Rhona The Filipina Powerhouse
by John Barker, IV
 
Copyright John Barker, IV
 
Meet the latest of my team of heroically strong women:  Rhona, a modern
woman of might from the Philippines
 
Rhona had always thought of herself as different.  And among the ladies
of the Philippines she had lived with, being different was quite
unusual.  Almost every other Filipina she had ever met described herself
as "simple."  But Rhona knew from a young age that she had depths of
intellect and character that few others had.  Where 95% of Filipinas have
brown eyes, Rhona had green ones, probably the genetic reminder of a
liaison between one of her ancestors and an American, maybe 100 years
ago.  Where most young Filipinas work at their jobs, read the latest in
American books (especially romances) and watch the latest American
movies, Rhona preferred old British books, British movies, and British
actors.  She could not pick Johnny Depp or any rap star out of a police
line-up, but knew very well who Brian Blessed was, and could tell you who
was performing any version of Vivaldi's Four Seasons that happened to be
playing on the radio, and why it was different from other recordings of
the same piece.  And Rhona hated badminton.  She liked golf, however.
 
Nevertheless, an outsider standing 50 feet away would be hard-pressed to
distinguish her from most other Filipinas.  She stood 5'3", just an inch
above average, weighed 145 pounds, a little heavier than average, and had
long jet-black hair.  She had the same almost-Mediterranean complexion,
and a flattish nose with cute wide nostrils.  She dressed modestly.  She
was a seriously devout Catholic in a country that proudly proclaims its
status as "the only Catholic country in Asia." 
 
So someone not looking too closely might be forgiven for taking Rhona as
just any other Filipina, aged 26, 3 years out of college, with a B.S. in
Computer Science (she minored in English Literature), with a family of
mother, father, and 4 younger siblings (2 sisters and 2 brothers) plus
about a dozen aunts and uncles and almost 100 cousins. 
 
Except, that is, for her muscles.
 
Now many young Filipinas have taken to the American craze for fitness. 
Many do Pilates.  Many head to the gym for a  workout a couple of times a
week.  But Rhona had taken Paula Suzuki for her role model, not Rachel
McLish.  She wanted to be not just fit, but strong. 
 
In fact, while her mother frowned at, but did not forbid, her working out
with weights starting in St. John's Girls High School, her grandmother,
her father's mother, encouraged her.   Granmama did not initiate the
interest.  But when it developed on its own, she offered words of gentle
support and understanding.
 
Rhona had heard stories about her grandmother almost all of her life,
none of which she would confirm for her.  She had heard that she had
fought with the resistance against the Japanese.  Once, an elderly nun
who had known her during the war had whispered to Rhona that her Granmama
had actually killed Japanese soldiers by herself. 
 
Rhona was sure the elderly nun was exaggerating, but, buoyed by her
Granmama's encouragement, continued to work steadily at her weights
through high school, lifting gradually heavier and heavier weights.  She
never once took a steroid or other performance-enhancing drug.  She
wanted her strength to be natural.  She thought her muscles looked
beautiful.  The other girls whispered among themselves that no man would
ever want a woman so much stronger than normal, even if she was
pretty.  And, though these whispers inevitably reached her ears, she
ignored them, and continued.  By the time high school graduation came,
she was sporting 12 inch biceps.
 
Many of the boys in her town were a little afraid of her because
occasionally, without trying, she would startle everyone with her
strength. 
 
There was the time that Granmama Robles, who lived next door, was moving
out, her adult children having built for her a roomier house next to
houses they owned, in a sort of compound 2 blocks away.  The neighborhood
boys had promised to come over to help out the move.  But one thing led
to another, and they were not there when they promised to be.  Rhona
plunged right in and moved all the heaviest objects herself, including 20
heavy boxes full of books (she carried these two at a time), a 22-inch
TV, and several heavy pieces of furniture including the sofa, down two
flights of stairs, across two streets, and down a block, then up a flight
of stairs without breaking a sweat and without being out of breath.  She
did all that before Granmama Robles' children arrived to help.  And
everyone was amazed at her strength.
 
Rhona kept to her progressively heavier program of weights throughout
college.  Then, in her junior year, her own Granmama died.  There was a
great Mass celebrated by 20 priests and a wake of 3 days for her.  The
whole town and people from as far away as Manila (a 2-hour trip by car)
came to pay last respects and pray for her soul.   Rhona had lost her
great encourager, but resolved to stay with her program.  There were more
whispered stories at the wakes about Granmama and what she had done in
World War II.  In fact, at her funeral, there was an official government
representative.  She was impressed, but all the more puzzled. 
 
Rhona was a very pretty girl, and had her share of dates.  But on two
occasions, boyfriends suddenly broke up with her after, carried away by
making out, she picked them up and carried them to a better location for
petting.  Nevertheless, she liked the way her body looked.  She was proud
of her strength, and liked how it felt to be strong, even stronger than
the men in her life (she playfully wrestled her younger brothers from
time to time, and always won easily).
 
By the time she had completed her undergraduate years, Rhona's biceps
measured a remarkable 14.5 inches.  She wasn't sure about it, but she
thought she was bigger than the lovely Milomar Flores, whom she had
always admired.  Her habit of modest dress, with long-sleeved blouses,
jackets, and long skirts concealed the unusual amount of muscle in her
arms and legs from strangers.   And the added poise and confidence that
she gained from being strong seconded her keen intellect and high grades
in everything she studied to get her, on graduation, a good job as a
programmer from a technology company 45 minutes outside of Manila. 
 
She moved out of the family home, and closer to work.  She still had a
half-hour commute, but, while helping her parents out with the tuition
for her oldest brother's college, she still could afford to live on her
own.  She bought a few weights of her own, and continued to use them
regularly, but not obsessively. 
 
Boyfriends came and went.  At 26, Rhona was at the height of her beauty. 
Many young men asked her out, and she dated the ones she liked.  But
there is something in the Filipino man's ego that does not appreciate
being held in the arms of a woman substantially stronger than he is. 
Then, 3 years after college, after her first promotion at work, Ferdinand
came into her life.
 
Ferdinand was a young executive, good looking, 28 years old,
5'81/2" (rather tall for a Filipino), smart, talented, cultured, and kind
(and not just kind in the way men are when trying to lure a woman into
their bed).  He had just been hired by her company as a lateral hire. 
Rules about office romance are not as strict in the Philippines as they
are in the US.  In fact, he asked her out the same day he met her, and
she accepted without hesitation.
 
His politeness did not count especially in his favor, as almost all men
from the Philippines are polite.  Ferdinand was devoted to his family,
and had spent much helping his younger siblings through school, as his
older brother had done for him.  Most importantly, Ferdinand was a
believing Catholic, not just someone who goes to church on Sunday when
they feel like it.  The Catholic Faith formed his opinions, his habits,
his way of life.  For a woman whose admired Granmama had taught her the
Catechism out of old books, supplementing the thin, shallow, almost
contentless new material used in the schools, this was a very important
and desirable fact.  You do not grow up in a house with candles burning
always before the Sacred Heart and a Crucifix in every room without
something rubbing off on you.
 
In fact, their first date was not to go out for coffee, or dinner and a
movie.  They did not go bowling, play badminton, mini-golf, or go out for
ice cream.  Their first date was for Eucharistic Adoration. 
 
Rhona had trouble keeping her mind open to God during that first Holy
Hour together.  She stuck to her prayerbook, and kept her head busy with
prayers lest it turn to lewd thoughts.  She noticed Ferdinand rustling
the pages of his prayerbook, too.   
 
Then they went out to Starbucks for coffee.  The talked for hours,
closing the place.  They had held hands, and Ferdinand kissed her at the
end of the date.
 
They continued to date pretty chastely and regularly for 3 months.  Ferd
was now her boyfriend beyond doubt, and she had great hopes for him. 
Then came what Rhona knew was the acid test.  She invited him to work out
with her at the gym.  She had hugged and embraced Ferdinand enough so
that he must know she was very strong.  So far, he had not been freaked
out.  But Ferd's watching her working in the gym would tell her a lot
about whether he really understood how strong she was, and how he felt
about it. 
 
Rhona had grown used to jealous stares from the men when she worked out,
and had taken to wearing baggy sweats that concealed both her arms and
legs very effectively.  She continued that.  She wasn't putting on a
show.  She wanted to see Ferd's reaction to what she could do.  She
prayed fervently that it would not be another rejection. 
 
They both worked on free weights.  By the end of the workout, Rhona was
easily bench-pressing almost twice as much as Ferdinand could only lift
with great difficulty.  She had pumped with each arm an impressive 60
pound dumbbell for over 100 reps ten times. 
 
When they were done, Ferdinand, who had stopped his own more modest
workout to gaze in admiration, smiled. 
 
"Feel like like you've had a good workout?"
 
"Yes.  I didn't go as high on the weight as I sometimes do.  But I'm
mostly working on maintenance now."
 
"Well, for a light workout, that was incredibly impressive." 
 
When they were ready to call it a night, after a long kiss on her front
doorstep with more than a little tongue, Ferdinand asked softly, "Rho,
Could I feel your flexed arms?"
 
Rhona rolled up her sleeves, and Ferdinand's eyes closed in something
near ecstasy as he caressed her mountainous flexed biceps.  "I have
always known you were stronger than other women.  Now I see how very
special you are.  I love you so much, Rhona dear."
 
They kissed again and Rhona was happy, because she had found a man she
loved who would not be freaked out by her strength. 
 
Ferdinand had already introduced Rhona to the traditional Latin Mass.  It
was an incredible experience for her to discover something so much more
beautiful than the guitars and folk music she had grown up with.  It was
something so old, and yet completely new to her.  She remembered her
grandmother, who had been very pious, talking about the Mass in Latin,
but she had never truly grasped what she meant. 
 
Now four months into the relationship, Ferdinand suggested a pilgrimage
to the island of Cebu to a religious house run by the Oblates of the
Virgin Mary, along with other pilgrims from the indult Mass parish in
Quezon City.  With no hesitation, even though she had been there 4 times
already, she accepted.  They would go with the parish group for a weekend
in Cebu. 
 
Rhona was serene and at peace with herself.  She had found programming,
truth be told, ever so slightly dull.  She knew that motherhood was
calling her, and was eager to begin a family with Ferdinand.  Maybe,
while she was having her babies, she could pursue a master's degree in
literature. 
 
After her workout one evening, she did something she never did, she
started posing and flexing naked  in front of her bedroom mirror.
 
"Maybe I can be the Filipina Wonder Woman," she chuckled to herself as
she struck a double bicep pose.  "I may not be a beauty queen, but I do
have some assets that would put Lynda Carter to shame." 
 
Indeed, she had something no TV Wonder Woman, or even the comic book WWs
ever had:  a pair of 16-inch all-natural "guns."  Added to that, her
breasts, whose slow development had been the bane of her young teenage
years, had blossomed to an alluring 42C, while her waist was a curvy 40
inches.  Her middle was a little larger than she would have liked at 27
inches, but that was the result of dining out with Ferdinand so often. 
She had put on 2 inches in the last 4 months. And she underestimated the
beauty of her face.  She might not be a feature model, but her face was
much more than just pretty:  she was just this side of stunning,
possessed of a beauty that did not need foundation, rouge, false
eyelashes, fake nails, mascara, or any of the other cheats most women
indulge in.   
 
She flexed first one arm, then the other, then both.  She posed and
flexed her curvy, sensuous, and very powerfully muscled legs.  "If he
likes strong women, then I'm the woman for him.  I just might be the
strongest Filipina ever.  Holy Mary, pray for humility for me" 
 
After some more posing:  "They look good, but I don't think I want to get
bigger.  If he loves me as I am, then it is good enough.  May I put all
this strength to good use."
 
Then an idea occurred to her.  Lifting certain amounts of weight had
always been the measure of her strength.  But what could she do besides
lift weights?  She put her sweats back on, and went out to retrieve two
items, an old rusty iron shovel that she had been meaning to throw out
for an age, and a large watermelon that was taking up space in her
refrigerator.  She could not eat the watermelon because of its
interaction with pollen she was allergic to.  She had just read that in
an article the other day. 
 
She slipped back out of her sweats, and taking the solid iron shovel
handle in her hands, she held it in front of her before the mirror.  Then
she began to apply pressure to it by trying to pull her hands back in to
her. 
 
Even though the shovel handle was rusty, it did not budge.  She poured on
more strength.  Still nothing.  More and more.  Nope.
 
"Maybe I'm not that strong.  One more try, though."
 
This time she poured all of her amazing strength into a sustained effort
to bend the shovel.  She was sweating hard, and grunting with the
effort.  But she did not relent.  After forty seconds of continuous
effort, pouring more strength into it than she knew she had, she was
suddenly rewarded.
 
There was the slightest groan from the metal. 
 
"I'm fatiguing it!  Keep going!"
 
And she continued the effort while more and more strength rippled through
her back and shoulders to her arms and hands. 
 
The groaning again, louder and sustained.
 
And the shovel began to bend in her hands! 
 
Slowly at first, and costing immense effort.  Then more quickly.  The
fatiguing metal sound was very distinct.  She could see it bending in her
hands.  It was an L-shape now.  She continued, almost to her disbelief,
until she had bent the shovel handle double.
 
"I must be pumped now!"
 
She then tried bending it back, and the fatigued iron bent much more
easily in her powerful hands.   Again with a chorus of fatiguing metal
sounds, she bent it back to something like its original shape. 
 
"Wow!  I feel like I could do anything now, with God's help.  I might
keep this and try this again sometime."
 
Next came the watermelon.  She put it between her thighs, and began to
squeeze.  Now her legs only got a small workout bracing her while her
hands and arms had worked on the shovel. But her thigh muscles were much
more powerful than even her mighty arms.   And if her hands and arms
could bend a piece of iron...
 
She concentrated her efforts on crushing the watermelon.  She was
confident that her  thigh muscles could do it.  She squeezed harder and
harder, and the powerful muscles of her thighs stood out in relief like
carved oak.  Then a long and sustained squeeze.  Ten seconds, fifteen,
slight signs of stress on her face, twenty seconds, sweat pouring off of
her afresh.  Then suddenly, the watermelon caved in with a crack and a
squishy sound.  As the wet juice ran down her leg, she watched it in the
mirror.
 
"Rhona Therese Amalpas, Mighty Conqueror of Rusty Garden Tools and
Semi-Fresh Produce!" she laughed.  She made a last double bicep, let the
mangled melon drop to the papers she had put on the floor, and
then strode off to take a shower. 
 
The day of the pilgrimage dawned early for Rhona.  The jeepney drive to
the airport was about 45 minutes, and she wanted to be an hour early for
the flight.  She was going to meet Ferdinand at the McDonald's at the
airport for a quick, highly unhealthy, but very tasty breakfast.
 
After the sausage biscuit, hash brown, breakfast burrito, oj, and coffee
were gone, she reminded herself to work on her abs next week, and get rid
of some of the flab that was starting to form there. Her arms were
mightily impressive, but she was far from having washboard abs. 
 
Ferdinand seemed very preoccupied.  She tried to draw him out into
conversation more than once, but his replies displayed an unaccustomed
 taciturnity.  She knew he was afraid of flying (she only disliked
it) but she wasn't entirely able to account for his unusual mood.
 
She tried mothering him, letting him know that she had air pressure ear
plug for him, and asking him if he had remembered his rosary, his Missal,
his Breviary, his Miraculous Medal, his Brown Scapular, the bottles of
Holy Water he wanted to fill at Mother of Mercy.  She was surprised at
the increasing testiness of his replies by the time she had reached the
end of her litany of interrogatories. 
 
"OK, too much mothering," she thought.
 
She left him to his thoughts, and checked out the morning headlines. 
 
"Oh dear.  Three children injured by a bomb at a bus stop on Mindanao. 
Filthy fucking heathen bastards."  Rhona was a good woman, or tried to
be, but she could be direct and salty when called for.  "I'll say an Act
of Contrition for that one."
 
After her silent prayer, she looked over at Ferdinand, and he appeared as
silent as a gib cat.  Back to the paper.
 
"An American soldier killed and another injured in a helicopter crash
while cooperating with Philippine Special Forces in fighting Moslem
extremists on a remote island.  Well we don't want them taking over here
as they pretty much have in Indonesia and Malaysia, not when they think
blowing up buses with children is a good idea.  This is a Catholic
country anyway.  For the American soldier, Dear Lord, eternal rest grant
unto him, and may perpetual light shine upon him.  May he rest in peace. 
I need to read more news stories that don't require me to pray after each
one!"
 
Another glance at Ferd showed that he seemed nervously agitated. 
 
"Is there something wrong?  Did I say something wrong, dear?"
 
"No dear...No.  It isn't you.  I'm just nervous.  You know how I hate
flying."
 
"Well, mostly you only have to be worried during the take off and during
the landing.  During the cruise it is fine.  Besides, I don't mind
flying.  Its the crashing that bothers me." 
 
"I know.  I'm sorry I'm not better company.  Are you looking forward to
the Mother of Mercy House?"
 
"Yes, though you know I have been there before.  I find it one of the
most peaceful places and the most grace-filled on earth.  I'm always
happy to be there."
 
"I'm very glad you like it so.  I hope it will be a very special place
for us."
 
He ran out of words again.
 
"Well," she thought,   "He's not angry with me over anything.  Maybe it
is the fear of flying.  I wonder what else it could be...". 
 
She returned to trying to solve a difficult coding problem that had
eluded her at work all week.  Try as she might, she could not come up
with a solution.  And her thoughts kept drifting back to what was going
on in the mind of the man in the seat next to her.
 
At length, their flight was called, and they boarded.  The medium-sized
turbo-prop plane would carry all 30 pilgrims to Mother of Mercy House. 
The flight was without incident.  They landed safely on Cebu, and were
met by a bus that would take them to the hotel to freshen up, and drop
off luggage (Rhona and Ferd had only a carry-on bag each, but some others
had full suitcases) before the trip to the house. 
 
After they had checked in, rested a bit, and re-assembled, Father Arroyo,
the leader of the pilgrimage marshalled them all onto the bus for the
ride to Mary, Mother of Mercy House. 
 
The ride was boisterous, with the happy pilgrims chattering away.  A cool
drizzle did not put any serious damper on the festive mood.  Ferdinand
was more lively now, but still seemed nervous.
 
"OK, mothering him didn't work.  Just chatting casually didn't work. 
Maybe it is time to make him feel like a man."
 
There was a blanket over her knees, and she spread it to cover his as
well.  Then, under cover of the blanket, she touched his hand, and began
to gently caress it.  He shot a quick glance at her, then relaxed more.
 
"Enjoying the trip?"
 
"Now I am."
 
"Good.  You need some stress relief."
 
Now she took his hand, and brought it to her knee, her skirt hiked up
just enough to allow his hand to probe the flesh of her leg for a few
inches.  She was careful not to make too much activity, or the motion
would be visible to others.  His smile, the first genuine one he had
offered today,  told her that he was enjoying his first feel of her
strong thigh.  She was enjoying it, too, but needed to keep appearances
proper.  She just wanted him to relax on this first trip together. 
 
"Oh look, you can see the  cross through the trees now.  We are very
close."
 
She pointed to the left, and his gaze followed hers.
 
Father Arroyo got to the front of the bus, and gained everyone's
attention.
 
"We are nearly there.  When we get off the bus, there will be a brief
welcome downstairs in the function room from Father Tagall, the first
Filipino director of the shrine.  There will be confessions from 11 to
11:45.  Then there will be Mass at noon, so don't eat anything if you
want to take the Sacrament.  After Mass, there will be
Rosary.  Exposition starts right after that, and Adoration will last the
whole afternoon.  There will be Divine Mercy Chaplet at 3, and Evening
Prayer at 6, followed by Benediction.  You will be able to walk the
grounds between devotions if you want.  There is a set of outdoor
Stations of the Cross if you want to use that, and a large Mary Garden
with several statues and some very nice flowers.  I am sure Father Tagall
will be happy to point out the gift shop for you:  they have a nice
selection of Catholic books in Tagalog and English, and many rosaries,
holy cards, pictures, and other sacramentals.  You can meet any of the
priests for spiritual counselling if you wish after Exposition.  We
meet again in front of the shrine at 6:45 to board the bus back to the
hotel."   
 
The pilgrims gave a cheer, and applauded their pastor.   
 
Then the shrine was in sight ahead, and they began the process of putting
away what they had been using to pass the time on the trip, and getting
ready to leave the bus.
 
The greeting from Father Tagall was brief, and happy, and he did
certainly show them the gift shop.  Everyone filed into the new church,
with its stained glass, statues of the Blessed Virgin, of St. Joseph and
St. Jude, genuflected to the Tabernacle, parked themselves in the pews,
and waited for their turn for confession. 
 
Ferdinand and Rhona were in the same pew, side by side, waiting for the
same confessional.  No hanky-panky in the church, though their hanky
panky was quite mild by American standards.  Ferdinand went first.
 
He was in for a longer time than Rhona would have thought.  When he came
out, she was certain she heard the priest say to him, "Bless you, and
good luck!"
 
Then it was Rhona's turn.  It had been a month since her last
confession.  In that time she was guilty of  impure thoughts many times,
foul language, taking the Lord's Name in vain twice, lack of charity (for
not giving to a worthy charity when she had more than enough to do so),
uncharitable thoughts about her boss, envy at the promotion of a
co-worker, pride, lack of humility, infringing on someone's copyright on
the Internet, not properly honoring her father and mother by neglecting
calling in the last week.  These were all routine sins for her, and she
promised to try to do better.  She received absolution with relief and
her heart was light as she left the confessional to do her penance:  just
the Act of Contrition, the Litany for Humility (found in the prayerbook
in the pews, the priest had pointed out), and the Miserere (Psalm
50/51).  And she had to call her parents when she got back to the hotel,
but that was not strictly part of the penance, the priest made clear. 
 
She made her penance, and then joined Ferdinand and the growing group of
pilgrims at the front of the church for Mass, which would start in about
10 minutes. 
 
Mass was lovely, and fairly brief.  This was, after all, just a Saturday
daily Mass.  But Father Arroyo was allowed to say it, and he said the
Novus Ordo Mass (the Mass that had been in use since 1970), though in
Latin and with his back to the congregation so that he was facing the
Tabernacle behind the altar.   The Kyrie, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei were
chanted by the pilgrims, who were well-versed in these.  The Sign of
Peace was omitted. 
 
Then everyone got out their Rosaries, and joined in the Joyful Mysteries,
which took about 20  minutes.  Then the monstrance was brought out, and
the familiar strains of "O Salutaris" started. 
 
Rhona and Ferdinand stayed in Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament for an
hour, with Ferdinand growing agitated again.  Rhona could see it but
could not understand the cause. 
Then he got up.
 
"Meet me out front to walk the grounds?" he whispered.
 
"I'll be out in a few minutes, dear," she whispered back with a smile. 
 
She completed her devotions (she was finishing a program of prayers for a
visit with the Blessed Mother) and then rose to join Ferd outside, taking
off her veil as she left the church.
 
Ferd was pacing when she came out, and he seemed even more nervous than
before.  She was alarmed at his tension, and tried to ease it by taking
his hand, with a broad smile.
 
"Where shall we go, dear?"
 
"I don't know my way around.  Why don't we just wander?"
 
When they left the official grounds and got into the trees, she thought
he wanted to find a place to make out unobserved. 
 
"Why is he so nervous about that?  We've made out before.  Is he just
nervous about making out on a pilgrimage? Or is he uncertain if there
will be a suitable place?"
 
They were a good hundred yards from the edge of the cleared grounds, and
now well out of sight of the shrine. 
 
"Oh look!  Rhododendron bushes with blue flowers!  Let's go see them!"
 
She started to pull him, but there was resistance.
 
"I'll be right with you, I just need to re-tie my shoe."
 
"OK."
 
She got a good 20 yards ahead of him while he was bending to re-tie. 
Then, suddenly, she heard behind her a cry of surprise.
 
She looked around and saw that a boa constrictor that must have been 24
feet long had dropped onto Ferd, and was coiling around him.
 
"Rho, run for help!" came an alarmed and already labored cry.
 
"Like hell I will!"
 
She dashed back and covered the distance quickly.  The snake had already
engulfed Ferd, and was applying pressure.  He was flailing about, trying
to trying vainly to pull a coil off his chest.  The head of the snake was
down by his feet.  His legs were not together, and the snake had managed
to coil separately around each.
 
"Oh I hate snakes, but I love you!"
 
Ferd was on the ground, with the snake, and Rhona dived to join them. 
Rhona grabbed the coil that had wound itself around Ferd's middle,
because that might kill him quickly.  She grasped it in both hands, and
began to pull.  Then she realized that she was tightening the snake's
grip. 
 
"Damn!  This won't work unless I get an end."
 
She scuttled down to Ferd's feet, and grabbed the snake's head in both
hands.  The snake convulsed tremendously.  There was a loud crunchy snap.
 
"AAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!  Oh Christ help me!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!  It's
broken my leg!!!!!"
 
She gripped the snake's head tighter.  The head was almost the size of a
human head, and the scaly hide felt horrible in her hands.
 
"I've got to do something!  There's no time to get help.  If I leave
he'll be dead.  Mary help me!"
 
She began squeezing the snake's head.
 
The strength began to flow from her back and shoulders to her arms and
hands.  She poured as much pressure as she could on the snake's head. 
 
Some of its coils began to slip off Ferd's and tried to wrap around
Rhona. 
 
Still, she squeezed the reptile's loathsome head.  She was focusing her
strength on one thing, trying to crush its skull.
 
The snake lifted up, and slammed both Rhona and Ferd to the ground.
 
"AAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!"
 
Still the Filipina powerhouse concentrated on squeezing the snake. 
 
While the snake's huge, long  body coiled around her, and squeezed both
her and Ferd, she continued to pour the power onto its head.  More coils
slipped off Ferd, and tried to wrap themselves around Rhona.
 
All three were thrashing on the ground, Ferd screaming in agony as his
broken leg was moved this way and that,  Rhona silent, sweating,
concentrating her strength as she had never before done.
 
The coil that had been around Ferd's torso unwrapped itself, and tried to
get around Rhona.
 
Rhona continued to squeeze.  The muscles of her entire body were huge,
rigid, and stood out like cables of steel.  Power flowed in wave after
wave from all over her to her hands.  She was using muscles she never
knew she had, calling on strength she had never imagined rested in her.
 
The last coils were off Ferd now, and he laid sill, moaning in pain.  The
giant snake was now wrapped entirely around Rhona, and was applying
deadly killing pressure to her whole body.  she resisted the pressure as
best she could.  Her muscles were much harder work for the snake to
overcome than Ferdinand's had been. 
 
But Rhona kept up her own killing pressure on the head of the snake. 
More and more she squeezed the reptilian head.  She was covered head to
toe in sweat, her hair matted with it.  She was grunting like a beast. 
But she had only one thing in mind:  to kill this snake before it killed
her. 
 
A huge wave of strength poured down her arms into her hands, and a fresh
effort to mash the snake's skull began.  More and more pressure she
applied.  Her steely grip was tighter and tighter.  She took a deep
breath, and made another fresh effort.
 
Her tanned hands bulged with strength, as her arms and shoulders did
also, her eyes closed, she prayed.
 
"CCCrrraaaaccccckkkk!!!!!"
 
The snake stopped squeezing. 
 
Rhona squeezed more.  The reptile's skull caved in under the almost
superhuman pressure of her mighty hands.  The grey matter oozed through
her fingers, making her want to vomit. 
 
The snake was still now.  She had crushed its skull and squeezed the life
out of it with her bare hands. 
 
"God be praised.  Holy Mary, thank you."
 
Then she slumped exhausted to the ground, before trying to uncoil the
huge dead snake from her body. 
 
"Ferd?"
 
"The woman shall crush the head of the serpent."
 
"What?  Are you alright?"
 
"My left leg is broken, and I don't think the other one is usable,
either, though it doesn't feel broken.  How did you do that?"
 
"I'm just strong."  The last stubborn coils of the serpent were off her,
and she rushed the few feet to Ferd."
 
"Hold still.  This will hurt, but I have to get you out of here." 
 
She bent down, and gently picked up his broken body.  Cradling him in
front of her, she carried him, despite his pain, back to the shrine. 
Tears were flowing in both their eyes, his of pain, hers of fear, and
more.
 
She reached a lounge chair belonging to the Fathers, and gently eased
Ferd into it, keeping his damaged legs as straight as possible. 
 
"Ferd, honey, I'll get someone in a second, but why have you been so
nervous all day?"
 
"I wanted to ask you to marry me out there."
 
"And you were afraid I wouldn't accept?  Oh Ferd, darling, of course I'll
marry you." 
 
More tears, now tears of joy, flooded Rhona's eyes.  She she ran in to
get help.  Within the hour, a helicopter arrived to carry Ferd to the
hospital.  His broken leg mended well, as did the crushed ligaments of
the other leg, and the various strains and sprains he had suffered in the
ordeal.  The internal bleeding in his torso was minor, and healed well
also. 
 
Four months later, Rhona carried Ferd over the threshold of their new
home (his house), as husband and wife.  And while they were very happy,
there were many adventures ahead of them.