In the Year of the Cat

Scottish storyteller Al Stewart's "Year of the Cat" was a big song in 1975, all across Europe and North America. My spinoff tale is worked around a segmented transcription of the words- a listening story. Actual background music is definitely recommended here. Lots of hot sex is coming, and you'll find some personal comment about the orgasmic saxophone solo incorporated at the high point of the action.

__________

I'm already tired of the stupid people on this bus.

We've been pressed together since docking at Gibraltar, and they're really wearing on me. One guy is late at every stop and just ambles back to the bus like royalty while we wait. And the old girl behind me has been complaining about one thing or other since we left port. I will never sign up for a bloody package tour again! What the Hell was I thinking?

'ONE GLORIOUS WEEK IN SUNNY MOROCCO INCLUDING CASABLANCA AND MARRAKESH'

That's what tempted me to part with my money. I'd probably watched the old film classic one too many times, because the tag line of the advert immediately conjured up thoughts of Humphrey Bogart and the line, "Play it again, Sam." Surely a hot week away from grimy, cold winter back home would pump some life back into me.

Oh Hell! It's that annoying bus driver again. I've heard too much from him already.

"Hey folks, I've got some music here to warm you up for Casablanca. You all know the movie, right? Bogart and Bergman. And that villain Peter Lorre. Yeah, got to be one of the best- if you like the old pictures, eh. Listen up. We'll be there in the next little while."

_______________

[Cue the music]

# On a morning from a Bogart movie/ In a country where they turn back time

You go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre/ Contemplating a crime...

_______________

That's where my story begins because I lived the lyrics to that song.

I'd caught "Year of the Cat" a few times before on the Oldies, and rather liked the tune. Right from the Seventies: in fact, 1975 was the Vietnamese year of the cat. This song stuck in my head, especially with the way it hooked into the classic film.

I found myself humming along, though I only knew some of the words. I learned the rest later, an exclamation point on my unforgettable experience in Morocco.

After the sensuous saxophone faded out, the driver's disk had some more traditional instrumental music. The intoxicating fusion of flute, drum, and tambourine had me tapping my foot.

"Perfect for belly dancing, right folks? Maybe you'll go to a show when we get there, eh? I know this place..."

Dammit, I wish he'd just shut up and drive.

The trance-inducing music filled the bus as people craned their necks to follow our entry into Casablanca. At first it looked like most places, a gaggle of businesses and streams of vehicles along the main road. But there were donkey carts laden with everything from bricks to vegetables and even people.

Traffic moved slower as we drove deeper into the city. Soon the bus pulled over at the edge of the old city core. Apparently, this was as far as the big thing could penetrate the labyrinth of crooked streets beyond us.

"You're on your own for the afternoon, people. I can't park here but will pick you up at 5:00. Take one of these maps and don't lose it. I marked this spot with an X, and put circles around the market and the place with belly-dancers. You can eat there too. Upstairs. Be on time or you'll need to find your own way to Marrakesh, our next stop. Questions?"

Nobody had any. We all grabbed a map and stood around figuring out where to go first.

I noticed a pair of attractive women but hadn't had a chance to talk with them. So I eased over with my map. I could see by the way they were turning the paper around they had no idea how to read theirs.

"Where are you going first?" I asked.

"Can you figure this thing out!" one of them burst out in frustration.

I pointed to the overhead sun. "It's south of us at this time of day." Then I looked at the map to find the compass needle. "Just turn the map so South points to the sun."

They watched as I shifted the map and pointed the direction to the two circles the driver had marked.

"The market is that way," I motioned. "And the dancers are over there."

They were impressed.

"We're going to the market. Could you help so we don't get lost?"

I'm a red-blooded male and they looked good. The leggy blonde would be my first choice, but the curvy brunette would do just fine too. We quickly introduced ourselves, then they joined me to search out the market in this warren of narrow streets.

Soon we rounded a tight corner and emerged between two buildings to see an open square full of vendors. Carts of fruit and vegetables stood against a backdrop of permanent little shops around the outer perimeter. Carpets, clothing, jewelry, souvenirs and more beckoned. The girls found it irresistible.

"Thanks, Alistair. We're going to shop now."

I'd been dismissed. Any hope I had of scoring with these two was gone because I didn't feel like tagging along as a third wheel on a shopping trip.

"Right. And I'm going for some lunch. Maybe I'll see you later?"

"If we find our way back."

"Just use the map like I showed you."

We went our separate ways into the market. The place had real atmosphere. The sounds of sellers haggling with customers filled the air, and the aroma of fruit, flowers and spices wafted past me.

As I wandered, I caught a whiff of weed coming from somewhere nearby. I looked that way and saw her, just like the old song played on the bus.

_______________

# She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running/ Like a watercolour in the rain

Don't bother asking for explanations/ She'll just tell you that she came

In the year of the cat...

________________

Backed by bright sunlight, the woman was eye-catching! Her flimsy dress hugged tightly along the body, then flared wide. It highlighted her fine breasts and inviting hips, swishing around her with every step. Auburn hair trailed across her confident shoulders, framing a mischievous face. She seemed to be headed directly my way.

Close up, she looked even better. Her painted lips were an invitation to kiss, while those high cheekbones drew attention to her flashing eyes. They seemed to be darting right through me- or was it something behind that drew her attention?

"Hello," I ventured as she came near me- before brushing past without a word.

However, I detected a trace of a smile that bore some possibility. I turned to see that I was standing in front of a vendor's cart laden with varieties of fresh flowers and potted plants, items which she had already begun to examine more closely.

Suddenly I was also interested in the same merchandise. I went to the other side of the cart and studied the offerings- especially the bodacious woman across from me.

"Beautiful," I said loud enough for her to hear. She looked up so I continued. "Looks and smells so nice."

Her brow furrowed. "Are you talking to me, because if you are I don't...."

"I was commenting on the flowers," I interjected, but she would have none of it.

"If you were directing that at me, it's the lamest pickup line ever!" she challenged.

OK, she knew my intentions, but I had her talking, always a good start.

"They match your dress perfectly, you know," I continued, moving closer to her. "The same striking reds. You see that don't you?" I picked up a small bunch and held them against her watercolour dress. "See what I mean?"

"I suppose so," she admitted.

I turned to the vendor, "How much?" Then I reached for the coins in my pocket and turned back to the lady. "For you."

"I don't usually accept gifts from total strangers," she stated coolly, not reaching to accept the flowers.

"I'm Alistair- a bus passenger in Morocco. I... I like your style... your look... your dress...."

"And you think that if you give me these flowers, I'll fuck you, right?"

I was briefly stunned, and thought for a moment before adding, "And I like your bluntness too, though it's a bit disarming."

"You DO want me! I thought so," she laughed at me.

Then, to my utter surprise, she reached out and took the flowers.

"I like perseverance. That line usually scares them off.... I'm Sacha."

"Are you shopping for anything else? Or would you like to go somewhere for a coffee?" I asked.

"You took care of my shopping already. A coffee? Maybe, but don't expect this to be easy for you," she smiled.

"Really, I have no expectations...."

"Oh, balls!... But with none, you won't be disappointed, will you?"

"Straightforward to a fault," I countered.

"You're still here Alistair, so let's go now."

The situation seemed eerily familiar to that tune on the bus. I had to ask.

"Sacha, have you ever heard the song, Year of the Cat?"

"Never. It must be ancient! How old are you anyway?"

"Probably a bit more than you," I shrugged. "Where do you want to go? Just lead the way."

_________________

# She doesn't give you time for questions/ As she locks up your arm in hers

And you follow till your sense of which direction/ completely disappears...

__________________

I struggled to keep up as she pushed her way through clusters of people in the crowded square. At times, the only way I could follow her was a glimpse of that colourful dress ahead of me.

She didn't seem to care whether I reached our destination or not. Then I noticed her look backwards, so I knew she was keeping track. Meanwhile, I was lost, with no clear idea where we were.

Eventually I spotted Sacha waiting for me by the entrance to a little hole-in-the-wall shop. As soon as she caught sight of me, she ducked inside, and I rushed to join her.

"Well, what kept you? I thought you'd never get here," she joked.

"If it hadn't been for that dress, I never would have found this place."

"I told you this wouldn't be easy for you, didn't I?" she grinned. "This place is a favourite of mine."

"So, you must live around here?"

"For a little while, yes. I'm not a bus tourist, but I am a visitor for now. Where are you from?"

"Canada. Escaping winter for a week or so. And you?"

She didn't answer my question. "Let's have something. No coffee for me, though."

"What can I get you then?"

"Nothing for now. Order your drink."

I went to the back of the shop and bought my steaming coffee. When I returned Sacha sat smoking a crooked little cigarette- a joint. I looked at her quizzically.

"A habit I picked up over here," she informed me, with a big drag and exhale before continuing. "So, tell me about Canada. Never been up there."

"I'm a programmer on vacation. Right now, the snow is up to my knees and it's cold most of the time. I've had enough."

"You could work anywhere, so why stay there when there are places like this?"

That was a good question. It was warm and sunny outside and pleasant in here, with sweet smoke encircling me. I could feel this mysterious woman and this strange place beginning to take a hold on me.

The Year of the Cat? What was that all about anyway, I wondered, then shook it off.

"Why are you here, Sacha? You never told me where you're from."

"Someplace else. Not cold like yours, but not as nice as this either."

"Are you going to stay longer?"

"You ask too many questions, Alistair. Let's just enjoy the time we have. We're both visitors and I'm going to convince you to skip Canada and stay here where it's warm."

"Hmm...that sounds like an invitation," I pondered.

"Hah! You really do want to fuck me, don't you. I said 'here', not 'with me'. Then she added suggestively, "Maybe you will, maybe you won't."

My head was feeling a bit clouded from the smoke and she looked so appealing in that dress. There was some cleavage- those nice tits would fit my hands with plenty left over. The way Sacha was sitting brought the filmy fabric well up her smooth thighs, leaving me wondering if I really had a chance to get any higher.

"A computer guy. Now that sounds awfully boring to me. I like art, things like that, not machines and numbers. Surely, you're more interesting than that?" she teased.

"I like fitness. Running and working out, and..."

"Yes, I can see that. But that flowered shirt has to go, Alistair. Makes you look like a damn tourist. They're the only ones who wear them here."

"What about your dress?" I retorted. "Tourist or local? I didn't see any others like it."

"So you noticed. I designed it myself and had it made right here in the market."

I saw an opening.

"Do you have a studio or something?"

"A little one. Right in my apartment."

"Interesting. I'd like to see your other work sometime...."

"Ah-hah. You're very persistent, you know."

She kept alluding to this, and I wondered if it was a telegraphed message. I hoped that was the case, so I played along.

"I try my best."

Then to my surprise she cut our conversation short.

"OK, drink up and we'll go to my studio. You seem safe enough."

"Actually Sacha, I'm not," I joked. "I'm one of those mild-mannered computer geeks running wild on a bus tour in a strange country. Be careful."

She laughed. "Funny guy! Finish your coffee and we'll go. Life is full of chances like this, you know."

_______________

# By the blue tiled walls near the market stalls/ There's a hidden door she leads you to

These days, she says, I feel my life/ Just like a river running through

The year of the cat...

________________

Sacha wasn't going to make this easy for me. Again, I dodged around crowds in the marketplace to keep up with her. The woman always moved like she was on a mission- full speed ahead. If it wasn't for her watercolours there'd be now keeping track of her.

Then she was waiting by some sort of gate at the edge of the market stalls.

"Through here. The alley is the fast way home. I use it all the time."

I hesitated. "To shop, or pick up guys in the market?" I posed, because now I was beginning to wonder if she was just luring me somewhere for accomplices to steal my money and passport.

"Ah, you're not so sure now. I might be dangerous...."

"I just met you and... well... this looks risky."

"Likewise. I'm trusting you to come to my place."

"But I don't know much about you."

"OK. I'm American, from the west coast. Too much rain. I've been here a few months now for the sun."

"That's it?"

"You are such a nerd! Look... I have my insurance card."

She handed it to me. The picture matched. And the address- Eureka, California.

"OK, lead on Sacha Warrener."

But she was annoyed. "Not before I see more about you, Mr. Programmer."

I found a business card and handed it to her: Alistair Gallant, Computer Solutions, Montreal.

"You never can be too careful. Keep it." I commented, and she nodded.

With that awkward bit out of the way, we pushed through the gate. It was a different world on the other side, passing from colour and chaos into a dark, quiet place.

She must have sensed my apprehension because she grabbed my hand to tow me along behind her. The alley was narrow, but she seemed fearless, quickly pacing forward, then rounding a corner into more light.

"A blue door just ahead of us now," she called back.

Then her key went into the lock. "Now, up the stairs"

At the top we reached a narrow hallway, with four doors along it. Spicy smells of cooking mixed with the scent of age in this old quarter of Casablanca. Sacha strode to the end of the hall, turned the lock, and led me into her apartment.

Light streamed through a window opening to the back of the building and an aroma of incense permeated the dense atmosphere. All around me were vibrant colours: carpets, cushions, and artwork. Off to one side an open door revealed an overstuffed bed, piled with pillows.

"My apartment!" she announced with a hint of pride. "Just a few rooms, but it's perfect for now."

"Nice. I can see why you decided to stay."

"Sure, but I'm just living a day at a time, nothing more. Who knows how long I'll be here?"

"Like a river, eh?" I said, remembering the lyrics.

"Yes, I suppose, just flowing somewhere, anywhere."

"And where do you think that might take you?"

"Alistair, you're asking too many questions again."

Sacha stared at me, then excused herself, and went to the little kitchen area at the side of the room. I heard a cupboard open and close before she returned and plopped down beside me.

"Now just chill." She passed me a joint, then we lit up, smoking quietly at first while I looked around the room. Soon, I felt a nice warm buzz.

"Hey, this is good stuff."

"Moroccan. So cheap here. Legal too."

"I like your artwork. You're good. Colourful, like your clothes."

"Thanks. There's more in the other room."

"How about a tour."

She got up and took my hand. "OK. My best ones are there," and led me into her bedroom. Now I knew I was going to score with this strange woman I'd met in the market.

______________________

# While she looks at you so coolly/ And her eyes shine like the moon in the sea

She comes with incense and patchouli/ So you take her, to find what's waiting inside

The year of the cat...

______________________

"Mmm... smells nice in here."

"Patchouli."

"What?"

"Sexy smell. I think it goes with my art. Don't you?"

I looked around, at the little burner and the drawings.

"Ohhh yeah. I see what you mean. You drew those?"

She stared into my eyes as if sharing a secret with me that I was only beginning to understand.

"Yes, I did. What do you think of them?"

What else could I think? They all showed the same woman in various stages of undress. Her breasts were full and ripe, and there were glimpses of more, not everything, but enough to fire my imagination. Erotic art, and while none of them showed the entire face, collectively they looked familiar. Then it dawned on me.

"You?"

Sacha was quiet, thinking before she spoke.

"Nobody is supposed to know that. I usually only sell one at a time," she said coolly.

"Beautiful! So good.... You and the work," I stammered before recovering. "How can a person draw themselves like that?"

"Easy. I'll show you."

She stood and went to a tall dressing mirror tilted slightly against the wall opposite the bed. She hiked her dress up to mid-thigh before sitting down cross-legged at the foot of the mirror. Then Sacha reached forward to shift the mirror slightly.

"I sketch it from here and fill in the shading or colour later. Can't sit this way for hours on end."

I came to sit at an angle behind her as we finished the last drags on the joints.

"Could you sketch the two of us like this?" I asked.

"Why? I hardly know you at all," she bristled. "We have this time and nothing more. Just relax, OK," she whispered.

It seemed like her words were slurred, and I wondered if it was her voice or my ears. The weed was strong, and I knew it was affecting me. I leaned forward to stare more closely into her eyes. Yes, she was feeling it too.

"You're right, Sacha. Sorry."

I looped my arms around her and felt her lean against me, so I chanced a little kiss on the side of her neck.

"That's better," she said softly, so I cupped a breast in one hand while pulling her closer to me with the other. The tit was firm yet soft to my touch, unencumbered as it was under her filmy dress. I could feel the nipple stiffening as I caressed it through the slippery fabric.

"Much better," she purred, turning her head to me when I leaned in to kiss her mouth. It was delicious. My heart was pounding with excitement to be with this mysterious, sensual woman.

Her eyes closed and gradually her mouth opened invitingly between my lips. Sacha wanted to French, and she did it so well, practically sucking my tongue in as far as it would go. She arched back still farther against me as my fingers clutched the smooth curve of her other breast.