"Stop that," she told her naughty bits. Green Sun Chapter 16 Mirror Mirror? by Donna Lamb

"I can't let them see me like this," Carson wailed. "They'll think I'm...I'm...." She trailed off into sniffles. Her blond hair fell around her face like two golden wings, tears tracked down to her lips and she wiped them away with her delicate scarlet-tipped fingers. The color distracted her and she turned her hands over to stare at her manicured nails.

Mangas looked calm, not showing any emotion but he remarked, "It might be interesting to find out what you're afraid they might think, but I'm not sure you know." He made a burbling noise like a forgotten coffeepot.

"Is there some place I can hide?" she asked, still sobbing. "I can't let them see me." Her musical voice caught on a hiccough. She looked around at the truck and the cottonwoods, blue eyes still leaking tears. The men, Bruce Martin and Arthur Bullrush, approached from the other side; she could hear them talking. Away from the small stand of trees, the harsh sunlight of the desert showed no refuge in any of the directions she could see, just open desert of rock and shrub and cactus.

"There's a cabin around the front of the truck," said Mangas. He nodded toward the little building. "You can go in there and I'll keep them out here for a bit. But you're going to have to meet them sooner or later, and other men like them. And Bruce did bring you in from the desert."

"But...but..." she stammered, gesturing at her curves and skimpy clothes. She shivered all over and tried to wipe her face with her trembling hands. Her gestures accented her vulnerability.

He smiled and she knew that he understood. He put a thin, bony hand on her back and guided her around the truck to the adobe cabin, holding the door open for her. She stumbled a bit in the high heels on the uneven ground but resisted the impulse to grab Mangas for support.

The inside of the cabin had the bachelor neatness of someone who had spent twenty-three years in the marines and lifetimes living alone on the desert. Everything had in its own place and clutter had no place. Colorful, tightly woven Indian rugs decorated the clean, unfinished planks of the floor and the dried mud of the walls. Light came in through small high windows in two of the walls. A big fireplace looked as if it might be used in colder weather for both heat and cooking. A small old-fashioned wooden icebox, some pine cabinetry, a sturdy-looking bed, several wooden chairs and a small table furnished the space with Spartan efficiency. Hooks and shelves on the walls held clothing, unused blankets, tools, musical instruments (a battered acoustic Gibson, a four-string banjo, a fiddle) and other equipment. It looked comfortable and inviting.

Before going in, Carson turned to Mangas Junco and asked, "You know what happened to me?"

"Yes," he said. "You've been transformed by fate and rescued from a life that had many wrong choices ahead and behind." He smiled at her and laughed one of his happy, burbling chuckles. "You've got new chances to make choices now, some good, some bad. A new life and it's all yours."

She smiled, the old man's chuckles were contagious, but her lips trembled. "I don't know if I can do it. I used to be a man. I don't know...." She trailed off looking down at herself.

"You'll have help," said the old man. "Do you want to know what those papers said?"

She looked back up, blue eyes very wide. "Yes, please."

"According to the birth certificate and passport, you were born twenty-two years ago, in Long Beach, California. Your parents, Rachel Margaret Carson and Homer Bartholomew Marsh named you Phoebe Jacqueline Marsh. That name is listed as an 'also known as' on your passport but the name at the top and on your other papers is Hollie Dollie Hayes with an address in North Hollywood on your I.D. card." He braced her with a hand on her arm and by letting her lean on the door frame.

"I'm.... I'm.... Hollie?" she asked. "Hollie Hayes?"

"It's a good name," said Mangas. "I got my name because my arms are so skinny. Mangas Junco means 'Reed Sleeves'," He flashed a grin at her and she smiled back without meaning to.

"Hollie..." she said. "Hollie Hayes. My name is Hollie." She sighed, looking puzzled but also relieved. "No knowing my name was terrible. But that's not the name I had before... those... well, before?"

He shook his head. "That person is gone, do not concern yourself with that past. You are Hollie, now. You can remember and mourn later, but now you have to become your new self."

Hollie's beautiful eyes filled with tears. "I don't know how... I don't think I can do it. Being a woman...?"

"Go in and lie down for a while," he told her, his voice soft and gentle. "You are by nature a cheerful person, things will look better later."

She gave him a doubtful look but turned and made her way to the big bed made of black-stained oak timbers and covered in fanciful Indian blankets. Mangas closed the door behind her and went to the back of the truck where he closed up the open luggage cases just as Bruce and Arthur came through the screen of cottonwoods. Without hurrying at all, he stepped into the deep pool of shadow cast by a tree trunk.

"Now, I've got to see this woman," said Arthur as the two friends arrived. "Hey, Mangas, have you met Bruce's girlfriend?" he asked the old man, looking directly at him.

"Who are you talking to?" asked Bruce, looking around.

"Somebody white guys can't see," said Arthur with a straight face.

"An Apache ghost?" asked Bruce, smiling.

Arthur shook his head, "No, man. Don't joke about that, ghosts are not funny to Apaches. It's Mangas Junco, my great-grandfather I told you about. Mangas, let Bruce see you so he stops talking about ghosts."

Laughing his quiet bubbling chortle, Mangas stepped into the edge of the leafy shadow and raised a hand like a Hollywood Indian. "Ya-ta-say," he said. "Hello, my grandson Arthur's friend, Bruce."

"Ah," said Bruce, more than a bit startled. "The vanishing American? Good to meet you, sir. I had begun to think your grandson might have got too much sun." Since Mangas didn't make any motion to shake hands, neither did Bruce but simply held his hand up by his shoulder, palm out

Mangas nodded, his eyes twinkling. "We in the family have suspected that for years," he said. "The girl is inside, she has somewhat recovered from her ordeal and I found identity papers inside one of the cases. The name she seems to prefer is Hollie Hayes." He handed the packet over.

"What? She's got more than one name?" said Bruce. He opened the packet and shared the contents with Arthur who immediately spotted something.

"Her passport says she's married to Daniel German Hayes, and she's an entertainer," Arthur said. He quirked an eyebrow at Bruce. "From your description, maybe she's a stripper?"

Bruce frowned. "Her California ID lists her as Hollie Dollie Hayes but says she's single. Hmm. Five foot one, blonde, blue eyes. I would have thought she was shorter."

Arthur stared at the eight by ten glossies, "Wow," he said.

Bruce glanced at the pictures, "That's her." He stared at the passport, still frowning. "Maybe the man in the plane was her husband?"

"Wishful thinking?" said Arthur holding one of the photos. "Looking to comfort a young widow?"

Bruce shook his head. "No," he sighed. "Just the logic of it. If she's married who else would she be in a small plane with?"

Arthur nodded, glancing toward the door to the adobe cabin.

"Before more speculation, perhaps we should open the third case? It might help resolve the mystery," suggested Mangas. "The smallest had cosmetics, jewelry and those papers, the second contained clothing, and shoes. Perhaps the third contains the man's traveling necessities?"

"In a bright pink leather case?" Arthur made a face.

"Let's see." said Bruce. He made a long arm and pulled the last case onto the tailgate of the SUV.

* * *

Inside the cabin, Hollie first sat on the bed then got up to wander around. She picked various objects up to examine them, not so much out of curiousity but in an attempt to avoid thinking about her own situation. "Sooner or later," she muttered, "I'm going to have to pee."

On the little table, she found various rasps, files, picks and knives and a supply of some gnarled gray brown branch-like objects about six to ten inches long, pointed at one end and sawn off at the other. She had no idea what they might be or what someone might be trying to make from them. A nearby pile of stainless steel knife blades with bare, blackened tangs gave a clue but she didn't have access to the memories that might have helped make the connection.

Instead, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the shiny metal. She picked a knife blade up with care, not thinking to grasp it by the tang but handling it as if it were alive, lethal and full of evil intent. Her caution defeated her purpose of getting a better look at her new face and eventually she dropped the blade where it landed point down, embedding itself in the floorboards right between her feet. Frightened she stepped away from the knives and looked for.... "A mirror? Is there a mirror here?" she asked no one.

She didn't find a mirror but the next shiniest object in the room seemed to be the bright hinges and fittings of the old icebox. She crouched down and turned her head this way and that, trying to find an angle where she could see herself but the metal had no sufficiently large flat area to see more than blue eyes and a lot of blond hair. While trying to move the metal to a better vantage, she accidentally opened the simple door latch.

The inside held food in various stages of preparation under a tray filled with a small block of ice. She touched the ice. "Cold," she said. Six cans on the shelf under the ice looked like they might contain beer. Just from the color and design of the cans, she could almost think of a brand name. She made a face. Hobie Carson had never liked beer and apparently Hollie Hayes felt the same. She made three tries to close the door of the icebox but it kept coming open again.

Staring intently at the latch, she finally figured out how to work the thing; she pulled the handle down, pushed the door closed and pulled the handle back to the straight across position, sliding the polished bar down into the slot on the frame. She felt proud of herself for a moment then shook her head. "Boy, am I dumb or what?" she asked. But she realized that the latch worked a lot like the fastener on her bra which she had figured out while holding it behind her back. She resolved not to have problems with hooks or tabs that fit into slots again.

Blushing because of where that thought led, she stood up straight again, and resumed her hunt for a mirror but didn't find one, at least not in plain view. She thought about going to the door and asking for her cases. She knew the little one had a mirror in the lid, she'd glimpsed it before when Mangas had opened it. But, no, "the boys" were out there and she had no desire to meet them until she had to, especially not the huge man who had carried her and put her in the truck and made her giggle.

Her nipples got hard while she thought about him. She looked down, smiling at first. The pointy little nubs showed clearly through the thin, almost transparent fabric of her dress and skimpy bra. She frowned. "Stop that," she told her naughty nipples.

* * *

Outside, Mangas used the toothpick-like prong on his pocket knife again to spring the locks on the largest case. He didn't watch his hands but kept his eyes level, his head up.

"Where did you learn to do that?" asked Bruce.

"UCLA," said the old man. "Class of '27." Mangas used a more familiar and less formal tone of voice with the two men than he had used with Hollie. The first lock opened with a snap and he began on the next one.

Bruce grinned. "Bachelor of Burglary?"

Mangas smiled. "Science; geology actually. Went back and got a masters in engineering when they offered it just before the war. Almost froze my Apache butt off in Alaska during the Second World War, building roads for the Combat Engineers; better than being an Indian dogface in the first one, though."

"He's a damn officer-type," commented Arthur. "Major Mannie Junco, no less. Got his gold leaf during the occupation of Japan."

"Sir, yes, sir," said Bruce, still grinning. "I kind of thought you had less of an accent than your jarhead relative here."

"Hey," said Arthur.

The second latch popped open and Mangas swung the lid up. He stepped back to let Bruce and Arthur get a good look. Both men used language that would have embarrassed them if Hollie had been there to hear it. The mildest thing either of them said was Arthur's reverent, "Holy Smokes!" Nodding, Mangas pulled his corncob pipe out of the pocket of his khaki pants and began loading it with fragrant herbs from his pouch. The contents of the third suitcase called for some powerful medicine.

Stacks of hundred dollar bills seemed to completely fill the leather container.

continued...