I Sold My Ferrari

Monica Aldea
He had a 15-year career in France. He had started as a butcher on the banks of the Seine and within two years had set up a famous bookshop. Branches in 5 European capitals and a reputation on the old continent, but his soul was growing empty. Un homme déraciné. Grandfather's message woke him from his reverie. He wrote to him rarely and the news was not good. The cold smell of death descended on his soul. Within 48 hours he was pushing open the heavy gate, painfully pointing at the mourning patch with his grandmother's name. I sold my Ferrari and my business, Grandma. Late. But I'm home.

Anca Socaciu-Man
What cazzo is Enzo doing. This is Transylvania, caro, not Maranello. Non dare step on the gas or you'll be stepping on the snail poi getting into trouble. Here the world goes piano, piano, tagadam, tagadam. Vedi that wagon. No, take a bene look. Cavallo con front and back traction, wheel, zidici, speed. Io creare una macchina veloce, veloce come questo cavallo. Enzo, let's have a vino rosso. They're going to the village inn. They get hammered. Enzo writes a sketch on the wood of the table. He falls asleep. In Italy, the first Ferrari sold appears.
 
 Silvia Ștefan
I noticed it through the corner of the window. It was drizzling, and he was sitting on the pavement, his face resting in his hands. He'd been staring blankly for about an hour. Trams were passing, pedestrians. He didn't seem to care. During my lunch break, I took my coat, my hat, and went down the snail-shaped stairs. I waddled past the porter who was munching his daily pretzel. Sir, are you all right? I grabbed him by the shoulder. Sir? He looked up from under his snowy eyebrows. No. Do you see that beauty in the parking lot? I miss it. I sold it to someone, but I still miss it.

(Translated by Iulia- Mihaela Țugulea / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)