Филип Керр - Metropolis

‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, removing his peaked cap. ‘And welcome to Sing Sing!’

More cheers.

‘Most Berlin clubs have bands or naked girls these days; or ventriloquists, or magicians. I’ve even heard it said that at certain clubs you can watch two people having sex. And sometimes three or four. So many cocks, so much mouse, so very passé . But Sing Sing has something unique in the annals of entertainment. I promise you that you will not forget what we have to show you. Because, ladies and gentlemen, and without further ado, once again I have the honour to introduce you to the greatest star in all Berlin cabaret. Please give a warm Sing Sing welcome to Old Sparky himself!’

More cheers and more stamping on the sawdust-covered wooden floor as the curtains drew back to reveal a large wooden chair equipped with leather straps. The master of ceremonies sat down in the chair and crossed his legs nonchalantly.

‘As you can see, this is an exact working facsimile of the electric chair at Sing Sing prison in New York, which was most recently used to execute a Jewish housewife named Ruth Snyder who murdered her husband for his life insurance. Poor woman. As if such a thing was in any way unusual. In Berlin, they’d probably have given her a medal and a pension.’

Cheers again.

‘Now, many of you will know that the use of the electric chair was introduced as a humane alternative to hanging. However, it has often been the case that the electrocution did not go as smoothly as the authorities or the condemned would have preferred. Sometimes they used too much electricity, in which case the victim caught fire; and sometimes they used not enough, in which case the victim lived and had to be electrocuted again. Of course it’s all a question of money and a lot depends on whether the prison has paid its electricity bill. Or not. Fortunately the Sing Sing Club has no such problems with the Berlin Electrical Company. We always pay our bills. Not always with our own money, mind you. But we pay because without electricity there would be no Old Sparky for your entertainment.

‘Yes, I’m pleased to announce that it’s that very special, not to say galvanizing, time of the night when we invite a member of the Sing Sing audience to join us up here onstage and volunteer to be put to death by electrocution. What more could you reasonably ask in the way of entertainment? If only some of our politicians in the Reichstag were similarly inclined to volunteer for electrocution, eh? It’s only what those bastards deserve. So do we have a volunteer? Come on, ladies and gentlemen, don’t be shy. Old Sparky is keen to say hello and good evening in his own peculiar way.

‘No? Well, I can’t say I’m very surprised. Old Sparky makes everyone a little shy, doesn’t he? After all, it’s no small thing to be fried in the electric chair for the amusement of your fellow citizens. Which is why we usually choose someone by ballot. So ladies and gentlemen: If you check your bill you’ll find that it contains a number. Please take a look at it while I select one of those numbers at random.’

The master of ceremonies placed his hand into a large bag labelled swag, and came out with a piece of paper containing a number, which he read: ‘And the losing number tonight is 191819/22.’

To my surprise and then horror I realized that the number was mine and I was about to crush the bill and head for the door but Hugo’s friend Helga had already spotted the number and was helpfully pointing me out to the master of these grotesque ceremonies.

‘He’s here,’ she shouted excitedly, and suddenly everyone was looking at me. ‘The condemned man. He’s sitting right beside me.’

I smiled at her, though I’d like to have bitten a piece out of Helga’s neck. But I was cornered. I had little choice but to fake good humour and participate in Sing Sing’s tasteless charade. With my ears full of applause I stood up as unseen hands started to pull and push me towards the stage. As I neared the MC, I looked around for Rosa, but all I could see were the sweating faces of my fellow citizens as they took a loud and sadistic pleasure in my obvious discomfort. A few people at the back were even standing on their chairs so as not to miss a minute of my last moments on earth and I was inevitably reminded of a public hanging on the old gallows at Neuer Markt, where Berlin’s citizenry had once flocked in their thousands to see a man die.

‘What’s your name, son?’ asked the MC as I stepped up beside him and he pushed me down into the chair.

‘Helmut Zehr,’ I said.

The MC, who smelled strongly of illegal absinthe, took the bill from my hand and ostentatiously tore it up, as if my debt to the club had been cancelled. Already two of the burliest convict waiters were strapping my arms and legs to the wooden chair; one of them rolled up my trouser legs and attached something cold and metallic to my calves as if they really did mean to electrocute me. It was about then that I saw the two huge H-switches on the bare brick wall, and another man standing beside these wearing heavy leather gauntlets. He seemed to be the only man present, apart from me, who wasn’t smiling.

‘Well, Helmut,’ said the MC, ‘in case you don’t know how this works, there’s an applause metre, so the more convincing the show you put on in this chair, the more money you will leave with tonight. By the way, you’ll feel a small amount of current in your hands and legs, just to help with your performance.’ He grinned and then added, ‘Always supposing that you manage to survive the experience. Not everyone does. Just once in a while everything goes wrong and the man seated in that chair really does get toasted. But only if he deserves it.’

The MC stood back and at a sign from the two waiters that the straps on my legs and arms were secure, raised his hands for silence before shouting, ‘Roll on one’ to the man wearing the gauntlets. My executioner threw one of the H-switches and, as the lights in the club turned suddenly much brighter, the MC addressed me again in sonorously judicial tones. I wanted to punch his painted face and might have done, but for the straps that held me.

‘Helmut Zehr: you have been sentenced to die by three judges of the German Supreme Court. Do you have anything to say before your sentence is carried out?’

The Sing Sing audience greeted my death sentence with great enthusiasm and I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if they’d have viewed the real thing with just as much enthusiasm.

‘Just get on with it,’ I muttered.

‘Electricity shall now be passed through your body until you are dead, in accordance with Prussian state law. May God have mercy on your soul.’

After a brief pause, the MC shouted, ‘Roll on two,’ and the gauntleted man threw the second H-switch. At the same time, the lights in the club flickered like lightning and I felt an electric current in my limbs that was strong enough to be uncomfortable. Anxious to end this loathsome spectacle as quickly as possible and get out of the club, I let out a yell, jerked around spasmodically for several seconds and played dead. Then, from underneath the chair, a small smoke bomb went off, which made me jump one last time, and finally my ugly ordeal was over.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ shouted the MC, ‘I give you Helmut Zehr.’

With the straps on the chair undone, I struggled weakly to my feet and acknowledged the thunderous applause with a wave of my hand.

‘Take a bow,’ said the MC. ‘You were a good sport, Helmut.’

Outside the Sing Sing Club I leaned on the exterior wall to catch a breath of what passed for fresh air in that part of Berlin. My hands were trembling as they steered a cigarette uncertainly towards the biggest hole in my face, lit it and then fumbled the rest of the matches onto the ground. Rosa regarded me with concern.