The Master of Ceremonies (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
i_am_your_host) wrote2016-11-16 01:26 pm
i_am_your_host) wrote2016-11-16 01:26 pm
Entry tags:
OOM - The Escape Part 2: breaking bonds
Herman's flat was bare, save for the most basic of furniture. Once filled with the comforts of books and music, the shelves now only bore dust and emptiness. Here in this cold little room, Herman, Helga, Fritzie, Frenchie, and Emcee took refuge on their last night in Berlin.
In hushed tones, and moving around in stocking feet to muffle their footsteps from neighbors, they readied themselves for their journey.
Emcee opened his suitcase. He took out the envelopes of cash and bundles of food that he had prepared at Milliways. Pairing them up, he distributed them among the group.
"Where did you get all this money?" Fritzie asked Emcee as she stared in disbelief at the contents of her envelope. She had both German marks and Swedish krona.
"I sold most of the things you gave me to sell," he replied. "I simply came across some very generous buyers."
"You even sold all my picture frames?" said Helga, finding American dollars in her own envelope.
"Yes, to a very distinguished doctor," Emcee said. Well, it wasn't a lie.
"And all my books?" Herman asked.
"Most of them, yes," Emcee said, "to a woman who was part of a sort of...preservation society. The rest I gave to someone for safekeeping."
"Who?"
Emcee only smiled as he handed him a bundle of wrapped sandwiches. "A friend. It doesn't matter. I will get you your books back, and more, when this is all over."
"But--how?"
Emcee patted him on the cheek. "Don't worry about it," he said, before rearranging his spare possessions in his suitcase and snapping it shut.
"You are so full of mysteries these days, Emcee," he said with a curious frown.
"All the better to work my magic." There was magic involved, although it wasn't his own.
Frenchie examined the food and the money, her sharp features pensive. "Emcee," she said quietly, "you do realize that we can't possibly repay you for any of this."
"It's only sandwiches, darling," he said with a flippant little smirk.
But she shook her head. "No, I mean-- any of this. What you've done for us."
Emcee then looked at her with a fondness that went beyond that of a friend or lover. He reached over and swept a hand over her dark tresses and cupped her cheek. The savage fire in her eyes continued to burn behind the sadness in them.
"You have never had to repay me for anything," he said, and he kissed her lips. "None of you ever have to," he added, casting a glance around at the others.
Helga and Fritzie, huddled on the bed under their coats for warmth. Herman, sitting on the floor with his back against the bedframe, the food and money in his lap. They looked to Emcee, not knowing what to say. Words at this point seemed meaningless.
"Herman," he then said, "you have our tickets?"
"I do," Herman replied with a nod as he dug into an inner coat pocket for them, which he had bought in advance to ensure their passage. He gave Fritzie and Frenchie their tickets to Rostock, a port city where they would board a cargo ship to Trelleborg in the south of Sweden. The tickets to Hamburg he gave to Helga and Emcee, keeping one for himself.
"Remember," Emcee said to Fritzie and Frenchie, "if anyone asks why you are going to Rostock, you say you are looking for work."
"We know, we know," said Frenchie, rolling her eyes a little.
"And you've memorized the Swedish phrases I taught you?"
"Ja, det gör vi," Fritzie replied confidently.
"And the name of the ship?"
"The Polstjärnan," said Frenchie. "Emcee, don't worry, we can do this. We aren't little girls."
"I know that, darling, but you're still my girls and always will be," he said. "I can't help being a daddy hen to you all."
They laughed quietly at that. It was true. He had always looked after them and put them before himself when he could.
"Helga, sweetie," Fritzie cooed, rubbing the other woman's arm, "you've been so quiet."
Helga blushed and lowered her eyes, picking at the cuff of her coat sleeve. "I think that if I say what I'm thinking, I'll only burst into tears," she said with a soft, wavering chuckle. "I’m going to miss the two of you so much."
"Oh, we can't have that now," said Fritzie with a kiss to her brow. "We'll see each other again, I'm sure of it."
"We will," Emcee assured her--assured all of them. "Let us promise it. I propose that on New Year's Day in the year 1950, we will reunite at the Ritz Hotel in London."
"The Ritz?" Herman chuckled. "Why the Ritz?"
"Why not the Ritz?" Emcee countered with a grin. "We may not be able to afford to stay there, but at least we can meet there." And besides, it was the only place he could count on still existing after the war.
"But 1950 is so far away," said Helga sadly. "Do you really think it would take that long for this nonsense to be over?"
"It's politics, darling," Emcee said. "I fear that the way things are going, it might take even longer, and Germany would never be the same. But now, then, what do you all say? Shall we do it? Shall we meet again?"
A little more than fifteen years from now. Could they weather it? Could they bear it? Whatever the challenges the years might bring, they had no choice but to face them. And so, they promised.
Fritzie unfolded her long legs and slowly slipped off the bed. Her bobbed hair hung in blonde ringlets that framed a face that would otherwise be sly and beguiling, but now appeared childlike as the finality of this entire situation hit her. She didn't want to go. She never wanted to go. But she was doing this for Emcee, because he had done everything for them.
She took Emcee's face in both her hands and kissed him.
"One last time, mein Herr?" she whispered against his lips.
Frenchie slid her arms around Fritzie's waist and kissed the back of her shoulder. Helga shifted on the bed, setting aside their coats, making room. And Herman rose to his feet to join Helga, resting a hand on her thigh.
"One last time," Emcee agreed.
One last time to share kisses, to indulge in touches, to feel skin against skin in ways that only they have known.
***
At the crack of dawn, Fritzie and Frenchie, suitcases in hand, left the flat and headed down the street to the bus stop. Several minutes later, Herman, Helga, and Emcee followed, staggering their exits. All normal. All decent. All invisible.
There were already two other people waiting at the bus stop, an elderly woman with her hair tied in a scarf, and a middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper mustache. They looked weary. The small group waited in silence, none of them acknowledging one another, while everything around them began to awaken in the dim light of an overcast day.
When the bus came, Emcee and the others moved to the top deck where it was less crowded and they could sit near each other. Helga napped fitfully against Herman's shoulder. Fritzie and Frenchie shared a magazine. Emcee stared out the window, watching the city go by. He remembered the bus ride he took with Jay. This had been the same city. These had been the same streets.
Upon their arrival at Lehrter Bahnhof, the station was teeming with morning commuters rushing to and fro to catch the next departing trains. Announcements blared through the loudspeakers while stationmasters and conductors tried to keep the chaos under control, directing passengers to their correct platforms and overseeing porters carting luggage away. Clusters of people gathered to study the shifting timetable above the ticket booths, where long, impatient lines had formed.
Berlin to Hamburg, to the northwest. Berlin to Rostock, to the north. Two ports of entry--and exit.
It was time.
Helga could no longer hold back her tears as she threw her arms around Fritzie and Frenchie and buried her face against their shoulders. They were like sisters to her. Breaking these bonds was almost unbearable.
"Take care of yourselves," she whispered, as they hugged her tightly and kissed her damp cheeks.
When Helga stepped back, drying her eyes on her sleeve, it was Herman's turn. And they embraced him, seeking comfort in his arms as one seeks warmth in a blanket. He was big and solid, and full of love. He kissed the tops of their heads before letting them go.
And then there was Emcee.
Fritzie, for all her streetwise cynicism; Frenchie, for all her feline fierceness--neither of them could keep their eyes from welling with tears at this moment.
Emcee, standing before them, may not have appeared as he once did. Vibrant and shimmering with wit and joy, unbridled in his passion, unfettered in his audacity. Now, ordinary.
But appearances weren't everything. His eyes were still alive. And they all knew that he would find a way to shine in the shadows once more, somewhere, somehow.
Here amid the din and roar of Berlin's beating heart, they wrapped their arms around each other, and held one another in silence.
"Next train to Rostock, Track Four, departing in twenty minutes. Rostock, Track Four."
Emcee released Fritzie and Frenchie into the crowd like leaves into a rushing river. He and Herman and Helga stared after them for as long as they could see them. And then they were gone.
They would meet again. They will meet again.
Emcee glanced up at the timetable. Their train to Hamburg was leaving soon, on schedule. He picked up his suitcase.
"Come along, lieblings," he said, and with Herman and Helga at his sides, they headed toward their own destination.
In hushed tones, and moving around in stocking feet to muffle their footsteps from neighbors, they readied themselves for their journey.
Emcee opened his suitcase. He took out the envelopes of cash and bundles of food that he had prepared at Milliways. Pairing them up, he distributed them among the group.
"Where did you get all this money?" Fritzie asked Emcee as she stared in disbelief at the contents of her envelope. She had both German marks and Swedish krona.
"I sold most of the things you gave me to sell," he replied. "I simply came across some very generous buyers."
"You even sold all my picture frames?" said Helga, finding American dollars in her own envelope.
"Yes, to a very distinguished doctor," Emcee said. Well, it wasn't a lie.
"And all my books?" Herman asked.
"Most of them, yes," Emcee said, "to a woman who was part of a sort of...preservation society. The rest I gave to someone for safekeeping."
"Who?"
Emcee only smiled as he handed him a bundle of wrapped sandwiches. "A friend. It doesn't matter. I will get you your books back, and more, when this is all over."
"But--how?"
Emcee patted him on the cheek. "Don't worry about it," he said, before rearranging his spare possessions in his suitcase and snapping it shut.
"You are so full of mysteries these days, Emcee," he said with a curious frown.
"All the better to work my magic." There was magic involved, although it wasn't his own.
Frenchie examined the food and the money, her sharp features pensive. "Emcee," she said quietly, "you do realize that we can't possibly repay you for any of this."
"It's only sandwiches, darling," he said with a flippant little smirk.
But she shook her head. "No, I mean-- any of this. What you've done for us."
Emcee then looked at her with a fondness that went beyond that of a friend or lover. He reached over and swept a hand over her dark tresses and cupped her cheek. The savage fire in her eyes continued to burn behind the sadness in them.
"You have never had to repay me for anything," he said, and he kissed her lips. "None of you ever have to," he added, casting a glance around at the others.
Helga and Fritzie, huddled on the bed under their coats for warmth. Herman, sitting on the floor with his back against the bedframe, the food and money in his lap. They looked to Emcee, not knowing what to say. Words at this point seemed meaningless.
"Herman," he then said, "you have our tickets?"
"I do," Herman replied with a nod as he dug into an inner coat pocket for them, which he had bought in advance to ensure their passage. He gave Fritzie and Frenchie their tickets to Rostock, a port city where they would board a cargo ship to Trelleborg in the south of Sweden. The tickets to Hamburg he gave to Helga and Emcee, keeping one for himself.
"Remember," Emcee said to Fritzie and Frenchie, "if anyone asks why you are going to Rostock, you say you are looking for work."
"We know, we know," said Frenchie, rolling her eyes a little.
"And you've memorized the Swedish phrases I taught you?"
"Ja, det gör vi," Fritzie replied confidently.
"And the name of the ship?"
"The Polstjärnan," said Frenchie. "Emcee, don't worry, we can do this. We aren't little girls."
"I know that, darling, but you're still my girls and always will be," he said. "I can't help being a daddy hen to you all."
They laughed quietly at that. It was true. He had always looked after them and put them before himself when he could.
"Helga, sweetie," Fritzie cooed, rubbing the other woman's arm, "you've been so quiet."
Helga blushed and lowered her eyes, picking at the cuff of her coat sleeve. "I think that if I say what I'm thinking, I'll only burst into tears," she said with a soft, wavering chuckle. "I’m going to miss the two of you so much."
"Oh, we can't have that now," said Fritzie with a kiss to her brow. "We'll see each other again, I'm sure of it."
"We will," Emcee assured her--assured all of them. "Let us promise it. I propose that on New Year's Day in the year 1950, we will reunite at the Ritz Hotel in London."
"The Ritz?" Herman chuckled. "Why the Ritz?"
"Why not the Ritz?" Emcee countered with a grin. "We may not be able to afford to stay there, but at least we can meet there." And besides, it was the only place he could count on still existing after the war.
"But 1950 is so far away," said Helga sadly. "Do you really think it would take that long for this nonsense to be over?"
"It's politics, darling," Emcee said. "I fear that the way things are going, it might take even longer, and Germany would never be the same. But now, then, what do you all say? Shall we do it? Shall we meet again?"
A little more than fifteen years from now. Could they weather it? Could they bear it? Whatever the challenges the years might bring, they had no choice but to face them. And so, they promised.
Fritzie unfolded her long legs and slowly slipped off the bed. Her bobbed hair hung in blonde ringlets that framed a face that would otherwise be sly and beguiling, but now appeared childlike as the finality of this entire situation hit her. She didn't want to go. She never wanted to go. But she was doing this for Emcee, because he had done everything for them.
She took Emcee's face in both her hands and kissed him.
"One last time, mein Herr?" she whispered against his lips.
Frenchie slid her arms around Fritzie's waist and kissed the back of her shoulder. Helga shifted on the bed, setting aside their coats, making room. And Herman rose to his feet to join Helga, resting a hand on her thigh.
"One last time," Emcee agreed.
One last time to share kisses, to indulge in touches, to feel skin against skin in ways that only they have known.
***
At the crack of dawn, Fritzie and Frenchie, suitcases in hand, left the flat and headed down the street to the bus stop. Several minutes later, Herman, Helga, and Emcee followed, staggering their exits. All normal. All decent. All invisible.
There were already two other people waiting at the bus stop, an elderly woman with her hair tied in a scarf, and a middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper mustache. They looked weary. The small group waited in silence, none of them acknowledging one another, while everything around them began to awaken in the dim light of an overcast day.
When the bus came, Emcee and the others moved to the top deck where it was less crowded and they could sit near each other. Helga napped fitfully against Herman's shoulder. Fritzie and Frenchie shared a magazine. Emcee stared out the window, watching the city go by. He remembered the bus ride he took with Jay. This had been the same city. These had been the same streets.
Upon their arrival at Lehrter Bahnhof, the station was teeming with morning commuters rushing to and fro to catch the next departing trains. Announcements blared through the loudspeakers while stationmasters and conductors tried to keep the chaos under control, directing passengers to their correct platforms and overseeing porters carting luggage away. Clusters of people gathered to study the shifting timetable above the ticket booths, where long, impatient lines had formed.
Berlin to Hamburg, to the northwest. Berlin to Rostock, to the north. Two ports of entry--and exit.
It was time.
Helga could no longer hold back her tears as she threw her arms around Fritzie and Frenchie and buried her face against their shoulders. They were like sisters to her. Breaking these bonds was almost unbearable.
"Take care of yourselves," she whispered, as they hugged her tightly and kissed her damp cheeks.
When Helga stepped back, drying her eyes on her sleeve, it was Herman's turn. And they embraced him, seeking comfort in his arms as one seeks warmth in a blanket. He was big and solid, and full of love. He kissed the tops of their heads before letting them go.
And then there was Emcee.
Fritzie, for all her streetwise cynicism; Frenchie, for all her feline fierceness--neither of them could keep their eyes from welling with tears at this moment.
Emcee, standing before them, may not have appeared as he once did. Vibrant and shimmering with wit and joy, unbridled in his passion, unfettered in his audacity. Now, ordinary.
But appearances weren't everything. His eyes were still alive. And they all knew that he would find a way to shine in the shadows once more, somewhere, somehow.
Here amid the din and roar of Berlin's beating heart, they wrapped their arms around each other, and held one another in silence.
"Next train to Rostock, Track Four, departing in twenty minutes. Rostock, Track Four."
Emcee released Fritzie and Frenchie into the crowd like leaves into a rushing river. He and Herman and Helga stared after them for as long as they could see them. And then they were gone.
They would meet again. They will meet again.
Emcee glanced up at the timetable. Their train to Hamburg was leaving soon, on schedule. He picked up his suitcase.
"Come along, lieblings," he said, and with Herman and Helga at his sides, they headed toward their own destination.