James Steimle - The Kukulkan Manuscript

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, maintaining the odd cordiality, and throwing out the idea that she would discuss her dissertation at all today. While pushing back a lock of red hair over her right ear with her fingers, she grumbled inside, but let the feeling pass.

Goldstien smiled-probably at how well Alred’s neatly kept fingernail polish, her lipstick, and the red hair blended in a singular color. It wasn’t a perfectly red shade, but rather a light auburn. She sensed he was one of those who were amused at how women were able to play with make-up to enhance what was already there; a typical low-class man who couldn’t get married or had been, but quite unhappily so. He liked her, and didn’t hide it well. But she figured Goldstien didn’t care if she knew it. He projected himself as one who found the rule prohibiting professors dating students a little juvenile and old-fashioned.

Alred avoided further eye contact with Goldstien. She could feel his gaze easily enough, and sat with determination on her face. But again, she wasn’t worried. Her passive guardian-her Uncle Alan-had enrolled her in a martial arts class at an early age. She’d grown up with the reputation of beating up the boys in her Junior High school. Alred had the peace of mind of knowing she could break a man twice her size, were he to try something, no matter how dark it was and no matter what alley they were in.

With his big smile, Masterson sat down, slapped his hands on the ends of the armrests, and sighed. He looked happy, and Alred knew it was all a front. She suspected everyone else saw the same picture, but couldn’t be sure. She scanned her eyes over the other three men.

Dr. Arnott smiled with his thin lips, but it really did look fake. His eyes sagged and looked too much at the table. The fingers of his left hand played against the knuckles of his right as he rested both elbows on the lightly varnished wood.

Dr. Wilkinson, dressed in a brown suit dating to the early nineteen-seventies, kept his eyes on Masterson. It was obvious he was waiting for something.

Dr. Kinnard stared seriously at the table, and as far as Alred could determine, he hadn’t looked up since she’d entered.

Underneath, they all trembled with seriousness, she thought, and the subject obviously dealt with her.

“How are things?” said Masterson.

It felt as awkward as it sounded.

Alred decided to get right to the subject and spoke honestly. “I thought we were going to discuss my dissertation.”

Masterson nodded. “That’s the plan.”

“With all due respect,” she said, “what do these gentlemen have to do with my thesis. Am I in trouble?” She knew she wasn’t, but felt slightly agitated and didn’t want to admit it. She was used to being in control of her life, and this situation was highly irregular.

Masterson continued to nod. Then quite suddenly, he leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands together. “Ms. Alred, we’ve come up with a great idea for your dissertation.”

“I was…was under the assumption that the student chose the subject of her final argument,” she said. Her face remained relaxed, though all her muscles grew firm.

“Oh, absolutely!” Masterson said.

Alred knew he was lying and recognized that everyone else in the room had a better grasp on the truth than she did. They’d obviously planned this meeting from start to finish. She’d made the appointment, and they’d set it all up. Question was, what were they pushing for?

Without losing the smile, Masterson said, “You have complete control over your dissertation. All we would like to do is present an option.”

Alred wanted to squint at him, to scowl, but she relaxed her face and remained outwardly unmoved by his words. “An option,” she said. Was it really a choice, or a threat? Did she have control, or were they really saying, If you want to get your doctorate at Stratford, you will complete this project!

Masterson’s smile did not sit well with him, probably because he rarely smiled. He was a kingpin in scholarship, and Alred was smart enough to recognize it. Masterson made the rules, knew he did, and liked it. His options were not alternatives, but demands. Those possessing wisdom learned to do as he said. He’d been the Chair of the Department of Ancient History and Anthropology for far too long, and there was no way he’d let anyone else in his seat.

Alred inwardly confirmed to herself, I’ve lost all control over the end of my academic career.

Her muscles started to feel unusually tense, but she tried not to show it. She kept her hands under the table so no one would catch her scratching her fingernails together. She sat like a rabbit before headlights, without motion, without breath, as the explanation continued. She even fought the urge to look at the shielded window in the corner of the south side of the empty room

Masterson lifted a hand, indicating the end of the table, “Dr. Kinnard?”

Kinnard lifted his head slowly and began immediately. “Ms. Alred, you studied under…Professor Ulman for how long?”

Alred pulled her head back. “I’ve worked with him since I came to Stratford two and a half years ago. He’s an excellent man.” What was this, some sort of secret board of inquiry?

Looking back at the tabletop, Kinnard swallowed, and his face hardened. His eyes appeared to be closed, but were only squinting behind his glasses. Both his hands locked together in a firm grip. Alred almost thought he looked like he was about to scream out in rage. “Dr. Ulman…has disappeared.”

Alred waited in silence for a moment, then said sincerely, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I understand you were close,” Kinnard said, shooting a sharp look at her.

She suddenly felt as if she were being accused of some odious crime involving her favorite professor, the one she’d wished had become her supervisor of studies, but had already taken on too many graduate students. Smoothly, she clarified, “We worked on one of his books together, Ancient Man in Modern Mesoamerica. It’s due to come out in five more months.”

Kinnard didn’t nod.

Alred looked at everyone before saying, “How are you connecting me with professor Ulman?”

“Ulman and I were good friends,” Kinnard said. “He praised your work. Said you were quick and possessed a strong initiative.”

“What’s happened to him?” Alred said, not realizing she was leaning slightly forward.

“We don’t know,” said Masterson. “But we are sure there is nothing to be concerned about.”

“Do you have any idea where he is?” Kinnard asked Alred.

“If you’re not worried,” she said, looking back and forth at the two professors, “why are you asking me where he is?” She tried to keep her voice controlled, and succeeded, but her actions revealed her concern.

Masterson’s smile faded momentarily, but quickly returned. “Dr. Kinnard is more concerned than the rest of us.” He hit Kinnard with a glance, which Alred assumed she was supposed to miss, and it looked as if Masterson was doing his best to send some dark kind of telepathic message to the muscular professor opposite him at the table. Masterson resumed his smile.

Kinnard seemed to ignore the gesture. “What is your knowledge of Ulman’s current whereabouts, Ms. Alred?”

“Am I being accused of something? I thought we were discussing my dissertation,” she said.

“You’re not being accused of anything, dear,” Goldstien said with a grin, revealing his poor dental work. Like an actor making sure he was sticking to his lines, he looked at Arnott, but only for a moment.

“Ms. Alred, are you aware of Dr. Ulman’s most recent project?” Masterson said with gray eyebrows smashing his bald forehead into wave after wave of wrinkles. “Did he send you any letters? Memos?”