The explosion at the printing house caught Jürgen Sr. and his son behind the old butcher shop, loosening the ties of the Nazi. The sky was covered in dense ash. The smell of burnt ink was everywhere. The old man calmly opened his umbrella and, as if nothing had happened, lit the cigar he had kept in the inner pocket of his coat. He remembered walking along the Rhine with Hilde when she was pregnant, and nothing foretold the war. He puffed three times before putting on his mask. The boy strikingly resembled her.
Monica Ciurea
said the young man, adjusting the chic little hat on her head. "I had just docked and lit my cigarette when I saw you. The hem of your dress swayed with your hips as you stepped down from the carriage. I caught your gaze when the breeze lifted your veil. For a moment. Then I flinched as the ash burned my finger, and I lost sight of you completely in the crowded port. But I dreamed of finding you everyday" he whispered, kissing her forehead. The old woman flinched, her gaze distant. The sea was visible from the window of the nursing home.
Tina Dublea
That's how I imagine it. I never asked them, but knowing how clever my dad was and how beautiful the muse from Strauss' waltz is when she passes through Galați, I don't believe he wouldn't have thought to take mom for a drink there. Now, it must have been that he fell for her, like a carp falls for a worm, given that she was easy on the eyes. That's how I must have come to be, only to disappear into the world on the first ship, because I no longer liked the smell of water. God, when they pray in the evening, tell them that I miss them.
(Translated by Miruna Dumitru / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by prof. dr. Nadina Vișan / Edited by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.