“It’s best to be a generalist,” she tells us while we stretch. She’s taught for years, first in Japan, where she tutored businessmen in German and English, and then in California, where she specializes in English as a Second Language, a subject in which she has personal experience as well as a master’s degree from our university. The self-defense course is her own invention, loosely based on the karate, judo, and aikido she picked up in Japan.

“Use your opponent’s energy against him,” she tells us as we glide together across the floor of the gym, moving our feet and arms as she’s taught us.

“These are the vital spots of the human body,” she recites, jabbing her right arm with fingers stretched straight. “Eyes. Base of the skull. Solar plexus. Groin. Kneecap. Christine!” she calls to me across the gym. “Your movements are far too weak. Put some muscle in your arm, push against the air, like so.” Her arm swings forward in a controlled punch. “Imagine your attacker.”

After class we go to a coffeehouse called Sacred Grounds, in the basement of a church, where we drink espresso and listen to Ilka talk about her life on the road.

“The freeways are full of boys in delivery trucks,” she tells us, her green eyes round and staring. She says she’s bisexual and once told us about a woman in Japan named Mika, whose body was so completely smooth and hairless that making love with her was like being caressed by a silk scarf, but only when she speaks of men are her eyes this big. Patty leans forward, while Lynne sits back in her chair with her arms folded across her breasts.

These aren’t long-distance truckers high up in the cabs of their semis with their eyes fixed on the road. These are boys driving local routes in vans and pickup trucks with signs painted on the side: DOUG’S PHARMACY, RACE STREET FISH MARKET, GLOBAL PAINT. When they honk as they pass her yellow Volkswagen, she honks back.

“That’s stupid,” says Lynne. “No matter how good your judo skills are, you’re defenseless in a car. What if one of those guys forces you off the road? What if he has a gun? I still say it’s better to carry a gun, because if your attacker’s got one pointed at you, you can’t very well throw him over your shoulder.”

Lynne and Ilka have a variation of this conversation nearly every week.

“If you’re in control of your own healthy body, you’ll never need a gun to defend yourself,” says Ilka. This time she smiles, leaning her elbows on the sticky table, and adds, “Besides, you’re assuming I’d be unwilling. How can I be defenseless against what I want?”

Lynne’s mouth opens, then closes tight.