David Epperson - The Third Day

“Look, I don’t like it either,” said Lavon.

For now, all we could do was wait.

Markowitz stirred for a moment and then sat up. I poured another cup of wine and insisted he drink it, though in hindsight that might have been a mistake. His face turned green and he rushed over to the chamber pot.

He didn’t even try to return to the bed, so Lavon took a blanket and spread it out on the floor. Then, he helped Markowitz turn over on his side and then draped another one over his chest and legs.

“We’ll just let him sleep it off,” he said.

Markowitz’s well being, though, wasn’t Lavon’s main worry. He turned to Bryson with a question.

“I have to ask you again, Dr. Bryson: what, exactly , did you intend to accomplish here?”

The Professor eyed him as if he were an exceptionally slow student.

“I’ve already told you: I intend to clear up a controversy; in light of Christianity’s impact over the past two thousand years, perhaps the most important issue of all time.”

“Yes, but once you have the evidence, the video, what are you planning to do with it?”

That seemed obvious. I sat back, wondering where this was heading.

I suppose the Professor thought the same way. He grew irritated.

“For most of its existence, mankind has wallowed in ignorance and superstition. Now that technology has given us the ability to replace blind faith with objective knowledge, I would be remiss in my obligation , both as a scientist and a member of the human race, not to share my findings with the world.”

He paused for a moment. “Whichever way it turns out, though I admit I have my own hypothesis. You can’t fault me for that.”

“No; no I don’t,” Lavon replied. “Your objectivity as a scientist is commendable; but that’s not what’s troubling me. In terms of its ultimate persuasive value to the world, it’s not a question of what the video will show ; it’s a matter of authenticating that video.”

Bryson shifted uncomfortably.

“Take your Kennedy tape, for example.”

“What about it?”

Lavon stood up, walked toward the window, and patted the meleke limestone blocks.

“Given the incontrovertible evidence that we are in fact here , in first century Jerusalem, I have no trouble accepting the fact that you went back to Dallas as your wife described.

“The problem is, to a viewer without our level of background knowledge, your Kennedy footage could just as easily be something that an eighth grader cobbled together with a cheap laptop and some off-the-shelf editing software. How do you expect that to prove anything?”

Bryson hemmed and hawed but didn’t really answer.

Lavon pressed on. “Let’s say you took that video to one of those conspiracy conventions. There, in the middle of all the exhibitors with their ‘secret evidence’ about Lyndon Johnson, Fidel Castro, the New Orleans mafia, and little green men from outer space, you present what you describe as iron clad proof that the Warren Commission got it right, that Lee Harvey Oswald did, in fact, act alone.”

“You’d be laughed out of the building,” I said. “And those who didn’t laugh would assume that you’re an infiltrator, a part of the conspiracy, another cog in the vast machine the US government has created to hide the truth from the unwashed multitudes.”

“Exactly,” said Lavon. “Now multiply this phenomenon a thousand fold. Whatever your camera ends up recording, it won’t change anyone’s mind, one way or the other. You’re smart enough to know that.”

Now, my curiosity was piqued. I had not thought about it in this way before.

Bryson didn’t say anything, which got my mind turning.

“You have another plan,” I said.

He didn’t respond immediately, so I repeated my question.

“Yes,” he finally admitted. “Juliet and I recognized your point early on. Once I make the initial recording and get the lay of the land, the next step will be to set up a viewing platform, so that others may witness the truth for themselves.”

I sat back in my chair and took another slug of wine. This was insane.

Lavon was even more blunt.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” he said.

He gestured toward Markowitz.

“Just look at us ! One man in our party barely escaped being flogged to death a few hours ago. Our female colleague is facing God knows what sort of degradation at the hands of Herod and we can’t do a thing about it. And the three of us, though safe for the moment, have no idea when, or if, we’ll ever be able to go home.”

“I understand your concerns,” said Bryson, “but it was never our intention to open this world to the masses. We planned to invite only professional historians and other subject-matter experts, under carefully supervised and controlled circumstances.”

Lavon rolled his eyes. “How on earth are you ever going to ensure control? Forget about us and just look at yourself . This was going to be easy. You planned to come here and record a few hours of video — what could be simpler? But then you plunked yourself directly into the middle of a skirmish you could not possibly have known about ahead of time.”

“That was bad luck, to be sure.”

“That’s the point,” I said. “You’re always going to overlook something that turns out to be important. It’s the same thing your wife said about that trading algorithm Jonah Markowitz paid you to develop: there are too many variables. You’re guaranteed to get blindsided somewhere.”

“No, I’m not,” said Bryson. “Once we’ve scouted the area, we’ll know who will be where, and when. After that, we’ll be like that guy in Groundhog Day who knew precisely when the waitress would drop the plates. We’ll be able to steer clear of any danger.”

I wasn’t sure about the we part, but chose not to comment.

And that wasn’t the half of it. Even if his historians came back to the first century, saw what Bryson expected them to see, and published their findings in the most prestigious academic journals, Aunt Mildred in Kansas was never going to take the word of some liberal Commie Harvard egghead. The whole thing would reek of yet another left-wing plot to destroy America from within.

On the other hand, if the good professor’s guests saw what they did not expect to see, would they publish their findings, or would they dismiss their observations as an optical illusion, or a mind trick of some sort driven by the subtle shifting of the brain’s neural connections as a result of quantum transformation?

For the moment, though, I decided it was best to keep such thoughts to myself. Lavon wasn’t finished.

“And when one of your experts decides to run off and have a closer look, like our friend here did in the Temple?” he asked. “What then? Or are you going to keep them chained to their observation posts the entire time they’re here?”

Bryson shook his head, flummoxed with his inability to make lesser mortals comprehend a seemingly straightforward concept.

Lavon, though, didn’t let up. “There’s one more thing that I can’t figure out, Professor: how did you know when to come back?”

Bryson acted surprised. “All four Gospels record that Jesus died on the Friday before Passover, do they not?”

“Nice try.”

We both laughed, though I wasn’t entirely sure why.

“You are correct in that Jesus died on a Friday,” Lavon continued. “But the question remains: which Friday, and which Passover?”

Bryson cast the archaeologist an exasperated glance, but didn’t otherwise respond.