Aunt Anuța, with her baskets full of apples, pears, quinces, plums, with six chickens in one hand and two turkeys in the other, wants to enter the market and steps on the zebra. The young militiaman whistles and fines her amid the voices of passers-by. May God curse you like what happened to my dog when he turned one, the woman curses. The shy, lost, verbally attacked by everyone, the policeman gives in and asks what happened to the dog. Over her shoulder, the woman hisses. She's had a row of puppies with her mother.
Paul Dârvariu
They couldn't smell me, because the wind was blowing from them. Maybe I could smell theirs, but I don't smell much. They say that's a sign of Alzheimer, but I don't care, as long as I still remember where I hide my plum brandy. They were perched in the tree. With the flashlight off, I got close enough to hear what he was saying: Luigi, dear (what a funny name for a teddy bear), be careful. These are Jonathan apples. The coolest. Let's fill our bellies before the moustache picks them. And then we'll leave him a present under that plum tree, because he's a good boy.
Carmen-Ecaterina Ciobâcă
The village can be seen behind a hill as you come down from the market. Gheorghe steps up. An old woman is standing on the main alley shielding her eyes with her hand. Who is he? He smells like old leaves and ripe grapes. Nicu leans on the pub's door. How's he doing now they're out of the EU. Are they still building blocks there? Let them take him. At the end of the village, there is the courtyard. In the courtyard there's the little house covered with shingle. Above the door, there is the nailed black canvas. He doesn't go in, he goes to the orchard. The grass is full of scorched fruit. Their sweet juices greedily soak the earth.
(Translated by Florina Șamata / 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.