The Oaș[1] people toiled like dogs on the construction site. They held hope someone would restore power to their barracks. This bogey fell on me. Sludge up to my knees, rain, of course. I wanted to get it over with, I had a date. I hoped to finish, it wasn't hard as much as a lot of work. When the lights flickered on in the barracks, they started with the cheering and whistling from the fiddle and bandura pickups of Frații Petreuș[2], This Is How the Good Men Drink. They circled me, knives out. Wowee, bless your heart, good lad, now you ain't leaving here without having some violet liquor with us.
[1] Oașului Country is a Romanian geographical, historical, and ethno-cultural region made up of the Oașului Depression and the mountains that delimit it. It is located in the north of Transylvania, in the counties of Maramureș and Satu Mare.
[2] They were Romanian traditional music singers, famous for their songs from the Maramureș area.
Anca Postescu Stancov
I'd go on Easter Monday. Since it's bright and clean. I hope to find everyone at the table. Wine made by Dad, Mom's puff pastries, jam from grandma, găluște de aur[1] from the other grandma, and red, patterned painted eggs from Grandpa. I hope the aunts will be there too. And the Marias. I'll make them coffee. I'll be alone for part of the road, I prepared in advance some new, orange Asics sneakers. I'll also take the little cross from my son. I hope my husband will be waiting for me at the border. I miss him the most. You know that old Dacia car. I hope he'll drive me to the seaside in it.
[1] A traditional Hungarian dessert (Arany galuska)
Adina Drag
Like hell you'll succeed. You're like your mother. Love and peace, one turdtied with a ribbon. I was already far from home. Mottled tuk-tuks with black clouds of smog in their wake, bikes for strollers, scooters with even five people on, they all roamed haphazardly and made my heart jump in my throat. I was hungry. It was eight in the evening, and I sat down at a little plastic table. Some kid had swiped my guitar. They'd accused me of stealing my own thing and I'd become a prisoner in the City of Angels. In the fascinating and unrestricted Bangkok.
(Translated by Ioana Ștefan / 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.