Esteban-Irena suddenly be- came aware of the precarious- ness of his position. These people, whoever they were, still thought that he was Irena. He had to protect that belief as much as he could, he thought, waves of fear flooding through his mind.

He kept on his frilly pan- ties and his sleep-bra. There was a black garter belt and black stockings among the fem- inine clothing the woman had given him, as well as a black, silk bra and panties. He put on the garter belt and stockings quickly and without a second thought, before he slipped off his nightdress. He slipped on the only full-length petticoat over his head. It pinched in tight at his waist and then flared out in a wide, beribboned skirt.

The woman poked her head over the blanket. "Put on all the petticoats," she said, "and the dark wig. I'll do your make- up then."

Esteban had again instinc- tively covered up his suggestion of cleavage, this time with the red silk dress, when she had eyed him speculatively. When she withdrew her head, Esteban found a number of waist petti- coats in the clothing. Reluc- tantly, he put them on and the silk dress on top. The soft ribbons bouncing on his thighs as he moved made him feel breathless, yet very tense. He became aware the the feminine underwear and how natural it felt to be dressed as a woman. He rustled as he moved, the sound seductive to his mas- culine ears.

There was a wig of long, black, curly hair in a box against the front of the truck. There was no-one watching him as he unpinned the Irena wig and donned the other quickly, using the pins as Consuela had taught him. He stored the long- blonde hair in the box just in time. The woman tore down the blanket to reveal the new,

dark girl to herself and her companion.

"There are shoes for you too," said the thin woman. She came close to Irena and hammer- ed onthe frong partition of the truck. Then, she reached down to a pack stored against the front wall of the truck and took out a pair of black, high heels, open-toed.

The truck lurched to stop, slightly at an angle as if it had pulled over, partly off the road. 'Irena' put on the high heels, feeling her new, black hair brush the top of the truck. The back of the truck went up. A heavy-set man, black mustache, yet par- tially bald, grunted to the pair in the back. “She give you any trouble?"

The thin, pock-marked man stood, stretched and shook his head. "She's been a good girl," he sneered, showing yellow teeth. "She still don't know what's going on.

""

The thin woman took Irena's arm and dragged her forward. "Sit there," she said, pointing at the end of the truck.

Esteban hadn't realized how groggy he was. He staggered as the woman pulled him. The stocky man on the outside reached up as Irena came for- ward. He put his hands about her waist and lifted her down onto the gravel road. The petti- coats pressed against Irena for a moment as the man held her, staring into her eyes. A light breeze swirled about her ny- loned legs and ruffled the petti- coats as the black mustached man stepped back and the thin woman began to work on the hair of the wig.

The woman worked in silence. Esteban could see little down the road but a poorly maintained, gravelly road, and the grey bark of dead conifers as if a forest fire had swept down both sides of the road. There was no sign of people

nor of houses.

The wig was combed out,

-38-

curls being brushed tight and feathery against Irena's neck, cheeks and forehead. Then the woman applied makeup. Esteban could almost feel the extra thickness as everything was applied liberally---far too lib- erally, he was sure.

The thin man giggled. "Now she looks like one of Conchita's girls," he sneered at the brunette girl, who shivered and flushed under his leering eyes.

""

the

"Come on,' said heavier man. "Get her up into the cab, and look alert. There'll be a patrol for sure at the bridge crossing.

""

Irena swayed, her head reeling, as she was walked beside the old, dirty truck to the front cab. She could see that it was late afternoon, the sun setting behind her over the distant blue mountains. They were headed up a winding mountain road, new, smaller pines growing between the grey stumps of dead trees. The bald man jumped up and opened the cab door. The thin man came behind and lifted Irena up. As she stepped into the cab, he ran his hands down her sides, flattening petticoats against her garters. Then he caressed her legs, and she lunged forward, her head pounding after the sudden movement, into the cab.

"Jorge," snapped the thin faced woman, climbing in after 'her." "Leave her alone. She'll get enough of that at Con- chita's."

XII

CASA CONCHITA

*

"Kidnapped!" Isabel Ortega was white-faced with shock and anxiety. "But why didn't they just kill her?"

Aguilar frowned. "There was still some loyalty left," he