The Kukulkan Manuscript (11 page)

But Alred didn’t want his help.

“Thanks,” she said. “Another water please.”

“Haven’t finished your first,” he said, indicating the one by her left hand.

She looked across the cafe to the glass door and the darkness beyond. “Yeah,” she said, with her mind searching the street again for someone leaving the place. She hadn’t been in the bathroom that long! No matter how many times she went through the possibilities in her mind, she couldn’t figure out what had happened. There were more questions than there were answers.

She nodded at the old man, and he smiled and left her with the journal. She opened her notebook and prepared to read what looked like a waste of time, but was now tied to…to what? Blue ink?

If there were answers, Alred had to find them. More now than before. If it was a race to study the new find, then she’d burn the oil of all ten virgins. She’d stand on the shoulders of Albright
and
Porter. She would succeed and benefit. But most of all, she would find the answers to her new questions. And she’d figure out what had happened to Ulman.

With new resolve, Alred looked down at the page.

THE MESOAMERICA MIDDLE-EAST CONNECTION

Codex KM-1 and Related Finds

by

Dr. Dennis Albright, Ohio State University

Introduction

When I first arrived in the Valley of Guatemala, I was surprised by the intensity of the beautiful surroundings and the simple humility of the native people. But surprise is too shallow a word to describe the immense shock I felt when I walked around the new archaeological site just outside of the small Indian village called Kalpa in the Cuchumatan mountains. One point solidified in my mind when I beheld all the facts for the first time. I would have scoffed at the thought only hours before!
ⁱ
There
is
an ancient Mesoamerican connection with the Middle-East. The academic world can have no doubt about it anymore.
ⁱⁱ

When my companions expressed their impressions, I simply couldn’t believe it. In fact, I refused to! Then I saw the codex which we have come to term KM-1 (Kalpa Manuscript, One).
ⁱⁱⁱ
Part of a larger library, KM-1 and its apparent home illustrate three points which I shall illuminate below.

First, Kalpa sits on the outskirts of an ancient city far greater than any metropolis previously discovered in Central America. That fact alone demands years of investigation.

Second, KM-1 contains both words and pictures correlating directly to certain localities of the Middle-East, suggesting more than arbitrary evidence of the transoceanic contact discussed by a small number of recent and heretofore relatively unrecognized scholars over the last twenty years.
^iv

Last of all, I suspect KM-1 is the most complete and detailed codex of the ancient inhabitants of Highland Guatemala c. 700 BCE.

I do not wish to mislead the reader. The aforementioned finds are completely new and require a thorough study, which will surely tax Mesoamerican archaeologists for at least the next fifty years.

I acknowledge certain flaws involved in our present study. We have found so far no definitive name for the ancient center, nor are we unified in supposing exactly who lived at the site. Dating has been assumed from the language of KM-1 alone, and the writing has been a tremendous point of argumentation for the few of us at the Kalpa dig.
^v
No part of the manuscript has been interred into a lab. KM-1 is unlike anything we have found in the past, and is subject to numerous questions that we have no time for in this paper.
^vi

The first and foremost argument against this paper might be an attempt to show that KM-1 was planted at a later date by evil-designing persons bent on fame or religious prestige.
^vii
But the codex, coming forth from a small library tightly sealed from the outer world, speaks for itself. It exists! It is tangible evidence of the study presented below. We shall soon see the day when KM-1 will meet every conceivable scientific test, all careful scrutiny, and each critical eye, revealing to the public the fluidity of the past as we know it.

There
is
an unquestionable relationship between Mesoamerica and the Middle-East. Allow me to be your guide!

Alred tossed the magazine to the far edge of the table and slammed her eyelids shut. There is no connection whatsoever between ancient America and the Near East, she told herself.

Figure it out Alred!

Who’d written these words in blue ink by the paper’s title?

Where was Dr. Ulman? And what
had
he found?

Worth ruining his life for?

Hers?

She dropped her head until it thudded against wood.

April 15
6:48 p.m. PST

Dorado went insane.

That had to be the reason.

Running mad into the dark, brave Dorado, now deranged.

Alred tried not to think about it, but the feelings, the memories came like a tidal wave…forty-two feet above the shoreline and hovering….

He escaped when everyone thought him securest. Somehow he bypassed the massive birthday celebration. Everyone was present. Alred couldn’t believe Dorado went unnoticed. His black hair on end like Mr. Hyde. His mouth dripping with hot saliva.

He got away.

Someone stumbled upon the hole in his cell.

So as not to disturb the party, the word was spread in secret, and the necessary people stepped out.

They ran to their vehicles and scoured the area.

Alred knew where he went. The same place she would go, if she could run from this mad world into greater madness: the highest building…it had to be climbed. The edifice existed for that sole challenge.

Dorado fled to that holy point.

He bypassed the security guards.

He slid into an elevator…and flew.

To the roof.

With the stars shining down, he called to the night in a painful wail. Only the constellations knew Dorado’s lost madness. Like silent gods they stared down on the sacrifice.

Crying one last time to the moon that never gave comfort, Dorado jumped…into empty space. Gravity caught him with selfish hands, yanking him to the ground so far below.

They didn’t find him until the next day.

Alred’s father wasn’t even sure it
was
Dorado. But he had to tell his little girl something.

They’d get a new dog, he said.

Staring at the night sky, at the star formations, she knew somehow she’d cursed her best friend by naming him after the stars in the southern hemisphere. She’d trapped him in eternal darkness, which had become his destiny. The scourge had something to do with the night, but she couldn’t figure out the rest.

Weeping, Alred wondered if her father had lied.

Dorado…was flat as a bunny on a highway, her Dad said.

So…what if it really wasn’t Dorado? Wasn’t it unidentifiable? Black fur? It meant nothing.

Alred shivered as the wind scratched her arms in passing. Was Dorado still out there…?

Forever after she heard the cry of her dog…faraway.

The question was never answered.

The darkness took her father within a year.

Did she ever hear his voice?

Now…what about…Dr. Christopher Ulman?

The wheels of Alred’s car squealed in pain as they rubbed against the cement curb in front of the Ulman’s humble place.

Alred pulled on the emergency break, which sounded for a second like a chain saw trying to start without gasoline. “You must be mistaken with this.”

Porter laughed, but ran out of energy. “You’ve seen my translation!”

“But I still haven’t seen the codex itself, Porter, and I was told we were both working on the project. I have no way of validating your words, and frankly, you are really disappointing me!”

Porter pulled his head back. “You’re…afraid it’s true.”

“I am trying to make an accurate study of something I can’t even see.” She wouldn’t look at him.

“And I’m protecting you the best I can. You never
asked
to see the book,” he said with a weak smile.

“You’re stealing the work!”

“Possession of this codex is probably illegal, Alred. You
don’t
have it. You can’t be implicated.” Porter stared at her right ear.

“I was assigned to work
with
you on this project,” she said, shooting him a stinging glance. “Ulman’s codex belongs to the University, or at least to the department heads. If anyone is implicated, it’s Masterson and maybe Ulman.”

“Okay,” said Porter, “I’ll show you the book tomorrow.”

“That would be fine.” Her face was quiet marble and colder than Antarctic ice.

The doors of the brown Toyota Celica opened like bat wings.

Alred made it to the top of Mrs. Ulman’s steps first and stabbed the doorbell.

“I really don’t think she’ll have anything for us,” Porter said. He looked back at the street and the rest of the neighborhood in the late afternoon sun.

Alred didn’t bother with a reply. She had other motives.

The door swung open.

“Professor Arnott!” Alred shivered. “What are you doing here?”

Arnott stood in the doorway in a dark suit. He smiled, the muscles in his face at ease. He stood tall like he owned the place. “I’ve been concerned about Dr. Ulman,” he said. “Still no word.”

“I…see,” Alred said, nodding, feeling her cheeks flush and her lipstick drying in the Eastern breeze.

Mrs. Ulman’s worn face appeared in the door frame. “May I help you?” she squeaked.

Porter stared at Arnott, the nicely dressed man with the handkerchief in his breast pocket.

Arnott only glanced at him.

“You won’t find anything here,” Arnott said, looking down with ebony eyes into Alred’s jade circles.

She stood her ground, though inside she trembled with confusion.

The professor turned to Mrs. Ulman and said, “Thank you for your time. Please call me if you learn anything.” He took her hand with both of his and shook it lovingly. With a nod of his head, he walked quickly down the steps, entered a dark sedan across the street, and drove away.

With his hands in his pockets, Porter watched him go. “Nice car. You know that guy?”

“Mrs. Ulman,” Alred said in a kind voice with a smile, extending her hand to the lady in the doorway, “My name is Erma Alred. I’m one of your husband’s students. Could we have a word with you?”

The skin around Mrs. Ulman’s brown eyes sagged. The black hair running straight to the bottom of her neck seemed terribly to need a wash. “Why not,” she said without enthusiasm, turning into the house.

They entered and sat at two facing love seats offset by an coffee table of oak and glass, Porter and Alred together with Mrs. Ulman opposite them. An old molasses smell hung in the room, which made Alred wonder what was rotting or perhaps growing in the kitchen.

Porter nodded with a thin smile, trying his best to shine happiness from his otherwise wandering eyes. “John Porter.” He extended his hand. “Pleased.”

“We wanted to ask you a few questions about your husband,” Alred said. Her mind flirted back to Arnott’s appearance.

Mrs. Ulman sighed long and weak.

“Is that a problem?” Porter said with concern in his voice.

Mrs. Ulman looked up, but never met eyes with the students. She whined slowly, “I just don’t know any more!” Exhaustion killed any possibility of crying, though she looked like she needed to release a few thousand tears.

Porter and Alred glanced at each other with confused faces.

“Mrs. Ulman,” Alred began again, “We promise not to stay long.”

Ulman sniffed. “That’s what the FBI said before drilling me for an hour.”

Porter leaned forward with interest but no one spoke for a moment. Alred’s face remained impassive as she ran the words through her head again. Mrs. Ulman’s eyes traced the shape of the coffee table.

“They came two days ago, asking questions, just like you,” Ulman said, her voice sounding lost. “Look, I don’t know where my husband is. I have no idea what he was working on. There is nothing I can show you or give you. The FBI has it all.”

“Mrs. Ulman,” Alred tried to start a third time.

Porter quickly put two fingers on Alred’s arm and said, “The FBI
took
things from you?”

“It was illegal for him to mail artifacts out of a foreign country, they said. How do I argue against the government? I don’t know why Chris mailed things to
me
. What could
I
do?” Mrs. Ulman said with her eyes closed.

Porter spoke quickly. “FBI? Not Customs agents? What exactly did your husband send you?”

“A package, that’s all,” she said shaking her head. “A couple. He sent something else to our mail box downtown, though I didn’t know it. The FBI made me fetch it for them,” she said, her voice straining. Her face shifted with discomfort, her eyes darting every direction except at her guests. “I just wish everyone would leave me alone, is all,” she sighed again.

Alred raised her eyebrows. “The FBI knew Ulman mailed something to your post office box?”

“How would they know that?” said Porter.

“Well I definitely didn’t tell them!” she said, throwing up her hands, looking at the walls and the ceiling. She shivered and said, “Now, I’m sorry, but as I told Mr. Arnott, I don’t have anything to give you—”

“Arnott wanted something your husband sent home?!” Alred sat forward, a gleam of anger in her eye.

Mrs. Ulman stopped moving. She looked at Porter. She turned her head to Alred.

“Just like the FBI,” the older woman continued. “Just like you, I assume. Wanted anything Chris sent me. Artifacts most of all, but also letters, notes, or journals he may have sent home. Papers. That’s what they asked for. Everything.”

“I don’t want those things, Mrs. Ulman,” Alred said. “And I’m not here for your husband’s notes. I just want to know what happened to him.”