That's how I used to feel until a few years ago. That is free, serene and light-hearted. I took Cocuta's advice: Grigore, let's have a child of our own. I had to have a baby in my old age. No sooner had we got rid of diapers and milk teeth than we moved on to an even worse stage. There isn't a day that goes by the little one doesn't give me a trial: it's either the rule of three, or Pitagora's theorem, or Peneș Curcanu[1]. Today he has checkmated me: daddy, what is a clitoris? I have to write an essay on it.
[1] Peneș Curcanu is the hero of Vasile Alecsandri's poem who fought in Grivița, Plevna and Rahova in the war of independence.
Titela Durnea
News travelled as fast as an eagle. People from over seven hills are looking for them. It is rumoured that it is enough to breathe the air in their garden and you are cured from all bodily harm and spiritual distress. Many went to great pains to find their secret, suspecting some potions, rituals, etheric cords. The five keep living their daily lives unconcerned. They walk barefoot on grass. They smile a lot, an honest smile. They say Thank you and I love you. They are the Anghels. Without an h. The officer missed it when he wrote the father's certificate.
Elena Fermuș
You just had to leave now in the dead of autumn when I was dizzy with the smell of quince. I know, there is no tear in the world that can overpowerheaven's call. My tears didn't work wonders either. They didn't stop you from leaving. The illness had taken over you. And despite all the bodily pain, you remained serene like a summer sky. You spun flax till the end. You left him yearning and you left. But I knew you would somehow come back to me. Like a little piece of heaven on my sinful land. A to and for in my dreams.
(Translated by Alina Roșu / 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.