The beast was rumbling on the rails like a cart on a country road. The noon sun was beaming right down on our heads, we couldn't draw the curtains for we had none, and the window didn't open, and there was an eternity left until Tecuci. We were all bubbling like boiling water, and sweat was flowing just like the Danube into the sea. And then the ticket clerk came in, looking for trouble. Tickets please. We looked at one another, neither of us had a ticket, and, as if it was a sign, without prior discussion, we launched a collective hawk tuah his way.
Siranus Hakobian
The hall is standing once again, and I am feasting on the audience's applause until I turn to the piano. Until three years ago I didn't know what a piano looked like. I was working the fields, barefoot, and with a canvas on my back to protect me from the sun. When the lightning found me, I fell to the ground, surrounded by a thousand shining suns. I languished for a long time on the damp field, but when I got on my feet, I heard Rachmaninoff and my calloused fingers immediately knew the keys. It's incredible how well a bowtie suits me.
Nicolae Popescu
They're holding hands tightly, the gnarled sticks tap the stones of the road. They are panting, the road to the top of the hill is steep. She stumbles, and he holds her tight, flexing his skin and bone arm. Be careful, Ana. Don't die before I do. Their breathing is laboured, and they smile, showing their scarce teeth. She tells him the same thing when he chokes on the dumpling soup. Be careful, Ion, don't die before I do. They kept going up the hill, shoulder-to-shoulder, their steps small, the village is left behind. They reach the top, the white cross is there. They raise their gazes tot he sky: You should've struck us back then.
(Translated by Adriana-Maria Botea / 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.