Rerouting

Răzvan Drăgoi
The first Momârlan starship exited hyperspace. Now, Datu, what's wrong with the quantum engine? Well, shepherd Picardie, I do reckon we ran out of coal. Have you lost gone man, Datu? Now then, Joardul-boy, go to impulse. Well, shepherd, there ain't no more, Raichie sold it. Devil take him, for what did he sold the impulse engine to? A little bit of Romulan palinka, a strong and good one. Now, then, no harm done. Bring some palinka and Doc Kosher. And as for the ship, start rowing, we ain't hurtin'. Datu, play the fiddle for us.

Andra Toropoc
It hurt like hell, the tattoo had inflamed her palm, but she was holding on, maybe she'd be lucky from now on. She had been born without a heart line, but with a long one of life passing her by and she was still a maiden. The old ladies guessed her and, after long debates through the roundabouts of fortune-telling, sent her to the Tattoo Salon. Of course, she was much better after the peel fell off and the dash drawn by the needle gleamed in her palm. The hearts on her buttocks helped too, the stylist's suggestion, but she didn't breathe a word about that to the old ladies.
 
 Florentina Ghițescu
When she was widowed at 18 with a small child, she had no time to cry, she tied him up with a scarf and took him with her to shovelling. When an older neighbour, left alone with two children, asked her to marry him, she accepted. Now there were three children to raise. Her man was a good man, and she had two more children. They all left home, they all went to school and scattered out into the world to find their own way. Now she had plenty of time and began to cry thinking about her life's journey.

(Translated by Adrian-George Ilinca / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)