Even the maize is dying, Măria, there's going to be no food this year, said grandfather, looking at the clear sky, and went out to the gate to have a little chat with the neighbors, to tell his sorrow. The village was in a constant state of waiting, the drought had withered the gardens and dried up the wells. In the evening, clouds that appeared out of nowhere brought a summer rain. The children, fed up with the dust, were hopping through the puddles, the adults took shelter contentedly: God, give us clean rain. Rain, Ionel thought in the evening, as he lay in his bed, I will become rain when I grow up, because rain makes people happy.
(Translated by Diana Stănescu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by prof. dr. Nadina Vișan / Edited by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.