Life in Fez was getting better and better for Catherine. With her newfound friends. she no longer felt lonely. They kept doing school-improvement projects and they shared equal pleasure being anywhere together. They spent time visiting every corner of the city, becoming friends with tanners, dyers and other artisans that exercised handicraft techniques as old as the country itself. They relished sharing most everything, their pasts, their interests, their desires even their inner souls. Catherine discovered Corsica, and Natalia and Sophia became quite familiar with Dordogne.
Feeling the pain of Catherine’s recent loss, the hot blooded Corsicans were careful to conceal their secret passion play from their newfound friend. Almost every night the Corsican sisters would love each other to sleep. They buried their faces in the offered love-mound and would proceed to kiss and lick until they reached ecstasy.
One afternoon, Sophia was shopping at the old souk, when she saw the face of an attractive red headed soldier reflected in the mirror facing her. She turned and the soldier gave her a shy smile. After sharing a cup of mint tea, she found the courage to invite him to the apartment later that evening. The soldier was prompt to share the encounter with his close friend and they resolved they would join for the visit. After leaving Catherine at the school for the evening, Sophia was reporting to Natalia the afternoon’s pleasant encounter. “I will stay to meet your friend then leave to give you some privacy,” answered Natalia in support of her friend’s excitement.
What a surprise, when they saw the two companions entering their apartment. They stood feeling awkward at first, exchanging polite words. Very soon, even before they would move to sit down, the many years of abstinence made their eyes and bodies communicate and command action. In little time Natalia and Sophia were lifted side by side against the wall. They began moaning in unison as the two men penetrated deeply between their thighs. The four collapsed on the living room carpet. The foursome kept on meeting as often as their schedule would coincide and even began exchanging partners to the delight of all.
Catherine meets Wilson, Justine’s genitor
Catherine did not generally elect favorites, but she had grown quite found of little Samir. The child had great looks, with brown curly locks over a dark tanned complexion. Samir was, by nature, a happy and positive child, interested in anything and everything. He was endowed with an engaging personality. Catherine could not help but be captured by his large brown eyes, boring through hers at class. At the same time that he was assimilating her teachings, he was appropriating chunks of her affection and she could not resist his charming ways. She had made it a point, on occasions, to accompany Samir home after school. She met his family, an elderly couple. Although they did not speak French, they seemed to understand her compliments about their grandchild. “Last evening, they physically kidnapped me to share their dinner,” she reported to her friends.
The following evening, Natalia and Sophia invited their secret lovers, who were accompanied by a journalist. The three American officers were squeezing their bulk on the living room’s only sofa. They had been engaging in a political discussion when they heard Catherine’s arrival. The tallest officer came forward. “I have to introduce myself promptly, before I am completely mesmerized and silenced by your beauty.” He gently took Catherine hands in his “I am Wilson, a military journalist from Kansas.” It had been a while since Catherine had felt a male presence of any personal significance.
Somehow, the officer was striking a forgotten note. She quickly brushed off the thought and the group engaged in a long conversation. The officer with the red hair proudly produced a large bottle of beer. Removing the cap he said, “This is a scarce commodity these days, but not as rare as toilet paper.”
Catherine caught the tall journalist looking in her direction. When her eyes would turn, timidly probing his gaze, his would turn away.
The journalist proved to have an engaging story-telling talent. After relating war events that were special to him, he turned to more personal matters.
“After more than six years in this beautiful, semi-tropical country, my cowboy heart is feeling a void for the native prairies. I will soon be recalled to America. After six years of witnessing and reporting the events of the war, I cannot yet see myself writing daily stories about political meetings, obituaries and football games. Working the family farm would be an attractive idea but my brothers are already occupying the territory. I will have to explore new options.”
As he was talking, his face and body language began a separate conversation with Catherine. She felt uneasy with her sudden fascination with the tall stranger. Her mind was invaded with his masculine charms and smells, his American accent only added an entertaining musicality.
“Catherine! Our friends are leaving,” Natalia’s call drew her out of her reverie.
The following morning, Fez was blessed with the usual soothing, shining sun. Catherine had come to appreciate the very special luminosity that blessed everything with a unique appeal. The bell rang in the schoolyard, and after gathering her pupils, she announced, “Today, children, we will skip the usual classes and take a stroll to learn about the old town. “The children surrounded her. They walked joyously along the narrow streets of the old city. She insisted that in turn, each pupil explain what he liked most about his city. Samir, again, showed his special uniqueness. He began relating an ancient family belief that the beauty flowing from the stones, flowers, trees and dust were the emanations of the timeless presence of ancestors, invading the souls of the people of Fez.
They returned to class late that morning to find a contingent of the Moroccan army waiting for them in the classroom. The officer approached Catherine with impeccable French. “I must apologize for this intrusion. We have orders to bring young Samir for an interview with the authorities.” Catherine immediately felt uneasy, but when she noticed the school director in the corner of the classroom avoiding her gaze, she understood something was wrong. Before she could talk, the soldiers were moving in front of her in a solid line. The officer was walking away, holding Samir by the hand. They turned from the door and Samir looked at her. The desperation that she saw in the child’s eyes melted another piece of her heart.
Catherine came home. All the way back from the school, she could not repress the tears flowing down her cheeks. When she opened the door, she ran to Natalia’s arms, crying silently, without uttering a word. After a long pause, Catherine narrated the day’s dramatic events. Sophia suggested that they invite their new friends in order to seek their help. Tonight, hey were sitting together in the living room. The previous evening, Catherine had reported the arrest of Samir by the Moroccan army. The next morning, Wilson insisted for an immediate meeting with the US representative at the consulate. “What I have to tell you, dear Catherine, is not very pretty. There is little we can do about the situation. At first the Consul refused to acknowledge my story. Then, after verifying my credentials and my relationship the ambassador in Casablanca, a third cousin, he revised his position. The Consul was prompt to re-invite Wilson to his office.
“We have been kept informed of a very sad development,” he began. “Since the events do not involve US citizens, we have been told to remain alert and to keep the embassy informed on a confidential basis. I must ask for your total discretion, since we are not at liberty to interfere with the domestic affairs of Morocco. Because of your responsibility as a professional journalist, I will go further and insist on your oath to keep the information in the strictest of confidence.” The US official appeared very nervous, tapping his fingers relentlessly on the desktop.
Wilson, with tears in his eyes, went on reporting his interview, “The King of Morocco is an all-powerful dictator in his country. His demeanor is reasonably benevolent towards his people. Our country is comfortable with Morocco’s internal political climate and maintains normal diplomatic relations. The events that you referred to my attention are of a completely different order, they relate to the King’s personal family life.
A few weeks ago, the King, a devout Moslem, in total accordance with the rules of the Koran, told his wife of seven years that he was divorcing her. This is a matter of no serious consequence. However, last week, for reasons unknown to our services, he gave orders to imprison the former queen; an illegitimate son that he had with her before their marriage, and three of her own children from a previous marriage. The family is confined under a fifty men guard, in a small royal estate at the foot of the Atlas Mountains.”
Wilson could feel the sadness that overtook Catherine. He approached her, holding her gently in his arms. She could not contain herself, and began to cry profusely on his shoulder. That afternoon they walked together, hand in hand across the city. They ordered tagine at Restaurant #7 an epicurean haven to savor Moroccan delicacies. The meal lasted most of the evening. They talked about their lives and shared their aspirations.
In no time, they had become closer. “We do not see you around anymore,” complained Sophia. Her mischievous statement was barely covered by the smile that she could not repress and she mumbled to herself. “We will be hearing of an engagement, if this situation persists.”
Catherine enjoyed Wilson’s assiduities more and more. Somehow, she had begun to bury her memories of Marcel deeper in her mind. “I find him quite pleasant and interesting,” she confided to Natalia. “Come Catherine! This bunch of good looks is certainly hiding a good heart and a few bonus features.” Catherine was blushing, remembering the evening, the soft kisses and the illicit rubbing against a bulge in his pants.
The following week, Wilson came to meet her after school. Sitting at the Barcelona Café, a favorite coffee house, he became very intense. “Catherine I will be leaving for America in a few days. This may sound a little sudden, but you know that I am very fond of you. In reality, although I have been longing for my return home, I have grown quite accustomed to our daily encounters. I have shown you respect and sincere affection since the first day we met. I am afraid a separation will lead to loosing you and this is not an option that I am prepared to accept. I will be direct my feeling for you have grown beyond mere friendship. I think I love you, my dear Catherine.”
She felt a warm wave erupting inside her, while his words penetrated deep in her heart. She opened her mouth, but he did not let her speak. “I understand that this is sudden for you. You still have a few months before school ends. Upon my return to America, I will send you a plane ticket to join me. If you come at my invitation, I will introduce you to my family and very soon you will become Mrs. Wilson.” He had such a way with the touching words that, that she felt totally helpless.
She surrendered her lips to his, for a long embrace. She was surprised, later that evening, when he refused her invitation to come to her apartment. “We will keep the best part for later. Bonne nuit, my lovely Catherine.”
Natalia and Sophia accompanied them to the old air force base. He did not speak much, when he was holding her in his arms. They kissed and he picked up his bag. “I will await you, my love.” Before she returned to her friends, she felt a bolt of fear pinching at her heart. She remembered her last moments with Marcel and their promises. Sophia pulled her away. “Come, our lucky friend, let us begin the celebration of your future happiness.”
Over many cups of mint tea, she was halfheartedly listening to their gossip, buried in deep thought. She had given her heart to Marcel forever and yet, he had unwillingly left her alone with their promises. Had Marcel really left though? Did she have a heart to give to someone else? She felt so alone, feeling anew the loneliness that had filled her for so long after Marcel’s death. “Catherine, are you still with us? Do not worry, the two of you will be together soon. Cheer up!”
In the few months remaining on her contract, she took great pleasure from her special moments with Natalia and Sophia. The girls had decided to return to their native Corsica at the end of the school year. “I do hope, dear Catherine that we will remain friends for life, and that wherever our lives will take us, we will meet often.” The three women were holding hands in an emotional bond.
Catherine could not sleep that night, confused by conflicting emotions. She thought with great affection of her girlfriends and felt uneasy about their forthcoming separation. She thought of Wilson. His first letter had arrived ten days after his departure with an American Airline ticket to Kansas City. His daily letters were arriving without fail. His words did not conceal his feelings for her. The longing for Marcel, that she knew would never leave her, was adding to her confusion. At that moment, she felt guilt for entertaining a relationship with Wilson. He would never be the Marcel of her dreams, yet, his assiduities had soothed the pain and maybe she had a little part of her heart still intact to give to love.
Chapter 3 - Engagement in Kansas
Catherine’s arrival in Kansas City, after the long transatlantic flight on board the new DC4, was quite an experience for a South West French girl. She saw Wilson running to hug her. She let him lift her in his arms. She could feel the tears of joy melting over his face. Soon she was assaulted by a large crowd of waiving and laughing family members. Imprisoned by the luggage, Wilson released her to the mercy of the joyful group. She had been hugged by twenty brothers, sisters and cousins, when an elderly lady pulled her away. “You animals back up,” shouted the woman with a powerful voice. You will not frighten this lovely young woman on her arrival.” She turned to Catherine “They call me Guamma, I had the displeasure of generating many of these savages. This is Grandpa, my husband. He is, in more ways than one, at the origin of this confusion. Welcome to Kansas!” She let Catherine settle in her arms for a long time without a word.
They arrived at the farm in the darkest of night. After a large oatmeal cookie and bowl of hot milk, she was brought to the third floor bedroom. Flora, the younger sister, gave her a towel, and pouring the water in the large basin, she said, “Catherine, you are much prettier than I thought. When Wilson talked about a petite French brunette, it did not mean much to me, being surrounded by people with every shade of blonde. Papa is from Northern Europe, you know! You speak very good English,” her eyes enquiring, she noticed Catherine was yawning. “I am just a babbling country girl. You must be exhausted. Have a pleasant sleep, filled with happy dreams.” She walked out, slowly closing the door.
Catherine slipped in to a waiting nightgown. She blew out the candle, hardly feeling herself hit the mattress before she entered a deep sleep.
Catherine awoke and for a moment wondered where she was. The sunrays gave a special glow to the bright yellow wallpaper dominating the bedroom walls. She opened the window to face an endless sea of golden wheat. She could see nothing else, no trees, no roads, no people, just wheat waving in the light morning breeze. She started down the stairwell. Flora was already waiting for her on the second flight. “Do you have an idea how long you were asleep? It is past noon. I waited for you all morning, a little more and I was breaking in your room to check your pulse.”
They arrived downstairs, entering the large kitchen. “The men are in the fields, it is harvest season. Guamma is gone to the village. She was dying to introduce you to her friends. That will do for tomorrow evening. There is a dance at the church hall for the opening of the State fair. You will meet everybody and then some.” Catherine sat at the table. “I have a surprise for you, something special. Gamma’s famous pancakes with maple syrup.”
She was helping Flora with the dishes when strong hands grabbed her from behind. Before she could move or talk, Wilson swung her around and held her, kissing her on both cheeks. “You see, Flora, this is how we greet people in Europe.” He then gently pressed his lips on hers. “This is the American way to greet a pretty girl”. And turning to Catherine, “I hope you had a good rest, the time difference will make you feel tired for a few days. Welcome to my family home. I could not wait to hold you in my arms.
Flora ignored him and carried on talking, “Tomorrow at the State fair, you will be overtaken with exhibitions, dances, food, rides. It will b
e you baptism of Deep Country America. We will let you rest early tonight. Guamma is at risk of losing all her friends if you do not show up tomorrow.” Catherine was to say something, but Wilson turned around and moved to the door. “I must go back and join the harvest. Grandpa is waiting with the crew.”
Early that evening, Catherine was enjoying the lively chat at the dinner table. They had just finished dessert and Grandpa moved to turn the television set on. “You see Catherine, we just received this television set. I had placed the order three years ago, but with war production, the army had priority on everything. Now that we have the blasted thing, we have only two hours of daily programming.” Taking Wilson's hand, Catherine whispered in his ear: “It is the first time I have seen a television.” Wilson kissed her on the cheek. “We will watch for a little while, but you must be tired, and tomorrow will be a long day.”
They all laughed at Jacky Gleason blabbering on the Honeymooners. Catherine rose to excuse herself when a special news alert flashed on the screen and she sat again. The announcer came on. “Ladies and gentlemen, I will introduce a man that requires no introduction, the most influential politician in the country, after our president, please welcome Senator Joseph McCarthy.” The small television studio audience stood and applauded. Catherine felt the tension rising in everyone around her and the room became silent. Wilson’s hand was pressing heavily over hers.
McCarthy stood tall on a two feet podium, dominating his audience. “My fellow Americans, we have, over recent years, seen an increasing presence of Communism in our country. The Russians have taken advantage of the war years to accelerate their infiltration of our Labor movement. According to recent investigations, they have been especially aggressive with continuing their pre-war offensive and infiltering the agricultural communities in the heartland of America.” Wilson removed his hand from Catherine’s and probed Grandpa’s eyes. Catherine noticed that their expression was a mixture of anger and fear, however, no words were exchanged. McCarthy went on, “I will make it my personal crusade to rid America of these devils of dissent. No Reds can rest in peace as long as I live. Goodnight and God bless America.” Wilson took her hand and, bidding goodnight to everyone, they started up the stairs.
The Labyrinth of Passion (romantic experiences) Page 5
