Free The Kukulkan Manuscript by James Steimle Page B

bad; the blamed in every society,” Porter said as she smiled. He stood and gave her his hand. “John D. Porter.”
    She took his hand without getting up. “What does the
D
stand for?”
    “Desirable,” he said, sitting down.
    “I guess you…already know who I am.”
    “Erma Alred. No middle name. Been with us at Stratford for…five semesters now? And you’re in the same position I am in.”
    “What position would that be?” said Alred.
    “The desperate need for a dissertation, of course,” his smile faded slightly.
    “If I understand things correctly, the
D
in your name deserves the word
desperate
far more than I do.”
    He scratched his head with one abrupt movement, focusing his eyes on his desk. John
Desperate
Porter. Why did that have such a natural ring to it?
    “Why aren’t you married?” she asked suddenly.
    “Why do I get the feeling everyone’s asking me that?”
    “I thought Mormons were supposed to wed and have lots of little kiddies like the Catholics,” she said matter-of-factly.
    “You know I’m Mormon.”
    “It sounds like we know a lot about each other.”
    He smiled at her. “And still so very little.” She watched him examine her medium-length auburn hair, green eyes, and fair, unfreckled skin.
    “Just enough to get the job done,” she said.
    “What?”
    She tilted her head. “Mind wandering, Mr. Porter?”
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “You have green eyes.”
    “You always this perceptive?”
    “Lived in Japan for a few years. Green eyes are highly praised there. If you were half Japanese and kept the eyes, you could make it big in the
Nippon
entertainment industry.”
    “That’s good to know in case this dissertation ruins me.”
    “You don’t want to do this?” Porter questioned as her eyes wandered down and over the papers throttling her chair.
    From the floor, she lifted a thick pad of pages bound by one heavy paper clip and said, “Frankly, I was hoping to do a dissertation on early Athapaskin settlements.”
    “Who are they?”
    “The Athapaskins?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and wondering if he was joking. “The ancestors of…many North American Indian tribes. Tell me, how is it that you are leading a study on an ancient Mesoamerican find without knowing the rudiments of American archaeology?”
    “Just lucky I guess,” he said. “You already know I have religious interest in Mesoamerican history.”
    “Yes, but I hardly believe someone’s religion validates a worthy academic assessment of an area outside one’s expertise.” She looked down and dragged her eyes over the paper in her hands. “This is written in Spanish. What is it?”
    “Nothing you’d be interested in. Solid evidence of the authenticity of the Book of Mormon. It’s an ancient Indian history compiled by a Aztec prince.”
    “Ixtlilxochitl?” she said, trying to find the first page—an impossible task.
    Porter waved his head in what might have been a nod. “Seems his curiosity about the white, bearded god revealed some finds so disturbing that after the book was shipped to Spain, it got buried in the archives of a church until only recently. Of course, now that it has been so long since the original writing, scholars can say the man made the entire thing up based on his own religious system. But it does back up facts already in our grasp.”
    “The white, bearded god,” Alred said. “And who would that be?”
    “Don’t you know?” Porter said, glowing with his quirky smile.
    She waited a few seconds before answering, her eyes examining the titles of stapled articles and worn books ganging up on her chair. She saw the words, “The Canaanite Text from Brazil” by Cyrus H. Gordon and “Who Discovered America First” by William F. Dankenbring. Some of the words leapt at her in Germanic, Arabic, and other languages that left her feeling like she didn’t belong in this office.
    Looking again at Porter, she said, “Mormons believe Quetzalcoatl, Kukalkan, Tohil,