Boats Stranded by the Disappearance of the Aral Sea

In the deserts of Central Asia sits the ghost of the Aral Sea. The original sea bed, shared by Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan, is the poster child of decades of neglect. The rivers feeding into the sea were canalized to raise cotton. Very little cotton grows there now. In his Chasing the Sea: Lost Among the Ghosts of Empire in Central Asia, Tom Bissell describes meeting up with a couple of small boys in the eerie desert salt and pesticide-laden atmosphere of a community that used to exist on the shores of the sea.

I sat perched half in and half out of the car. The door was wide open, My chin rested upon the shelf of my hand. The sun was going down, the horizon dyed a Creamsicle orange. I watched a skinny, ravaged-looking dog sniff around various piles of refuse. A dog’s life. Then it occurred to me that American dogs have no idea what a dog’s life is. Suddenly, two little boys appeared from behind one of the houses and approached me. They were brothers, clearly. One was taller and certainly older. The other was small, perhaps five years old. The boy’s head was pumpkin-sized, seemingly twice the circumference of his brother’s, who was regarding me coldly. The younger boy smiled, his teeth cavitied and yellow, his skinny body completely naked and covered in dust. The dust was spread so evenly over his body it seemed deliberately applied. His uncircumcized penis looked like a tiny anteater nose. I smiled back at him. “Ismingiz nimah?” I asked. What is your name?

Before the boy could answer, his older brother inexplicably struck him from behind. The boy flopped face-first in the dust. The shove was two-handed and savage, like something out of provincial hockey. A sound, perhaps “Hey—,” filled my mouth. But I did nothing. The younger brother coughed into the dust. He had landed badly, arms at his sides. Now he tried to get to his feet. His brother placed a foot on his naked bottom and, almost tenderly, pushed him back into the dirt. He stared down, having satisfied some obscure but insatiable impulse, and then walked away. I waited for tears, the shrieks and cries of fraternal terror. But no. Nothing at all. The naked dusty child was silent. The dog trotted over and, as the boy picked himself up, he searched the ground blindly with a small pawing hand. Finally, he stood holding a triangular rock. He turned and threw it at the dog, hitting the creature full in the ribs; the dog flinched but otherwise took the blow in silence. The younger boy simply walked away. I made soft kissing sounds to summon the dog. It was understandably skittish, but I persisted. I did not know what else to do. When it slunk over, head lowered and panting, I saw a red spiderlike creature dug into its collarless neck. I extended my hand. The dog bit me and staggered off.