Masters of Atlantis

194 Pages·2000·0.75 MB·English

by  Charles Portis

Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
ALSO BY CHARLES PORTIS
Norwood
True Grit
The Dog of the South
Gringos

First published in paperback in the United States in 2000 by
The Overlook Press, Peter Mayer Publishers, Inc.
141 Wooster Street
New York, NY 10012
www.overlookpress.com

For bulk and special sales, please contact [email protected]

Copyright © 1985 by Charles Portis
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage or retrieval
system now known or to be invented without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer
who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine,
newspaper, or broadcast.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Portis, Charles
Masters of Atlantis / Charles Portis.
p. cm.
1. Secret societies—Fiction. 2. Atlantis—Fiction. I. Title. PS3566.O663 M’.543—dc21 99-0086846

eISBN : 978-1-59020662-1
http://us.penguingroup.com
YOUNG LAMAR JIMMERSON went to France in 1917 with the American
Expeditionary Forces, serving first with the Balloon Section, stumbling about in
open fields holding one end of a long rope, and then later as a telephone
switchboard operator at AEF headquarters in Chaumont. It was there on the
banks of the Marne River that he first came to hear of the Gnomon Society.
He was walking about Chaumont one night with his hands in his pockets
when he was approached by a dark bowlegged man who offered to trade a small
book for two packages of Old Gold cigarettes. The book had to do with the
interpretation of dreams. Corporal Jimmerson did not smoke, nor did he have
much interest in such a book, but he felt sorry for the ragged fellow and so
treated him to a good supper at the Hotel Davos.
The man wept, overcome with gratitude. He said his name was Nick and that
he was an Albanian refugee from Turkey. After supper he revealed that his real
name was Mike and that he was actually a Greek from Alexandria, in Egypt. The
dream book was worthless, he said, full of extravagant lies, and he apologized
for imposing in such a way on the young soldier. He apologized too for his body
odor, saying that nerve sweat or fear sweat made for a stronger stink than mere
work sweat or heat sweat, or at least that had been his experience, and that he
was always nervous when he spoke of delicate matters.
Perhaps he could repay the kindness in another way. He had another book.
This one, the Codex Pappus, contained the secret wisdom of Atlantis. He could
not let the book out of his hands but, as an Adept in the Gnomon Society, he was
permitted to show it to outsiders, or “Perfect Strangers,” who gave some promise
of becoming Gnomons. Lamar, who was himself an Entered Apprentice in the
Blue Lodge of the Freemasons, expressed keen interest.
It was a little gray book, or booklet, hand lettered in Greek. There were
several pages given over to curious diagrams and geometric figures, mostly
cones and triangles. Mike explained that this was not, of course, the original
script. The original book had been sealed in an ivory casket in Atlantis many
thousands of years ago, and committed to the waves on that terrible day when
the rumbling began. After floating about for nine hundred years the casket had
finally fetched up on a beach in Egypt, where it was found by Hermes
Trismegistus. Another nine years passed before Hermes, with his great powers,
was able to read the book, and then another nine before he was able to fully
understand it, and thus become the first modern Master of the Gnomon Society.
Since those days the secret brotherhood had seen many great Masters,
Since those days the secret brotherhood had seen many great Masters,
including Pythagoras and Cornelius Agrippa and Cagliostro, but none greater
than the current one, Pletho Pappus, whose translation this little book was.
Pletho lived and taught in the Gnomon Temple on the island of Malta, with his
two Adepts, Robert and a man named Rosenberg.
Lamar was embarrassed to say that he had not heard of this Society, nor was
he aware that flotsam of any description, literary or otherwise, had ever been
recovered from Atlantis. What was the book about? Mike apologized again,
saying he was bone tired. Could they continue their discussion another time? He
could hardly keep his eyes open and must now find himself a dark doorway
where he might curl up and try to get a little rest. But Lamar would not hear of
this and he arranged for Mike to be put up in the Hotel Davos.
Their friendship flourished. They had many meals together and many long
talks. Lamar paid for Mike’s food and shelter and cigarettes, and even bought
him a cheap suit of clothes. Bit by bit the truth came out. Mike confessed that his
real name was Jack and that he was an Armenian from Damascus. He was here
on a mission. Pletho, with an eye to expanding the activities of the secret order
to the New World, had sent him here to Chaumont, disguised as a beggar, to
look over the Americans and determine if any were worthy of the great work. So
far he had found only one.
Lamar was embarrassed again. But Jack insisted that yes, Lamar was indeed
worthy and must now prepare himself for acceptance into the brotherhood.
Lamar did so. First came the Night of Figs, then the Dark Night of Utter Silence.
On the third night, a wintry night, in Room 8 of the Hotel Davos, Lamar
Jimmerson folded his arms across his chest and spoke to Jack the ancient words
from Atlantis—Tell me, my friend, how is bread made?—and with much
trembling became an Initiate in the Gnomon Society.
This work done, Jack said that he was at last free to divulge his true Gnomon
identity; he was Robert, a French Gypsy, and he must now hasten back to Malta
to report his success to the Master, the success of the American mission. He
would leave the Codex Pappus in Lamar’s care, for further study, and as a kind
of token of good faith, or surety, and he would return in a month or so with more
secret books, with Lamar’s ceremonial robe and with sealed instructions from
Pletho himself. There was a $200 charge for the robe, payable in advance. This
was merely a bookkeeping technicality, one of Rosenberg’s foolish quirks, and
all rather pointless, seeing that Lamar would begin drawing $1,000 a month
expense money as soon as his name was formally entered on the rolls. Still,