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The two men were walking cheerless and scared. Their clothes looked alike, shabby and worn out. They were of different age. Judging by the characteristic high cheek-bones of their faces, one could guess they were sort of relatives, most probably, a father and his son. Stoyan, the younger one, was holding an axe in his hand. Pavel, on his part, had asked a neighbour of his to lend him an old hunting rifle, loaded with two bullets. He had no other bullets with him and didn’t even know the right pe
Pressed for time over the week, me and my friend Svetlyo, nicknamed Thomson, made up our minds to go for a walk in the open on Sunday. The few hours we were intending to spend together, would be devoted todisputes and theoretical speculation over our favourite topic, ballistics. To make our pleasant walk still more enjoyable, we chose the afternoon on Palm Sunday and the less popular among visitors parts of the Mount Vitosha. Half an hour from the centre of Sofia, we left our cars and set out cl
Night and the high African grass were concealing our bending silhouettes. The quick walking pace was not giving us away thanks to the sandy sois muffling our steps. We’d been following one and the same itinerary for the second time around. Earlier that day, before sunset, the scout from the hunting camp had broken the news we’d been waiting for in the course of five days. Every evening upon sunset, the big male hippopotamus would sneak out of his den among the impenetrable reeds.