The Sultan of Salton

The Sultan of Salton

Chapter One

The small beach side town of Bombay Beach is anything but picturesque, located on the Northeast shore of ‘The Salton Sea’. The average temperature is ninety-six degrees. The landscape, as it appears, has a post-apocalyptic feel about it, stark white sand, abandoned homes in every state of dilapidation covered with salt. Vehicles and motor boats left behind and scattered about, covered in salt and rust stripped of anything that may have held value.

The small town is one of several that popped up around The Salton Sea in the 1950’s into the 1960’s. Resembling a gorgeous glittering sapphire on a bed of white satin, The Salton Sea was dedicated as “The West’s Greatest Playground” and developers planned to have it rival nearby Palm Springs. Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. performed at the North Shore Yacht Club. Boat races were held in the summer months and developers invested money into The Salton Sea and the towns and cities that popped up on its shores. The town of Bombay Beach, Salton City and North Shore were designed, and big plans were laid out for their prosperous futures on the ‘Sea Surrounded by Desert’. 

However, unlike most fairy tales an unfortunate circumstance happened in the sea by the late 1960’s.The salinity in The Salton Sea began to increase; so much so it out number the Pacific Ocean salinity by 25% by the 1990’s. The increase in salinity caused the sea to turn from a gorgeous clear sapphire blue into a murky, cloudy alga blooms all throughout the sea. Along with the algae came a stench that when mixed with the desert heat became unbearable to stand next to. Development stopped. People moved away.

Contrary to the written accounts of The Salton Sea and its bleak history, vibrant communities have developed and flourished. Bombay Beach became one of the most developed around The Salton Sea. Laid out in the traditional grid, Bombay Beach had nine avenues which ran north to south and named “Avenue A”- “Aisle of Palms” (Avenue I). The avenues were intersected by five streets which ran east to west and named 1^st Street- 5^th  Street.

Salma arrived at ‘The Salty Shack’, the corner of Avenue C and 5^th Street, a little after eleven in the morning on a Thursday in July. A thermostat that hung on the front porch of the shack read 107. She didn’t need a thermostat to tell her the temperature; from the smell of the sea Salma easily declared the temperature closer to 115. Unlocking the door to The Salty Shack, Salma had to give a nudge with her shoulder twice as the door would stick. Salt build up overnight was common with the building being so close to The Salton Sea. The door popped open with a haunted house style creak. Salma started to walk inside when she heard a shuffle and an incoherent muttering in the distance. Turning she saw Crazy Carl walking toward The Salty Shack along 5^th Street.

“Morning Carl!” Salma said waving.

Carl didn’t acknowledge Salma and chatted to himself walking toward Avenue A. Salma picked up on the usual words Carl muttered “silver” “crash” “splash” “wet” “eat” and always “absorption” ending his chant before starting over. Salma forced a smile and felt the usual pity/helplessness for Crazy Carl who seemed lost and in search of something as usual.

In The Salty Shack Salma’s eyes looked at the index cards thumbtacked to the wall behind the register. “silver”, “crash”, “splash”, “wet”, “eat” and “absorption’ were written in her hand writing. She had written down the words Carl said since she moved to Bombay Beach and there was never an unfamiliar word or different order to the words Crazy Carl spoke.

Salma looked out The Salty Shacks front door as Crazy Carl passed on the same walking/shuffle loop; walking down Avenue E turning right on 5^th Street walking to Avenue A turning right to 1^st Street and ending back at his home on the corner of 1^st Street and Avenue E. A big square that started and finished at the house Carl lived with his aging mother since the early 1960’s.

Salma turned on the lights and got the day underway. On an average day at The Salty Shack only the locals would come in. Come in for a soda, a six pack or an ice cream. The air conditioning in the shack also provided the locals with an oasis away from their homes. Salma loved this part of the job, talking and catching up with everyone who lived in town. Getting the gossip, seeing if any tourists attempted to swim in the sea or the worst, if any tourists decorated the many ruins of Bombay Beach with spray painted graffiti. The spray painting and people further destroying Bombay got under Salma’s skin. When she moved to Bombay Beach she enjoyed the fact that the town looked apocalyptic and decayed. When out of towners came and desecrated ruins, she became vigilant.

Once, after first moving to Bombay, Salma was walking home down 5^th Street toward Aisle of Palms and saw a tan Dodge Shadow parked precarious on the side of street. Walking toward the Shadow, Salma saw two young men in what was left of a streamline style trailer spray painting their names with what looked like a cat. It was dusk, the sky burnt orange, the Salton Sea a gorgeous blue and that same familiar fish stench permeated the air.

Salma yelled, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN THERE?” before sprinting towards the streamline.

The boys looked at each other, dropped their spray paint cans and ran further into the trailer looking for escape. Salma ran into the open section of the trailer screaming like a banshee about disrespecting property, calling the police and calling their parents. She stopped for a moment to catch her breath and heard giggles from a closed door in the front most portion of the streamline. Walking quietly toward the giggling, Salma open the door in a dramatic display and began reciting Shania Twain’s “Man, I Feel Like A Woman” in her native Turkish tongue while waving her arms in the air above her head. The young men had no idea what to think and ran past Salma out of the trailer and to the Dodge Shadow and sped out of Bombay Beach. Salma continued her walk home laughing to herself of her heroics of the evening. “This is my town. No one going to mess with it. Wanna make some noise, really raise my voice. Yeah, I wanna scream and shout. Man I Feel Like A Woman!” she sang to herself.

It was just after 1 when the first customer of the day came into the shack. The tiny bell nailed at the top of the door jingled. Salma was sitting behind the register and looked up from her sketchbook. A man in his late thirties, balding, wearing black slacks, a black button down shirt with exotic flowers and shiny dress shoes with tassels stood in the doorway looking up, down and around The Salty Shack.

Salma cleared her throat and forced a smile and asked, “May I help you?”

The man turned and stared at Salma and asked “an ice cream sandwich. It’s quite hot out there.”

“Yes, a normal July day in Bombay Beach. Not a cloud in the sky and so hot the smell of the sea makes your stomach turn! Ice cream sandwiches are the third freezer down.”

The balding man looked at Salma over the rim of his glasses puzzled by her comment and said “Th-Thank you” and walked toward the third freezer.

Salma faked smiled again and turned back to her sketchbook. She was shading a sketch of a fairy tale tower surrounded by a lake when the balding customer reappeared at the counter with 6 ice cream sandwiches in his hands. He dropped the sandwiches on the counter in front of the sketchbook.

My name is Bob. I just moved here from Schenectady.” The balding man introduced himself.

Salma picked up and closed her sketchbook with an annoyance. “Welcome to Bombay Beach. You’re a long way from Schenectady. Where abouts’ are you putting down roots?”

“Avenue H in between 3^rd Street and 4th. Same block as The Sea of Life Church” said Bob.

“So what brings a man in all black twenty seven hundred miles from New York?” asked Salma

“I’m seeing Dean Martin at the North Shore Yacht Club Saturday night”.