ROSITZA KOPUKOVA

     A journalist, worked a few years as a teacher. Has two higher educations: pedugogics and the Bulgarian phylology. 45 years old.
     An author of 46 books of poetry and prose. Has three literary awards "Oskar" for poetry for 2001, 2002, 2003 in Lecce, Italy. She is announced for "A woman'2004" in the South Carilina for her poetry for the mankind's weal.
     She has written hundreds of articles, poems and short stories in the Bulgarian press. The novel "Nadeto" was nominated in the newspaper "We, women". She has Bulgarian awards for poetry /radiostation "Vesselina"/ and her poems are included in the Bulgarian almanac.
     She works constantly. She has an award for her pedagogical innovation /from the Ministry of education and The Bulgarian teachers' trade-union, 1990/. Her pedagogical book "Your child grows up by me" /1994/ is included in the Collection of Intellectual property, Geneva, Switzerland, for its artistic and pedagogical merits.

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THE WOMAN BY THE ROAD

/Documentory short story/

     The gold autumn evening was wonderful, but the heavy bags in my hands took much of the pleasure to enjoy it. I walked slowly by the Simeonovo road and was just by the stop after the school, when the bus took its way noisly to Sofia. I abused in my mind, angrily crossed the way and put the luggage on a bench. Then I began to read one of the newspapers, constantly present in my bag, and deeply absorbed in it in spite of the dusk.
     For some time I was sitting like that, but then I felt in the air the fluids of someone's presence. Startled I rase my head: there was a woman, sitting by me. Not young. In a red jacket, blue trousers - these things were seen by me first of all. I had not heard her. She was looking at me.
     I returned to the newspaper, but did not keep long at it. With the corner of my eye I watched the woman.
     Yes, she still was looking at me. And not just looking, but peering into me in a very special way, as if some magnet was attracting her to my person and she could hardly stop not to fall on to my neck. Her pose, so tense, was directed to me.
     "Oh, my God! May be she is out of her senses? No, she does not look like that. Her face is intelligent, quite O'K," -crossed my mind.
     The silence was too awkward.
     - Why are you looking at me in such a way? - Unexpectedly for myself I addressed my direct question to the woman.
     Instead of answering she came to herself that much, that even jumped on her sit.
     - Oh, sorry!
     - Never mind, but still it's strange...
She did not give me the explanation for her look and tried to go around:
     - Is there no bus for a long time?
     - Not long. I missed it.
     - It's a pity. Sorry, what's your name?
At this question my common sense said to me, that this woman is a little bit "out of hers".
     - Rositza, - I answered piecefully and began to wait for another sensational question.
It followed immediately.
     - Rositza, please, tell me how you spend your time - one day, just one!
     That's it! - The wonder by the road. I could hardly restrain my laughter, but I got a hold of myself and with a well dosed humourous tone started to explain, that in the morning I first of all visit a bathroom, use a W.C. and so on... Without any bad intention I tried to make her understand the absurd way of her behaviar. My God, is it the way to ask someone? To my even greater surprise I got a feeling, that she absorbed my words. My humour got out confused. I stopped...I tried to see the colour of her eyes, the dusk prevented to me - every second it became darker. There was a gust of wind, our hair got toused, the woman raised her hand and put in order ... my hair. She kept silent.
     - If you are not a doctor or a phycologist, sorry, then you look to me strange.
     - I'm a doctor. But it's not the reason. I wouldn't tire you anymore, it was too much.We shall not speak about anything, if you want.
     - About anything? - I laughted. - The whole country speaks now about politics and you - about my everyday life! Why are you interested in my life? Why are you so kind to me? I'm sure, that we don't know each other, that makes your behaviar unusual.
     I felt, that the dicebels of my voice become higher with every word. Her neighbourhood made me nervous. I had to break her silent attack to me as to a being, that she seemed to take over.
     - That's the wonder,- she said softly, - that we do not know each othet, but you are a copy of my daughter, whom I lost in the airplane accident. Do you remember that crash with the plane on fire, coursed by a mistaken let out, when Todor Zhivkov so unscrupulously flied over it in the most criminal way, without doing nothing?! Do you remember? They wrote a lot about it...It seems to me, that I see my daughter, that's the reason for everything.
     I was stuffened. It was my turn.
     - Sorry...- I faltered out, - I'm sorry for everything, that I've said.
     She nodded slightly, just now I saw, that in spite of the difference in our ages we looked very much alike: white skin, the form of the face, thick lips, streight brown hair... She was not crying. Was it a doctor's training against a death?
     - And what is your name?
     - Nadia.
     As my mother. Something pushed me to stand up, without knowing what for.
     - The bus, - she said.
     I did not hear. Instinctly I took my bag.
     - And you, Nadia?
     - I'll wait for another.
     - Another?
     - Yes. If I take this, I shall not part with you. It's horrible.
     There were no other people. The driver looked out surprised from the window:
     - Hei, you, both - will you not get on?
     I jumped in to the bus without feeling the heaviness of my luggage. The door closed and the bus run away with me. By the road there stopped the woman, whose name was Nadia. Something, that I did not want to take, but that came with me itself, was her glance, struck by impossible likeness. What's the irony of the fate! The glance of the eyes, that I could not see the colour, but that surely were motley, like mine.