The elderly shaman was secretly embarrassed by the unclean cut. The blade had caught on her bellybutton and he had been unable to force it up any far...her. Age it seemed was taking its toll. He changed his grip on the knife and with a mighty heave, brought it upwards, slowly splitting the muscle of her upper belly.The agonizing pain brought a scream of pain which echoed up and down the still-silent square. Blood splattered into the bowls at her feet and a few loops of intestine poked their. He looked at the odds; seven or eight football players against two skinny freshmen, and shook his head. "Don't think so," he said quietly.Then we heard one of the footballers giggle as he twisted poor Hassam's ear painfully. "Christ, Assam, your hair's almost as kinky as a nigger's! And you almost smell as bad, too."Ed put down his books and pushed his sleeves up his wrists. "I just changed my mind," he said.Now, you might think than this was foolhardy in the extreme. And so would I, had I not. More

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