry.”

The other volunteer rubs her stomach to make sure I understand her when she says, “I’m hungry also.”

“Has there been a …” I don’t know how to say ‘accident,’ so I use the razor-like cleaner and my hand to indicate a transport crashing, “before?”

“Crash?” she fills in.

I make the motion with the cleaner again and nod.

“Yes, there has been one other crash. These are…” she says, something else I can’t understand. I give her a blank look. She just says, “I cannot explain.” She watches me in silence as I finish. Then I hand her the cleaner and leave with my patient’s clothing.

As I walk out, she says, “Volunteer 4711, keep your male alive. He is before leader of Silvers.”

I turn. “What’s your meaning? Before leader?”

I can see she is frustrated with my lack of understanding. “Before leader. Bad male. Understand?”

“I understand,” I say and walk back to my room. But it’s a lie. I don’t understand, except everyone hates him, and everyone else knows who these military males are except for me, and what’s annoying is that I may never know who these males are or my part in all of this, I think, as I quietly enter my room. My patient is sitting up in bed. His eyes meet mine as I enter the room.