Sirius (11 page)

But he neither attacked nor fought. He simply sat in front of a kitchen door in the hope that a few chicken bones might be going begging – and the rest is history. In this decisive year.

Sirius is now Hercules.

The film poster shows the sheriff arresting some sinister baddie, while in the foreground Hercules is ready and waiting with the handcuffs.

“Thank Heaven for Hercules”, says the caption.

The poster is all over Hollywood. In front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, where the premiere is to be held,
Hercules
is even stretched across Hollywood Boulevard. The dog is so huge that the cars heading in one direction drive through the right handcuff, and the contraflow through the left.

High above Hollywood, a Hercules-shaped hot air balloon hovers in the sky, as if the dog were the landmark of the city. In the long history of zoology, there has probably never been a dog that got so much attention.

Sirius now has an agent who takes care of his public relations. Her name is Iris Green, and it’s her job to make sure Hercules receives “the attention he deserves”, as Jack Warner puts it.

“How about a nice dinner at the Romanoff tonight?” Miss Green suggests. “At the invitation of Mr Warner, of course.”

Romanoff is the new restaurant on Rodeo Drive. It’s the talk of the town, and the Romanoff steak is supposed to be excellent, but the real attraction is the chef, a gentleman who is claiming to be Prince Michael Dimitri Alexandrovich Obolensky-Romanoff. Whether that’s his real name or not is anyone’s guess.

“Hercules,” says Prince Obolenksy-Romanoff with a bow as the Crowns walk in with Sirius on the lead.

“Table 4,” he calls to the waiter.

All eyes in the room are on Hercules.

Skippy is sat at Table 3.

All conversations in the room fall silent.

Skippy growls. He doesn’t just see another dog on his territory, but the dog through whose handcuffs he has to drive day after day whenever he wants to go downtown, and it’s the same dog who is floating over Hollywood, filled with hot air.

Skippy hates this dog. He jumps down from his seat so speedily that his companion cries out in surprise. Then he stalks over to the enemy and obstructs his path in a threatening manner.

Sirius, too, has pulled away from his lead and is baring his teeth.

There they stand, opposite one another, in the middle of Romanoff: Skippy, the King of Hollywood, and Hercules, his contender.

The guests get up from their tables. Some even clamber up onto their chairs in order to get a better view. To be on the safe side, the waiters hold the trays laden with Romanoff steaks up above their heads.

Skippy attacks. He launches himself at Hercules, ramming his head into his flank, snapping for his neck. Hercules catches Skippy by the tail, hurls him up into the air, then flings him down to the floor. Then the two dogs roll, locked together, escaping for a brief moment only to stalk around each other again moments later.

As if by magic, photographers have appeared. As they snap their pictures, the dogs flicker in the storm of flashlights.

Miss Green smiles. She knows how happy Jack Warner will be when he opens the morning papers tomorrow. And she’s right.

“Battle in the Romanoff!” says the headline of the
Hollywood Reporter
.

“Dual of the Giants,” says the
Los Angeles Times
.

Both dogs are unharmed, but Hercules is the clear victor.

On the day of the film premiere, Sirius makes an especially dramatic appearance: he is limping a little as he makes his way down the red carpet, and his right front paw is bandaged. As a sign of heroism. It was no easy ascent to the top. He had to fight for it.

The onlookers’ hearts are won. Sirius is now conclusively a star.

*

Hercules is a box office smash. People flock to the movie theatres to see the dog that takes care of law and order in the Wild West.

The dog doesn’t speak one single world in the film, and only once is his shrewd expression accompanied by a sonorous voice: “I’m wilder than the West, and that’s a fact.” Upon hearing this, the crook puts his Colt in his holster and backs away.

The line swiftly becomes a catchphrase in America.

It can he heard in playgrounds, in bars, in offices, at parties. It’s almost impossible for a woman to be flirted with without the man lowering his voice and saying: “I’m wilder than the West, and that’s a fact.”

Even Franklin D. Roosevelt, the President of the United States, utters the words in jest during an after-dinner speech at the White House.

Hercules is on everyone’s lips.

Jack Warner relaxes back into his chair. He realizes, however, that it just won’t do for his star to be living in a wooden shack anymore. How will that look to the reporters who are already queuing up to be permitted to visit Hercules on his home territory?

He instructs Miss Green to find a prestigious home for the Crowns.

“It has to make a statement,” he says. “Villa Hercules.”

Miss Green gets to work. Her favourite is a house which was built just recently. It perches on a cliff and has a view of the whole of Hollywood. In actual fact, the entire house is constructed solely from glass.

Jack Warner looks at the photos, shaking his head. “What on earth is it? Is it supposed to be a house?”

“It’s modern!” gushes Miss Green. “Very interesting architecture.”

“Hercules is interesting enough by himself,” replies Warner stroppily. “People are supposed to talk about the dog, not the house.”

“The house is unique,” Miss Green continues to gush. “As unique as Hercules.”

“Mm-hmm,” grumbles Warner. “There’s a bit too much glass. For a dog. Doesn’t that seem strange?”

“Not in the slightest!” exclaims Miss Green. “When Hercules sits by the window, his silhouette will become one with the backdrop of the city. Hercules and Hollywood, one and the same.”

“That sounds good,” murmurs Warner. “Perhaps the two of us should live in the house, and then our silhouettes can become one with the backdrop of the city.”

“Mr Warner!” cries Miss Green indignantly.

And so the rental contract is signed. The young architect, John Lautner, furnishes the rooms in the spirit of modernity. But he refuses to erect a rustic wooden sign with the inscription “Villa Hercules” at the entrance.

When the Crowns catch their first glimpse of their new home, they are speechless.

Modernist minimalism isn’t yet a concept they are familiar with. They stand there in the glass cube and gape like people who have just landed on a foreign planet.

Carl gives a start when he sees that an abyss opens up just beyond the window, the ground only appearing again far below in the valley.

Sirius hears the echo of his steps in the high-ceilinged living area.

“Isn’t it a bit too big for us?” asks Rahel.

“Think of the photographers, the reporters,” Miss Green assures her. “It’ll soon fill up, you’ll see.”

And it does. The house fills up, day after day, hour after hour. The doorbell rings relentlessly, and one curious visitor after another steps in.

“Villa Hercules,” crows the female reporter from
House & Garden
. “I never would have expected a Western hero to live in such modern surroundings!”

Rahel requests politely that she remember to differentiate between the dog and the role.

“Does Hercules love modern architecture?” the reporter wants to know.

“Absolutely,” responds Rahel. “He’s an aesthete.”

“How darling!” giggles the reporter.

The photographer from
Gourmet
magazine wants to photograph Hercules while he’s eating.

“What’s his favourite dish?” he asks.

“Turkey goulash with tagliatelle,” Rahel dreams up.

“Does he like filet mignon too?” asks the photographer. “Because that’s what I prepared in advance. For the photo.”

The columnist from
Life
lies down with Hercules on the couch. The name of her column is “Five Questions on the Couch”.

“Can you sing, too?” asks a radio reporter.

Hercules yowls
Y’a d’la joie
by Maurice Chevallier.

The cameraman from Pathé News films the house from outside for their newsreel. “Can we do an interview in the garden later?”

“I just need five minutes for a caricature,” interrupts the caricaturist from
The
New Yorker
.

“Is Hercules interested in fashion?” asks the editor of
Vogue
. “He sure is!” answers Rahel.

The columnist of the
Boston Globe
wants to talk to Hercules about Boston.

“Does Hercules like Boston?”

Carl jumps in: “He loves Boston.”

“I can’t work like this!” bellows the art photographer. “I have to concentrate! I need peace and quiet!”

Peace and quiet? They don’t exist in this house anymore.

Sirius is exhausted by all the questions he’s suddenly being confronted with. Does Hercules like Boston? He’s never been to Boston. And he’s not Hercules.

It’s all very confusing. The reporters have left now, and Sirius is alone, with his questions.

“Who am I?” he wonders. And: “Am I happy?”

These questions. These eternal questions.

Sirius goes over to the window, and his silhouette becomes one with the backdrop of Hollywood.

*

In the spring, Jack Warner gives the green light for a Hercules sequel:
Hercules Returns
.

In the summer, filming will already begin for the sequel to the sequel:
Hercules – One Against All.

Warner is spinning the wheel of happiness at ever-increasing speeds.

Sirius really doesn’t know how he is supposed to manage all of this. Hercules is starting to get on his nerves. The dog is constantly stumbling into some new adventure and dragging Sirius along with him. After the demanding spell in the Wild West, it would have been nice to take a little breather, but instead Hercules is returning already!

Sirius also can’t figure out the criteria by which Hercules selects his adventures. Why does he now have to fight against pirates who are making trouble on the island of “Hula” in the South Pacific? The natives are distraught, of course; their princess has been kidnapped and most probably by cannibals, and only Hercules can save the day.

He does, and very gallantly too. The film is almost a wrap.

But after that, the journey will continue to Rome, where Emperor Nero is threatening to set the city on fire if someone doesn’t come forward with the Temple’s golden chest, which was stolen by the Vestal Virgins, and again Hercules is the only one who can save the day.

Saving the day has its limits, thinks Sirius. He’s at the end of his strength. He’s barely eating anymore. He’s not sleeping well.

The Crowns are very worried.

Georg, who by now is in his fifth semester of medicine, makes a decisive diagnosis: “Stress.”

“What’s that?” asks Rahel.

“It’s a new phenomenon,” replies Georg. “Sensory overload. Professor Hans Selye is in the process of researching it. He calls it “stress.”

Georg prescribes, for the time being, a complete lack of excitement.

“Switzerland would be the ideal place in that respect, naturally,” he ponders. “But that’s out of the question. So absolute rest will have to suffice.”

Crown speaks to Jack Warner, who – as expected – flies off the handle.

“Rest? How can we manage that?”

Crown pleads for his understanding: “The dog is at breaking point with his nerves. His hair is even falling out.”

Warner waves his hand dismissively: “Then he’s no different to me.”

He agonizes for a moment, then says: “Okay, I’ll add another 100 dollars a week.”

It’s only when Crown rejects the offer that he realizes the severity of the situation, and shakes his head sadly.

“The Colosseum, the gladiator costumes,” he mumbles, “and all for nothing. Such a pity.”

But he gives in: “Okay then. Give my canine friend my best wishes for his recovery.”

Tranquility arrives in the Crown household.

Sirius lies quietly by the open window. A gentle breeze ruffles his fur. He listens to his heart beating.

Rahel and Carl walk around on tiptoes. When they speak to one another, they whisper.

Even the birds, when they fly high in the air past the strange glass nest, try to flap their wings as quietly as they can.

Their wings are flapping to the same rhythm as my heartbeat, thinks Sirius. What does that mean?

He remembers the 30-million-year-old duck, back in Berlin. In his mind he wanders through the Tiergarten, back to the tree on Klamtstrasse.
His
tree.

Does the tree ever wonder what became of the dog that used to visit him every day?

“I work in a dream factory – imagine that!” Sirius would say to him if they saw each other again.

“A dream factory? What’s that?” asks the tree.

Sirius tells him about Hula, Luckyville and the widow who only just escaped being the victim of a con artist.

“But that sounds awful,” says the tree. “Who would have dreams like that?”

“Humans,” says Sirius.

“Humans,” repeats the tree, shaking his crown sadly. “You look exhausted. Can I give you some advice?”

“Of course,” replies Sirius. “That’s why I came.”

“Don’t worry, just live!” says the tree. “Positive thinking.”

*

Else had admittedly already mentioned that she was going to bring a little something along on her next visit, but the amazement on her parents’ faces is still considerable when they see what it is.

A huge black concert piano.

It takes four men to heave it into the house. “Now that’s what I call a little something,” says Carl.

Rahel is speechless.

“Korngold gave me the Steinway,” says Else. “As a goodbye present.”

“Goodbye?” asks Rahel.

Else smiles: “I’m pregnant.”

Is there anything more thrilling for parents than a concert piano which delivers this kind of news? Carl and Rahel embrace their daughter, overwhelmed with emotion.

Even the four men still waiting for their tip have tears in their eyes.