A renowned magician, he is the protector of a trapeze dancer. Sometimes he smuggles Greek artifacts. At night, they cuddle, listening to the sea's many songs. On the shore, cross-bearing archangels appear in the fires burning on the treasures. Their stories tame the very seafront where the circus now towers majestically. She confesses to him that she is bipolar, indecisive and in love with two men. He promises her he would help her overcome all this. He would put her in a box and cut her in two at the very next show.
Andrei Lămureanu
In this world there are but two kinds of men, he said: those who curse and walk on and those who stop by to give you something. He looked at me, inquisitive. I prefer the first, he continued, as those really do have a story. He sighted softly. But they often lack the time to tell it, and what a waste that is. The other kind feeds on your misery. They suck you empty like leeches and call it a blessing. He looked up the road, where the world seemed to have turned to stone. See? He asked, pointing his finger to the rocks. It all started on the seafront.
Lucian Pătru
With the palms cupped and the eyes of a mole, I was rummaging through the sand. I wanted to rustle up a handle by which I could pick the Earth up and throw it as far as I can. But I was stumbling across all sorts of things: the cap of a conquistador, desert fruit ice cream or mares weaned by the deaf. Hurdles on top of hurdles. I have to make it in time, not put the Hellhound's patience to test, who was scraping at the Moon with his claws, further up on the seafront. There's a child's eyelash stuck to the tip of my fingers. Right on time. I got bloody away with it.
(Translated by Adrian-Florin Duță / 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.