In Search of Lost Time

Fabiola Stoi
Next month, the moment I had returned to the village, I went straight to the hill from behind the house. I had not seen the house empty. I could still see my grandmother under roof from the downhill doing the chores in the kitchen, talking to God as usual about each one of us, her relatives. When the sky transformed itself into a tent of stars and the lights of the neighbours' windows went off, I slowly entered the house and I sneaked to sleep on the bed in the kitchen, dreaming that the time is patient with the house and with us, because grandma is sitting down just now and forever to have some tea with God.

Paul Dârvariu
A brook flows merrily across my yard. I love it and I preserve its cleanliness the same way I do with that of my own body. Further downstream it flows into another brook that flows into Vâlsan. The river Vâlsan flows into Argeș and from there on, through repeated filtrations, it becomes drinking water. I would like to know that a least some of the molecules from the water of my brook have quenched your thirst. But you are not used to drinking water from the faucet. There is nothing I can do. I have to settle for the thought that the brook caresses you in my absence, during the showers.
 
 Lucian Domșa
She glimpsed him on the platform, dressed in his shabby grey coat. She placed down her suitcase and smiled at him. He waved his hand at her and hurried up to welcome her. They hugged so tightly that the time froze breathing in relief. Their passionate kiss made the sun hide behind a cloud. They pulled away at last looking in each other's eyes without saying a word. The travellers were walking past them smiling to them. The signaller watched them for a few moments, then he shrugged his shoulders. Time folded its wings and wept.

(Translated by Irina Vild / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)