He throws me down, spreads my thighs, and enters with all his manhood. A blade cuts inside me, I scream and struggle. Ouch, sir. The soul escapes; I'm next to the noble men houses. The whip lashes my flesh, tears of blood flow. Like that, you filthy gypsy. The soul can't wait. It reaches my people. They embrace each other, weep. Free at last. The soul departs. It's scorching, the road flows. I sit under the awning. We have copper cauldrons. I hear screams, I open my eyes; I've fallen asleep by the fire. Campement illégal, amende, gens du voyage, says the man in uniform in his chirpy voice.
Cecilia Fofiu
The blinding light slipped through these violet clouds driven by storms, bathing the clay and the coffin in bronze dust. The assembly, either mourning, either blinded, stood with closed eyes and bowed heads. I searched and thus I saw her again. She rose slowly, looking around, and gently sat beside me on a broken cross, with her white arms opened towards me. The sky swallowed the ray along with the handful of earth dropped by the priest into the grave. A thunderbolt and a wailing howl from the clouds accompanied my love to her, screaming, her coffin empty. Since then, they've been calling me Looney.
Augustin Bănică
I've always had a weakness for exotic features. Ah, the royal, Mediterranean carriages are something else. Should I mention Japanese culture? You can mention it, but nothing compares to what the Japanese do; it is a matter of taste. Right you are, some snacks would've done the trick. Come on, stop the nonsense and just call it. How much? Hmm, well, it's mostly wood anyway. It is, but it's plated with bronze. Horseshit, it's coated with fool's gold. And my wife is coated with silence, haha. Maybe, but she knows more than you do about bronze.
(Translated by Bogdan Macarie / 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.