Driving School

Nicolae Popescu
Vera wants to take her license. She doesn't signal, she slams the clutch and the break at the same time, she kills the engine at intersections. The policeman lividly stops the examination, hand upon his chest. Vera gets home: kiss me Pric, I got the license. I'll drive to Amara in the summer. Pricop slaps himself so hard the chandelier is shaking. How the hell did you manage to do it, you can't drive? I even bribed to make sure you fail so you didn't touch my sweet Logan. Pric, it was an order from above. From whom? Our friend on the 3rd floor, Panfil the commissioner.
 
 Laura Stanciu
Uncle Ioniță has lived the longest out of everyone in the building. Widowhood is the secret, he tells the neighbours. I'm free, I can do whatever I want. Tough, my legs are starting to fail me. But I'm satisfied. I drink a little beer. I watch the news on Antena channel. My grandchildren visit me. I only have one sorrow. They didn't extend my license. I've got a Dacia 1310. Every morning I get behind the wheel and I start the engine. Only at night do I take it for a ride, to keep it in shape. I take gas by the canister. I know the rules, I finished driving school around \'58.

Marian Bircea
The word comes from French and it signifies someone qualified to drive a limousine for someone else. Before the war, for the family of a prince, after the war, for the family of some nomenclature guy with a record in illegality. When the comrades from the Department of State Security caught him and kicked him out, he was left without an awesome job. The decision of that comrade to go mountain touring in the party household's car and her desire to drive weighed heavily in his removal. The best she learned was how to sit and have her tank filled.

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