Once, when I barely had anything to eat, I was struck by an intense hunger. Only the spine had remained from the cookbook. I felt that my blood sugar was well below the acceptable level. If I didn't eat immediately, I would once again become acquainted with that fainting that always came in waves. Although weakened, I went out hunting. I could hear a hen clucking in the neighbors' yard, so I got an idea. I went into the chicken coop and swiped the warm egg, in which I could see a lucky coin shining in the sun. As I exited, Arghezi was waiting for me.
Mădălina Angelescu
I only have one coin left in my worn out wallet, tarnished from so much clutching in front of shop windows. It's not even enough for a pretzel. I decide that it's better to toss it into the cardboard box of the boy who sings every Tuesday at the subway entrance at the Roman Square. At least he might do something with my last penny. He can add it to the others. His violin comforts my body and awakens memories I once thought to be buried. I had burned my father's violin. Today I could have sold it or given it to the young man.
Gladiola Chete
The coin was coated with dried vegetation and dirt when he picked it up. He stared at the beech tree that had sheltered it until then, as if asking for permission to separate them. He spat on it twice, into his palm, and rubbed it vigorously on his trousers. Its shine amazed him, and he turned it over in his hands more than once. He scratched his head with his still-dirty hand. You are my lucky coin, he said, facing the keeper beech tree. Nunu passed by slowly, climbing with his ever-present cane. Put it down; kosons aren't lucky.
(Translated by Miruna Dumitru / 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.