Sandi Stone plus thirty By Diana the Valkyrie Sandi Stone, thirty years on, part one - down and out Sex, violence, death, life - don't read this if you're squeamish. And there's a lot you just won't understand unless you read "The Teenage Sandi Stone" first. When The Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride, He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside; But the shebear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail, For the female of the species is more deadly than the male. When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man, He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it as he can; But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail For the female of the species is more deadly than the male. When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws, They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws. 'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale, For the female of the species is more deadly than the male. Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say, For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away; But when the hunter meets with husband, each confirms the other's tale - The female of the species is more deadly than the male. Man, a bear in most relations - worm and savage otherwise, - Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise. Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act. Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low, To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe. Mirth obscene diverts his anger, Doubt and Pity oft perplex Him in dealing with an issue - to the scandal of The Sex! But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same; And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail, The female of the species must be deadlier than the male. She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast May not deal in doubt or pity - must not swerve for fact or jest. These be purely male diversions - not in these her honour dwells. She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else. She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great And the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate! And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same. She is wedded to convictions - in default of grosser ties; Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies - He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild, Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child. Unprovoked and awful changes - even so the she-bear fights, Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons - even so the cobra bites, Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw, And the victim writhes in anguish - like the Jesuit with the squaw! So, it comes that Man the coward, when he gathers to confer With the fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands To some God of Abstract Justice - which no woman understands. And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the woman that God gave him Must command but may not govern - shall enthrall but not enslave him. And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail, That the Female of the Species is more deadly than the Male RUDYARD KIPLING, 1911 Time passes, people change. There is war, and death, peace and life. Fashions change, clothes, language. Love dies, is reborn. Everyone gets older, except the dead. People change, but stay the same. Sandi was waiting. Not calmly, not patiently. Age brings maturity, but doesn't change the core personality. 11pm, midnight. The meal long since a burned wreck. The candlelit dinner that was to mark their silver wedding just another casualty of her failing marriage. 1am - the fires of fury burning bright, how could he, how could he. Then at 2am, a sound, the key fumbling at the door. He's home. He staggered into the bedroom. Sandi took off her reading glasses and looked up. "Do you know what time it is? Do you know what day it is?" He shucked off his coat, letting it fall to the floor. She got out of bed and stood, facing him. "God, you're ugly" he said. She sniffed, inhaling the familiar aromas of beer, whiskey, tobacco. And perfume? She ignored his insult, frowning up at him. "Have you been with a woman?" "And what if I have?" "My god, you have! You bastard, you bloody bastard." "At least she was pretty. Not plug-ugly like you." A tear formed at the corner of Sandi's eyes. "I was pretty once. Men used to stare at me with lust in their eyes. You thought I was pretty, admit it." "That was then and now is now. You're just another beat up old fighter." The smashed nose and broken cheekbones had transformed Sandi's schoolgirl face into an ugly mask. Oh, she'd nailed the guy, got him good. Wrecked his arms so bad, he couldn't even use a walking stick to help him get around. She remembered that fight, it stood out above the hundreds of others. One lucky punch. It had to happen sooner or later. "And you're out of shape. Look at you, fat. Fat and ugly. You're an ugly, fat old woman, now shut your noise and get out of my way, I'm tired and I'm going to bed." The tear formed fully, and started to trickle down her cheek. Pregnancy had not been kind to Sandi. The three babies, between them, had left her overweight, plump. Hell yes, even fat. The old 175 pound Sandi was long gone, much of the muscle replaced by fat, plus extra. He pushed her aside; she stumbled, fell onto the bed. He looked down at her. "You're disgusting." She sat up. "I'm disgusting? You're the one who's out all hours, drinking and whoring, and on our silver wedding anniversary, you bastard. You bloody, fucking bastard." He slapped her face, hard. "Shut up, bitch." She lifted her hand to her face. "You hit me!" "Yes, and there's more where that comes from." "You hit me. You never hit me before." "Yeah, well, maybe I should've. Maybe it would've woken you up a bit." "You hit me" she repeated. "You mustn't hit me." "You're a fat old woman, Sandi, you don't scare me any more. Face it, Sandi, you've changed." She stood up. "You mustn't hit me, you mustn't" He laughed and slapped her face again. "Oh yeah? And what are you going to ... oofffff" Sandi's fist moved eighteen inches and buried itself in his gut. He was just starting to double up when the second fist arrived, with the benefit of a much longer travel, and therefore a lot more impact. He folded up, and sank to the floor. Suddenly, all the beer he'd guzzled that evening came up, all over the carpet and Sandi's legs. He knelt, retching, and Sandi stepped forward so that her thighs were on either side of his head. "I'll teach you some respect, you bastard. Hit a woman, would you? We'll see about that." She locked her ankles together and squeezed. He struggled, raking his fingernails down her legs, so she pulled his head more firmly into her standing head scissors and strained to bring her thighs together, with his neck trapped between them. "How do you like this, then, limpdick?" She snarled. "Still think you can hit a woman and get away with it?" The pressure of her thighs bit into his neck, compressing his skull and blocking his carotid artery. "Still think I'm past being a threat, sweetcakes?" His struggles grew weaker and weaker, and Sandi poured on the pressure. "Not so brave now, are you, hero?" His struggles faded, until he hung limply, only supported by the pressure of her thighs on his head. "Had enough yet, sweetie? I've only just started." She ramped up the pressure another level, and sat down on the bed, dragging his body along. As her body sank into the mattress, his head was forced back to an unnatural angle, and there was a sudden loud crack. His body went completely limp, and there was an appalling smell as his bladder and sphincter relaxed. "Oh, shit" said Sandi. "Joe?" She shook him. "Joe!" She shook him harder, but she already knew it was useless. A man with a broken neck can't be shaken awake. Sandi sat on he bed, shaking. In all her years in the ring, she'd never actually killed a man. "Dead men feel no pain" was her explanation. Instead, she broke their bodies and then their minds; some of them would have been better off dead, but Sandi denied them that final mercy. And now at last, she'd killed. Not on purpose. But what jury would believe her? What court would accept a self-defence plea from the woman responsible for as many cripples and broken bodies as Sandi? She wouldn't stand a chance, and there was no chance that the wife wouldn't be a prime suspect in the case. And there was plenty of evidence; her flesh and blood was under his fingernails. And there would be no clever and expensive lawyer to confuse the jury and get her off. No, she was facing murder one, a short trial, and the rest of her life in prison. She thought of the shame and humiliation, of all the men who would come to jeer, of her three babies, not babies any more, but still forever her babies, and how they would feel. And she pulled a suitcase down from above the wardrobe and started to pack. Warm clothes. Changes of underwear. All the money from the teapot in the kitchen, and from Joe's wallet. As she packed, she was crying, the tears streaming down her face. She would have to abandon her whole life, everything, forever. So, pictures, of the babies, of the children, of the teenagers, of the young adults. Would she ever see her babies again? And a few pictures of Sandi the bride, beautiful in white satin, a handsome groom by her side. And one picture, just one, it was all she had, and she would never, ever part with it, her picture of Bunny. And then she thought, Bunny's present to her, she couldn't leave that behind, never mind that it wasn't practical, didn't even fit her any more. And some practical stuff, a sharp kitchen knife, a tin opener, a plastic mug, a toilet roll, soap, hairbrush, toothbrush. No jewelery, because all she had was junk. No makeup, that was just weight. A spare pair of shoes, she'd wear her boots. Food. Only one chance to get this right, Sandi, you can never come back here. But only one bag, you can't travel fast if you're weighed down. She put on her warmest coat over two sweaters. She stood by the door, taking one last look round, but seeing nothing, the tears blurring her eyes. Seeing nothing, but seeing everything, seeing the last 25 years, seeing the babies, the children, the teenagers. Seeing her life. Feeling the regret. Seeing the waste. Thinking how it could have been different. Seeing the joy, seeing the sorrow. And slamming the door behind her, cutting that part of her life away for ever. Two hundred dollars and a suitcase. Now what? She hadn't planned what to do next. In the big city, you're just another face. The money wouldn't last long, she needed a job. She needed somewhere to sleep. She thought of a hotel, but two hundred dollars would go far that way. A hostel? Maybe. She walked along, seeing the destitute people sleeping in doorways, and thinking that she might join them soon. Thinking about rain, she thought about a bridge. But when she found a bridge, she discovered that dozens of other homeless had the same idea, and there just wasn't any free space. Worse than that, there were little fights going on for territory. One guy was getting beat up good by two bigger guys; after they finished with him, he dragged himself to his feet, and limped away from them, one of his legs not working at all. His progress was slow and painful; she watched, thinking what a dog-eat-dog world this was. As he passed her, the light from the streetlamp illuminated his face, and without thinking, she said "Bunny" He stopped, and looked at her. "Bunny, is that you?" He flinched away as if she'd attacked him, But she grabbed his arm. "Bunny! Bunny Warren!" He tried to pull away, but she had a good grip on him. "What do you want, I haven't got any money." "Bunny, oh Bunny, it is you!" He kept trying to pull away, without success. "Bunny, it's me, Sandi!" "What? No." "Bunny!" "You don't even look like her." "Bunny, remember Salt Mountain High school? Diana Nightingale? Sandi Stone?" "Oh, my god, it is you. Sandi!" And he came into my arms and I hugged him, and he was so light I could even pick him up like I used to, and we kissed and hugged and cried over each other. "Bunny, we need somewhere to sleep." Bunny looked back at the bridge. "This is a pretty good place, but you'll have to fight for space. Still, that should be no problem for you, Sandi." "Bunny, I'm not the Sandi you remember. I'm out of shape - hell, Bunny I'm a fat old woman now." "Oh, Sandi, Sandi" I helped him walk, with an arm round his waist. His leg dragged uselessly behind him. "What happened to your leg, Bunny?" "It just slowly got worse, and someone kicked me, and someone stole my irons, and now it doesn't work at all. What happened to your face, Sandi?" "A guy got lucky. Then he got unlucky. Very unlucky." We found a likely looking doorway and lay down in it. I manouvered Bunny so he was mostly on top of me, so he'd be comfortable. It was a long time since I'd felt a man's weight on my body, and it felt good, very good. I put my arms round his helpless little body, and he snuggled close to me. We kept each other warm, and I wanted to keep him safe. I fell asleep like that. I woke up. the cold from the ground had seeped through to my bones, and I was stiff and sore from lying on the ground. Bunny was still fast asleep in my arms, and I hugged him gently. He stirred, and woke up. He looked up at me, and said "It wasn't just another dream, then. It's really you." "Yes, Bunny" "Oh, Sandi. I used to dream about you sometimes, when things were really rough, that you put those big strong arms round me and make everything all right again." I held him. Things were not all right, but maybe they wouldn't be quite so bad for him now. With the light came the rain. Bunny moved fast, standing up. "Quick, we've got to get out of this." We went into a large department store, and wandered around. "The two big hazards, Sandi, are cold and wet. Cold is the worst, the killer. After a really cold night, there's always a few that don't wake up. Everything else comes second to keeping warm, staying alive. Cold is enemy number one. And if you get wet, you get cold, the wet robs your clothes of insulation. And once you get wet, it's very hard to get dry again. Wet is enemy number two. So to stay warm, you have to stay dry. That's why bridges are so good." Survival in my new world. Bunny, the boy who taught me calculus, was now teaching me how to stay alive. "And cardboard is good for lying on, the corrugations trap air, and it insulates you from the ground. A big cardboard box is perfect." "What's enemy number three?" "People. The other down-and-outs." "What about food?" "Food is easy, if you're not too finicky. People throw away masses of food. Water is easy, public lavatories." "How do you stay clean?" "You don't. You can't. Clean means washing, getting wet. Wet is the enemy. There's no way you can get clean, after a while it stops bothering you. Only one problem, the smell bothers people, and they throw you out of places." "Bunny, your leg. What about your leg?" He looked down at it, sadly. "That's nearly killed me a few times. I can't run, and I'm weak and helpless, and I look it. There's a kind of pecking order, the ones at the top get all the best places and stuff, I'm near the bottom." "Not any more, Bunny" I promised him. He hugged me again. "It's been gradually getting worse as I got older. But then someone stole the irons, and in a few weeks, it became useless, the support the iron gave me was what kept it going." How could someone steal the leg irons from a polio-crippled boy like Bunny? How? "Why didn't you get new ones?" "Oh, Sandi. For that, I'd need money. I can't get money, as soon as I do, someone takes it from me. The only way to get money is begging, and then people know you've got cash, and they take it." I thought about this. Everything pointed the same way. I had to get fit and strong again. And that means exercise, nutrition and rest. The theory is simple. You exercise hard, too much for your muscles. That damages them, slightly, that's why it hurts. The body repairs the damage, and adds a little bit to meet the higher needs. The repairs happen while you're resting, and needs the nutrients in your food to build the muscle. The fat would burn away in the process. But I couldn't join a gym; I was on the run, remember. And what would I use for weights, where would I keep them ... but I was being silly, trying to think this problem through. The great strength of the Sandi/Bunny combination was my muscles, his brain. "Bunny, how do I get fit and strong again?" He looked at me and put his hand in mine. "Sandi, I've been thinking about that ever since I woke up this morning. You aren't hard like you used to be. Last night was the best night in my life for a long time, just being with you again, and all the love I ever had for you came back and more besides, it was a dream come true and I still can't believe it." I squeezed his hand. "Ow! But you aren't the girl you were thirty years ago, Sandi." Yes, I knew that. "So how can I get it all back?" "I don't know, Sandi. This is all too fast, I can't think as quickly as I used to, I'm not as young as I used to be, either. And I ... " He stopped. "Yes?" "Well, when you get old, Sandi, things stop working. And it isn't just my leg that's useless". "Oh, Bunny, Never mind, you're still my Bunny, and I'll look after you." He breathed out, I think he'd been holding his breath over the impotence thing. Men think that's so important, but the bond between me and Bunny was a lot stronger than just sex. So I hugged him, and he felt good, small and helpless, my Bunnikins. "Sandi, what do you have in the suitcase?" "Clothes, mostly, but also some food, and some useful stuff." I told him what I'd packed, leaving out the memorabilia "and about $200 in cash." "Wow." said Bunny, looking thoughtful. "So, Napoleon, what's the plan?" I asked.. "First of all I have to think, Sandi." He led me to a park, and we sat on a bench. I put my arms round him to keep out the cold, and he snuggled in and went very quiet. After a couple of hours, he struggled free and said "OK, I got it. Three plans, short term, medium and long. The short term plan is to stay alive, the medium term plan is food, safety and warmth, the long term plan is to get comfortable." If Bunny's biggest ambition was comfort, we must have fallen a long way. "I have to stay out of sight of the authorities" I reminded him. Bunny nodded. "I'll tell you the long term plan first, see if you agree. I get a decent job, nothing fancy, but a desk job, making maybe $15,000, we have a tiny apartment, central heating, running water, enough to eat, and a double bed." He looked up at me, and I smiled at him. "Sounds perfect, Bunny, especially the double bed. But how do we get to there from here?" and I waved my hand to take in the street that was our home for now. "I mean, if you could have done that, why didn't you?" "Motive, Sandi, I just didn't have the motive. But now, I can imagine sleeping in a nice warm bed next to you, and now I have a big motive. Because I can get a decent job, Sandi, I know I can. I'm not dumb, I learn fast, and I can be really useful in anything that doesn't involve moving or having any strength." "Yes, but how do we get there from here?" "Medium term plan. I get any kind of job, so I can earn some money, and you do the same, and we work eight hours each day, and then another eight hours, me studying, you working out. Sandi, you remember how we used to make money with you doing a strong woman act? Once you're tough and muscular again, we'll do that." "Or I could fight again." Bunny shivered and pressed closer to me. "Please not that. I couldn't stand that, Sandi." He touched my face. "I can see what happened here." "Some guy got lucky, that's all. But then he got unlucky, very unlucky. You should see the mess I made out of him." "I don't care what mess you made out of him, Sandi, this is all I care about." He stroked my cheek. "He ruined my face, made me ugly. But I fixed his wagon." "No, Sandi, you aren't ugly. You're still the most beautiful woman I ever met." And he meant it. "So, medium term, we carry on sleeping rough, but I get a job at a hamburger joint or a diner, something like that, they're always looking for people. And I take out a doggy bag each night; that's good lean meat for protein, and the burger buns for carbohydrate, and the salad for vitamins, and that way we don't pay out for food. And you train and eat and rest, the usual workout cycle, and you become the strongest woman in the world again, because you can, Sandi, you've got the same genetics you had 30 years ago." "And short term?" "That's the difficult part, Sandi. It's going to be like lifting ourselves up by our shoelaces. I have to get a job and hold it down while we're sleeping rough, and you have to protect us, because I can't. As soon as I get anything, I get robbed, that's one reason why I didn't bother. But with you protecting us, it'll be different." "Bunny, I'm not sure about that. I'm just a fat old woman now. I haven't had a fight for 25 years. I've been a mother and a wife, not a fighter. I just don't think I can do it any more." "Yes you can, Sandi. You must. Otherwise we'll just get beaten up and robbed and we won't get anywhere." I nodded. "But Bunny, I'm just a fat old woman. Fat means no muscle, old means slow. I can't protect us, not the way I am now. Maybe later." "Sandi, there won't be a later unless you can protect us now. It's dog eat dog on the street. When I get paid, I get mugged five minutes later." I stared at him. "Bunny, you're not listening to me. I'm a fat old woman. Fat old women can't fight, don't fight. You'll just have to come up with another plan." "No, Sandi, you're wrong, you don't know what you're talking about." Wow! Bunny never talked to me like this in the old days. I guess he was a bit scared of me then, and he isn't now. "Three things, Sandi. Listen to me, and don't interrupt." Definitely more assertive that the old Bunny. "OK, number one. Pick me up." So I lifted him up, my arms round his soft little body. "Now do it with your hands under my armpits." OK, I did that. Then he got down on his hands and knees, looked up at me, and said "Lift me up with one hand." So I slid my hand under his belly, and hoisted him up a third time. I lifted him high, then pulled him towards me and hugged him gently. "You see, Sandi? I'm 90, 95 pounds and you can still lift me with one hand. OK, you have some fat, but it's covering up a lot of muscle still." Hmmm. Maybe I'm not so feeble after all. "OK, number two. You're thinking about the sort of guys you used to fight, 250 pounds of muscle and aggression, skill and toughness. These guys are wimps, Sandi. Sleeping rough knocks you down, and they weren't much to start with. Just ordinary guys, they don't have any muscle, and they don't know how to fight, not the way you do. Sandi, you're an expert, they'll be helpless against you." I hadn't though about that. Bunny was right, I was thinking in terms of the 250 pound musclehulks that I used to demolish, not some soft wimp without a clue. "And third, Sandi. You just killed a man with your muscles without even meaning to. Two punches left him defenceless, your head scissors knocked him out, and you snapped his neck like a matchstick. A full grown man, Sandi, and you destroyed him without really trying." I looked at Bunny. I didn't really like thinking about what I'd done to Joe, but he was right. I hadn't meant to kill him, and I hadn't broken his neck on purpose. I didn't think I'd even punched him hard, but he'd certainly collapsed when I had. So maybe Bunny was right. Maybe I was a lot stronger than I'd been assuming. Maybe I could protect us both. "OK, let's find out." I said. "What?" said Bunny. "I'll fight, we'll see what happens." Bunny looked confused. "You mean, if we're attacked you'll protect me?" "Yes, Bunny, that was always true. But what I mean is, I fight now, at once, tonight. Before we're attacked. Who's the Boss Hog around here, that's who I'll take on." Bunny went pale. "You mean, like now? But why?" "Bunny, you understand street living, I understand fighting. Always attack, never defend. You point him out to me, and promise me that if it looks like I'm losing, you'll take off as fast as you can." "But Sandi..." "No, Bunny, there's nothing you could do that would make any difference, and if I don't have to worry about you, I'll fight better." He promised me he'd abandon me if it came to it, and I hoped that he meant it, because if I lost, there would be some very angry people looking for someone to take it out on. "Sandi, you might get killed." "Bunny, every time I climbed into ring that was true. Now, show me the Boss Hog." We went back to the bridge where I'd met him. The rows of derelicts made more sense to me now, the cardboard underneath, the rag bundles on top. And right in the middle, a group of men were sharing a bottle round a fire in a trash can. Bunny pointed to one of them. "Him, him in the green coat. Derek." I nodded, and dropped my suitcase. I gave my belly-bag with the money to Bunny, and strapped it on him. "Bunny, if this goes wrong, forget the suitcase, just take off as fast as you can." He nodded. "Sandi ..." "Shush". I took off my coat, and felt the cold wind. I moved my arms around, to loosen the muscles up, did the leg stretching exercises. Then I took off my sweaters, the blouse underneath and my bra. He was going to fight a woman, and by golly he'd know it. Bunny was staring at me. "Oh, Sandi, wow!" he said. I smiled at him. "Later, Bunny." My breasts had been a good size thirty years ago, but three babies had made them grow huge. Gravity had taken it's toll, of course, and I really was much too fat. But I simply loved the look on Bunny's face when he gazed at them, and I promised myself that I'd give him the chance to play with them and nestle between them. I looked up. Six men sat round the fire, all bigger and heavier than me. I looked at myself; how can one fat old woman take on six men? I must be crazy, but I'd fought men before, many times, skilled fighters, sometimes two at once. But then I was fit, hard, strong, and now I was a shadow of my former self. I reached down inside me for the hate, the loathing of the big men that had driven me, looking for the energy that would power my body for just a little while. Looking for the cold fury, the anger that broke men under my onslaught. And it wasn't there. The powerful emotions that I had as a young woman had gone. The contempt for the massive ego and inferior fighting power of the man was missing. I thought about his pain and his humiliation, and it didn't excite me at all. I reached down inside me, and I found that the fire had gone out. And without that motive driving me, I was just another woman, getting colder every second I stood half naked in the open. I turned to Bunny, to tell him that I couldn't do it, I just couldn't, and I saw the love in his eyes. He trusted me, he always had, and I'd never let him down. How could I disappoint him now? Unless I did this thing now, we would never be able to live like humans, I'd be condemning him to live like an animal for the rest of his life, and it probably wouldn't be a very long life. This small, helpless man, with the tiny body, strengthless arms and one working leg, he needed me to protect him, and protect him I would. I thought of how a cat defends her kittens, how a she-bear will fight to the death for her cubs, and I found the strength that every woman has inside her, and no man can ever match. Men talk about things like negotiation and compromise. Try negotiating with a woman for one of her babies, try suggesting the compromise that she gives up one and keeps one. This goes deep, deeper than civilisation, deeper than human thought, deeper than the monkey instincts. This goes back to the core of evolution, because any species who had females that didn't behave this way, wouldn't survive. This terrible, awful total practicality, this utter lack of scruple, is the power of love, the power that men speak of but do not understand in the slightest. Love isn't just cuddles. It isn't just dirty nappies. It isn't just going without food so your children can eat. It's killing anyone who threatens your baby. Six of them and one of me. Not good odds. But they were only men, they'd never felt real pain, the pain that every woman knows from the birth of a baby. Pain I'd endured, and gone back for more, twice more. And they would fight using men's rules, the rules of combat, with concepts like fairness and justice and stuff like that, stuff that no woman protecting her own would even think about. They'd fight by the rules, I'd fight to win, no mercy, no compunction, no quarter. I turned back to the fire. Those six limpdicks were threatening my Bunny, and I was the only one who could protect him. I walked toward the fire, then broke into a trot, and then screamed as I ran towards then, a wordless howl of rage and pain, the same scream I'd used three times before, one for each birth. Pain? You don't know pain until you've had a baby. Endurance? I takes nine months and the last twenty four hours are a throbbing mass of agony and exhaustion. And next time around, you know what it's going to be like and you still volunteer. I wasn't afraid of pain. They didn't see a fat old woman. They saw a screaming Fury, a vision from hell, a screeching fiend headed straight for them, yelling insanely, a formless, primeval scream of elementary terror and pain. I chilled their blood and paralysed their minds, and when I reached them, I simply threw myself at Derek, reaping the benefit of the fear and confusion I'd sown. My half naked body smashed into him; at last my weight was good for something. He cannoned off me, and smashed into the ground, and without even thinking I threw myself onto him and fought. Remember what I said? men fight in ritual ways, first the posturing, then the threats, then the pushing and shoving. See how two stags, two dogs, two rabbits fight. Ritual. Violence, but controlled, limited. I grabbed his ears and smashed his head against the pavement, trying to break his skull. Women don't fight like men. He looked dazed, and I lifted his head and smashed it down again. He looked out, completely without done. So I lifted his head and tried to break his skull again. But his skull was too hard. And then I looked up at the other guys watching me, and I screamed at them again, the same scream of pain and torment. I sat on his chest, keeping him down with my weight, and started swinging my fist. This wasn't for him any more, he was beaten and done for, unconscious. A man would have left a beaten enemy and stood up victorious and done some sort of ritual celebration. That's the fair and sporting thing, you don't keep hitting an unconscious, defenceless man. Sporting? I wasn't fighting for sport. A woman is more ruthless than a man, because what a woman fights for is more important. Men fight for ideals and principles, I was fighting for Bunny. I smashed my fist into his face, aiming to break his nose, cut his eyes, split his lips. I wanted blood, lots of red blood, splashing on the ground, on his body, onto me. This was for show, for the others to see. I wanted them to see what a woman was capable of. Nose, mouth, nose again, eyes, nose again. Smash, smash, smash until his face was a broken bloody wreck. Maybe I even killed him, I don't know, and I didn't care. I stood up, ignoring broken man at my feet. I glared at his friends and screamed again. "Who's next? Which of you heroes wants what he got? Come on, limpdicks, come and face the woman, come play with me, come and see what a woman can do to you dumb fucks." They didn't move. They couldn't even meet my eyes. Their eyes were on the fire, trying to pretend I wasn't part of their little world. But I wouldn't let them. I kicked over their stupid fire. And then I just threw myself at the one nearest to me. He wasn't expecting the attack so soon after the last fight. Men don't work that way; one fight leaves them with the feeling of superiority they crave. But I'll say it again, women don't fight like men. Women are vicious, brutal, nasty. Watch a female rat defending her nest, a tigress and her cubs. Women don't fight for show, women fight because they have to. There are no rules. I kicked him in the balls, he doubled up nicely, so I kicked him in the head. He went down hard, so I started stomping any part of his body I could reach. Head, chest, belly. Balls again, that's a good place to kick a man. And again. And again, and I felt something give under my boot. And again, because why stop? He was lying down, unmoving, unconscious. I kicked his head a few more times, breaking teeth, splashing his blood around. Two down, four to go. They looked terrified, as well they might. They were facing an elemental Fury; for all anyone knew I'd already killed two of them. I had them intimidated, frightened of the woman's hate and white-hot anger. They'd do anything rather than become the next candidate for my rage. So it was time to cash that check. "You!" I pointed to one of the guys round the fire. "Come here, or I'll do the same to you." He looked scared as he walked towards me. "Take your dick out." His hands fumbled with his trousers. "Now piss on his face". He did as I ordered, relieved that that was all I wanted. "Now lie down next to him." I beckoned to the next guy round the fire, and pointed to the guy on the ground. "Piss on his face." One at a time, I ordered them forward, and made them do the same degrading act. Then, when the last one was done, I called Bunny to me. He brought me my clothes, I got dressed again, and we walked away. "Jesus, Sandi. That was unbelievable." I grinned. "You were right, Bunnikins. He was soft as butter." Bunny stopped, whirled, and threw himself at me. "You called me Bunnikins!" "What, you don't like that?" "Oh Sandi, Sandi" Bunny was standing stock-still, in shock. He'd never seen a woman fight, really fight. He'd seen me box in the ring, and wrestle, a long time ago, but those were sporting contests, with rules. Pretty loose rules, but still rules, still civilised. Now he'd seen the dark force inside every woman, the force she'll unleash for her loved ones. I had to explain it to him, I could feel him trembling as I took him into my arms. "Bunny, what are you scared about?" He whimpered, and pressed closer to me. His voice was muffled as he spoke. "Sandi, what you just did, that was horrible, awful. You could have killed him, you know that?" "Bunny, I really didn't care, he was just a threat to me and my family. You don't mess about in that situation, you go for broke." "Family?" "Yes, family. You're my family now, Bunny, you're my little Bunnikins, and I'll protect you, no matter what it takes." We celebrated that evening by going to the cinema. That might sound odd for a down-and-out, but this was an all-night cinema that wasn't too fussy about how long you stayed. It meant that for five dollars apiece, we got a warm place to stay for the night. We got down on the floor between two rows, Bunny on top of me, and I cuddled him. "You really wrecked him, Sandi." "What would he have done if he'd beaten me?" "Uh - raped you, I guess." "Or killed me. Or both, in either order. I don't want a rematch, Bunny. And this way, there isn't one." "So why didn't you kill him, Sandi?" "Because I'm not a killer, never was. Joe was an accident." "OK. Then what was the pissing contest about?" "To break up his gang. For the rest of their lives, they'll remember how someone they counted as a friend pissed in their face because a woman told him to. A woman, Bunny, that's why I stripped. They'll never be able to trust each other again, and they'll spend the rest of their lives scared of any well-built woman." Bunny shivered. "Oh Jesus, Sandi. Oh Jesus. You're dangerous." I held him tighter. "Are you scared of me?" "Scared? Of you? Why would I be scared of you? I'm just very glad you're on my side! Very, very glad." Morning came, and Bunny showed me what else we got for our five dollars each. We went into the men's restroom, stripped naked, and washed each other, using their soap and our hands for flannels. Bunny was utterly filthy, and I had to wash him down three times before he seemed clean. I dried him with paper towels, and told him he looked good and smelled good. But his clothes - ugh. So I lent him one of my sweaters. All my trousers were far too large for him, so after a lot of coaxing, he wore one of my skirts. I changed clothes too, and wondered how we would cope with laundry. We left the cinema, warm, dry, clean and after a good night's sleep. "Now we spend your money" he said. I wondered what he had in mind, clothes? First we visited a charity shop. Two dollars got Bunny a pair of children's sized trousers to wear, and a couple of shirts that didn't look too awful. He also spotted a rucksack there, and insisted that we buy it to ease my burden. And while we were in the shop, we transferred everything into it. Of course, Bunny spotted the night-dress straight away. "Sandi! You still have it." "Your present to me, Bunny. Of course I kept it." "And I remember your present to me that night, Sandi." I smiled. "Here's a promise for you, Bunny. The day we get our own home, a real home, I'll wear that and give you the same present again." "But Sandi, I told you, I'm ..." I kissed him to stop him saying it. "Not when a big strong woman like me is raping you, Bunnikins." "Not rape, Sandi. Not with you, you could never rape me. Because it wouldn't be rape." He also looked at my baby pictures. "Two girls and a boy. I bet they made his life hell!" "They would have done, but I wouldn't let them. They made a lot of boys lives hell, but not their brother." I felt a pain in my gut as I wondered when I'd see my babies again. "I'd like to meet them one day, Sandi. I never had any children." "Now we spend a lot of money" he said. The shop we went to was an orthopedic shop, a shop that sold medical appliances. Bunny explained what he wanted to the shopkeeper, who brought out a contraption made of steel and leather. Bunny strapped it to his bad leg, and for the first time, walked with two legs. Before, he could walk by moving one leg forward, then dragging the other one level, and repeating that action. With my arm round him, we could make much better progress, but essentially I was carrying him. Now, with this iron, he could locomote unaided; I say "locomote" because it wasn't real walking. Bunny tried on several leg-irons before finding the one he wanted. But eventually, they got it all sorted out, and Bunny limped over to me. "Sandi," he said. "This is going to take the rest of your money." "Our money", I said. "Bunny, seeing you walk again is worth every penny." "I need it so I can get a job." "Bunny, you need it so you can walk, nothing else matters." He walked another step forward, stumbled, and would have fallen if I hadn't caught him. "Bunny, I'll always be there to catch you when you stumble." We left the shop, Bunny limping laboriously by my side but both of us happy that he could walk at all. "Now we find jobs" said Bunny. Normally, a derelict can't get back into normal society without some outside impetus. Getting even a menial job is impossible when your smell is likely to drive customers away. But Bunny and I looked OK, smelled OK, and no-one could tell we were homeless. Bunny suggested we split up to find work, and that way we'd succeed faster. But there was no way I'd leave him alone and unprotected, so we visited hamburger joints until Bunny was hired. They told him to start the next day. Then we plodded on until I got a job as a waitress in a diner. That evening, we trekked back to the bridge. People moved aside when they saw me, making a space for Bunny to lay down the cardboard. We slept in what had become our customary position, Bunny on top, my arms holding him warm and safe. We weren't bothered by the other derelicts, I'd smashed up their organisation quite thoroughly by destroying any trust they had for each other. A man doesn't forget that his friend pissed on his face. Next morning, we got up and went to work. How simple that sounds. But what an effort it had taken to get this far. And I was determined not to lose what we'd gained. So I escorted Bunny to his job, and made him promise to wait until I picked him up after work, then went to my waitressing job. Waitressing isn't difficult. Well, it doesn't look difficult. You take orders, you bring food. But you'd better not get the orders confused, you'd better be nice to the customers, and you definitely shouldn't spill coffee over them too often. I got fired on day one. And I had to explain this to Bunny, who had done well on his first day. "Bunny, I'm not smart, you know that. I just couldn't remember the codes they used to the cooks, I couldn't remember the orders, and when the food came, I couldn't remember who ordered what. This isn't something I can do, Bunnikins." We sat eating from his doggie-bag. Although it was cold, it was good. Then we trudged back to our bridge. Bunny was limping heavily, but refused to let me do more than hold his hand. Twice I had to stop him falling. And then he suddenly stopped outside a bar. "In here, Sandi" I followed him in, wondering why he wanted to go to a topless bar. I soon found out. He spoke to the man behind the bar, pointed at me, and said "She wants a job." The barkeep glanced at me, laughed, and said "Don't be dumb, sonny. We hire pretty young girls, she's fifty, maybe more." Close - 48 actually. "Now buy a drink or get outta here." "You haven't seen her yet" said Bunny. "I can see her from here, sonny. Now you and your mother leave." Bunny ignored him, and turned to me. "Show them, Sandi. Show them what a real woman looks like." I could see what he was up to. I took off my coat, my jacket and my heavy sweater. I fill up a blouse rather well, and I smoothed it down to make the stress marks more obvious. Then I took it off, standing in my skirt and bra. The crowd had gone quiet, all looking at me. So I climbed up on a chair, and then onto a table, reached round, unhooked the bra, and let my breasts tumble out. Three babies had suckled those breasts, which weren't small to begin with. Right, they weren't firm and high and taut, but what do you expect on a 48-year-old. What they were, was they were big. I made every other woman in the place look completely inadequate. The crowd cheered, so I shimmied a bit, wobbled them around, made them bounce. Then I climbed down from the table, and headed for the back room. On the way there, I must have been fondled by a dozen hands. Bunny joined me there with my clothes, and told me I'd been hired, and that my pay was about three times his, and four times what I got as a waitress. "But I'm still a lousy waitress, Bunny" "Sandi, they aren't hiring you for your waitressing skills." So then I told him how I'd been groped, and he said "Tell me who did it and I'll go and bust their ass." I collapsed into giggles at the thought of Bunny fighting my battles for me, and he collapsed into my arms, and I guess I work in a topless bar now. What a day! We went back to the bridge, and spent the evening giggling over people's reactions to my breasts; sure they are big, but surely they've seen a well-built woman before? I told Bunny not to worry about the groping, I knew how to sort that out. Next day, I took Bunny to his job, then went to my bar, reported in to Sam the barkeep, and stripped down for duty. My job wasn't to wait table, my job was to be the headline attraction in the place. Sam said that when word got round about my endowments, I'd empty every topless bar for miles around. I talked to him about the groping problem. "What I want to do, Sam, is make sure they understand that every time I get felt up, I'm gonna sock the guy in the gut." "Sounds fair to me, honey." "I hit pretty hard, Sam." "Good for you, honey." He had no idea how hard. The first time it happened, the guy just came over to where I was standing, and brazenly handled my nipple, saying "Lots of good meat here." "Lots of good meat here too" I said, driving my right fist deep into his gut. He doubled up, fell to the floor, and vomited up all the beer he'd drunk so far. Then, when he ran out of stomach contents, he lay there dry-retching. Sam walked round the bar to have a look. "Quite a punch you have there, Sandi." I smiled sweetly at him. "You won't need a bouncer with me around." "Won't need a bar, neither. Sandi, you'll scare the guys away if you do that very often." I made a face at him. "Well, what do you expect me to do, let them cop a free feel?" Sam looked thoughtful. "Now there's a thought" he said. he went out the back and returned with a hand-lettered sign that he fixed on the wall. "Feel Sandi's tits, $100 or one gut-punch" We would split the $100 80-20, with me getting the short end. That evening, we had four takers. Only one of them opted for the gut- punch, after seeing him writhing around on the ground, no-one else chose to be hit. And when Sam closed up the bar, he said to me, "Sandi, you know, you aren't just a mammoth pair of hooters, you're pretty useful with your fists." I grinned, and offered him a free sample; he shuddered and declined. That evening was bitterly cold. We lit a bin fire under the bridge which helped me and Bunny, and anyone else who could fight their way close to its sparse warmth. But the morning's bright frost revealed two fresh corpses, frozen to death in the night. "The great enemy" said Bunny. I could see what he meant. Next evening, we made the bin fire bigger, because the hard cold was still there. But yesterday's deaths were in everyone's minds, and fights started to break out for places closer to the fire. "Bunny, they're just injuring each other, they'll die faster" Bunny huddled closer to me, his arms hugging me as hard as he could. "Sandi, if it weren't for you, I'd be dead yesterday or today. Hear those coughs?" I heard. Dreadful, hacking coughs, like a man trying to clear his lungs. "Some of them have already got pneumonia, they're as good as dead. More will get it tonight; malnutrition, poor sleep, cold, low resistance. Winter kills us. The ones that froze last night, at least they went easy." "But why doesn't anyone help" Bunny laughed, bitterly. "We're the lepers, the sub-humans. No-one cares what happens to us. We're an embarrassment, especially round Christmas. If we beg, they think we're threatening them. The police move us on, they don't arrest us and put us in a nice warm dry cell. So we suffer in silence, we die alone. No love, no joy, no warmth. Just cold. Cold and pain and death." I was crying, crying quietly. Each of them had a mother. I thought about one of my babies condemned to this hell, and I wondered how they were. By now, they'd have been told that their mother was a murderess, and I wondered how many of them thought I was evil. "Bunny, our objective, the warm dry home with a double bed?" "Yes, Sandi," he whispered. "I was just imagining you, wearing your satin nightie, lying on the bed, the moonlight just bright enough to show how beautiful you are ..." "Bunny, I want to add something to that." "Yes, Sandi?" he murmured. "When we've got all that, I want to start helping some of these folk, help them escape the trap." "Sandi Stone, I love you so" he whispered. Then he breathing became soft and regular, and he slept, his head on my left breast, my arms holding him. I thought about what we could do. Some of them were insane, or close enough. Some were chronic drunks, some addicts to petrol-sniffing, or other things. But most of them were just plain inadequate, and lived on the edge of solvency, and once they slipped off, couldn't climb back on. If we could just help a few get back on their feet, well, it wouldn't make a big impact, but even a few would help. Would help those few, anyway. But first we had to climb out ourselves. And we would. I had to, for Bunny's sake.