James Steimle - The Kukulkan Manuscript

9:21 p.m.

With the funny feeling that he shouldn’t, Porter left the motel room to see if the liquor store two buildings away had pistachios. He would dream they came from the Near East and relish the days when he’d pondered entering the exciting life of a professor discussing ancient texts in a squalid room.

The shadow in the alley had a familiar voice, crisp like autumn leaves, clear like a train whistle far up a valley, old as mummy’s breath. “Living in motels will break you.”

Porter stopped and looked into the dark, lifting a hand to block the obstructing light from the street lamp attached to the wall of the brick building. “My card isn’t maxxed yet.”

“Easy to track you down when you use plastic to pay.”

“I’m out of cash, old man. It’s either the card, a bush, or back to my apartment,” said Porter stepping into the shadow to see the gentleman.

It was the same one at Bruno’s, the same guy in the nice suit of gray tweed at the other cafe across town who’d called himself Joseph Smith. Seemed to have a knack for catching up to Porter. He hadn’t realized it was such an easy job. He had to check his back more often.

“Oh, you’re a smart person, Mr. Porter, you learn quickly,” said Mr. Smith as if he could read minds or was cruelly sarcastic. “Tell me, young man…is there really such a thing as truth? Or is it just a word describing an abstract idea that doesn’t exist?”

“It’s real,” Porter said.

“Then why doesn’t anyone see it?”

“ You do,” said Porter, trusting his instincts. The scent of short trees in the sidewalk blossomed around them. Some plants were determined to force spring upon the world, whether or not the sky cooperated. But it was still cold.

The old man nodded with a quiet grin, his white hair moving like grain fields in the breeze jetting between the buildings, an unconsciously created air tunnel.

“So what’s the truth?” said Porter, his heart quickening.

“You…already know.”

“Mormons…”

“-have told the truth since they first came upon it,” said Smith. He stood tall, like a sycamore unnoticed in a park. He leaned slightly to one side, standing with his cane. He was merely a shape and little more.

A discarded cup imitated a rodent and ran down the alley.

“Are you LDS?” Porter said to the dark, afraid to move for fear of scaring off the old man. He had questions…

Smith shook his head. “I have no interest in religion.”

“That’s a lie. People who say they have no interest are only hiding the fear that something out there might be real. Something they don’t understand.”

“You’re wrong,” said Smith, tilting his head back.

“Or they’re so far in denial they wouldn’t realize it if all the facts tripped them to the ground.”

The old man kept his grin.

“And yet you insinuate the Mormons have the truth.”

“I deny nothing,” said the man in the wind. “I also proclaim nothing. No one wants to hear the truth. You must realize that, Mr. Porter. No one except Mormons, who are hardly relevant, and then only as long as it corresponds with their beliefs.”

“When wouldn’t it?” said Porter, the chill of the evening tightening his skin.

The gentleman’s face paled as he came into focus, then lit up again, warping one way then changing like a child’s clay; optical illusions. “Come now, John. We are talking about reality, remember? Do you claim the members of your church to be perfect?”

Porter waited before answering. “No.”

“Do all Latter-day Saints believe the same truths?”

Porter wouldn’t answer this time.

“Ever hear one of your members say something you know does not concur with Mormon doctrine?”

“What would you know about our beliefs?” Porter said. “I don’t know a single non-Mormon who understands our faith.”

“Nor do I. But over fifty years ago, I did intensive research in LDS beliefs for the committee.”

“What…committee?” said Porter, his lips quivering.

“I must tell you only what you need to know.”

“You’re saying you thoroughly investigated my church…and you never joined?”

“Shocked?!” Smith said, smiling widely and lifting his eyebrows. “Don’t be.” His mouth turned into a straight line. “I have my reasons.”

“How do I know you really understand anything about Mormons? In all my college classes when someone mentioned the church, both the students and the teachers made assumptions which weren’t true. ‘Mormons have more than one wife;’ ‘Mormons kill animals in their temples;’ ‘Mormons get married naked!’ They never knew anything about my faith. Just lumped us in with Protestants and gave us overactive imaginations.”

“Of course,” the man’s old voice eased from his beaten throat. “I thought we already established that no one wants to hear the truth. If the truth has anything to do with Latter-day Saints, do you think people will be more motivated to study it?”

“Most will shun it entirely.”

The gentleman nodded slowly. “Your professors and classmates, while perhaps well-meaning, have not investigated your church. Naturally they would assume Mormons to be like other religious institutions they know something about or hear about on the news. Assumption, my friend, is a drug to which the world is addicted. We see all things through drunk paradigms-yourself included. So of course no one has a grasp on LDS beliefs. The world simply goes on living delusions of happiness, steering clear of what is real if it looks remotely hazardous to their complacent lives.

“Your religion insinuates change, something most people find revolting. Even the intellectuals, who know better. Oh, yes. I understand your church doctrine. I probably know it even better than you do, my friend.”

“Oh really?” Porter twisted his lips into a knot off to one side of his face. His feet still ached from walking everywhere, but he didn’t notice.

The old man tilted his face toward the light shining only on the sidewalk and the student. “The Mormons possess five books of scripture as opposed to two like other Christians.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Porter said. “You probably dug that out of your encyclopedia.”

“Besides the Old and New Testaments of the Bible, Latter-day Saints read out of the Book of Mormon on a daily basis…or at least they are supposed to.”

“Sounds like a logical conclusion,” Porter said.

The gentleman kept his face as calm stone. “The two remaining books are The Doctrine and Covenants of the Church, and the Pearl of Great Price. The former is a compilation of revelations produced by the founder of the church, Joseph Smith…Jr. The latter is primarily made up of the Book of Moses, translated through revelation by Joseph Smith out of the King James versions of the Holy Bible, and the Book of Abraham, which your prophet translated from Egyptian records which fell into his hands prior to his martyrdom. Am I doing well?”

“Very. You’re even getting everything in the right order,” Porter said though he wasn’t convinced Smith really understood his beliefs.

Slowly, the shadow man said, “John, I have held in these hands the original Egyptian papyrus Joseph Smith found. I doubt even you can make such a concrete claim. I know it is real.”

“The Joseph Smith Papyri was described in newspapers in the seventies,” said Porter.

“I know the Lachish Letters, found in Palestine in 1935, wouldn’t have been released to the world had scientists realized how much the records supported the Book of Mormon. Most scholars still don’t notice the connection, because they’ve never read your scriptures. Ordinary folk have never heard of the Lachish Letters. Ignorance of archaeological data is the most common error in supposing the Book of Mormon does not meet with evidences that have been found.”