Aquifer: A Novel (5 page)

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C
HAPTER
T
HREE

Clayton

St. Louis University Campus

Spring - Present Day

His eyes were blue, a deep, rich turquoise-blueness that immediately commanded attention. He was slightly taller than normal, and muscularly built, though not unusually so. He carried himself with confidence and appeared to be comfortably at home on the bustling university campus amongst the students he taught.

He briskly walked down the wide sidewalk that ran through the courtyard which adjoined the lecture halls in the quad. He was headed toward Grand Avenue and the medical school building on the other side. He checked his wristwatch and noted the time. He was late. But what was unusual about that? After all, he was a professor, and he had remained after class at the end of the previous hour to answer student questions in preparation for final exams that would begin the following week.

At the end of the sidewalk, just before Grand Avenue, stood two red brick columns, each fifteen feet tall and five feet square. They flanked the thirty-foot wide gateless entryway to the quad he was about to exit. The columns supported an enormous ornamental iron-works arch which spanned the two massive columns. The name
“Saint Louis University
,” in ornate gilded lettering, adorned the center of the arch beneath the school’s gilded seal. He passed through the archway and stepped into the street. His destination lay in the basement of the fourteen story medical school building on the other side.

The tall building reached skyward, capped by an aging and oxidized green, copper, pyramidal-shaped roof. Though the building was old and in great need of modernization, the medical program was among the finest in the country.

He entered the building and quickly descended three flights of stairs. Dr. Thomas Clayton, a herpetologist who specialized in frog studies and who taught in the school’s zoology department, could not allow himself to use the elevator. That would have been a senseless waste of energy. He was an environmentalist. Not a radical one, but an environmentalist nonetheless.

Arriving at the bottom level he hurriedly entered the medical building’s cafeteria. There he joined two of his colleagues, Dr. Bart Welton, an astrophysicist, and Dr. Chester Mclninch, a neurologist. The trio usually ate lunch together a couple of times a week and had been good friends for many years.

“Clayton, you’re right on time,” Dr. Welton chided as he slapped him on the back good-naturedly. “That is, if you measure by California time.”

Dr. Clayton returned a broad smile and accepted the ribbing as the daily ritual it had become. Some of his colleagues thought that the mold of the proverbial absent-minded professor had been broken when Clayton became tenured. He was seldom on time for anything. Welton and Mclninch had become accustomed to his habitual lateness.

“And this,” interjected Dr. Mclninch, “is your new graduate assistant.” He introduced a sharp-looking young man about twenty-five years old. “This is Larry Beringer, but don’t worry, I already told him to expect you to be late, no matter where you were going.”

Larry extended his hand to shake Clayton’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Dr. Clayton. I’m really looking forward to working with you this summer.”

“Hey, let’s forget the formalities for a few minutes,” interrupted Dr. Welton. “I’m famished. Come on, let’s get some grub.”

The men entered the line at the cafeteria’s buffet and began filling their plates. The three professors, all in their early fifties, had completed their meal selections and paid for their food. They casually chatted about their respective summer plans as they leisurely carried their trays to a table in the center of the spacious room.

Left alone, Larry lingered for a minute at the dessert counter reviewing a variety of tempting selections. After much deliberation he finally made a choice and fumbled for change at the cash register. Completing his transaction he took his receipt, grabbed his tray and whirled around to catch up with the professors; whereupon he immediately collided with a graduate school co-ed, Tina Chitwood. The force of their collision jostled her glass of juice and spilled part of it onto her tray.

“Oh! Excuse me. I’m so terribly sorry,” Larry said, hastily apologizing without stopping.

Tina stared at him quizzically and was about to speak but Larry quickly stepped around her. He dipped his head with an awkward, embarrassed smile and raced to catch up with the professors. Tina smiled as she watched him walk away. Then spoke out loud, but only to herself: “Oooooo . . . he's hot.”

Larry quickly arrived at the table and sat down; the professors were already deep in conversation. He desperately wanted to make a good impression upon his new mentor, but it seemed as though his presence was scarcely noticed.

“Sooo, Clayton,” stated Doctor Welton quite matter-of-factly. “Rumor has it that you're headed to the Ozarks to become a hillbilly for the summer.”

“No!” Clayton rebuffed. “I detest hillbillies and shall never become one. And yes, I leave in two weeks.”

“Oh? Well, sounds like quite an expedition. Undoubtedly to serve some environmental issue?” Welton asked rhetorically.

“Of course,” said Clayton as he methodically placed both of his hands upon the table, one on either side of his plate. Then, assuming a somewhat lecturing demeanor, he continued. “Ecologically speaking, frogs are to local environments what canaries were to coal miners. They are the first species to show problems from pollutants, so they’re our planet’s early warning system. In fact, we sometimes call them our
Sentinel Species
.” With that, he reached to the center of the table and picked up a bottle of ketchup. Unscrewing the cap, he inserted his table knife and scraped out a copious quantity onto the plate next to his french fries while continuing his monolog. “Because of their highly permeable eggs and skin, frogs easily absorb toxic substances. And their bodily systems are so fragile that they easily succumb to their toxic environments.” He then motioned for Mclninch to pass him the salt and pepper without so much as slowing his speech. He was a true stereotypical research scientist and easily got caught up in the details of his work. “So all kinds of toxins from acid rain, heavy metals, fertilizers, pesticides, herbicides, preservatives, industrial waste, and even automobile exhaust have taken a great toll on frogs world wide.” He paused to take another bite, but his companions knew that he had not concluded.

Clayton was always eager to share his passion for environmental research and preservation regardless of whether or not his listeners were even remotely interested.

“Ok! Ok! We get the point,” exclaimed Welton. “But what’s all that got to do with your spending the entire summer in the Ozark backwoods?”

“Well, logging down there has made a tremendous ecological impact, especially during the last few years, since large chip mill operations started invading the area. Decomposition of their sawdust piles produces tannic acid that leaches into the watershed, which is the first step in a long chain of events that wreaks havoc with the environment.” Clayton dabbed at the ketchup with a couple of french fries and stuffed them into his mouth, then continued talking while he chewed, “I want to check on the frogs to see how bad the pollution problem has become,” he elaborated, grabbing a napkin to wipe off some ketchup that had dripped onto his tie.

Being a man of few words was an offense of which Clayton would never be accused. Asking him for the time of day and receiving an extensively detailed lecture on how to build a watch was an experience that all of his acquaintances had regrettably endured, many times over.

Clayton searched around his plate for a fork to remove the onions from his hamburger. Unable to find one he turned to Larry, whom he seemed to notice for the first time, and asked, “Would you mind getting me a fork?”

Larry obediently arose and headed toward the silverware containers near the cash registers, passing Tina Chitwood's table en route.

Tina looked up from across her table and their eyes met. Larry, however, seemed totally clueless as to her identity. He smiled politely but continued walking. After a few steps, however, his mind clicked in recognition. He stopped, backed up a couple of steps and spoke apologetically. “I'm sorry, I was thinking of something else. Is your food all right?”

Tina smiled, “Don't worry about it.”

“Can I get you something?”

“No, I’m fine. Go enjoy your lunch.”

“You’re sure?” Larry inquired, trying to make amends for his previous social faux pas.

Tina smiled and nodded her head affirmatively, trying to not appear as interested in him as she felt.

Larry returned the smile, dipped his head in a polite bow and continued his trek to the silverware racks. Unbeknown to him, Tina coyly watched as he left.

Returning from the silverware racks he again stopped at her table, but this time he presented her with a large slice of banana cream pie. “I hope that this will make up for the mess I made.”

Tina smiled and gladly accepted his offering. “You didn’t have to do that. But shamelessly, I have no self-control when it comes to banana cream pie.”

At the professor’s table, Welton and Mclninch politely endured Clayton’s treatise of the relative merits of the logging industry and its associated destruction of rural America. Clayton had a way of making seemingly simple concepts appear extremely complex. Yet after meticulous discussion to explain the bigger issues, things usually fell neatly into place and once again seemed elegantly simple, but on a grander scale.

“So you’re against logging?” asked Welton.

“Oh, certainly not. Logging is an important industry in maintaining our economy, both nationally and for that area of the Ozarks. But it has to be done with environmental responsibility,” Clayton stated emphatically, strengthening his argument.

“I agree,” interjected Dr. Mclninch. “But you seem to imply that there are deliberate polluting activities being engaged in by the loggers down there. Do you really believe that?”

“No. But the nature of the industry creates a certain measure of pollution and sometimes even when things are done with the best of intentions it can cause unforseen yet disastrous consequences,” Clayton replied.

“Such as?” inquired Welton raising one eyebrow questioningly.

“Well . . . take the asbestos industry for an example,” Clayton began.

At that point Larry returned with the fork and handed it to his mentor. Larry could immediately tell by their conversation that he hadn’t missed anything important.

“Thank you,” Clayton said. He took the fork and started removing the onions from his burger while continuing his monologue without so much as a pause.

“Thirty and forty years ago we used asbestos in virtually all construction projects as a fire retardant and as insulation on boiler pipes, furnace duct work, and so forth. Today we know that just breathing air that has come into contact with it can cause lung cancer. When we started using asbestos it was with the best of intentions. Now you can’t even touch the stuff without special protective equipment and government permits, especially if you try to remove it.” As he spoke, Clayton reached for his water glass, squeezed a lemon wedge into it, stirred it twice and then paused just long enough to take a sip. “Hundreds of millions of dollars in lawsuits have been filed, and who knows how many deaths have been caused by breathing air contaminated with it. I just want to make sure that the logging industry doesn’t inadvertently create similar conditions, either for us or for the environment.”

Welton tilted his head toward Larry and loudly whispered, “Get used to it kid; he doesn’t know how to give a short answer to anything. You’ve just got to be patient and humor him a little.”

Larry smiled a bit uncomfortably.

Oblivious to Welton’s side comment, Mclninch prodded Clayton on, “Well, I don’t see how you could determine the future consequences of any current inadvertent actions. Besides, even if you could, that would be quite a crusade for one man.”

“Oh, I’ll not be working alone. My portion of the project is only a small piece of a national project. This summer I’ll be working with colleagues who will be doing similar studies all over the country. We’ll pool our collected data for statistical analysis to determine how badly the logging industry’s pollution has affected our sentinel species,” explained Clayton. “But our laws are so lax that even when the loggers follow
letter of the law
compliance they still wreak havoc on the environment.”

“How's that?” asked Welton.

“Well . . . the way they cut trees,” replied Clayton. “They clear cut hundreds of acres a day destroying habitats and ruining the environment.”

“Well, how else could you do it and maintain cost effectiveness?” inquired Welton.

“With horse or mule teams hauling out selected trees,” Clayton answered. “A number of studies have shown this to be a superior method of tree harvesting.”

“That seems rather archaic,” observed Mclninch.

“But environmentally friendly,” Clayton insisted in an effort to clarify his point. He had difficulty understanding why some people could not grasp the importance of taking care of the environment. Especially when its wholesale destruction was done simply to enhance the financial performance of a major industry.