Sirius

by Jonathan Crown

  “Do you want to go to the circus?”

  Sirius wags his tail.

  “Right then,” smirks Warner. “Good decision. I’ll add on another 100 dollars a week. For the Clark Gable of the dog world.”

  “When do we start?” asks Crown.

  “Immediately,” says Warner. “After all, the new star of the circus ring stills need to figure out what his performance is going to be.”

  *

  Sarasota is a small backwater in southern Florida. The only reason it’s on the map at all is because the headquarters of Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey are here.

  Crown has accompanied Sirius on the long, cross-country journey so that they have time to say goodbye to each other. It is hard for him to watch as the little dog walks away, glancing back one last time before disappearing into the big tent.

  So Sirius is now a circus dog.

  He lives in the “village.” That’s the name for the meadow behind the tent where the artists’ caravans are parked. Four-legged artists usually live in the “zoo.” That’s what they call the adjoining meadow with the stalls, enclosures and cages. Gargantua lives here too, in a special cage of course. It’s made of bulletproof glass, has air conditioning, and is pulled by six greys when it needs to be transported to the tent.

  But Sirius lives in the village, because he’s primarily involved with the two-legged artists. Starting with the planned opening number: Hercules will compete against “Drago, the world’s strongest man”, whose signature stunt is supporting his own mountain of muscles on a single-finger handstand.

  Before the break, the great magician Manzini will present his famous time machine, which is to make Hercules smaller and smaller until – eventually – he goes from being a young pup in Manzini’s hand to evaporating into thin air.

  The highlight will be the final stunt. Barbarossa, the legendary lion tamer – who lost his right hand after Benares the lion almost mauled him to death – will have Hercules ride on Benares’ back. For the first time in the history of the animal kingdom, a terrier and a lion will confront one another.

  That’s the plan, at least. Now they just have to make it work.

  Sirius shares a caravan with Manzini. Primarily because no-one else is allowed to discover the secret behind the time machine, which is also in the caravan, covered with a black cloth. Manzini is so secretive that he even keeps the curtains closed.

  Barbarossa doesn’t need a caravan. He sleeps with the beasts of prey. He sometimes has straw in his hair in the mornings, and even smells like a lion.

  Drago can be recognized by the fact that he gets around solely by walking on his hands. To him, this seems completely normal. When someone is talking with him, his knees are at eye level, and his head answers from below, upside down. Conversations with him are always interesting, in any case.

  What a wonderful village, thinks Sirius to himself. There can’t be any other village in existence with this many things to see. Where else could you see a Lilliputian cheerfully greet five Chinese women who are juggling tea cups on a unicycle, while nearby a man chains his wife to a spinning wheel and throws knives at her?

  The man, by the way, is the infamous “El Diablo”, who made headlines when he threw a dagger straight into his first wife’s heart. He was completely drunk during the performance, and therefore not criminally responsible.

  And Sirius hasn’t met everyone in the village yet, not even close. The Lilliputian, for example, is alleged to speak eighty-four languages, even Irku, a language which is only spoken in the southern Antarctic. The Lilliputian was put to the test when a tightrope walker arrived from this very region; he had an acrobatic penguin in the programme. And he confirmed it: the Lilliputian speaks fluent Irku.

  Manzini doesn’t speak at all. He cloaks himself in silence. Presumably because he fears that some unguarded word might slip out, enabling people to decipher the secret of his time machine.

  Each evening, he sits on his bed and listens to the same radio station. Food is brought to him from the canteen, and he silently puts it onto two plates in order to share with Sirius. Later, he nods politely to Sirius, which is intended to mean good night, and turns out the light.

  Strangely, he talks in his sleep. But as soon as he utters the words macchina del tempo, he awakes with a start and shines the beam of his torch around the room. Then he goes back to sleep.

  What could the secret be, wonders Sirius?

  *

  A magician can rehearse anywhere, but a lion tamer needs the circus tent. As does an acrobat. One person’s wild animal cage in the circus ring is another’s trapeze under the dome of the Big Top.

  Barbarossa is going “big-topping” today. That’s how he puts it to Sirius. He grins and rips his shirt from his body as he heads off. “Lions hate shirts,” he says. His naked torso resembles a battlefield. It gives a good indication of just how many times the paws have already caught him. A scar runs diagonally across his back, and of all places right through the middle of the tattooed lion’s head between his shoulder blades.

  He had “Krone” tattooed on the hand he lost. The Krone Circus was where Barbarossa started out.

  Benares is already waiting inside his cage in the circus ring. He circles nervously, impatiently, close to the bars. He is a fine specimen of a wild cat. Every movement he makes exudes unbridled strength.

  The lion snarls as he catches sight of the dog.

  “That means hello,” translates Barbarossa.

  Sirius doesn’t want to know what it sounds like when Benares is saying adieu.

  Benares rises up on his haunches to his full height to greet Barbarossa. He towers over him by at least a metre.

  Sirius is trembling all over.

  This doesn’t escape Barbarossa’s attention, so he says: “You don’t need to be afraid. He’s not hungry anymore.”

  To be on the safe side, the keeper throws another small animal carcass into the cage, which Benares promptly devours in one go.

  “Come on, we’re going in,” says Barbarossa, picking Sirius up and opening the cage door.

  Benares skulks at the other end of the cage. He snorts as his nose picks up the scent.

  “This is Hercules,” says Barbarossa by way of introduction. To Sirius, he whispers softly: “Always wait for him to come to you. Never approach him. Otherwise he’ll defend his territory.”

  The lion tamer goes on to offer more advice: “It’s best to ignore him. Then he’ll ignore you too.”

  It’s not easy to ignore a lion. And it’s especially hard for small dogs to do so.

  Sirius sees Benares slowly approaching him, coming closer and closer, until the head and mighty mane are so close in front of his eyes that warm breath blows into his face.

  The lion sniffs at the dog, then turns around and lies down lethargically in the sand of the circus ring.

  “He has accepted you,” says Barbarossa. “You are now in his pride.”

  Is there any greater relief than being accepted into a lion’s pride?

  But Sirius soon puts the good experience into perspective when he – back outside the bars again – follows what happens next in the cage. Barbarossa straps a stuffed toy animal onto the lion’s back in order to lead him a step further towards the intended performance. But without success; Benares rolls angrily back and forth on the floor, shakes off the rider and tears it to shreds.

  The lion tamer persists, refusing to give up.

  Later, the circus tent belongs to the acrobats. Sirius watches the “Flying Turbans”. Eight Indians swing towards one another at a dizzying height on the trapeze, and at the moment of flying interchange they each execute a triple somersault. It’s not yet going entirely without a glitch. Sometimes one of the Indians ends up reaching into nothingness, sometimes two crash their heads together.

  Then comes “Don Dente”. The man’s reputation precedes him like a clap of thunder. He can take a gondola containing four members of the audience and pull it up to the Big Top dome with
his teeth.

  Today he is rehearsing the climax of his performance: With his arms tied behind his back and his eyes blindfolded, “Don Dente” strides across the high wire, somersaults into the air in a high arc, misses the landing with his feet, goes into free fall – then bites onto the rope and hangs there by his teeth.

  Sirius wants to clap. For the first time in his life, he understands the humans’ compulsion for clapping their hands together loudly. It just doesn’t work with paws.

  *

  Sirius is always relieved to find Drago standing outside his door in the morning instead of the lion tamer. Training with him is fun, just like playing.

  The number is a show fight between Hercules, the fearless dog from the eponymous Hollywood film, and Drago, “the world’s strongest man.”

  When it comes to this kind of act, Hercules has an ace up his sleeve (as the saying goes, even though the individual in question doesn’t actually have sleeves). Being the audience’s darling is his thing. All he needs to do is act strong.

  Drago, on the other hand, really is strong. And he looks even stronger when he’s not walking on his hands, but instead standing firmly with both feet on the floor. A muscle behemoth with a small, shaven head protruding out.

  “How about…” suggests Drago, “if you were to push me with your paw, and I fall over?”

  Hearing the audience’s roar of laughter in his mind, he can’t help but laugh out loud himself. Then his expression becomes serious all of a sudden, and he thinks for a moment. He gazes vacantly into space, his mouth wide open. He remembers that he is supposed to be the “world’s strongest man.” So why would he fall over?

  “Or how about,” he suggests, “you nudge me with your paw, then I fling you into the audience as hard as I can?”

  But even that doesn’t seem to convince him. Once again, he stares open-mouthed into nothingness. Fling a sweet little dog into the audience? That’s just not the done thing.

  So, be nice and still demonstrate strength. That’s the trick.

  “How about,” suggests Drago, “if you nudge me with your paw, and I do three or four somersaults backwards then land in a one-handed handstand?”

  Now the acrobat in him has been awakened.

  “And then you jump up on me, sit on my feet and press me down to the floor?”

  Sirius wags his tail. They try it out at once. The five Chinese women on the unicycle ride past, giggle and raise five thumbs up in the air in approval.

  More and more ideas are coming to Drago now. How about if he were to do a headstand on Hercules’ head? They would just need to make a little support as reinforcement, cover it with correctly-coloured fur and put it out of sight beneath the dog.

  Now the illusionist in Drago is awakening. Sirius is curious to see what else will awaken in the mountain of muscle.

  By now, Sirius has also met the Lilliputian. He is called Terry and has been with the Ringling Brothers for almost twenty years. Sirius is curious to find out how it came to be that he speaks eighty-four languages.

  It seems that Terry can also read minds, for he replies: “I could already speak 37 languages when I was born. Maybe nature knows that a dwarf will need to travel a lot until he finds his place in the world.”

  They take a walk together through the zoo. Terry knows every animal. And there are 2,000 animals living there.

  “That’s Moyo the elephant,” he explains. “A few years ago, Moyo stopped in the middle of his act and ran over to a little girl in the audience. He touched the girl with his trunk, right here.”

  Terry points at his heart.

  “Moyo made a sound, like this.”

  Terry imitates the doleful sound of a saxophone.

  “The parents took the girl to the hospital at once. As it turns out, she was suffering from an acute heart defect. Moyo saved her life.”

  Sirius is impressed.

  They pause next to a moose.

  “This is Plutarch,” says Terry sadly. “He used to be able to dance the tango. A professor from Vienna taught him. The professor died one day at 15:21 precisely.” Terry looks at Sirius. “Plutarch has dementia now, so it’s been a long time since he’s been able to dance the tango. But every day, at exactly 15:21, he has tears in his eyes.”

  Sirius can barely believe it.

  “And yet he doesn’t have a watch,” adds Terry.

  In front of the lion cage, they stop. Benares seems to be pleased to see Sirius again. He purrs and wags his tail tassel.

  “Crazy story,” says Terry. “Benares has never gotten over the fact that he bit off Barbarossa’s hand that time in the Krone Circus. It’s the reason why he left Germany. The Hitler salute, all those outstretched hands surrounding him incessantly. It always reminded him of the incident. Hands make him feel guilty.”

  Every animal has his story. The zoo is the biggest history book of the animal kingdom, and the Lilliputian is flicking through it.

  Suddenly the Lilliputian asks: “What’s your story, by the way?”

  Sirius doesn’t know where to start.

  The Lilliputian nods: “Sometimes the end tells you everything you need to know about the beginning.”

  Both of them reflect on how long they had to travel in order to find their place in the world.

  Sirius feels happy.

  *

  Today, Manzini will talk.

  The day has come for him reveal his secret. Otherwise his time machine won’t work.

  Sirius is almost bursting with curiosity.

  Manzini draws the curtains in the caravan. Ceremoniously, he unveils the spectre that has been standing in their room for weeks, and addresses Sirius for the first time ever: “This is my time machine.”

  All Sirius sees is a black box.

  “There’s a hole here,” says Manzini. “That’s where you’ll slip in.”

  Sirius looks at him expectantly.

  “And that’s it,” says Manzini, bringing his explanation to a close. “There’s nothing else you need to know.”

  He lays the cloth back over the box.

  That’s it? Sirius doesn’t understand.

  “That’s it,” repeats Manzini. “I’ll take care of everything else.”

  He takes his coat from the wardrobe, puts on his hat and goes.

  *

  World history is treating Jack Warner well.

  Hirohito, the Emperor of Japan, has sunk the U.S. Pacific Fleet in Pearl Harbor. Yesterday, Hitler declared war on the United States of America. And today, just one day later, Jack Warner has in his hands a stage play which works perfectly with the political background.

  Its name is Everybody Comes to Rick’s. Warner immediately gives the green light for filming. And he already has a better title in mind: Casablanca.

  The movie is crying out for Humphrey Bogart. Only he can play Rick.

  “All it needs now is a little more heart,” thinks Warner. “How about if Rick were to have a dog? Hercules for example?”

  That would make the final scene more touching too. “We’ll always have Hercules,” Humphrey Bogart would say. Instead of Paris.

  Jack Warner hates Paris.

  He can picture it already, Bogey standing there with the dog under his arm on the airfield, saying to Ilsa: “Here’s looking at Hercules, kid.”

  “That would work too,” says Bogey with a shrug of his shoulders.

  But the plan is doomed to fail. Hercules is not available. It’s December, and he’s about to make his debut in the circus. After that, he goes on tour.

  “Fine,” sighs Warner. “Then I guess you’ll have to have Paris after all.”

  December will be a fateful month for all concerned this year. But they have no idea what lies ahead.

  Hitler has no idea of what awaits his army in Russia. Contrary to his hopes, he won’t have Stalingrad.

  Rick has no idea that, in the end, he won’t just have Paris, but the beginning of a wonderful friendship too.

  And Sirius? If only he knew…r />
  Carl and Rahel set off to Sarasota. They want to be there, of course, when Hercules conquers the Big Top.

  Tomorrow is the day. The day The Greatest Show on Earth kicks off. The tickets have been sold out for weeks.

  The dress rehearsal has already taken place. By now, Hercules can ride Benares, fight with Drago, and the time machine is working too.

  The tent is decorated for Christmas, which seems particularly strange in Sarasota because it feels like summer right now. It’s bathing suit season by the sea.

  It’s very unlikely that Bing Crosby’s dream of a white Christmas will be fulfilled. But his new song is still pretty catchy. It plays constantly on Manzini’s little radio.

  “The composer is called Mancini,” says Manzini. “See how decisive one little letter can be. The song was so close to being mine.”

  Sirius can’t think about that right now. He is too agitated.

  Presumably Manzini is agitated too; why else would he be talking?

  “It’s called stage fright,” explains Drago.

  He lights up a cigarette and smokes it from the corner of his mouth while balancing upside down on both hands,. It makes him cough. Nature has done a good job: walking upright has its advantages, at least for smokers.

  Barbarossa is sleeping. Nothing calms the nerves more than a nap in the lion’s cage; that’s his motto. He slumbers peacefully, his head rising and falling in time with Benares’ mighty chest.

  Next door is Gargantua’s cage. The huge black beast stares vacantly into the distance. When Sirius appears, his eyes twinkle.

  “Do you see his smile?” asks the keeper.

  Sirius sees it. As scary a sight as the gorilla is, he really is smiling.

  “Crazy, right?” says the keeper. “When Gargantua was captured in Africa, a hunter sprayed acid in his face. Since then, his face has been frozen, and he always looks as though he’s smiling.”