From the hill the city shows off its cathedral towers through the morning mist. Long way, long night. My wife sleeps next to me with her mouth slightly open. Another brake and she wakes up with a worried look. Can she still sleep, she asks. I hope so, I reassure her. Come on, Măriuța, we're almost there, little girl. Let's pray, my wife suggests. Me with my head on the steering wheel, she with her eyes in the sky, we murmur the prayer again, God help us not to run out and help Măriuța to hold on. It was not in vain. Among the last, but we arrived and got our fill.
Paul Dârvariu
The one in the wheelchair reads, intoned, from a book of verse. Sometimes she hums a romance. When she pauses to rest her voice, the other, the one with glasses, tells her about squaring the circle. Expectations? Oh, plenty. For example, every month, they hope their disability and welfare cards will be charged on time. And to find the necessary compensated medicines at the pharmacy. And for a mild winter, so the administrator doesn't put them on the arrears list.
Arthur Ianoși
I don't like loners, but I like solitude. Conclusion. I don't love myself enough. I sleep. And I wake up tired. Is it the pillow? I say to myself. It could be the unfulfillment or maybe the delusion. I turn my pillowcase inside out. It's cooler this way. Conclusion. My hell fits in a one-on-one room. Me and mine. I put the pillow over my head. Some have chairs there. I have feathers. They help me float. Conclusion. I prefer insomnia. I'm awake. Tired, but awake. I'm cutting myself a slice of sweet bread. Without Turkish delight. I hope so.
(Translated by Cătălina Colibaba / 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.