Me on the right. Adi behind the wheel. We had a fun chat. About the elections. Or about the Borussia-PSG game last night. Or it was a philosophical discussion, as one holds, before the beer we were going to meet Cătă and Dana over. I can't remember. Adi hit the brakes just as the traffic light changed. She was on the crosswalk. I recognized her by his shirt. His ex, wearing his old PORC[1] shirt. Hey, are you okay? I asked him. Yeah, yeah, I was just thinking that she probably didn't wash the shirt according to the instructions. See, it's faded. We laughed. Both of us.
[1] PORC: Romanian clothing brand
When the traffic light flickers in the dead of the night, I dance around in his shirt, at the crosswalk, empty of me and full of him. Then I pull out the parallel stripes and turn them into a stairway leading to the sky. Save me, colour-blind Demiurge, from doina de dor[1] ringing in the valley of my heart. I renounce the utopia of Paradise for the warmth of his flesh. I believe in a Mortal. I declare myself a heretic. I carefully place the crosswalk at the heart of the city. I cross. The parallel stripes, on which you will write earthly stories about the Heaven, us heretics, will live out, grow on my back.
[1] Doină - a lyrical, vocal or instrumental creation, specific to the Romanian people, in which the unkown author directly expresses his feelings of longing, sadness, love, regret etc. Dor - strong desire to see someone or something dear again.
Elena Fermuș
Even if my gizzard bursts, I don't ask anything from anyone. So what if Easter is coming. It's just passing through our days. Everything passes. I make do with what I have, and not even one knows me; that's how I keep my nest at peace. There's still a cabbage in the barrel and a couple of cracklings at the bottom of the pot. Just wait and see how I fry them up, and I'll throw in some polenta too. The broth made just with vegetables, there's no sadness, my soul is quiet, and the little lamb in my mind frolics in the meadow. I won't go without something sweet, lickety-split, doughnuts filled with plum jam. Then I'll drink cold spring water. And it will pass.
(Translated by Ioana Grințescu / 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.