And yet I've never loved like I hated myself next to you. I was cutting small pieces from my soul that I was secretly feeding you, like a sneaky demon that you can't get rid of. Every day I was less me and more you and I loved myself completely, but I missed myself almost completely. I suffered beside you with decent and hopeless oblivion, plucking, feather by feather, invisible wings. And then I looked at my soul like a dusty book. I took it out slowly, with strange wonder, and donated it to a library.
Florina Hegedüs
When dad came back from Moscow he was proud of me. I had finished And Quiet Flows the Don - Mihail Solokhov. I was integrating myself into the class struggle. I was 13 years old. The neighbour, Mrs. X, an aristocratic remnant, thin, kind and with a lot of common sense, a close relative of Radu Lupu, asked my mother to let me go to the library with her. As smart as I thought I was, that's where I got the hardest slap. From the shelves, from the whole world. What can I say, from read, read, read it hit me into be careful what you read and so I started the fight at home.
Daniela Toader
Iorgu lights his pipe and opens the window. This small, dark room, full of books, is his favorite chamber. Ever since he inherited the house, this is the chamber he takes refuge in when something brings a sinking feeling. That it's Mia, his wife, nervous or Stela, the prankster granddaughter. Today Iorgu is more tired than other days. It should be the weather to blame. He smokes another pipe and closes his eyes. This small dark chamber, full of books, was his favorite chamber. Among dreams, demons and books, that's what Iorgu liked to say.
(Translated by Ioana Andreea Radu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.