Train station. Unbearable heat. Well, when I won the Nobel Prize. The hoarse Laureate sat at a table in the sun. When did you get this Nobel? The oth other day. For literature or physics? Or maybe for chemistry? Nooo, he says and slaps his own cheek, squashing a fat fly. He wiped his hand on the pants of the overall and then stood silent. And the postman brought it to you? Nooo, he just told me that when I'll receive a pension raise I'll also get a Nobel Prize for Peace. Listen, give me a beer, 'cause this one is boiling.
Titela Durnea
When the gypsy told him about the flood, he didn't believe her. He laughed in her face and threw the money at her. It didn't take long before his thoughts came rolling and continued to swell, until they came out of the river bed and took everything with them. The memories tried to save themselves clinging onto a stump of the mind, wandering in search of Solomon's Temple, at the gate of which the High Priestess hid sunrays in her palms. At dawn, when his thoughts retreated, in the thick mud you could only distinguish the outline of the woman who was. He opened his eyes only in the white room. A gypsy woman was grinning at him from the wall.
Georgiana Gabriela Fodor
You built a swing out of a log. For two. The sun was piercing your blue eyes, making them slightly darker and the sunset appeared too fast. I mount the long and the jeans glued to my fourteen frail body caught your passional gaze. It's still sunny, but I promised you that I'll show you at night the Big Dipper. I also told you about what I read that day. Scroll. The sun became a little bit more whiter after thirteen years. Through the face wrinkles I can no longer read anything, it is written in a dead language.
(Translated by Eliza Radu / 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.