Sirius (10 page)

Rahel has blossomed. Her breezy yellow dress gleams like a sunflower. Did she always used to accentuate her pouting lips with red lipstick? Just like before, she is still fond of sighing.

“Oh, Andreas,” she sighs.

Andreas looks just the same as everyone remembers him. The lean, tall figure, the black locks framing his pale face and dark, angry eyes. The very opposite of a sonny boy, as they say in Hollywood.

The black floor-length coat darkens his aura even more. The people on the station platform stare at the eerie arrival from Europe. They will see him again in the autumn, when he starts to play the violin in the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra. Signed by Otto Klemperer.

Sirius greets Andreas. He circles him with his tail wagging, then snuffles at his bag.

“That’s right,” laughs Andreas. “I brought you something. For all of you, in fact. Just a little something.”

He unpacks a box of “Basler Läckerli”.

Everyone from Basel is incredibly proud of their city’s baked delicacy. It’s a kind of Lebkuchen which is particularly hard and chewy. The recipe originates from the 17th century, and one could be forgiven for thinking that the biscuits have been in the box ever since. Sirius is still chewing on his even by the time the fully laden Chevrolet turns into Melrose Avenue.

“Welcome to Hollywood!” cries Carl.

Andreas is startled when he walks into the tiny wooden house that Carl and Rahel live in. The last time he saw them they lived in a townhouse which was sometimes mentioned in the same breath as the Sistine Chapel. With a little stretch of the imagination, of course.

Overall, his first impressions aren’t great. The long journey, the big city, the new language, the strange new world. And particularly the new Liliencrons.

He will stay with Georg initially. Carl wants to show him the city. Rahel wants to hear the latest news from Europe. And he simply must accompany Sirius into the film studio. Erich Korngold is looking forward to meeting him.

But for now, Andreas belongs to Else.

*

A Widow Lives Twice
is being premiered.

Hollywood Boulevard has been closed off. The onlookers throng towards the Chinese Theatre, where the red carpet has been laid out. Everyone wants to see the stars.

Spotlights shine high up into the sky, circling their beams of light. Cameramen, photographers and reporters line the streets. One black limousine after another drives past. Premiere guests, too impatient to wait, climb out and push their way towards the throng on foot.

Some of them have a packet of Kleenex in their handbags. It’s advisable when Tyrone Chester is the director.

Flashlights glitter as the widow steps onto the red carpet, accompanied by the con artist. Hands stretch towards them, accompanied by pleas for autographs.

Then the door of the next limousine opens, the chauffeur bows, and a dog gets out.

A storm of camera flashes.

“Sirius! Sirius!” scream the photographers.

The widow reacts with the speed of a lightning bolt. She picks up the dog and poses for the cameras.

By the time Tyrone Chester walks onto the red carpet and links arms with the abandoned con artist, the camera flashes have long since been turned off. And by the time Carl and Rahel arrive, the cameramen are no longer to be seen. The couple come at the very last minute and are lucky to be allowed into the cinema. Carl has rented himself a tuxedo, while Rahel is hoping that she won’t run into Carole Lombard again.

The lights in the room dim, the screen shines brightly.

Sirius looks as big as a horse when he appears, taking his place by the widow’s feet.

He lays his colossal paw on her monumental arm – and the audience sobs.

“The dog really understands her,” whimpers an elderly woman next to Rahel.

When Sirius warns the widow with his growl, the man next to Carl wipes the sweat from his brow: “Thank God!”

The film seems to be having the desired impact on its audience.

But it’s still a failure with the critics.

The
Hollywood Reporter
writes: “As a viewer, you can’t help but wish that the widow had only lived once. Or better still: not at all.”

The film critic from the
New York Times
says: “There was only one excellent actor in this film, and he had four legs.”

The next morning, the picture of the widow with the dog is on all the front pages.

“Look,” says Rahel proudly to Sirius as they walk past the kiosk. “That’s you!”

The kiosk woman stares at them. So intensely that her eyes become two narrow slits.

A few days later, when the two of them walk by again, she calls out to Rahel: “I saw the movie. It’s strange how the dog looks much smaller in real life.”

*

After just a few weeks, there are posters hanging all over Hollywood: “If you like Skippy, you’ll love Sirius!”

Beneath those words is a likeness of Sirius, drinking a milkshake with a cheeky smile.

Jack Warner knows the business well. He seizes the moment.

Advertising posters bang the drum for the widow who lives twice – and hopefully even longer at the box office – and start to pique peoples’ curiosity about the next film with the “biggest star of the dog world.”

Sirius plays “Hercules”, the loyal companion of a courageous family of settlers who, while seeking their fortune in the Wild West, are confronted by all manner of adverse situations. The father is sheriff of the small backwater town.

Jack Warner wants John Wayne for the role.

“Are you insane?” blusters Wayne. “I hate dogs!”

Warner tries to simplify things for a temperament that is already simple enough.

“But the dog isn’t a dog at all. He’s a hero! He repeatedly rescues the family from all manner of adverse situations.”

Wayne is not calmed down by this, quite the contrary.

“I’m the hero!” he screams. “If anyone is going to rescue the family from all manner of adverse situations, then it’s me. And on a horse. Not with a dog.”

“Matt McDaniel is the director!” rejoices Warner. His expression implies that he is bringing the trump card into play.

John Wayne hesitates: “The negro?”

“What are you talking about?” says Warner. “You mean
Hattie
McDaniel, the actress. No, Matt McDaniel is a man, and white.”

“Well, there’s that at least,” grumbles Wayne.

The negotiations are adjourned.

Jack Warner is under pressure. Autumn is already approaching. The brilliant blue sky, beneath which the family of settlers are supposed to seek their fortune, will soon be gone. Heaven forbid that they have to film in winter. Then the family would have to shovel snow, and artificial snow at that, in the studio. That would be expensive.

But that’s exactly what happens.

John Wayne turns the role down. And negotiations with Errol Flynn fall through too. The screenplay has to be completely rewritten. The settlers now have the weather to contend with as well. In the end, an actor called Morton Wilcox gets the role. Not the catchiest of names. But it doesn’t matter; after all, the true star is Sirius.

The studio grounds are being transformed into the Wild West. Hills are heaped up and forested. Prairie grass and pebbles are transported in. Rocks tower up from the steppe. The poor settlers; they’ll have to dig it all up again and make it fertile.

A town is being constructed. All just façades, of course. A weather-beaten sign bears the name “Luckyville”. The cowboys will ride through the dusty main street. Sinister strangers will arrive at the train station. Guns will smoke in the saloon.

Luckily, the sheriff and Hercules are on hand to keep law and order in this “goddamn backwater”.

*

Sirius is trembling all over. His pulse is racing. He rolls his eyes. He whimpers. And all because some drunken cattle handler has just fired a shot at the ceiling in the saloon.

“Cut!” calls the director.

According to the script, Hercules is now supposed to dash off to the farm and get the sheriff’s help. But he can’t. He flees to the furthest corner of the studio and cowers there, the picture of misery. Crown picks him up.

“What’s wrong?” asks the director.

Crown is completely baffled. “I don’t know.”

“Has this ever happened before?” asks the director.

“No,” replies Crown. “But why would it have? We don’t fire guns at home.”

The settlers look at each other, taken aback. Some giggle. The dog they call Hercules is easily spooked.

It’s a catastrophe.

There’s nothing else for it, Sirius has to see a psychiatrist. And quickly.

That very same day, Dr. Robert Methusalem takes on the case. He’s considered an expert.

Sirius lies down on the couch.

“What happened?” asks Dr. Methusalem.

Crown describes the events, starting with Luckyville, the drunken cattle handler in the saloon, the gunshots.

“Gunshots?” interrupts Dr. Methusalem.

Sirius shakes just upon hearing the word.

“I suspect early childhood trauma,” murmurs Dr. Methusalem.

Crown continues, journeying back to Berlin, back to the night when the synagogue was burning and the streets were filled with mountains of shards, caretaker Zinke on the truck, petrol, glass, gunshots, screams.

Dr. Methusalem makes notes. He raises his eyebrows slightly when the word “gunshots” comes up again.

Crown describes the zero hour, Levi had just come into the world when the men in boots came, shooting all the dogs except one – him.

“There we have it!” cries Dr. Methusalem. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. It’s a clear-cut case.”

“Terrible,” says Crown. He hugs Sirius tightly against him. “I thought you had long forgotten all of that.”

Sirius closes his eyes. He doesn’t want anyone to see his tears.

“Forgotten?” corrects Dr. Methusalem. “Suppressed, more like!”

“Sometimes,” he continues, “the trauma even induces a personality change. The soul wants to protect itself, to ensure it’s never hurt again. The personality becomes highly sensitive, almost hypersensitive. Have you noticed anything like that?”

“Yes,” replies Crown, “we have.”

“It doesn’t necessarily have to be a disadvantage,” says Dr. Methusalem. “Mozart was traumatised. And look what became of him.”

Sirius has fallen asleep.

“And now?” asks Crown. “What should we do?”

“There are two options,” declares Dr. Methusalem. “I once had a patient who was a war veteran. Extremely traumatised. A heavy stutterer. So I shot at him him with a blank pistol in our sessions. For two years, and then he was healed.”

“And the second option?” asks Crown.

“Very simple,” replies Dr. Methusalem. “Avoid gunshots.” With a wink, he adds: “ I mean, we all avoid gunshots. It’s completely normal.”

“How are we supposed to manage that?” asks Crown in despair. “My dog is playing the lead role in a Western! They’re always firing guns. He’s playing Hercules, a dog that knows no fear.”

Dr. Methusalem: “Just put a little cotton wool in his ears. That’s what I do when my wife gets too loud.”

Crown goes back to the film studio, a few insights the richer. On the way, he buys some cotton wool.

“So?” asks the director. “Problem solved?”

“I think so, yes,” replies Crown.

“Great,” says the director. “Then let’s continue. Listen up, everyone! We’ll shoot Scene 12 now. The shoot-out at the train station. Props team, bring the weapons please!”

Sirius defies the hailstorm of bullets as fearlessly and invulnerably as only a Hercules can.

*

Life in Luckyville has a happy ending, of course.

Hercules and the sheriff can breathe a sigh of relief. There are no more adverse situations to confront. The settlers have found the happiness they were seeking in the Wild West. Even though the weather was bad at times. But even when it was, they still had a roof over their heads – in Hall 1. Hollywood looks after people who have a dream.

Now only the final scene remains.

“Christmas Eve!” cries the director.

All the residents of Luckyville gather around a big Christmas tree and sing “O Christmas Tree” together.

“Snow!” cries the director.

Artificial snow flutters down gently from the skies.

This was exactly the expense that Jack Warner had wanted to avoid, but even he has to hold back a tear.

Applause. The dream factory has done a good job.

Reality lies in wait for the residents of Luckyville. They return to their real lives, to their little worlds, to their own adverse situations.

The sheriff has just separated from his wife.

“Then come to us for Christmas Eve!” says Crown.

Fate isn’t shy about handing out a few surprises. This year, Sirius will celebrate Christmas with the sheriff twice.

Santa Claus is Coming to Town
is playing on the radio. A new Christmas song at last.

“Christmas trees! Christmas trees!” cries the seller in front of the drugstore. “They make you happy. Better than any drug.”

Rahel smiles. This time he’s right. For the Crown family, the year drawing to a close has been a good one.

In a way, they too are settlers who have found their happiness in the Wild West.

*

Adolf Hitler sees the end of the year as an opportunity to hold a speech in the Berlin Sportpalast:

“And so we enter the New Year with a Wehrmacht armed more powerfully than we have ever seen in our country’s history.”

“
Sieg Heil
!” cries the audience.

“1941,” he continues, “will be the decisive year for a great New Order in Europe!”

“
Sieg Heil
!” cries the audience.

“And another thing,” he adds, “the Duce and I, we are neither Jews nor are we profiteers. When we shake hands, it is the handshake of men of honour.”

The German Reich now includes Poland, Denmark, Norway, Holland, Yugoslavia and Greece. France is occupied. Italy is an ally. In the Reich Chancellery, preparation for the Russian campaign is underway.

Far away from war-related events, a little dog called Sirius is conquering Hollywood.