My father wanted to beat-up the farmhand, after I confessed tobeing in love with him, and being his girlfriend. Though father backeddown when the farm...and came to collect me each morning, and drop me offat night, father was no match for my bull.The day I left for university I cried so many tears, happy tears, inknowing that I would return with the birth of the fawn and growth of thecorn to once again to breed in the gentle breeze of the hills.I think the farmer knew what was going on, I was. I remain standing, but the convulsing twists of my body make that difficult. I am rapidly approaching breaking point. The only comments from my tormentors are the odd compliment for stokes that bore home well, and rebukes for me. I look up and find the bar maid now staring into my face across the bar. I'm not crying yet, but tears are beginning to well in my eyes. She takes delight in my suffering, and offence at my gaze. She sneers at me and shouts, “What the fuck are you looking at?” Another. More

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