Kit Kat Klub Tales

The Emcee sang the last song for this show. It was already very late but for him, the work was only beginning.

Of course, performing felt to him as necessary as breathing but it wasn't what kept one alive these days. The Kit Kat Klub was also a place where one could acquire delights that weren't of musical nature. It was a disgusting business but the Emcee, like everyone else, did what he had to do to stay alive, have a (moderately) warm place to sleep, gin and cigarettes and occasionally, food.

Due to the nature of the Kit Kat Klub performers' way of earning money after the show, he knew what it felt like to be treated like an object. Of course he knew. Nevertheless, even he was almost shocked when it happened. Obviously, he had seen it coming for so much longer than anyone else, hell, he had tried to warn Berlin so many times in his numbers but they all had been blind. Some of them were in for a bit of an eye-opener.

It had been a great show, the performers ran backstage, faces flushed and sweaty but with ecstatic grins. They were cheering and snickering, swapping tales of small mishaps and weird audience members. It was that time of the day when they escaped from the general numbness and misery that seemed to be everywhere. Once the high had worn off though, many fled reality to the comfort of more substantial drugs before seeing to their clients. It was the Emcee's luck that he hadn't. His client had paid for a whole night which was a good deal. The Emcee led him to his room. It was located in a little flat above the Klub. The performers all lived rater close to their Klub but he as the Master of Ceremonies practically lived in it directly. "Heute Nacht gehöre ich Ihnen, mein Herr," he declared ceremoniously and posed seductively to indicate that he was indeed his, as he had just told him.

Herr Schultz walked down the street slowly. It was late but he had trouble sleeping ever since he had moved house. The memory of what the nazis had taken from him was just too painful, especially as he still kept running into Fräulein Schneider unintentionally. He saw her walking past his store when she went to do her shopping, met her when taking the Metro, sometimes even when taking walks in the park. They always kept their distance but it hurt him dearly and he hoped that she didn't suffer as badly as he was.

He was just passing the Kit Kat Klub, a cabaret famous for its racy shows and the telephones on the tables. Fräulein Kost had working there, too before marrying Ernst Ludwig. Just when he had managed to accidentally think of Frau Schneider again because of that, he saw one of the doors being opened and a bleeding man stumbled out. Another man followed, screaming abuse and kicking the other. He then proceeded to spit on the ground and leave. The other man still lay on the ground bleeding.

Herr Schultz recognized him. He had been living in Fräulein Schneider's house, too. Before he had been made the MC of the Klub he was working for. Herr Schultz instinctively ran over to help to poor chap since he had always been a sweet guy who didn't seem the type to start a fight or behave in any other way that might justify such a treatment. He was hardly conscious and wasn't all that responsive when Herr Schultz talked to him.

Quickly thinking of a safe place to look him over, he came up with his own flat and Fräulein Schneider's house which happened to be a lot closer to their present position. Therefore, he picked him up and walked, or rather dragged the Emcee toward the safest haven he knew.

He knocked on the house's door but was faced with Cliff instead.

"Oh, hello, Herr Bradshaw," he said slightly surprised at the sight – hadn't the American left Germany the day he had moved out from this house?

"Hello, Herr Schultz. Funny that we meet again here of all pla-" he cut himself off when he saw the Kit Kat Klub's master of ceremonies hanging limply from the other man's arms. "What happened to him?", he asked taken aback.

"I do not know. Would you help me carry him upstairs, please?"

"Where are we taking him?"

"I am not sure yet. My first impulse was to ask Fräulein Schneider for help."

Cliff smiled sadly. Those nazis had ruined everything but it was nice to see that he was still such a sweet guy.

"Alright then," said Clifford and went to lift up the Emcee – Herr Schultz looked positively exhausted. When he reached around the Emcee's torso however, his hands were met with a warm, sticky fluid. The Emcee moaned quietly as Cliff accidentally touched his wound – in the dim light and with the Emcee being as bent over as he had been, the American hadn't noticed it.

"Oh! Crap. He needs help. We should go to fetch him a doctor!", Cliff exclaimed.

"The circumstances under which I found him are a bit difficult. I am not yet sure if he would not be better off without a doctor examining him. Because he might call the police."

"I understand," answered Cliff solemnly because Sally was just too good an example that the employees of the Kit Kat Klub weren't always all that mindful of the law. The last thing this poor chap needed was being arrested for something. They managed to get the Emcee to Fräulein Schneider's room and knocked there urgently. When she saw the three former lodgers of hers, she made a little jump backward. The trio certainly was in a rather awkward position: The Emcee was still bordering on unconsciousness and was being held up by Cliff who had a hard time handling him while Herr Schultz tried to help him but didn't really know how.

Deciding to avoid any personal conversation with her ex-fiance, she instead focused of the figure that limply hung between Cliff and Herr Schultz.

"What happened to him?", she asked with a tenderness one might expect from a mother. In fact, she had always been fond of the Emcee, that charismatic young thing.

"We don't know exactly. I saw him being beaten up by a man," Herr Schutz said.

"He needs help, though," added Cliff urgently when the landlady still didn't budge.

"I am not running a hospital here," said Fräulein Schneider rather strictly. Nevertheless, she was already making a mental list what the Emcee would require. "Bring him to your former room, Herr Bradshaw. Tell Fräulein Bowles to put some clean sheets on the bed."

Cliff flinched slightly at her name. In fact, he had been looking for her that night. He had found a position as a reporter back in America. In New York to be exact. But he had been sent to Berlin for a report on the rising nazi party, the NSDAP. As reluctant as he was, he still went back to Berlin. Now, with the safe job back at home and the book finally being printed, it felt a lot less dreadful as he had thought it would. Especially as his job was to bring some attention to the nazi issue. He would finally be listened to! But, as it happens, Cliff once again found himself unable to write and, once again, the source of distraction was Sally Bowles. He couldn't help but wonder what she had been up to. This was what had driven him here tonight. Just as has courage ha left him though and he had turned to go home, Herr Schltz had knocked on the door.

Snapping out of it, Cliff carefully lifted the Emcee while Herr Schultz had already gone to warn Sally that her room was to be turned into an infirmary.

Sally had gone to bed (relatively) early. She didn't occupy her nights like the dancers because, contrary to everyone else -including the Emcee- she earned enough money with the shows. The enormous tips she kept receiving from the male patrons really were a wonderful thing. She had just managed to fall asleep when she heard a polite yet urgent knock on her door.

"Come in," she said sleepily. She never bothered with locking her door. Herr Schultz came in and respectfully averted his eyes when he realised that Sally was in her sleeping gown. Sally snickered but pretended not to notice.

"Can I help you, Herr Schultz?", Sally asked sweetly. She liked the man but then again, who wouldn't? Such a patient, gentle and generous person was surely universally loved.

"The Emcee is injured. We would like o treat him on your bed," he said, fully conscious that he had just said quite a weird sentence. Sally of course, always ready to agree to any madness said:

"Sure! But you don't mean the Emcee, do you?"

"How many more emcees are there that we are both aware of?" asked Herr Schultz in his amiable, gentle way despite the situation."We need to put fresh linens on your bed." Sally went to get some when Cliff arrived with the Emcee who was currently regaining consciousness.

"Cliff!", she exclaimed.

"Sally," Cliff rather eloquently replied. Quite the writer he was! Couldn't even find words when faced with Sally.

"I, um, I…," Cliff stuttered. The Emcee in his arms opened his eyes and groaned. Raising an arm, he attempted to shield his eyes from the rather dim light in the hallway. Sally quickly ran off, when Fräulein Schneider already came with the much-discussed linens and some towels.

"There are some supplies we'll need. They are on the table in my room," she instructed Sallly who thankfully proceeded to run off. Once the Emcee was finally placed upon the bed, they were all in for a shock. By now, the small gang had been collected inside the room. The wound turned out to be a star with six angles – the so-called Judas' star. The nazis used that symbol to mark Jews' houses and shops. There was talk that soon even the people would have to bear those marks now that the nazis had risen to power. Everyone's stomach dropped at the sight. It was still bleeding sluggishly.

"Oh god," was Sally the first one to break the horrified silence. "Cliff, who would do such a thing?" Clifford laughed bitterly, all awkwardness gone.

"Isn't it obvious, Sally? You said that politics doesn't have anything to do with us. Please, I dare you: Say that to him," Cliff darkly said. He was so angry.

Obviously, it wasn't fair to direct that anger toward Sally but she was part of the problem after all. Along with everyone else in the room: Fräulein Schneider who had quietly decided to adapt to whoever was the most intimidating. Herr "I am German after all" Schultz. They all hadn't done anything to prevent the nazis from becoming what they were. And if they went to the police because of this, the nazi who had done this would most likely even win in court!

"So, what now?", asked Fräulein Schneider who at one point had started to hold Herr Schultz's hand. It was more of a protective gesture than seeking protection. She was very much aware that he could be the next.

"His wound still needs cleaning and we need to see whether that man has injured his ribs kicking him as he did. Also, that bruise on his forehead looks very serious. He might be concussed," said Herr Schultz. He kept his calm on the outside but inwardly, he was screaming out of anger and frustration. The last few weeks had taught him that he wasn't as safe as he had been thinking he was. But this, this was the thing that really showed him how much this was real now.

The Emcee had woken up fully now and found himself inside a strange room. Everything hurt and he was extremely dizzy. Some blurred figures seemed to be staring at him. Had that dreadful client of his brought some reinforcement? So, he wasn't done punishing him after all. Someone said something but he couldn't make out any words, comprehending was beyond him at this point. Instead, the Emcee thought back on what had happened. It was all fuzzy but somehow, his client had found out about the Emcee being a Jew. Not that he considered himself religious. Not at all. But his parents had, so he apparently was one, too. As soon as the client had found out (at this point he was sure it was because of some witty comment on his part), he screamed and said that he had polluted his body and all sorts of other horrible things and out of nowhere he produced some dirty knife with dried blood all over it and he cut his chest with it. It hurt. And he tried to run. In the process, he fell down some stairs and hit his head then, he ran outside where the client had kicked him and he was so sure he had left but it seems he was wrong.

Sally was the first one to notice that among all their horror, the Emcee had managed to regain consciousness. "Look, he woke up," she said. Herr Schultz approached him with alcohol and a towel in order to clean his wounds. The Emcee stared at him with fearful eyes and flinched when Herr Schultz was close.

"This is going to sting, I know. But we need to clean this," he said reassuringly, completely unaware of the Emcee's terror. He drenched the towel in alcohol and dabbed he morbidly-shaped wound with it. The Emcee was convinced now that they had come back for him and that he was being tortured. A wet, cold cloth was being pressed to his chest and it stung very badly. He hissed in pain and tried to curl up on his side.

The four others were beyond shocked to witness the enigmatic, almost supernatural being in such a state. It was clear to all of them now that even the strong, untouchable like the Emcee could be broken by what they hadn't even considered a threat a little while ago.

The next morning, the Emcee woke up with what had to be the headache of the century. He had no recollection of the previous night and found himself lying in a stranger's bed. That certainly wasn't the first time so he didn't care much. Instead, he decided to get up because soon, there would be a rehearsal at the Cabaret for tonight's show.

Getting up, however, was a lot more difficult than he had anticipated. His whole torso was sore and his ribs felt as if they were piercing through his lungs. Also, there was a strange burning sensation on his chest. The Emcee found some bandages wrapped tightly around his chest and decided to explore last night's consequences after the rehearsal. A good look around the room revealed that he was in Fräulein Schneider's house – he had lived here once before moving into the Klub. Also someone was sitting on a chair, asleep. Actually, it was Sally. Curious. If they had spent the night why wasn't she lying in her bed with him? But then again, Sally was curious and that headache didn't allow a lot of thinking, so he just quietly left – Sally's rehearsal would start a bit later than his.

Of course, running and dancing and being seductive in general turned out to be things that should not be done when one's ribs are cracked. Which they were, as the Emcee leaned the hard way that morning. Between singing and dancing and dizzy spells, the Emcee had to explain why he wasn't wearing his usual costume – the pair of trousers and the harness, but today with a shirt underneath. He just answered that he had caught a cold because, to be perfectly honest, he did feel rather feverish and was certain that he looked the part, too. So there was no pretending to be fine anyway. Just when he was certain he would either suffocate or melt in the backstage area's curious heat, he saw a blurry figure running toward him. It turned out to be Sally who was talking very quickly and he only could make out some parts of it.

"...run away like that?! We were looking all over Berlin for you!"

"I'm sorry, I had a rehearsal with the girls. You are late for yours, by the way," he managed to gasp out, although he didn't quite understand her agitation. Was he supposed to have breakfast with her? What had they done in the previous night, anyway? He made a mental note to ask her once he was feeling less...miserable so that he could be sure no NEVER repeat it EVER.

"It'll have to wait until you're back at my room." The Emcee didn't quite understand but instead believed that Sally wanted to continiue whatever the hell they had been doing. He felt a bit of pride that he had so successfully managed to keep his condition hidden. Nevertheless, he really didn't feel up to whatever Sally wanted to do to him now and he was a bit displeased that Sally would miss a rehearsal for it. Instead of his usual dirty comeback, he simply said:

"I'd rather stay here." He sat down to emphasise his point as he told himself. To Sally, it looked more like he was simply avoiding falling down which he surely would have.

"Have you taken a look at yourself recently?", she asked completely annoyed now. He didn't budge but it seemed to her as if he simply zoned out. Deciding to get some help, she went to the other performers first. "Alright, guys! Sorry I'm late. We'll need to perform without our Emcee, I'm afraid." They were beyond mortified.

"Come on now, Sally! He isn't that sick! You hardly notice. He's still got all day to rest after all!", Victor exclaimed. Sally was impressed that the Emcee had somehow managed to sell his various and serious injuries which, considering his sweaty blushed face were also topped by an infection, as a cold. However, Victor had a point. If one really doesn't noice, it would be a shame to perform without him for he was what mae the whole show come alive. There would never be a suitable substitue. An MC wasn't allowed sich days. Sally was faced with a serious dilemma there but when the Emcee emerged from the backstage area with a determined face, she knew, she had already lost that battle. He had performed drunk, high, and injured before, he was sure as hell going to do this!

"Alright, alright! But you sit down until I have fetched Cliff," she said.

"Oh, he's back?", Bobby asked as causally as he was able to. Which wasn't all that much it seemed.

The Emcee lay in his bed. He had been able to persuade Sally that he would be allowed to sleep in his own bed at least. Next to him, a very fussy American was preparing fresh bandages and a cloth with alcohol. A very solemn Herr Schultz, accompanied by a just equally as solemn Fräulein Schneider came in. Last night still was a mystery but frankly, the Emcee had an inkling that he didn't want to find out.

Once they had taken off his bandage, it revealed some very serious bruises and a badly infected wound. The wound had the shape of a star. A very particular star. The Emcee winced. Herr Schultz swore softly when he saw hat he hadn't been all that thorough when he had been cleaning the wound yesterday. But then again, it had been a bit difficult with the Emcee as agitated as he had been. He sighed and took the soaked cloth. As he was being approached, the Emcee had a Deja vu. This had happened before. Yesterday. He had been scared and trying to curl up. Then, they had been trying to get him to unfold. He remembered prying hands and terrified sobbing which might have been is own. That's when he had started to thrash about like a madman, until everything had faded to black. Now, he once again had the exact same impulse but forced himself to remain calm. He was aware that this was the source of his fever: the infected wound and that they were just trying to help him.

After the torture was over and the three people went outside to have a talk, the Emcee finally had time to voice his pain. Ever the showmaster, he had endured the procedure stoically but now, he cried and sobbed, drawing painful, shuddering breaths.

A few months later, the others had a new life in New York: Herr and Frau Schultz ran a very successful fruit shop now.

Sally and Cliff were expecting a baby and this time, they were serious. Sally refused to drink alcohol or even sit in the same room when Cliff (or anyone really) smoked a cigarette. She wasn't at all turning out to be the most boring person one would ever know but she was more grounded now. In a way, he had brought them all together again.

They still all felt like cowards but Cliff had saved them by bringing them to America. None of them could have stopped the terrors now that they had already started. Herr Schultz would soon have been repressed and even killed. As for Sally and Frau Schultz – they would never have fought back anyway.

All they all could do now was hope and be grateful for what they had.

"Willkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome! Fremder, Estranger, Stranger!" ,the Emcee sang with his mischievous grin.

It was to be his last show as Emcee. He didn't know that yet. But very soon, SS-ofiicers would barge into the Kit Kat Klub and arrest the vast majority of his performers, including him.

He would exchange his beloved costume for a baggy, dirty and humiliationg prisoner's uniform to be just that: humliated.

And ultimatively, killed.

But when Cliff insisted they all go, he had refused. An MC can only exist when there is a show, after all.

And so, he stayed, tried to open people's eyes. That would soon earn him the badge that showed that he was a political inmate.

And a jew. And gay. But most of all, the way he so smoothly walked around the camp, the dignified way he wore the prisoner's uniform along with unappropriate remarks to barked orders and his mocking gestures - it all showed that he was so very strong. He did not care much for the sake of entertaining and encouraging his fellow inmates.

In the end though, he turned out to be human, just like the rest of us.