Sirius (9 page)

The spotlights go on.

“Action!” calls Chester.

The cameraman rolls first towards wealth, then towards solitude.

“What’s the point of all this money if I don’t have love?” sighs the widow.

“Cut!” cries Chester. “When she says the word ‘love’, Sirius needs to sit up and look at her. Explain that to him.”

“He understands already,” says Crown in the background.

The scene is repeated. Sirius does as instructed. He doesn’t want to come across as a know-it-all, but wouldn’t it be even more moving if he were to lay his paw tenderly on the widow’s arm as she says the word “love”?

On the second repetition, he decides to just do it. Chester is impressed. “Yes, exactly! That’s it!”

Scene 2.

The widow flicks through the newspaper and stumbles across the announcement of an aristocratic gentleman who is looking for love, completely unaware that he’s a con artist. She decides to answer the ad.

Sirius is to lie at her feet again.

“Action!” calls Chester.

“Who knows,” sighs the widow. “Maybe he’s the love of my life?”

Sirius thinks that it wouldn’t be a bad idea if he were to growl a little at this point. As a kind of warning.

Chester is delighted: “Exactly! Good idea. The dog growls. As a kind of warning.”

It isn’t long before he starts to address his directions straight at Sirius.

“How about if you look sadly into the camera at the end of the scene?”

Sirius looks sadly into the camera. He also puts a trace of melancholy in his expression.

“Excellent!” calls Chester.

To Crown he says: “Sold! Sirius has the role.”

*

From that moment on, Carl Crown no longer chauffeurs John Clark to the film studio, but Sirius instead.

“What a shame,” says Clark. “Now I need to get by without a guardian angel. What will I do in the Banana House without you?”

“Be careful, that’s what,” Crown replies. “The problem with the mambas is that their poison immobilizes the heart muscles. It goes straight to your heart’s core. That’s why they’re so dangerous.”

Clark is flummoxed: “How do you know these things?”

“I was a biologist in my former life,” replies Crown. “So, remember, be careful with your heart!”

“I’ll try,” laughs Clark.

Sirius is now the Hollywood star around which the Crowns’ lives revolve. And yet he’s not really a star. This is his very first film role. But he has an official ID from Warner Brothers on which it says: “Name: Sirius. Profession: Animal Actor.”

Rahel gives him a good brush before he leaves the house every morning. “Give it your all!” she calls after him. “Remember everything you’ve learnt!”

She sees little Levi before her. How he was trembling with fear when they found him. He had only just come into the world, and immediately his own world fell apart. He had to transform himself into a cushion in order to survive. And luck was on his side.

How smart he already was back then, Rahel thinks to herself.

When the cushion suddenly waved its tail, Levi was born again. He had already experienced enough to be able to understand the world.

Has he understood humans ever since that day?

The Big Dog constellation was in the sky back then, the only glimmer of light in the darkness. Levi transformed himself into a star, Sirius, and saved his family’s life.

Only he who transforms himself, survives.

Rahel is still in her dressing gown. It’s ten in the morning. She smiles, opens the front door and steps out onto the street. Like Carl used to back then; every morning, always at ten on the dot, day after day.

She looks up to the sky. It’s cloudless, a brilliant blue. The Big Dog is nowhere to be seen.

His star is currently rising in Hollywood. In Hall 2. In the film
A Widow Lives Twice
.

*

A phone call from Jack Warner’s office.

The switchboard operator in Hall 2 walks on tiptoes so as not to disturb the filming.

“Mr Crown,” she whispers, “Jack Warner wants to see you.”

Crown sets off on his way to the main building. In the elevator, he runs through his thank-you speech once again. On behalf of my family, he wants to say, I thank you – but then he’s already being welcomed by the head secretary and taken to Jack Warner.

The mogul sits behind a desk which resembles a monumental coffin. The rest of the room, too, is wood-panelled.

“Look who it is!” he cries in greeting. “The man from Berlin. The guardian angel.”

Crown clears his throat and begins: “In the name of my family…”

Jack Warner waves his hand. “No need for any of that. I called you here to talk about your dog. I hear you have a very interesting dog.”

“Sirius?” asks Crown, pleased.

“Maybe,” says Warner. “I’m not good with names. Even when I see that moody chap with the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, I have to think for a moment before I remember – ah yes, Humphrey Bogart.”

He gestures for Crown to take a seat.

“But,” Warner continues, “I know when talent crops up on the horizon. I can smell it from afar.” He closes his eyes and sniffs. “I’ve got a good nose for talent. I saw a few scenes with your dog recently. He has talent. Incredible talent. He even has it in him to beat Skippy.”

Skippy is the dog that has held the public’s hearts ever since he played Asta in
The Thin Man
. He is Hollywood’s biggest star on four legs. By now the terrier is earning more than most actors on two legs and leading the glamorous life of a film star. But Skippy is getting old. He’s losing his enthusiasm. He wants to retire from the film business.

“Skippy’s getting on my nerves,” snorts Warner. “Apparently he feels ‘sidelined’. The roles aren’t ‘demanding’ enough for him. If you ask me he’s become too full of himself. Right now he’s in a strop because Orson Welles got the lead in
Citizen Kane
and not him. Just imagine!”

Crown tries to imagine it. Charles Foster Kane, played by Skippy.

He can’t help but agree with Jack Warner.

“So,” says the mogul, “here’s the deal: two hundred dollars a week, for man and dog. After all, you belong together. We’ll make a start after the summer.”

Crown can’t hold his hand out quickly enough. Two hundred dollars, that means that – thanks to Sirius – his weekly wage has doubled.

“Great,” says Warner. “Where’s the dog?”

“He’s filming right now,” answers Crown.

Warner’s reply: “And? I always shake my stars’ hands when I sign them up. In this case, his paw, of course.”

He reaches for the telephone receiver and commands: “Get the dog here!”

Sirius appears soon after.

Jack Warner greets him with the same degree of respect he shows every artistic talent, regardless of whether they come in the door on two legs or four.

“Welcome to the Warner Brothers family!” he calls ceremoniously.

Sensing the good mood in the room, Sirius permits himself one of his beloved jokes for such occasions. He stands upright on his back legs and stretches out his right paw in salute.

Jack Warner stares at him in disbelief. Then he laughs so much he almost bursts.

“I’ll have to tell Charlie Chaplin about that,” he snorts. “It’s incredible. Even better than
The Great Dictator
.”

His laughter is still echoing along the corridor even once Crown and Sirius are out by the elevator.

Downstairs in the lobby, they run into John Clark.

“You two? Here?” asks Clark in surprise.

Crown tells him what has happened.

“Are you serious?” asks Clark, delighted. “That’s unbelievable.”

“Congratulations, my dear colleague!” he says to Sirius.

And to Crown, he of course says: “Let’s go and have a drink.”

*

An invitation to the big summer party – hosted by Earl and Linda Stein – is the highlight of the Hollywood party calendar.

Earl is founder of the most powerful artists agency; anyone who stands in front of the camera or sings into a microphone in America is represented by him.

This is easily confirmed by a glance at the guests getting out of their limousines this evening. Greta Garbo, Howard Hughes, Joan Crawford, Clark Gable, Bing Crosby, Ingrid Bergman, Cary Grant. Everyone is there.

The Crowns have been invited too, even though they don’t know the Steins. But the grapevine moves fast in Hollywood. The mysterious dog, recently signed by Jack Warner, naturally belongs on the guest list.

Skippy has withdrawn his RSVP. He has no intention of going if any old mongrel is invited.

The real motive for the party is so that Linda Stein, known as “Queenie”, can prove once more that she’s the party queen of Hollywood. She greets the guests on the red carpet.

“Clark, my darling!” she cries. “You were so wonderful in
Gone with the Wind
. Really spectacular!”

Clark Gable bows. “Thank you, Queenie.”

A rumour is going around Hollywood that he only took on the role of Rhett Butler in order to pay his astronomical dental bills. He really wanted to do
Tarzan
, but the movie slipped through his fingers.

“Elsa Schiaparelli!” screeches Queenie, catching a glimpse of Carole Lombard’s dress. Then she whispers quietly: “You must tell me where you got it.”

“Saks, in Beverly Hills,” Carole whispers back. “Just between you and me.”

Suddenly Queenie sees an animal on the red carpet. “Sirius!” she rejoices, haughtily ignoring his significant others. Rahel wishes the floor could swallow her up. She is wearing the exact same dress as Carole Lombard. So the salesman wasn’t fibbing.

In the garden, the guests are awaited by tables set out in a star formation around a dance floor. There is an illuminated podium in the middle, where Guy Lombardo and his orchestra are playing the hits of the season.

A short man with a hat perched askew approaches the Crowns. It’s that dancing Austrian again, Billy Wilder.

“How are you?” enquires Crown.

“Nobody is perfect,” replies Wilder, noticing that this still doesn’t quite work as a punchline.

Sirius only has to look at the buffet for some attentive waiter to nod and load up a plate with things that dogs might like.

“Shrimps?” asks the waiter uncertainly.

Sirius scrunches up his nose.

“Shrimps are good,” advises Cary Grant.

“Cocktail sausages are better,” adds Fred Astaire.

Carl sits next to a young actress who introduces herself as Hedy Lamarr. It takes a good while before both of them realize that they can speak to each other in German. Hedy is actually called Hedwig Kiesler and is from Austria. She complains about the fact that everyone just stares at her cleavage, when she actually happens to be developing a frequency-hopping process for mobile communications technology. The invention came about when she and the composer George Antheil were trying to synchronise one of his works for sixteen mechanical pianos. General Motors is interested in patenting it.

Carl Crown prefers to stare at her cleavage.

“You’re doing the right thing,” says John Clark, clapping him on the shoulder. “There’s nothing more beautiful than the Hollywood Hills.”

Rahel is amusing herself at the cocktail bar, surrounded by a group of young Italians. Their shirts gape open to reveal glinting crucifixes dangling down over their torsos. They wear sunglasses even at night.

The rumour is going around that Earl Stein, the host, is pressuring the stars into making appearances in his friend Al Capone’s nightclubs.

The orchestra plays
Summertime
. Ira Gerschwin, the song’s composer, and his wife Lee step onto the dance floor, closely intertwined.

The guests applaud.

Crown is just about to get up and ask Rahel to dance when he is drawn into a conversation about Eisenstein with a screenplay writer. He watches from the corner of his eye as Rahel dances with one of the Italians instead. The man seems to be funny; Rahel is throwing her head back and laughing heartily. What about? Could it be the latest joke from Calabria? Or an anecdote from day-to-day life with Al Capone? He is certainly a good dancer, you have to give him that.

Sirius sits on the lap of a woman who has wrapped a serviette around his neck so that he looks respectable while enjoying his dessert.

By midnight, the Italian is singing too. He scales the podium and performs a song with the title
I’ll Never Smile Again
, giving it his all.

“Who is that guy?” asks Crown.

“He’s called Frankie,” says Rahel. “That’s all I know.”

Crown lights himself a cigarette. He took up smoking recently. Life feels more exciting when you have something burning in your hand.

It burns time, too. You light it up, suck it in, breathe it out.

That’s probably how it goes with fame, reflects Crown. But he doesn’t have time to ponder that thought any further, for suddenly Dolores Del Rio is stood in front of him, asking for a light.

*

Other than that, the summer is under the spell of the third movement of Mendelssohn’s violin concerto, Op. 64.

The fulfilment of great love.

Andreas Cohn has finally arrived. There he stands, on the station platform, with his violin case in his hand. His luggage is just being unloaded.

Else sobs with happiness as they fall into each other’s arms. Almost two years have passed since they last saw each other.

Andreas looks into the faces which have burned themselves into his memory and slowly faded, like photographs from days gone by. Now, all of a sudden, new life has been breathed into them. They return his gaze, they smile back, they speak.

New life.

Else is no longer a delicate little creature with angelic locks. She wears her hair short now, and her sun-bronzed skin is scented of sunshine and swimming pools. She has become a young woman.

Carl is barely recognizable. He looks like a film star in his white suit, chic silk scarf and casual straw hat – is this really the same man who was awarded the golden Cothenius Medal for his services at the microscope?

Georg looks more like Carl every day. The Carl from back then, that is. He has inherited the reserved seriousness that his father has clearly left behind him. Even though Georg hasn’t graduated yet, one could easily call him “Herr Doktor” already. Although maybe that also has something to do with the horn-rimmed glasses he recently started wearing.