Casablanca, revisited

CASABLANCA, Revisited
They first met at MAXIM’S in Paris. She, a beautiful cover for the man she was with; working for the overthrow of the status quo. He, a man with a history that needed to be shaken off; working discretely with a man named Sam.

Often inebriated, he had promised to drown his sorrows in a land far far away, known only to the people who walk the dust-strewn paths in order to avoid the crowd. Sam, his foil, was the only one who knew his pain, swearing to never ever play the song which caused all the trouble in the first place.

From afar, she was visible in the crowd. As if a spotlight was aimed at her table, in an already bright room. His eyes strayed towards the bright. And then, in an instant, he knew that he had been found. She, with her bright glowing eye makeup which made you move your gaze toward her captivating eyes, was like a magnet; drawing his stare. He, never intending to be drawn again, was. And he blamed the eye make-up. And she swears she never had any on that day. Regardless, the situation was cast.

They only had 7 days before all hell would break loose. She had everything with her, and she had to get out in the next seven days. He intended to stay put; not intending to see the end of the year. They spend the first night together. She, inebriated but capable, pretending to be worse than she was. He, not too sober, but pretending to be. They spend the night, together, drinking Cardamon infused Turkish tea. Each one not too sure about each other. The sunrise was too far away. She only asked for one thing, that they both live in the moment. Nothing more. Sam was on vacation that day, and would make an appearance four days later.

He needed to check their way out of Cassablanca and a newly fitted vessel capable of holding up to a hundred passengers was the chosen ride. She needed to spend time away from her situation, not quite knowing what tomorrow would bring. She decides to spend time with her situation, regardless. Her time was moving fast. 5 days away.

She needed her two exit passes from him, not really telling him about who she intended to bring for the second pass. With each day, her decision would start to blur. He did not tell her that he had already decided to give her the two passes, intending to give her her second chance at happiness. He would stay behind and grapple with the german situation, but happy in the thought that she would be happy with the person she was with. They share a drink. Peach Schnappes. Sam walks by, not knowing she was there. She catches up to him and asks, “PLAY IT, SAM”. He hesitates, wide eyed, knowing how much pain that song meant to his boss. “PLAY THE GO**AMN SONG, SAM!” he shouts. Play it just once. It brings tears to their eyes. They spend the night together again, both asleep, holding hands. By now, they have spent four of the last five nights together, leaving only the last night left. He has the exit passes kept somewhere secure. She has no idea what she has to do to get them. She, who had asked that they live in the moment, was now not too sure about the moment. He, the hopeless romantic that never wanted the moment, was now sure about the moment. He was also sure that he would regret just being in the moment, but knew that going beyond that was way beyond what she had planned. He wanted, but knew she didn’t. She didn’t, but now wasn’t too sure. Especially after hearing Sam again, after all those years.

Her company arrives, chased by the german hounds. He provides a hidden passage where they make haste towards the last chance of safe departure. She promises to be with him, making up for lost time. He knows that the cause would be lost if she and her company would part ways because of him. The cause is too big to be overshadowed by petty relationships, he thinks; as he shoves the last two exit passes into her hands. “you know I love you, rick” she says, fully meaning all five syllables of it. He whispers “he needs you” as they move into their last rushed hug. The german comes in, threatening to arrest them all for treason. He pulls out a small revolver from his coat pocket and makes sure that never happens. He whispers one last time; “we’ll always have Paris.” and turns his back on them, as they board.

He never intended to see the end of the year. And now he wasn’t too sure anymore.

Jesus Paul C. Yan
For The Paul Yan Chronicles
Ps2, ana, I don’t know if it measures up to “death by heatstroke” ha…. I hope it did.
ps3, jerry, thank you for making this story possible.