Sirius Read Free Page A

tricks,” says Herr Hoffmann.
    Sirius sits up and begs.
    “What? That’s it?” Herr Hoffmann acts disappointed. “That’s all you’ve got?”
    Sirius jumps into the air, somersaults – and lands on his front paws.
    “Now that’s a lot better, isn’t it!” praises Herr Hoffmann, taking out a nut triangle.
    Now it’s Sirius’ turn to express his disappointment. He droops his ears theatrically, acting as though he is about to slink away dejectedly.
    “Okay then,” says Herr Hoffmann. “Two nut triangles.”
    Sirius barks joyfully, grabs his reward and sets off on his way. He struts curiously down Kantstrasse. He isn’t quite bold enough to venture down the Ku’damm just yet.
    “Good day to you, Sirius!” cries the bookseller Friedrich in greeting, raising his hat.
    At Savignyplatz, Sirius lies down on a park bench in the sun and dozes. Later, he trots towards Fasanenstrasse, where two bin men are in the process of pushing two rattling dumpsters across the cobbles.
    “Hey, we know him!” cries one as they catch sight of Sirius. “That Jew-dog belongs in with the rubbish!”
    They take pleasure in frightening him with their wild facial expressions and threatening gesticulations.
    Sirius is an intrepid dog. His shaggy fur, mottled white, brown and black, gives him a rebellious, belligerent air.
    He looks like a dusty carpet that inspired the tricolour of some unknown land.
    Perhaps it was No Man’s Land.
    *
    Berlin, the city of grey, stumbles towards summer like a prisoner finally released from his sad cell, praising God that he is able to see the blue sky again after so long. Hungry for sunshine. Greedy for exercise. Gasping for fresh air. Thirsty for beer.
    On Father’s Day, grown men hoot as they set off into the countryside in their automobiles, grilling and fishing equipment in tow. Summer, at last!
    The bars set up tables outside on the terraces. The people are clothed in the bare minimum of attire. The pavements become the stage of a vast, summery open-air theatre. At the weekends, everyone flocks to the Wannsee lido.
    This is the unique spirit of Berlin. Even in the summer of 1938.
    Out of necessity, the Liliencron family have weaned themselves off their longing for the great outdoors. Most aspects of public life are now forbidden for Jews, who have to make do with the pleasure provided by their own gardens. Now and then, Liliencron still takes his automobile out of the garage, his beloved Mercedes 170 V cabriolet, and invites the others to join him for a quick jaunt around Grunewald. But the resentful looks spoil their fun.
    Georg passes his finals with flying colours. After the celebration at the Gymnasium, the whole family gathers around the large marble table out on the terrace.
    Putti looks particularly fetching; for special occasions she exchanges her white cook’s apron for a dress, one that also happens to flaunt her impressive décolletage. Her little Swiss cheeks are glowing even after the first glass of champagne.
    Benno Fritsche, Georg’s godfather, is practically part of the family. He is a well-known personality in Berlin. An actor at the Deutsches Theater, and star of the film Grindelhof , which has just started its run in cinemas. He plays, once again, a devastatingly handsome heartbreaker who has women throwing themselves at his feet.
    Fritsche loves to make a grand entrance. Imitating the fanfare of a circus trumpet, he jumps over the low garden fence. He lives in the villa right next door, and they have been neighbours ever since the Liliencrons moved into their townhouse.
    “As you can see, I wasn’t afraid to take the long way around!” he calls out in greeting.
    Rahel puts on her most charming smile. The blush on Putti’s cheeks is reminiscent of the glow of the Alps in her homeland. Even Else seems spellbound.
    Benno Fritsche is a delicate subject.
    First of all, there’s his hair. When Benno contentedly brushes his blonde quiff back off his forehead with both hands, as