Nestled in the Strandzha Mountains, in the southern province of Haskovo, Andrei Nevenov Petrichov was born on April 1st, 1947, in Konstantinovo, part of the municipality of Topolovgrad. During a nationalist movement when he was five years old, the name of the village was changed to its present moniker, Radovets, meaning “Joyous”, in an effort to shed the reminder of its Byzantine occupation, which lasted from the year 971 to 1185.
As a child growing up in communist Bulgaria, Andrei worked, when he wasn’t in school, from a very early age. His parents farmed tobacco and raised pigs; every morning of harvest season, he would wake before the sun and join the other workers in picking tobacco.
Each day, the morning dew would wet their clothes and worsen the chill of the early morning. As the sun finally emerged over the ridge of Golyamo Sultan Tepe, someone would begin singing in the relief of its warmth, and others quickly joined in to herald their joy at the rising of the sun.
All the children of the village of Radovets shared the responsibility of guarding the community watermelon patch at night. On Andrei’s first night as sentinel, the moon was a silver sliver; his eyes had adjusted to the night, but all he could see was the faint shape of watermelons and the boundary where the mountains touched the sky.
He spent quite some time trying to count the stars or pretending to be a soldier. Faithful to his post, he remained in the little grass hut, listening to the crickets chirping and the leaves rustling. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the single hoot of a short-eared owl followed by the single bark of a large dog.
What he did not hear were his friends whispering, crouched in the bushes on the other side of the field, conspiring to play a practical joke.
“Where is he?” hissed an impatient boy.
“Maybe his mama caught him leaving,” whispered another, holding a rather perturbed turtle outstretched as it struggled.
“But what are we going to do without a match?” whispered a third as he peered over the bushes at an unsuspecting Andrei.
“Nothing, that’s what!” hissed the first. “Did you bring the candle?”
“Yes, I’ve told you already,” he whispered.
The turtle bearer yelped when the turtle managed to swing its head around far enough to bite him. The impatient boy and the boy with the turtle both shushed him as quietly as they could.
After a brief pause, the impatient one hissed again, “Where is he?”
“He’ll be here,” whispered the boy with the candle, and before the last word had escaped his mouth, a fourth boy appeared, startling all the rest, “and here he is!” he whispered excitedly.
“Did you think I wouldn’t be?” he whispered, and all were in the throes of hushed, excited laughter.
“Never mind that, Valentine, did you bring it?” hissed the impatient one, who also happened to be the bossy one.
The new boy produced a small book of matches from his breast pocket and displayed that there was merely one left, widening the eyes of all three of his coconspirators.
“Good,” said the bossy one.
One boy held the turtle out in the middle of the group, another held out the candle above it. The last boy to arrive held the matchbook outstretched, ready to strike it, when the bossy one snatched it away. “Give me that!” he hissed, “this was my plan. You keep the wind off of it while I’m lighting it.”
He struck the match and lit the candle while, though there was no wind to speak of, every spare hand protected the flame. The candle holder dripped wax onto the turtle’s back, then stuck the candle into the wax.
“Alright, be quick!” hissed the bossy one.
The turtle bearer crouched near a small break in the bushes and slowly placed the turtle on the other side, directly between two rows of watermelons, then looked through the gap to make sure it was heading directly for Andrei. All four boys peered through the bushes, and watched.
On the other side of the field, Andrei had almost fallen asleep sitting up listening to the singing of frogs, when he heard something that sounded like yelp, followed by a hiss. His eyes, scanning over the watermelons and surveilling the tree line from end to end several times, on the third time, came upon a flickering light.
He furrowed his brow and wondered if it was a firefly. No…it flickered, but moved too steadily down the watermelon row to be a firefly. Too low to the ground to be a person. His mind search for another explanation and, finding none, ran home without stopping until he was safe in his bed with the covers over his head.
The next day, as Andrei was feeding the pigs, the candle holder, the turtle bringer, and the bossy one were walking by as if walking by wasn’t the reason they were walking.
“How was the watermelon patch last night, Andrei?” taunted last night’s candle holder.
“How would he know? He didn’t make it through the night!” jeered the turtle-wrangler.
“That’s right…it was him we saw running home scared…” said the impatient, bossy, self-appointed leader. “What’s the matter, Andrei…did you see a samodiva?”
Andrei realized that they had played a trick on him last night, and his indignation boiled. “I knew it was you!” he shouted.
“No, you didn’t!” laughed the leader. “Andrei thought he saw a samodiva! Ahahaha!” he said, and all three boys laughed as Valentine approached from down the road.
“You think I’m afraid?” Andrei shouted over their laughter, “I could go into the woods and stay there for days with nothing but the clothes on my back, and I would never be afraid!”
“Hey, it was just a joke, Andrei, we didn’t mean to—…it was just a funny joke…” said Valentine, regretting his involvement after seeing how upset Andrei was.
“You helped?” shouted Andrei in astonishment.
“He brought the match!” said the leader.
Andrei exchanged a look of shock followed by a scowl, with a sorrowful look from Valentine.
True to his word, one morning not long after that, Andrei went into the woods to the north between Radovets and Ustrem, leaving a note for his parents. His mother immediately began thinking of all the awful things that could happen to her youngest child, like being eaten by a bear or bitten by a venomous snake. His father gave a simple nod of approval, “Hm.”
His friends were in disbelief. “I didn’t think he’d actually do it!” said the bossy one.
“He’s going to be killed, and his mother will blame us for the rest of our lives!” portended the candle holder.
“Nonsense! Not Andrei. He’ll be back.” asserted Valentine on the first day.
As the first day became the second, and the third, Andrei’s mother stood on their stoop each night with a fist on one hip, the other hand shading her eyes, looking to the north. On the fourth morning, Andrei nonchalantly returned unscathed. His mother spanked him severely, but his father simply smiled in quiet amusement and pride.