The man who sits across from me isn’t what I expected. The stories depict him as towering; the man before me cannot be any taller than five-foot-one. He smiles. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says. His voice isn’t what I expected, either. It’s not booming. Not resonating through my ears. Instead, it’s gentle. Think Moby instead of James Earl Jones. “Not all those stories are true,” he says. “Some of them got lost in translation.” He pauses a moment, considering what he said. “Actually, they should throw the whole book out.” None of this is making sense to me, and he can see my confusion. So much so, it makes him laugh. That’s life, or so he says. You expect a towering, white-bearded…