The Easy Chain

by Evan Dara

  The roof turrets, the mastics, the quartzite, the prefinished panels, no more, at last, definitively, no more. No more.

  And now it is goodbye to flatwashers and to countertop closures, and goodbye to doorsills and to wedge anchors and to sludge conditioning systems, take them, just take them all.

  And concerning the air coils, and the non-metallic conductors, and the clock systems, and the chutes, we are rid of them, disburdened, they are no longer here, stunningly, ecstatically, the caissons and the axial fans and the cofferdams and the septic systems and the duct furnaces and the slope-protection mats and the boilers, they are no longer among us, they are no longer.

  Bicycle racks, electromagnetic shielding systems, heat exchangers, culverts, they will not distract us any longer, they will no longer wage their fierce and tacit battle, because they are gone, vanished, vamoosed, the gabions and the flexible couplings, the curbing and the overcurrent protective devices, the luminaires and the carillons, the street lamps and the bricks, all the bricks, wiped away, cleaned away, purified, released, the strip, the area, the region has been released.

  Manumission, emancipation, true-deserved deoccupation from soap dispensers and abrasion-resistant coatings, from pavement markings and uninterruptible power supplies, from flagpoles and mechanical actuators, gone-from, gone-away, gone-forever they are, divested, disappropriated, disimbricated, disumbrated, uninfused, finally, finally, the decolonization comes true, and upon this, even before this, with every unpiercing and unclutching of the talons, budging occurs, unburrowing, nearly imperceptible shifting, new and incomparably subtle shivering, as, tentatively, timorously at first, micro-organisms start to digest minerals still present in the biomass, deposited there by glacial gouging, by meltwater, by volcanic eruption, by wind distribution and other earthly processes, then sifted into place by the gradual weathering of rock and gravel, sand and silt, providing the slow release of nitrogen, oxygen and myriad additional nutrients, while pyroelectric minerals, stressed by new cooling and fluctuating pressures, acquire an electrical charge, and nudge through the carbon cycle as they discharge.

  And throughout, everywhere, in spontaneous and automatic release, nitrogen-fixating bacteria, exchange agents of impeccable integrity, transform nitrogen gas present in the soil atmosphere into soluble nitrogenous compounds, and this vivifying admixture is in turn used by plant roots for auto-generation and growth.

  So the magic cycle begins. Other soil micro-organisms, including algae, protozoa and nematodes, decompose organic matter that is entering the soil, replenishing soil nutrients. Mycorrhizal fungi increase the availability of divers nutrients, notably phosphorus, while countless orders of other fungi break down complex compounds, such as cellulose and lignins. Ammonia and ammonium are released into the soil solution, which is, in sequence, oxidized for energy by bacteria, producing nitrate and nitrite. Actinomycetes, givers of priceless antibiotics, break down the most complex and resistant of compounds, including phospholipids.

  Symbiotic bacteria take nitrogen from the air and mate it with organic compounds to form amino acids. And much, practically an infinity, more.

  And it does not stop. Nitrogen-fixating root-nodule bacteria, Bradyrhibozium by name, transfer organic nitrogen to its host plant, fostering growth. Manganese, used as the positively-charged manganese cation, activates dozens of enzymes involved in plant-growth processes, and helps form chlorophyll during photosynthesis. Azospirillium, a bold bacterial inoculator that functions as a phytostimulator, induces the proliferation of plant root hairs, generating improved nutrient uptake. Boron, taken up as the negatively-charged borate anion, helps differentiate meristem tissue. Hordes, slews of other microorganisms act as biopesticides, producing compounds that enliven and catalyze plants’ own, entirely salutary, defense mechanisms …

  And it does not stop.

  And as it does not stop, as the new-growing, the re-impulsing come gently bellowing back, Pearl Street, the former Pearl Street trails and fades and wipes from memory, it falls soundlessly from the engrammic ledger, grain by grain and brindle by brindle and scrappet by scrappet it is disappeared, it is obliterated, it is evaporated with a wince, a scowl, a blading flinch, borne away with a bitter How could we?, and the strip, the zone, the quarter, the whole area start to tremble, to shimmer with emergent being, now painlessly unchained. Fresh winds accompany this telluric intifada as it blooms and spreads from its bornes and blacktopped wastescape to other streets and strips that had no idea what was coming, but which is now understood as unstoppable, unquenchable, immutably automatic, a force that derives its force from being no force at all. Pointless, directionless, undifferentiated, modulating across many cadences, the springing seeping spontaneous retrieval expands and sallies as it will, as it must, in whatever surge-way it moves in, over the entire area, and region, and county, though now, in cowcatcher thrust, down Broadway and by Central Park, and then past Arapahoe Avenue and Pleasant Avenue and shunting over the UC Bolder campus, before it comes to Baseline Road and Columbine Avenue and Bluebell Avenue and the Green Mountain Cemetery. And then it picks up speed and, perhaps, delicate ferocity as it pushes over Dartmouth Avenue and Table Mesa Dive, then Armer Drive, then Darley Avenue, then Ludlow Street, then Harlow Platts Park, and soon it’s chewing through Macky Way and Aikins Way and the rondel turnoffs leading to Marshall Road. And now it pours past the village of Marshall, and Marshall Lake, churning up lands that once were considered mere approaches to Boulder Mountain Park and, beyond, Walker Ranch Park, before it continues unseating the former invidious dominion of Route 93 and its linear insistences, its insalubrious geometries, and also Eldorado Springs Drive, and Route 128, and lashing straight into nonsensical Jefferson County, and then it presses past Plainview and farther, ever farther south, into the sunway distance past gathering scrub wards and table lands and arrant vistas of inaccessible mountains, before it ardors down ill-kept service roads and by weedy turnoffs and roadside call-stations, and swoops past stooped and sun-desiccated cyclone fences and thinning grasses and gravel plains, and then up over the sloping hills and cresting escarpments and rock terraces and subtle dippings into levelments, and then up, and into, look now, look, into Rocky Flats, rising in there and across there and—

  And—!

  Mr. Larkin:

  Thanks for your invitation. I’ll check with the magazine, but I probably can’t go on record about Selwyn until after my piece is published. (Exclusivity, they’re paying for the research, etc.: I’m sure you understand.) But please do let me know when your program will be broadcast. Something I won’t be likely to miss!

  Best,

  TK

  Look at how well he did for himself. Well, that’s how well he did for Chicago.

  What can I say? He just appeared one day and then, wow, after doing like miracles, he was plucked away, he was suddenly taken from us. I don’t mean to stretch, but it was like Jesus, it felt like that.

  Dear Ms. Littleton:

  Thank you very much for your e-mail of August 4. As much as I would welcome the chance to communicate with you further, it is not the policy of Chicago Magazine to offer payment or other forms of compensation to sources. I am sorry about this, but, alas, must live within the rules.

  Nevertheless, if you ever have a change of heart, please be assured that::::

  —Guys? Mr. Meijer Borah.

  — … Huh?

  — … Hello?

  — … Gentlemen.

  —Guys, Mr. Borah here has, very graciously, agreed to offer his services to our effort. ’N so I think we all want to thank him and welcome him to the team, ’n in particular today to thank him for making time for this call.

  — … Well, yeah. Of course we. Thanks.

  —Definitely. Thank you. Mr. Borah.

  —And here too. So, Mr. Borah, may I introduce you to Stan, from the Standard Administration Agency?

  — … Nice to meet you.

  —The pleasure is mine.

  —And we’ve also got
Archie, from Archer Collection Services.

  —We’ve met.

  —Nice to say hello again, Mr. B.

  —’N just so we’re clear, Mr. Borah is here in his capacity as a representative of Meijer Borah and Associates. So. So now I think we’ve probably all got a few questions for our new colleague, ’n, ’n Archie?

  —Yeah. Mr. Borah? I mean, like why’re you doing this?

  —Arch—

  —No no, he’s right to ask. And I’m happy to respond, because the answer is straightforward. Mr. Selwyn is no longer one of my clients. He terminated our agreement just over a week ago.

  —And so now you’re gonna just like spill everything that—

  —Not at all. The representations I made to my client, my guarantees, will still be in force. But your colleague explained to me the gravity of your situation, and I believe I can make some contribution that will be in the interest of all.

  —But—

  —Without compromising my existing obligations.

  —But doesn’t that, won’t you be—?

  —Again, there is no reason for concern. I am working for you now.

  —So, guy – gentlemen, again. Questions.

  —So, OK, start with the obvious. Where is the loser?

  —Well, I—

  —Er your former client.

  —Thank you. About this, you know more than I do. Um, Phil, here—

  —That’s right.

  —Phil told me that Selwyn currently seems to be traveling through the South and the Midwest. Beyond that I’m afraid I can’t—

  —But what’s he doin’ here? Like why’d he go to Holland ’n then just come back?

  —Personal reasons. Mr. Selwyn’s mother is an alcoholic who, after a long period of decline, has been living away from the family for the last ten months or so. Shortly after we completed our first investigation for him, regarding his aunt, Mr. Selwyn asked my office to help him locate his mother, using various contacts I have on the Continent. I was able to place her as living on the streets of Almere, a new community built about fifteen kilometers northeast of Amsterdam. The mother occasionally comes into Amsterdam to clean rooms and food-service areas at a hotel called the Van Gelder, but she refused our requests – my office made two – to come forth. Ultimately, Mr. Selwyn returned to the States for reasons that he did not communicate to me.

  —But what I think Archie’s asking, Mr. Borah, is whether you think Selwyn has assets somewhere, maybe in Holland or Britain, that could be, well, made available to our employers.

  —I understand. But I’m sorry to say I can’t help you on that. It was outside the purview of our involvement. Selwyn was always responsible with me, so I had no reason to look into—

  —Yeah, but did you know he wasn’t exactly responsible with maybe two hundred other businesses in Chicago, ’n now like all over our country?

  —A sorry thing.

  —Exactly. Sorry. The slimester robbed every single credit card he could peel from the backing paper.

  —Again, most unfortunate.

  —I wish it was unfortunate. I wish it was only that. This beast ripped off everything and everywhere he—

  —Well, you know, in several legal traditions, the Hammurabic, for example, and the Hebraic, and in Han Dynasty refinements of Qin codicilary precepts, it’s not really a crime for the less-fortunate to take from the rich. There’s a criterion of need, a sensitivity to it.

  —Whuh? Mr. Borah, are you … ? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not in—

  —This I know—

  —And that ain’t exactly gonna comfort all the people who own all the stationery stores ’n gas stations ’n shirt shops when they have to—

  —I understand. I was speaking theoretically.

  —Mr. Borah, what we would like to determine—

  —So is that why he was after the aunt?

  —On that I cannot comment—

  —Was she just another richie to hose down without feeling bad about it?

  —There I will say something. No.

  —Did the aunt have any money?

  —Again, I cannot comment. That was not part of my investigation.

  —Because maybe, conceivably, if she has no traceable heirs—

  —Mr. Borah, we also wanted to ask you about Carter Dardan. Do you have any idea what happened to him?

  —Out of the business.

  —Yeah, we know that. But why, what made him—?

  —Unsure. For Mr. Selwyn, it was just bad timing. I know Carter, and he’s a very good snoop, but Mr. Selwyn had the misfortune to engage him right before his practice fell on hard times. Ultimately, Mr. Selwyn was not getting the results he wanted, which is why he ended up coming to me.

  —Any idea how we can contact him, Dardan?

  —Can’t help you. I don’t know where he is. And I don’t have special access to any personal data.

  —Thank you. So again, I suppose we come back to why Selwyn came back—

  —Phil, I thought you knew that.

  —Thank you, Archie. But I’m asking Mr. Borah. So again, why do you think Selwyn would walk back into the hot seat? Do you have any idea what he’s doing here?

  —He didn’t say. He was in town for just a few days, I believe, during which time he terminated with me and finally terminated with the University of Chicago—

  —Ah.

  —But there were no indications beyond that. I don’t know his plans and we are not in touch.

  —But do you have any idea why he’d be in Champaign, or Hannibal, or Grand Island? We get reports on his Visa card within a day or two of it being used, and—

  —Again, I wasn’t even aware he’s still in the country.

  —But if you do hear from scuzzboy …

  —I will phone you immediately.

  —Good. Thank you.

  —Of course.

  —So Mr. Borah, on a personal level, as much as you feel you can talk about it, from your interactions with him, what do you think is motivating, is driving him, at this point? To the degree that this may be useful to our …

  — … I do feel I have some understanding of Mr. Selwyn, but not, perhaps, of the kind you seek. But what I can say, I will. Ultimately, Mr. Selwyn is an individualist, in an almost classically American sen—

  —Later with the psychology, OK?, Mr. Borah, sir. What we need is anything that’ll help us find the lose—

  —I see you understand my point.

  —Sir, I – all this country did, sir, was open its shores and open its universities and give the guy opportunities, OK?, opportunities he could never get anywhere else in the world. We gave every chance under the sun to this criminal ingrate.

  —Perhaps you’re assuming that what was given is what he—

  —Thank you Dr. Joyce Broth—

  —No need for—

  —So OK, then, gentlemen. OK.

  —Yeah … OK.

  —So. So, Mr. Borah, I want to thank you for your time and contributions today, and to let you know how valuable I think they were. We got some good new things to work with.

  —Thank you.

  —Again, thank you. I’m glad you decided to come on board.

  —As am I.

  —Wonderful. So I’ll give you a call to let you know when we’ll all be speaking again. It’ll probably be within a few days.

  —Good. Thank you again. Bye-bye.

  —See ya.

  —Be well.

  —We’ll be in touch. Bye, guys.

  —Hasta.

  —Thanks, Phil.

  —Wow.

  —Yeah.

  —I mean, wow.

  —Yeah—

  —I mean, can you believe that shit?

  —Arch—

  —What planet was that sent from?

  —Yeah. But at least he’s working with us now.

  —Phillie, man, how’d you effin’ do it? How the hell’d you turn that joker?

  —Well—

  —I must
a pitched him two, three times. Every time you asked me. ’N all I got was My moral sense ’n My moral sense ’n—

  —I got that too. Until I decided just to sit him down and explain what was really at stake here, that Selwyn had gotten way out of hand and was facing serious criminal charges ’n—

  —Got it.

  —’N that we were absolutely doing the right thing here—

  —Yeah—

  —By offering him double his rate.

  —Ah.

  —Yeah.

  —So that’s what his moral sense was waiting for—

  —Plus fifteen percent of the haul.

  —Oh, man—

  —Arch, we—

  —For the first time I’ll be glad when there’s nothing there.

  —But, but won’t this—

  —It’s all expenses. Don’t worry, Stan—

  —Phil, man, this guy’s bigger scum than the scum we’re hunting—

  —Which is why he may understand him. Lead us to him.

  —Shitty stuff, man. Shit-tee—

  —Come on, Arch. BFD.

  Mr. Natale:

  Still, I do not see why you can’t spare even 5 (five) minutes of your time, so that we, under any terms that you alone are free to determine, might discuss

  Zster—

  Hello, sweet thing, and welcome to my busybusy day. The bus-guys went on strike, causing oh-a-little-heavier-than-usual traffic, which made me 12 minutes late for a 2:30 meet, which everyone in the meeting said they understood, right before they looked at me funny. And so it goes: further proof that transportation is the enemy of human happiness.

  But maybe not. I was thinking: it’s still kind of stunning to me that you had to move right at the time we were getting together. But maybe not (II): Could that have been part of the bonding? Some wicked play of the unobtainable and the need for something to hold on to? Honestly, I doubt it. I think, I know, that what I feel is entirely independent of

  funky tailor?

  friends??

  Dear Editor-type Entity:

  Greetings from the farthest front. Herewith news of stuff Selwynic. And all of it juicy.

  The plot thickens re: Auran Beede. Apparently, Ms. Beede did fear that she had exposed Selwyn to serious risk, but not from her real-estate baron ex-boyfriend. From the Gianolos. For years, according to sources, Beede had connections with the local mob (via another exboyfriend, wouldn’t you know), and continued to help them out when the need arose: i.e., when the desire for Gucci became great. (Don’t mean to be glib, but I’m told what I’m told.) She also had a link to the Gianolos through a friend from college, who’s married to a low-level family functionary. Thus she could again be vetted and therefore trusted to keep mum: see the Gianolos’ much-bruited double-security standard for why she was valued.