Professor Hirt

It was windy and damp as Martin Weiher left his house and turned onto the Karl Hauß Str. The sun was just beginning to rise, the spaces between buildings were dark, and most of the windows were dark as well. The cold crept into the collar of his coat and used its fingers to paint his neck red. He should have worn a warmer overcoat. The leather one he often wore was military and wasn't suitable for university: he wanted to make a good impression on Professor Hirt on his first day, so he'd chosen an elegant overcoat instead. After feeling the cold bite his arms and neck, he regretted it. But the university wasn't far away, so he didn't trouble himself by going back and getting the coat.

He passed by the hospital and headed for the Department of Medicine. At 7.05 am, he entered the university building. He went to the secretariat and they told him that it was just fine for him to wait here for Professor Hirt who would be in shortly. 

At 10 after seven, a man walked into the room who was unmistakably August Hirt. The jaw injury was evident when you looked at him, but although it gave him a rough edge, he looked neither menacing nor dangerous. He was dressed warmer than Martin, but he also didn't need to impress anybody. 

Martin immediately stood up and met Hirt in the middle of the room where they shook hands warmly. "How are you, comrade Weiher?" August Hirt asked politely. 

"I'm doing grand. Thank you," Martin said with a smile. But he decided to be honest and added: "I should have worn a warmer coat. I'm jealous of yours."

"It'll be warm in the afternoon, no need to worry," Hirt replied. The first thing Martin noticed about Hirt was that his voice didn't match his speech. The injury he'd suffered in the First World War when he'd received a bullet to the jaw made it hard for him to articulate certain sounds. "Are you looking forward to working at a university again?"

"Yes, very much," Martin said quickly. "I enjoy spending time with the children, but the days get very long, and the weeks become endless." He needed a plausible answer - and the children were always a good one. "I haven't seen you in forever: so tell me, do you have children yourself?"

"Yes, two. A boy and a girl."

"Wonderful," Martin replied simply because he wasn't sure what else he could say.

"They are wonderful children. They take after their mother." His expression changed slightly and his eyes lit up just the tiniest bit. "I have a lecture this morning, but one of my assistants will show you around, and this afternoon we'll work together again."

"Sounds great to me, professor." 

"Why did you never finish your doctorate?" Hirt asked suddenly. 

"I..." In truth, Martin had no idea why Franz hadn't finished his studies, but giving a vague answer probably wouldn't please the professor very much, "I started to be much more interested in politics and society than medicine. It was a break from all this," he gestured around him vaguely, " I needed to clear my head and to find out what I wanted. But I missed the academics." He smiled and shrugged. 

"I heard about your term as mayor. You were well-liked." Hirt noted. "I've also heard good things about you from Schneider, he says you were a very bright mind at your old university."

Martin didn't know whether to casually deflect the compliment or deny it. "I had my moments," he ended up saying. "But I don't want to keep you waiting any longer, professor."

"Thank you. You can wait here. The girl who will show you around is Fräulein Laura. She almost always wears her hair back, you'll recognize her that way. Have a good morning, comrade Weiher!" With a polite nod of his head and a shake of Martin's hand, he moved away again. Martin was a bit puzzled as to why Hirt's expression hadn't changed much during their conversation. Did the man never smile? He shrugged it off and leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. 

Laura appeared shortly after Hirt left. She was pretty in a simple way but not particularly beautiful. Her nose was a little bit large for her face but her eyes were a soft hazel. She shook his hand and addressed him politely with "Herr Weiher". 

Laura led him through the Department of Medicine, then outside and over to the Institute of Anatomy. She gave him a quick historical background, explaining that there were only German professors and that the students were Germans or Elsässer. The Universite de Strasbourg was no longer existent, not in these buildings. She didn't mention that somewhere a bit further away the French professors were half trying to keep some sort of university alive, which was practically impossible without equipment. 

"Do you know Professor Hirt or is this the first time you met him?" She asked him as they neared the end of their small tour.

"I know him from the war in 1916. But we didn't stay in touch. We served in the same battalion."

"It's a small world." 

It wasn't really. It was a world largely occupied by one country. 

Martin smiled in response. 

"He's a very intelligent man, it's an honor to work for him. I'm very glad he's back. For a while, he was hospitalized when he came in contact with mustard gas."

"How terrible," Martin remarked. His pity was honest. After what Schneider had described to him about mustard gas he wouldn't wish its fury onto anyone. Not even an SS-Hauptsturmführer like August Hirt. Martin might have been less empathetic if he'd known what lay before him: how the men in the nearby concentration camp would suffer under Hirt's hand. But that was all still a few months away, and for the first part of his cooperation with the Ahnenerbe and August Hirt, they would all remain true to the moral codex of scientific research.