Welcome to Bordertown (55 page)

I’m outside on a smoke break later when I see one of those guys wearing a costume all made of leaves. I quit smoking since I moved to Baltimore, but I’ll take the break. This guy’s pretty old—in his fifties, I’d guess—and not in the best of shape. I watch him for a moment as he wrestles with some big box in the back of his van, so I go over and ask him if he wants a hand.

“Hey, thanks,” he says as I take one end of the box.

We put it on his dolly and get another box from the van.

“Can I ask you something?” I say.

“Sure.”

“No offense, but what makes a guy your age dress up the way you do?”

He laughs. “What do you think I’m supposed to be?”

“I don’t know. A tree?”

“Close. I’m a Green Man.”

“I still don’t get it.”

He straightens up and launches into his spiel. As he talks, I’m still not sure I get it, but I like his enthusiasm.

“The Green Men are the messengers of spring,” he says. “We’re the ones who carry the seeds of rebirth. We’re always looking for a good resting place because we have to sleep away the winter, dreaming the promise of renewal.”

“And that’s a Baltimore thing?”

“No, it goes back to England. Have you ever been over there?”

I shake my head.

“You see the image of the Green Man all over the place,” he says. “On pub signs and on carvings in churches. They’re literally everywhere. On some buildings you see them in place of gargoyles, the water draining from their open mouths. The funny thing is, people don’t really notice them anymore. And if they do, most of them don’t understand their significance.”

“That they’re messengers of spring,” I say.

“Exactly. We’re symbols of hope, but it’s more than just a promise. The Green Man brings in the spring. Without us, all you get is winter.”

“So the people coming to this convention—it’s like a spiritual thing for them?”

“Partly. For some of us. But it’s also fun to just dress up and fill a hotel with a gathering of faeries and goblins and all.”

We’re done loading his dolly and he locks up his van.

“So how come it’s all European faeries?” I ask. “I’ve never heard of Green Men before, but I’ve seen faeries in kids’ books, and the people here look like they do in the pictures or in a Disney movie. How come there aren’t any native faeries?”

“You mean Native American?”

“Sure, but I was talking more about North America in general.”

He gives me a curious look, and I realize that since I moved here, this is the longest conversation I’ve had with anyone except for Uncle Herbert.

“I’ve got to get this stuff inside and set up,” he says, “but you should come by my booth when the Market closes. We can talk some more then.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think I’d fit in with your crowd.”

“You’d be surprised,” he says. “We come in all shapes and sizes.” He offers me his hand. “I’m Tom Hill. If you change your mind, I’m in booth forty-eight.”

I take his hand. “I’m Joey Green,” I say, then laugh. “Maybe I
would
fit in.”

“What’s the story behind your surname?” he asks.

“As in what does it mean?”

He nods.

I shrug. “It just means one of my ancestors liked the sound of it. We never used surnames until the government forced us, so people just made up whatever they felt like calling themselves.”

“I still think this is an auspicious meeting,” he says.

I’m not sure what the word means, so I just give him another shrug.

“Thanks again for your help,” he adds. “Think about dropping by later.”

“Sure,” I tell him, because it’s easier than coming up with excuses.

*   *   *

I don’t realize I’m going to take him up on it until later in the day, when this part of the job’s all done. Uncle Herbert comes over to where I’m sitting out on the loading dock with the rest of the crew, listening to them talk.

“You ready to go, Joey?” he asks.

I shake my head. “One of the guys in the show asked me to stick around, so I thought I might.”

He checks me out with a look that would do Tía Luba proud, then just nods.

“I’ll see you later, then,” he says.

I like the fact that he trusts me enough to not give me any advice.

“You got your eye on one of those girls?” Luther asks.

I don’t bother answering.

Luther laughs. “See if she’s got a friend for me,” he says as he heads off with Uncle Herbert and the others.

I have second thoughts when I go back into the hotel. What do I really think is going to happen here? Hill will probably just give me a blank look when I show up at his booth.

I hesitate in the doorway of the Market. The place is transformed. It looks more like some old-fashioned market in a forest glade than a dealers’ room in a hotel. Somebody comes up and starts to tell me that the room’s closed, but I tell him I’m part of the setup crew.

“I’m supposed to meet Tom Hill,” I add.

The man nods. “Do you know where his booth is?”

“Number forty-eight.”

But when I get to the booth, he’s not there. There’s only a pretty girl about my age in a silky green dress with flowers and leaves sewn onto it. Her long red-gold hair hangs in a braid halfway to her waist, and she’s got the little points on the tips of her ears that everybody here seems to have. I walked by a booth that was selling them on my way to Hill’s. The girl is sitting with a closed book on her lap—a big old book with a tooled-leather binding—and she’s playing with a beaded bracelet. The only thing
that seems out of place is the pair of cat’s-eye sunglasses she’s wearing.

I stand at the booth, unsure again, so I check out what’s for sale. Hill specializes in tooled-leather masks. His work’s incredible. I’ve got a cousin who does this kind of thing with boots, so I know how much artistry and skill are involved. Most of the masks are intricate collections of leaves with eyeholes. Some are simple, little more than leafy Zorro masks. Others are so complicated I can’t imagine how many hours it took to complete them.

I look at the price tag on one of them. If people are buying these, he’s making a good profit.

I’m about to turn away when the girl suddenly lifts her head.

“Is someone there?” she asks.

I feel like telling her that she’ll see a lot better without the shades on, but all I say is “I’m looking for Tom Hill.”

“He’s my dad. He just stepped out to talk to the rest of his hedge, but he should be back soon.”

“His what?”

She laughs and it sounds like delicate bells.

“Are you new to the con?” she asks.

“Pretty much.”

“Do you know what a Green Man is?”

I nod, but she doesn’t go on, so I add, “Yeah, your dad was explaining them to me.”

“Well, a hedge is what they call a line of Green Men. I think they’re working out a welcome for one of the Guests of Honor.”

“Okay.”

She laughs again, and I find myself wishing I had a recording of it so that I could play it whenever I wanted.

“Why don’t you come into the booth?” she says. “You can keep me company while you wait for him. I promise I don’t bite.”

“You should be careful about who you talk to. I could be anybody.”

“But that’s one of the cool things about life,” she says.

“What? That strangers can be dangerous?”

“No, silly. That we can be anybody we choose.”

“It doesn’t really work that way in my world,” I tell her.

“Now you really have to come sit with me and tell me all about this world of yours.”

Why not? I think. Maybe I can get her to laugh some more for me.

As I come around the table to where she’s sitting, the bracelet she’s been playing with drops from her hand.

“Crap,” she says. “Would you get that for me?”

She doesn’t even look at where it fell.

Why don’t you get it yourself, princess?
I want to say, but then I suddenly realize something and I feel like a heel.

“You can’t see, can you?” I say.

“Well, I can see light and dark shapes to some degree, but I’m pretty much legally blind.”

She just says it like a fact, with no hint of bitterness or self-pity.

I don’t know what to say, so I settle for “Bummer.”

“Yeah. I miss colors most of all, especially with all the costumes here at FaerieCon.”

“So you weren’t always blind.”

She shakes her head. “I like to say that I strayed into Faerieland and it was such an intense experience that I went blind—you know, like the stories that say some people go mad when they come back.”

“Faerieland,” I repeat.

“Work with me,” she says.

“Okay. You lost your sight going into Faerieland. Got it.”

“And so,” she goes on, “the only way I can get my sight back is if I return there. Or maybe I can find my way to Bordertown and some faerie mage can cure me.”

“Bordertown?” I repeat. “The only border towns I know are places like Nogales, and I don’t think you’re going to find any faeries there.”

“No, I mean the capital ‘B’ Bordertown that sits between Faerieland and our world.”

“Right.”

“I thought you were working with me,” she says.

I grin, but she can’t see it.

“Well, let me know if you need someone to take you there,” I say.

That earns me another hit of that intoxicating laugh of hers.

“Are you volunteering?” she asks.

“Isn’t that how it works in fairy tales? You’re supposed to help people out as you wander around trying to make your fortune.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“No, I’m just trying to save up enough to buy myself a pickup.”

I sit on her extra chair and lean down to pick up the bracelet for her.

“Here,” I say.

She takes my hand in one of her own and plucks the bracelet out with the other. Then she lifts her free hand toward my face.

“May I?” she asks.

It’s like butterfly wings on my skin as she explores the contours of my face.

“You’ve got a strong nose,” she says.

“Yeah, that’s why they called me Big Nose back on the rez when I was growing up.”

I don’t add that they stopped because I went after whoever
used the nickname. If you don’t nip something like that in the bud, you’re stuck with it for life. Just ask Six-Toes George, Uncle Herbert’s brother.

“You’re Native American?” she asks.

I nod, then add, “Yeah,” because I’m not sure how much she can see with her limited sight. “I belong to the desert tribes. Kikimi on my mother’s side, and my dad was a Yaqui.”

“Not exactly fairy-tale country.”

“Not so much.”

“So what brings you to FaerieCon?”

“I’m with the crew that set up the booths,” I tell her. “I ran into your dad this afternoon. He said I should come by so we could talk some more.”

I figure that’ll be the end of any interest she might have in me. Girls like her don’t hang out with the behind-the-scenes joes, who are supposed to stay invisible. But she only smiles.

“I should warn you,” she says, “when Dad says ‘talk,’ he usually means he talks and everybody else listens.”

“He seemed okay to me.”

“Oh, he’s awesome. He’s just not a good listener. But he’s full of all sorts of interesting information, so he’s rarely boring.”

“That’s not a problem,” I tell her. “I’m more of a listener myself anyway.”

“Really? You’ve got such a compelling voice.”

Is she flirting with me? Time to shut that down. The last thing I need is to have some nice middle-class white girl flirting with me, even if her dad does think he’s a tree.

“I just find that things work out better when I don’t talk too much,” I tell her. “I can have a big mouth and it gets me into trouble. Or at least it did back when I was still drinking.”

That should do it.

“How old are you?” she asks.

“Seventeen.”

With the sunglasses on, it’s hard to tell what she’s thinking.

“Me too,” she says. “But I’m thinking I’ve still had a way easier life than you.”

“I don’t think of it like that,” I tell her. “Growing up the way I did—that’s just the way it is down in Kikimi County. I could beat myself up about it, but I’d rather look at it as a learning experience that shaped who I am today. I’ll be the first to admit I’ve messed up a lot, but I’m getting better at doing the right thing.”

Speaking of which …
, I add to myself.

“I should go,” I tell her.

I don’t know what it is about this girl and her father that has me yakking away like girls on the rez.

“Don’t,” she says as I stand up.

I hesitate. I know I shouldn’t stay, but I can’t help feeling flattered by her interest. I can’t remember the last time that happened. Maybe never, unless I was paying for the drinks.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

“Joey.”

“I’m Juliana.”

She puts out her hand and I automatically shake. As soon as her fingers close around mine, she pulls me back down onto the chair.

“I’m enjoying your company,” she says. “Because of my disability, people can feel a little awkward around me. It’s easier for them to just give me a friendly hello, then go off to carry on with whatever else they’re doing. They don’t actually want to sit with me.”

“That’s got to be hard.”

She shrugs. “It’s what it is. But it can make me feel a little
lonely sometimes.” She pauses before she adds, “You don’t seem to focus on it at all.”

“I guess I can stay awhile longer.”

She beams. Then she lifts the book from her lap.

“If you don’t want to talk,” she says, “maybe you could read to me.”

“I’m not that good a reader.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I can read,” I tell her. “I’m just slow at it.”

“Then maybe you could tell me a story.”

“You mean like a Kikimi fairy tale?”

“Do you know any?”

“Not really.” Though right now I wish I did. “All I know are Jimmy Littlecreek stories.”

“Who’s Jimmy Littlecreek?”

“He was kind of a legend back on the rez—always getting into complicated situations and making even more of a mess out of things. But at the same time, he had these desert rat smarts that always made things work out. Back home, everybody knows a story or two about him.”