The studio audience erupted in applause as the familiar theme music for “Global Talks with Mr. G” swelled. On the plush, caramel-colored sofa sat the night’s guest, the renowned archaeologist, Dr. Arthur Justin, known to the world as Mr. J.

“A pleasure to have you, Mr. J,” the host, Gavin Gable, began, his smile a masterpiece of polished insincerity. “Your work uncovering the lost city of… what was it again?”

“Sak-Bahlan,” Mr. J said smoothly, adjusting his tweed jacket. “A fascinating dig. The forest, you see, Gavin, is the greatest preserver. It reveals fragments from the past, and we must piece together its grand narrative.”

“And speaking of grand narratives,” Mr. G leaned forward, his eyes glinting under the studio lights. “Let’s talk about the cradle of civilization itself. The Middle East. A region so rich in history. Can you walk us through the historical context, say, two thousand years ago? The cultural shifts, the lost monuments, the human story?”

Mr. J’s smooth demeanor cracked. A fine sheen of sweat appeared on his brow. He shifted in his seat, his eyes darting from the camera to the exit sign.

“Ah, yes. Two thousand years… a, uh, fascinating period,” he stammered, clearing his throat. “You see, the… the climate. Very arid. Not… not ideal for preservation. Human remains? Fossils? Frankly, Gavin, the record from that specific era is… spotty. Fragmentary. We have pottery shards, of course, lovely shards, but a complete picture? Difficult. Very difficult to be precise.”

Mr. G’s smile didn’t waver. He nodded sympathetically. “I see, I see. A real challenge. So much is lost to time.” He paused for effect. “Let’s go back further then. Much further. To a time long before pottery. The age of the dinosaurs. Tell us about that. The different eras, the major species.”

It was as if a switch had been flipped. Mr. J straightened up, his eyes lighting with fervent confidence. The sweat vanished, replaced by the glow of absolute expertise. “Now that,” he declared, “is a story I can tell! The Mesozoic Era…….

He was like a man possessed, detailing geologic timelines and fossil records with breathtaking precision for a solid two minutes.

Mr. G let him finish, his smile now a razor’s edge. He waited for the last triumphant description of a Pteranodon’s wingspan to hang in the air.

“Fascinating,” Mr. G said, his voice dangerously soft. “Truly. So, let me see if I understand. You can tell me, with pinpoint accuracy, what a specific dinosaur ate 150 million years ago, based on a single fossilized coprolite—”

“Dinosaur dung,” Mr. J clarified proudly.

“—dung,” Mr. G continued, “and you can describe the social hierarchy of a raptor pack from 80 million years ago. But you cannot tell us anything concrete or precise about the human culture, the politics, the very concrete, documented history of the Middle East… a mere two thousand years ago?”

The silence in the studio was absolute. The camera zoomed in on Mr. J’s face. The confidence drained from it like water from a sieve, leaving behind a pale, terrified mask. His eyes bulged. He looked at the camera, then back at Mr. G, his mouth opening and closing like a fish stranded on a riverbank. No sound emerged.

Mr. G simply stared, his expression one of cold, victorious curiosity.

Mr. J was speechless!

A producer’s frantic voice hissed in Mr. G’s earpiece. He blinked, and his host-persona snapped back into place. “We’ll be right back after these important messages!” he announced with forced cheer.