end.
‘But …?’
‘But there is another possibility. First …’ The Herr Direktor pushed a buzzer on his desk. He picked up a fountain pen to dash off a note on the pad by his right hand, the metal nib darting back and forth in neat, regimented lines across the pristine white paper. ‘Ribbe, you say? Have you any other details?’
Jamie mentioned that the anthropologist may have been based in Hamburg and the German added the information just as his secretary appeared in the doorway.
‘First we must discover if the artefact was ever donated to this museum. Fortunately, the archives for early contributions had been moved out of the building to the Zoo flak tower before the bombing and survived the war.’ Jamie knew the Zoo tower had been an enormous anti-aircraft bunker and bomb shelter out beyond Tiergarten. In addition to its more warlike function, it had accommodated the treasures of Berlin’s museums. When the Russians had captured it they’d been dissuaded from their usual wanton destruction by intelligence officers seeking information about Germany’s nuclear programme. ‘We have the originals in storage,’ the German continued. ‘For convenience the records have also been computerized so it should not take too long. In the meantime, perhaps I can explain why I am so certain there is no shrunken head in this museum?’
‘Of course.’ Jamie smiled, knowing this was his penance for wasting the Herr Direktor’s time with his foolishness.
‘Much has changed since your fellow Ribbe made his donation – if indeed he did. In those days studying the differences between various ethnic groups by examining their remains was a perfectly legitimate scientific pursuit.’ He paused and stroked his bottom lip with his index finger as if that would somehow provoke the correct words. ‘At one time most museums – including this one – would have had quite a collection of skulls, mainly for research purposes. These days they would never accept something of that nature, unless it had a specific value, such as giving an insight into ritual practices. In fact, we in the German Museums Association are already working on the details of a repatriation policy for the bulk of our human remains. The Museum of Medical History, for instance, has an extensive collection of skulls of the aboriginal peoples of Australia and Papua New Guinea, many of which will soon be returned.’
‘Then perhaps that’s where I should be looking?’ Jamie suggested.
‘Perhaps,’ the Herr Direktor took another sip of his coffee, ‘but we must ask ourselves what medical value a shrunken head would have? It would have gone through an extensive preservation process, which would leave it with little resemblance anatomically to its former self. For a scientist it would be like studying the badly stuffed remains of an animal. I doubt whether the medical museum would have accepted such a donation, unless it was for novelty value alone.’
‘Does this mean you’ll be repatriating all the Egyptian mummies I saw on the way up here?’
A thin smile creased Muller’s face. ‘You are joking, of course, but it is a legitimate question and one that requires addressing. In future we must recognize that these wonderful artefacts are human remains and can no longer be treated merely as objects. When we can, we must show the face behind the bandages, and tell the story of the person within.’
‘Is that something you can do?’ Jamie’s professional interest was piqued.
‘Of course.’ Muller spread his hands like a messiah spreading his message. ‘With the developing technologies at our disposal anything is possible—’
A knock at the door interrupted the conversation and the secretary entered to hand the direktor a computer printout. He scanned the contents and lifted his head to fix Jamie with an amused look that made the Englishman’s heart beat a little faster. ‘It seems your instincts were correct, Herr Saintclair, though you were
‘But …?’
‘But there is another possibility. First …’ The Herr Direktor pushed a buzzer on his desk. He picked up a fountain pen to dash off a note on the pad by his right hand, the metal nib darting back and forth in neat, regimented lines across the pristine white paper. ‘Ribbe, you say? Have you any other details?’
Jamie mentioned that the anthropologist may have been based in Hamburg and the German added the information just as his secretary appeared in the doorway.
‘First we must discover if the artefact was ever donated to this museum. Fortunately, the archives for early contributions had been moved out of the building to the Zoo flak tower before the bombing and survived the war.’ Jamie knew the Zoo tower had been an enormous anti-aircraft bunker and bomb shelter out beyond Tiergarten. In addition to its more warlike function, it had accommodated the treasures of Berlin’s museums. When the Russians had captured it they’d been dissuaded from their usual wanton destruction by intelligence officers seeking information about Germany’s nuclear programme. ‘We have the originals in storage,’ the German continued. ‘For convenience the records have also been computerized so it should not take too long. In the meantime, perhaps I can explain why I am so certain there is no shrunken head in this museum?’
‘Of course.’ Jamie smiled, knowing this was his penance for wasting the Herr Direktor’s time with his foolishness.
‘Much has changed since your fellow Ribbe made his donation – if indeed he did. In those days studying the differences between various ethnic groups by examining their remains was a perfectly legitimate scientific pursuit.’ He paused and stroked his bottom lip with his index finger as if that would somehow provoke the correct words. ‘At one time most museums – including this one – would have had quite a collection of skulls, mainly for research purposes. These days they would never accept something of that nature, unless it had a specific value, such as giving an insight into ritual practices. In fact, we in the German Museums Association are already working on the details of a repatriation policy for the bulk of our human remains. The Museum of Medical History, for instance, has an extensive collection of skulls of the aboriginal peoples of Australia and Papua New Guinea, many of which will soon be returned.’
‘Then perhaps that’s where I should be looking?’ Jamie suggested.
‘Perhaps,’ the Herr Direktor took another sip of his coffee, ‘but we must ask ourselves what medical value a shrunken head would have? It would have gone through an extensive preservation process, which would leave it with little resemblance anatomically to its former self. For a scientist it would be like studying the badly stuffed remains of an animal. I doubt whether the medical museum would have accepted such a donation, unless it was for novelty value alone.’
‘Does this mean you’ll be repatriating all the Egyptian mummies I saw on the way up here?’
A thin smile creased Muller’s face. ‘You are joking, of course, but it is a legitimate question and one that requires addressing. In future we must recognize that these wonderful artefacts are human remains and can no longer be treated merely as objects. When we can, we must show the face behind the bandages, and tell the story of the person within.’
‘Is that something you can do?’ Jamie’s professional interest was piqued.
‘Of course.’ Muller spread his hands like a messiah spreading his message. ‘With the developing technologies at our disposal anything is possible—’
A knock at the door interrupted the conversation and the secretary entered to hand the direktor a computer printout. He scanned the contents and lifted his head to fix Jamie with an amused look that made the Englishman’s heart beat a little faster. ‘It seems your instincts were correct, Herr Saintclair, though you were
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