Page 35 of Silent Past

Don't forget to send the license plate, Mark texted back.

As soon as I know which vehicle he drives, she thought.

The bar's heavy door opened to a wall of sound—clinking glasses, overlapping conversations, and Luke Combs on the jukebox. The bartender, a young woman with vibrant purple hair, looked up from mixing a drink. "What can I get you?" she called over the noise.

"Just meeting someone," Rachel replied, scanning the crowded space. A group of men in flannel shirts played pool in the corner while locals occupied most of the barstools.

The door opened again behind her, letting in another blast of cool air. Rachel turned to find a man entering—silver-haired, dressed in khakis and a blue Oxford shirt beneath a well-worn field jacket. He matched the faculty photo she'd found online, though he seemed smaller in person, less imposing.

"Dr. Harper?" His smile was warm, academically distracted. "Nathan Angel. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice."

His handshake was firm but not aggressive. Everything about him seemed calculated to put her at ease—the slight stoop of his shoulders, the way he gestured toward a recently vacated booth in the corner. "Can I get you something? They make an excellent Old Fashioned."

Rachel found herself relaxing slightly. He reminded her of several senior faculty members she knew—brilliant but slightly scattered, more comfortable with artifacts than people. "Just a club soda," she said. "I'm driving."

While Angel ordered their drinks, Rachel messaged Emma: Meeting started. Dr. Angel seems legitimate. Will update in an hour.

Angel returned with their drinks. "I apologize again for the late hour," he said, settling into the chair across from her. "But when I read your paper on adaptive traditions in isolated communities, I knew I had to reach out. Your framework for understanding how practices persist despite external pressures—it's exactly what I've been trying to articulate in my own research."

Rachel wrapped her hands around the cool glass. "You mentioned finding evidence of continuous cultural practices?"

"Yes." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes brightening with academic enthusiasm. "You see, most archaeologists focus on change—how cultures evolve, adapt, disappear. But what I've found suggests something remarkable: traditions that have remained essentially unchanged for thousands of years."

"In the cave systems you're studying?"

"Precisely." He pulled out a small notebook, flipping it open to reveal careful sketches of what appeared to be rock formations. "These caves—they're natural preservation chambers. The mineral content, the constant temperature, the isolation from outside influences... they're perfect for maintaining both physical artifacts and cultural continuity."

Rachel listened, absorbed. This was right up her alley.

"Your methodology for tracking generational changes in linguistic patterns is fascinating," Angel said, gesturing with his drink. "Particularly your focus on how certain phrases persist even as the language around them evolves. Have you considered applying that same framework to ritual practices?"

Rachel leaned forward. "Actually, yes. I've been documenting how certain families maintain traditional ceremonies even after moving to urban areas. The core elements remain remarkably stable."

"Even when they've lost the original context?"

"Especially then." Rachel pulled out her notebook, flipping to a recent interview transcript. "I spoke with a woman in Cedar City whose family has performed the same blessing ritual before major life events for at least six generations. They've lost the meaning of some of the words, but the rhythm, the gestures—they're identical to recordings from the 1940s."

Angel's eyes lit up. "That's exactly what I'm seeing in the archaeological record. These repeated patterns, preserved not just in artifacts but in the way spaces were used." He sketched something in his notebook—a series of concentric circles. "Traditional knowledge encoded in the landscape itself."

"Through intentional marking?" Rachel asked as she studied his drawing.

"Sometimes. But more often through the repeated performance of certain actions. The way people moved through spaces, the positions they took during ceremonies." He added details to his sketch—small figures arranged around the circles. "The body remembers what the mind forgets."

Rachel felt her pulse quicken with academic excitement. This aligned perfectly with patterns she'd been tracking in modern communities—muscle memory preserving traditions even when their original meaning had been lost.

"I've been trying to document similar patterns in how modern families arrange their living spaces," she said. "There's this family in Moab—three generations living together. Without realizing it, they've organized their home almost exactly like their ancestors' hogans, down to the placement of the main entrance and where they eat meals."

"Despite having no direct knowledge of those traditional layouts?"

"Exactly." Rachel pulled out her phone, showing him a diagram she'd made. "See how the sleeping areas maintain the same directional alignment? Even though they're in a suburban ranch house?"

Angel studied the image, nodding slowly. "Remarkable preservation of spatial patterns." He glanced at her notebook. "May I?"

Rachel handed it over, watching as he flipped through her interview notes. His questions were precise, thoughtful—exactly the kind of academic discourse she'd been missing in her department, where her colleagues often dismissed the significance of these subtle cultural continuities.

Her phone buzzed: Mark again. How's it going? Is he a total creep?

She typed back quickly: No, everything's fine. Fascinating discussion about preservation of cultural practices. Will head to research site soon.

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