Sirius

by Jonathan Crown

  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 Cr
own 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.

  “Let’s have a party!” cries Rahel.

  An excellent idea.

  “We do party planning, too,” say the four men in chorus.

  That very same day ushers in an unforgettable evening. The glass house has been transformed beyond recognition. Any birds flying by right now could easily think they’ve detoured to Hong Kong by mistake.

  One of the four party planners, a Chinese man and clearly the decorator of the quartet, has illuminated the terrace with lanterns made from red tissue paper. The lantern, he explains, is a symbol of fertility.

  There are bulbs of garlic all over the place. To bring luck for the birth of a son. And mandarins too, in case it should be a girl.

  By the entrance stand torches which smell of sulphur. They are to scare away the demons.

  Luckily there is something decent to eat and drink too.

  Georg comes with Electra. She is now his girlfriend. The Korngolds are there. And the sheriff, of course. John Clark, alone, for he has recently left his wife.

  Carl lifts his glass to toast Else and Andreas.

  “You learnt to love each other during our family’s darkest hour,” he says, “and your love has now given us the brightest day of our lives. We thank you both for that,” he continues, hand in hand with Rahel. “Your old family wishes your young family all the luck in the world,”

  “Good luck!” everyone cries.

  The Chinese man hands each of the guests a nail. The symbol for the succession of generations.

  Erich Korngold sits down at the piano and plays songs by Cole Porter. Everyone knows Night and Day, sung by Fred Astaire, but when the sheriff suddenly strikes up the melody and sings, the song becomes even closer to people’s hearts. Soon even John Clark is joining in at the top of his voice. And it doesn’t take long before everyone is singing and dancing.

  “Hey, Crown!” calls a voice.

  There he is again, the strange Austrian with the cocked hat. He’s dancing with Else.

  Carl rubs his eyes in astonishment.

  The hat means that Peter Lorre can’t be far away. And sure enough, he has just arrived.

  “We’re late, I know,” Lorre apologises. “Billy got us lost.”

  “Nobody’s perfect,” winks Billy. The line has improved.

  “Unbelievable,” says Lorre. “Hercules is making more at the box office than me. You should be paying me a commission. After all, it was me who brought you all here!”

  Carl thanks him awkwardly.

  “Just a little joke,” says Lorre.

  Billy reports that Marlene Dietrich makes the best fried potatoes and scrambled eggs. “Marlene should have done the cooking tonight,” he declares, “not the Chinese.”

  Where is Sirius anyway? Sometimes he’s here, sometimes he’s there. That’s how it is when there’s company. One person strokes him, another hands him a nibble. It’s a lovely thing to be a dog in a happy house.

  The “new life” in Hollywood, it hasn’t even been that long yet and already there are “old times”. The Korngolds think back to their time with Else. John Clark misses his guardian angel. The sheriff waxes lyrical about Luckyville.

  Strangely, no-one notices the dark clouds hanging over the house, perhaps because they seem to be coming from the barbecue in the garden.

  But appearances can be deceiving.

  The Chinese man knows better. Smoke means change, and clouds mean big change.

  *

  “Has my friend recovered?” asks Jack Warner.

  “I think so,” says Crown. “He’s doing better.”

  Sirius is pleased by the expression of concern.

  Warner didn’t call them both over to his office in order to be compassionate, but he tries to see things from Sirius’ perspective for a moment longer before he comes to the point.

  “What kind of life is it?” he ruminates. “Always being in front of the camera – it’s annoying, isn’t it?”

  Sirius pricks up his ears.

  “The dream world,” he continues, leaning back in his chair. “You want to get out into real life, the real world at last, right?”

  Sirius stares at him, wide-eyed.

  Jack Warner comes to the point: “Yesterday, John Ringling North called me. He owns the biggest circus in the world, Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey. He wants Hercules!”

  Crown is speechless, Sirius likewise.

  “Hercules – live!” rejoices Warner. “Just imagine: Hercules, the star of The Greatest Show on Earth! That’s the name of his tour.”

  Sirius looks as though he’s not grasping the scale of the opportunity, so Warner adds: “You’ll be sniffing circus air! You’ll travel the world! Be amongst animals!” He corrects himself: “Animals? Not just any old animals. Jumbo, the king of the elephants. Gargantua, the famous gorilla!”

  Sirius is certainly keen on the idea of playing with other animals more often, but does it really have to be a gorilla?

  Warner guesses his thoughts and, to encourage him, tells him Gargantua’s story. Ten years ago, the gorilla was captured in the Congo and ended up in the possession of an eccentric old woman in Brooklyn called Gertrude Lintz. She had another gorilla, too, as well as numerous chimpanzees, and treated the monkeys like they were her own children. They wore made-to-measure clothes, ate dinner at the table, and even joined her for walks around the city.

  “Isn’t that amazing?” delights Warner.

  Gargantua got bigger and bigger, and eventually
he weighed 200 kilos and no longer fitted into the house. Gertrude Linz sold him to Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey. Since then, the circus has billed him as the “world’s most dangerous gorilla.”

  “Oh, the magic of the circus ring,” sighs Warner. “The tent, the artists, the clowns, the magicians, the wild animals. And right in the midst of it all: Hercules.”

  Sirius has to admit that the idea has a certain appeal.

  “And another thing,” says Warner. “Direct contact with the public. The expressions of amazement on their faces. Children’s laughter. The applause.”

  Crown is wondering what Jack Warner is up to. He’s not the kind of man to give up Hercules Part III just because he wants a dog to experience the magic of the circus ring.

  “I didn’t know you were a fan of the circus,” says Crown.

  “I’m not,” replies Warner. “It smells funny in the tent, and I get claustrophobic.”

  But – this is good business in the making. As an example, he explains the Clark Gable deal. Selznick, the producer of Gone With the Wind, wanted Gable at all costs, but he was under contract with MGM. So he had to borrow him, and of course the sum that MGM got from Selznick was higher than the fee MGM was contracted to pay Gable.

  “Do you see?” beams Warner. “This is how we do things in Hollywood.”

  Crown sees. And Sirius can’t hide the fact that he feels flattered to be mentioned in the same breath as Clark Gable.

  But Warner promptly puts a damper on the comparison. “Clark Gable had bad breath. Because of his decaying teeth, you see. It was really bad. That’s why he agreed to the deal only on the condition that he could earn a share of the profits and finally have money for the dentist.”

  Well, sometimes masterpieces arise from the strangest of circumstances.

  “So,” says Warner. “Let’s talk turkey. The tour lasts six months. After that, Hercules will come back, and we’ll go to old Rome. Agreed?”

  Crown leans down to Sirius and looks him deep in the eyes.