"You were my new inspiration"
Summary: Loosely based on the musical Cabaret. Six, a new cabaret star at Dauntless, bumps into Tobias, a struggling author determined to find his way in Berlin. Set in the latter-years of Weimar Germany.
Another indifferent day passes, and another meagre attempt to conquer my wonderful writer's block has – unsurprisingly – failed again. I don't know why I still bother to maintain my ostentatious lifestyle here in Chicago; perhaps I'm trying to keep myself under the pretence that I am indeed Jay Gatsby and not, in fact, a struggling author with barely any cash in his pockets.
I take another sip of cheap, bitter larger to clear my thoughts – I'm no alcoholic, but an occasional drink always seemed to be able to make me form coherent thoughts on paper when I wrote my first book. Apparently, that magic spark that previously existed has now dissipated into nothingness … It only acts as a form of console in times of denial and trouble now.
My friend Zeke, a fellow writer, tells me to go look for extravagance in our constant stream of letters – he tells me that the best way out of a sticky situation is to go find something raucous to train your eyes at. He's never had any trouble with writer's block, at least not in my ten-odd years of knowing him; beautiful literature spews through from pen to paper simply by his touch – I don't know how he works his magic, and I'm constantly trying to get him to show me his tricks of the trade, especially after his first book, Twice Over the Moon. I eye it sitting innocently on my desk.
"Once - now twice - I have fallen in love, twice has it ended in tatters. I use all my might to refrain myself from remembering that wave of euphoria every time her perfume lingered on my clothing because I do not want to keep my hopes up on an impossible girl a thousand leagues away when I am most certainly about to die in this hollow grave, this vile trench. No more am I grasping onto luxury; war has inevitably come and here I am, surrounded by the looming threat of the Allied Powers sending me to a painful death.
Mister Thistle, a small needle of a man aged no more than twenty-five (and my neighbour), whimpers beside me - it is difficult to imagine that he voluntarily signed himself up in this game. But then again, he will have wanted to restore his family's pride, and he knows that it will all end by Christmas. By then, our field marshal had assured us - hand over heart - or even earlier. He sounded cocky and determined. Thank goodness, or we would all go crying back to our mothers."
Of course, I am jealous.
Recently, he told me to go to Berlin with him on a trip to visit his brother, Uriah, there: "Think about it – a perfectly scandalous city with beautiful men and women living sumptuous lives. Whilst I handle family business, you could go out to enjoy yourself and find an appropriate stimulus for your new book, eh? It all works out, and I'll even foot the bill - anything for a fellow author." He had told me.
I'll admit, I was - and still am - tempted, but I forced myself to push down those thoughts of selfishness and greed out of the way. Regardless of his generosity, I was completely broke. I didn't know any German. I had nowhere to go. And, even if I did choose to stay there after Zeke would leave, how could I pay for my basic living expenses via Rentenmark?
But you could escape Chicago. Escape the Devil.
I feel my feelings of greed return, and I shove them down again.
Marcus Eaton. He could be gone for a month, or two.
No, I shake my head; it's too dangerous in a foreign country, and I'd want to be sure that I'd at least be alright. Besides, Zeke is leaving in a few days' time – far too late for any arrangements to be made.
Marcus Eaton.
I allow my thoughts to drift to my estranged father for once – I have always hated that man, especially after my mother passed on. He'd beat me, constantly, day after day after day after day after …
Berlin.
Too unfamiliar for its own good … Yet somewhat safe for me to venture without having to worry about being beaten to death by a drunkard when he decides to visit me, like a "good father" should.
It will welcome me with open arms.
Willkommen, Zeke had said prior to the announcement of his idea; he had a small homemade pamphlet in his hands, to Berlin; a sparkling gem in the intriguingly foreign country of Germany; previously not a member of the League of Nations until the Locarno Treaties of 1926, but safe nonetheless.
Safe was the keyword in his sentence. Of course, he knows nothing of Marcus, other than the fact that him and I are estranged, but Zeke wouldn't know that that single word had made relief run through my body when I realised that there was, finally, a safe haven on this planet in which my father could not beat me. Again, my life wouldn't be as secure as it would be in America (not that it is, because it isn't) but regardless, I would finally feel at home and at peace knowing that the son-of-a-bitch that had frequented alcohol and a belt more than love would be across a vast ocean with no way of knowing where I would be.
And that seems to be the selling point for me as I begin to hastily grab my coat and run to tell Zeke that, yes - I have changed my mind.
I run to his apartment a few blocks away and knock impatiently at his door. When he finally opens it, I can tell that I've disturbed him judging from the prominent deep-set eye bags lining the skin around his eyes
"What the hell, Tobias," Zeke says, sluggishly. "It's a bit too early for a wake-up call considering I just fell asleep, don't you think? Sure, I love you and all that, but if you don't have a valid excuse for waking me up from my previously peaceful slumber, I will kick your ass so hard you'll end up on Coney Island. Speak quickly to save your own soul, mortal."
The grin doesn't leave my face when I tell him that there's been a change of plans on my end and that, yes – I'm actually going to Berlin with him. Heck, it even snaps Zeke out of his previously grumpy mood, and he welcomes me in to his apartment with open arms to discuss the situation further.
Willkommen, indeed.
The day has finally come for me to visit Berlin. Zeke is by my side, luggage in tow, as he passes our tickets to one of the sailors that will be taking us across the Atlantic. His eyes scan them quickly and he nods, thus deeming them valid, before letting us onto the boat that will take us to Calais for a layover then, finally, Antwerp.
Zeke briefs me once we settle down into our room – he tells me that after Antwerp, we'll be taking a train to Dusseldorf before moving on to Berlin; a total of three-odd weeks of travel for us.
"Any more questions, Tobias?"
I shake my head; Zeke was clear and concise with his words and he's practically covered every single point that I've raised up.
He smiles. "Good. I guess I'll leave you explore the ship to see what we can do here; it's a tediously long journey, and I suppose you could potentially find some inspiration here …"
I sigh, his partial-innuendo speaking loud and clear as profanity would in an uncalled situation. This journey will be a long one, but – as cliché as it sounds – I look forward to it.
I'll do anything to escape the chains that Marcus Eaton has bound on me and write freely without any disruptions.