Lisbon is the capital of Portugal and a huge seaport.  Once, when the Old World was almost the only world, Portugal was a land of empire.  There was even a time when the Portuguese and the Spaniards were to share all the world outside of Europe, by decree of the Pope himself.

Times changed.  The influence of Portugal waned, while the Spanish, French, and English increased.  Eventually their colonial designs faded and Portugal went more into herself.

In the late twentieth century, Portugal is a nation largely free of the troubles of her European neighbors.  Little terrorism exists there, internal strife is almost unheard of.  As the problems with international sporting events were on the rise, it became clear to some that a safe venue was increasingly important.

Lisbon made a bid for hosting the World Cup soccer tournament, and World Cup organizers considered this a heaven send.  Lisbon was ideal, they thought.  The people in Portugal liked the idea because of the increased revenue it would bring into the country.

A relatively large recipient of this economic boom was a small waterfront bar called the Lisbon Lady.  It was not the best part of town, nor did it have the most exclusive clientele.  Alberto, the owner, had cleaned it up considerably before the tournament, had begun a new advertising ploy on television and radio, and had paid to have his establishment listed in the tour guides.  Part of this was that the bar offered a feel for the "real Lisbon".

Rosa was a part of the real Lisbon that the bar offered.  Rosa was a cocktail waitress there, and had been for three years.  She was tall and beautiful, with waist length black hair and sensual brown eyes.  Her lips were full, her nose rather small.  She had a slender figure which concealed surprising strength.  Tonight, she was wearing a red sleeveless dress and black heels.

Her beauty and strength were major factors in repeat business for the bar from their usual clientele.  Two months after starting there, one of the merchant sailors came in with his girlfriend.  The girlfriend was a beautiful woman, a redhead, about the same size and build as Rosa.

The sailor was just a little too attentive to the waitress, and the girlfriend grew increasingly angry, to the point where she wanted to fight Rosa.  Rosa told the other woman that she was not interested in any romantic entanglements with the sailor, that she was pleased to have him for a customer and doubly so when he brought in a beautiful woman with him.

The girlfriend was not mollified.  Her reason was gone, and all she wanted was to defeat Rosa.  Rosa was afraid of the bar being wrecked, of being fired, and she saw no reason to risk harm to herself or even to the other woman.  She had a quick mind, and saw a way to defuse the situation quickly.  She sat down at the small round table, across from the woman, and fastened her with an intense, angry stare.  "If you choose to test me, let it be a test of strength between us, woman to woman."  And she placed her elbow on the table, offering her opponent her hand.

The other almost eagerly grabbed the brunette's hand and they interlocked their thumbs.  Neither had any experience as arm wrestlers, but both were game to try.  From the looks in their eyes, it was obvious that each would use all her strength to defeat the other.  And they did.  The redhead was strong, determined, but Rosa defeated her in about one minute.  They became friends, after that, with the redhead coming occasionally to challenge the brunette, sometimes with her boyfriend, sometimes while he was at sea.

Other men saw this contest and brought in their girlfriends to meet Rosa in a struggle of arms.  Some of the men had even changed girlfriends frequently, looking for the one to defeat the brunette beauty.  Rosa had made a significant amount of extra money through this time.  Most of the men and women paid her simply for the contest.  Others bet her money against drinks.  She had never lost, however.  Until she started arm wrestling, she hadn't have much money.  This was something that she never forgot.

It was about eight o'clock, on the fifth day of the World Cup tournament, when the three strangers walked in.  Two men and a beautiful woman.  The woman was the one who caught everyone's attention.  She was the same height and build as Rosa, with the same dark hair and eyes.  The hair was shorter, and the woman was a little older.  She was dressed in a white silk blouse, with a powder blue jacket and skirt.  Her legs were encased in white stockings and, at their ends, were black stiletto heels.

Rosa was sitting at the bar, waiting for customers.  Portugal's soccer team had actually done very well in the tournament and most of the citizens were attending their game tonight.  This particular night, she was wearing a sleeveless blue dress, black stockings and stiletto heels.  She had vaguely noticed the arrival of the trio, but had returned to her glass of seltzer.  When she turned back around, she saw Alberto, the owner of the bar, in deep conversation with the two men.  The woman seemed aloof, distant from the conversation.

Rosa studied her a little more closely.  There was a keenness to the eyes, a form of cruelty that Rosa had never seen before.  The eyes and lines of the face radiated power, as though this woman was queen of all she beheld.

Alberto nodded and turned around, catching her eye.  He gestured for her to join them.  Rosa got up, smoothing her dress and moved off to where her boss sat waiting for her.  He didn't rise, but he pulled out a chair for her to use when she arrived.  She felt the temperature of the room go up as she sat down and looked over at the other woman, who was gazing at her hotly, with a combination of animosity and contempt.  She returned the look, not even turning at the sound of Alberto's voice.

"Rosa, these gentlemen are from Budapest.  The lady with them is named Ilona.  They want to bet me one thousand American dollars that she can defeat you in an arm wrestle.  I want to bet on you, so here is the deal that I have for you.  If you can beat her, I will split the money with you.  If you lose, I will pay the thousand dollars.  You have brought three times that much money in here in the last six months, with your other arm wrestling."

Rosa barely heard, so intense was the battle of wills with Ilona.  The woman met her gaze steadily, and, for reasons she could not understand, the animosity rose within Rosa with each passing second.  "I will meet her," Rosa said.  "It would give me great pleasure to introduce this arrogant bitch to her better."  The sound of the words shocked Alberto, who had never heard Rosa speak in such a manner.  Rosa was even more shocked at herself.

There was something in the woman's gaze that brought out the competitor in her.  The haughty attitude of the other woman stirred something deep, something primal.  Even in her shock, her gaze never left the woman's eyes, the animosity between them never wavered.

The woman said something in a language that Rosa didn't understand and one of the men said something to Alberto in English, another language which Rosa didn't speak.  She had heard it spoken often enough to recognize it.

Alberto turned to her, a strange look on his face.  "She wonders if your grip can stand up to hers.  She wants to test it before the arm wrestling."

Wordlessly, Rosa put her elbow on the table between the two women and offered her hand to the other brunette.  Ilona took the Portuguese woman's hand in her own and the two began to squeeze, their expressions becoming even more intense and hateful.  Their elbows were less than six inches apart.  In a matter of seconds, each could see the beads of sweat forming on the upper lip of her rival, but the main focus was her eyes.  Strength met strength and held the opposing force in check.

After a moment, each woman released her grip and Ilona rose while Rosa sat and waited.  Ilona slipped off her jacket, handing it to one of the men, in a haughty, arrogant gesture.  She wore a sleeveless, cream-colored satin blouse underneath.  She revealed fit, toned arms, roughly about the same dimensions as her rivals.

The Hungarian woman gestured toward a smaller, more narrow table and Rosa rose from her seat.  Neither woman looked away from her rival for a microsecond as they reached the indicated table.  Slowly, as though neither wanted to reach her seat first, they sat down on opposite sides.  As though hypnotized by each other, they reached up slowly, in perfect unison, with their right arms, placing the elbows on the table, slowly locking hands with a grip designed to squeeze, the same grip they had used earlier.

Alberto had never seen Rosa like this.  The women were slow, sensual, as though trying to seduce each other into their contest.  Seduction was not a part of their plan, but each woman wanted to increase the intensity between them before their duel began in earnest.

None of the spectators was certain when the duel between them actually began.  The forearms and biceps had been tensed before their ever sat down.  Slowly however, the hands began to tremble between them.  Beads of sweat appeared over their upper lips, and their breathing became increasingly more harsh.

Still, the eyes were locked, the strange hatred between them running deep.  And the longer they faced each other as equals, the deeper the hatred seemed to become.  At first this puzzled Rosa, though she felt the animosity as well.  Ilona brought it out in her somehow.  As the wills, then the strengths of the two women clashed, however, Rosa realized what it was between them.

Ilona was a duelist.  Whether she did it to support herself, or for something that she required for herself, her main focus in life was the testing her strength against that of another woman.  She could never have a woman for a friend because she could never share affection with a woman weaker than she.  A woman equal to or stronger than she would always be a rival, an opponent.  She hated her opponents, women who would either defeat her or fall to her.  And every woman she met must do one or the other.

Rosa began to realize that she, too, was a duelist.  She had made much money in her arm wrestling, more money than she had as a waitress.  And she began to look forward to the next contest.  In Ilona, she saw, with a growing horror, her own future.  A woman who was aging, friendless, and would soon be unable to do what had mattered to her most.

Even realizing this, she was trapped in a circle with Ilona.  The two women had each walked into a room, closing the doors behind them, and knowing that the there would be no escape until the stronger woman was determined.  Then, they would walk out.

Teeth were bared now, and the two beautiful women grunted like animals, oblivious to everything and everyone except each other.  Neither had ever met a stronger woman, with a stronger will, and each reveled in the duel between them.  Each saw the agony in the other's eyes, the hatred, and each woman wondered whose arm was stronger- whose hatred was stronger.

Ilona looked deeply into the eyes of the younger woman, looking at herself ten years before.  Like Rosa, he had never lost a duel of strength, and had no desire to lose this one.  The younger woman was strong, and she knew that the first one to show any sign of weakness was lost.  She saw agony in Rosa's eyes, but no weakness.

Slowly, Ilona's hand moved downward.  Even more hatred flashed in her eyes as she grunted to the point of sobbing, stopping Rosa's progress for a few seconds.  Her strength was going, she could feel it.  Sobbing openly now, she fought with the last vestige of her power, holding the other for a few more precious seconds.  Then her first defeat overcame her.

Neither could release her crushing grip on the other, and neither tried.  Eyes were still locked and the hatred between them was stronger than ever.  Each of them knew that victory could have gone either way.

Rosa wanted to feel her hands around the Hungarian woman's throat, bodies pressed tightly together.  She could see it in Ilona's eyes, that her rival wanted the same thing, a duel in which the stronger woman was measured by survival.  Rosa wondered which woman would prove more powerful in such a duel.

Minutes later, money exchanged hands and Ilona was being guided through the door by her entourage.  At the doorway, she stopped and exchanged one last, long look of pure hatred with the Portuguese woman, who was being paid by a happy Alberto.

As their eyes met, for the last time they ever would, Rosa knew that she was lost to her fate.

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