He was brave to the end, he looked death in the eye. He went with them open and penniless in his pocket because he knew the boatman. The last few times he'd left, he'd come back after 10 minutes. He saw me crying every time. He saw the doctors fussing. He saw his childhood dog. Now I'm sitting next to him looking at the time and the doctors are pulling me away telling me there's nothing more to be done. I'm fighting with them even though I feel like a shipwrecked man whose lighthouse has gone out. Come on, brother, you can do it once again.
Gabriel Rusu
Logbook. Under the glare of the sun, the sailors are hoping for a gust of wind that might push us back on course. What a curse like no other, to drift on water from which you can't take a sip. The taste of fish sickens me. I miss a piglet served at old Jim's saloon in Nassau. Will we ever see land on the horizon again? Even if we are ungodly, we have wives and children to return to. Don't let us fall prey to this arid desert, guide us Lord.
Mirela A. Nica
I have this lamp in the shape of a ship, only the blades are plastic, I think. Now I don't know what it's doing, how she slipped in, but here it is, anchoring on the shore of my memory. The end of communism is near, and I'm so little, I don't know what it means. I am sitting with my mother and father in the living room. We have no gas, no heat in the radiators. Potato stew is heated on the stove that imitates an overturned fireplace. Dad's a good cook. After lunch, the ship goes out. I can still see her floating in a bluish future.
(Translated by Andreea Iulia Udroiu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.