The Dead Lake by Ismailov,Hamid

Russian Civilization and the Far East I read Ismelov translated by Hamid's "Dead Lake", Andrew Bromfield, published by Pienet, and in 2014 there are only 128 pages. This story is about the 12 year old boy who lives in the remote place of Kazakhstan with the hero Yerzhan, his grandparents, mother and uncle. It was said to a third party, but we imagined ourselves in the position of this little boy. The town is very old and almost abandoned, nearby there are only neighbors and trains.

Morning of the mist this January, I found standing in the same place and took a picture of Grand Lake's tent from my car. The word "black leopard" is placed on it and placed in the center of death. They are not ordinary size characters; the theater uses the biggest theater it has. All other headlines got into the other corner of the big tent. "Black Panther" is the most important thing at Grand Lake one month before the opening on February 16th.

Initially, the Mirage my mother saw was harmless. My dead grandmother. The red bush which passed through the lake seemed to be a tall lady to play with her grandchildren. The rock outside her kitchen door turned into a dead dog, and her dog friends often came to mourn him. People are always wearing a bow. I tried to stop her but I lived in Vermont, she lived in Florida, and my arm did not reach it until that. A lovely name, called her family's companion, Pamela, comforted the woman - also could not calm her fears. Mama called the police, the police came and reported. Later, due to her despair, I hired a locksmither to change the lock on her door.

Last year I spent a while on the Bosumtwi lake in the Ashtanti district considered a sacred lake. Following the traditional concept, the soul of the deceased went there to tell Farewell to God Asase Ya. Therefore, only fishing from the board is permitted. I live nearby, and locals told aliens that unexpectedly they were digging minerals under the lake. It was said that the intervention not only disturbs the sacred places, it killed a lot of fish living in the lake, causing a big problem for the communities that rely on it. (This report seems to support this story.)

I went deep into the lake and stopped near the cypress trees that appeared dead. In this lake, the water meets the horizon and it looks like my sea. Because I lived in the mountains, fresh water is backed by hills and trees. For me, it is very quiet. I found a large part of my natural calmness in the dark wrap of the forest. It is big, open and clean. The sun comes from the back of the cloud and the air is full of salt. It is very warm, and the rough water of the lake moves kayaks up and down like a kayak. I looked around before I returned to the complete reclining of the ship. Several people in the group still entered the lake in the original waterway, but the others went on their own small adventure. I lay down and closed my eyes. The next slap and wave of waves took me to a quiet place. I might as well sleep for a moment.