She can't hear his groans; she is only listening to the sound of the wind rustling the leaves. She can't smell his sweat either; she is sniffing the scent of freshly mown grass. She tries not to see his back arching above her; she looks to one side through her eyelashes as the sun sets. A branch pokes her back sharper than he is penetrating her. She indulges him sometimes. She is a widow. Young and with three small children at home. When he's going to be done and lie down on his back beside her to watch the sky, she'll ask him for a piece of curd for tonight and maybe wood for the winter.
Adina Colțea
She had big eyes, the kind that penetrate to the heart of things, and she could grasp in them the serenity of so many meanings. Her parents sent her every day to watch the sunset, for they needed light in the evening to bathe their babies. She always went with joy and took Patrocle with her, so that she could come back with her eyes closed and not waste even a drop of sunshine. She only made a little detour to Father Filimon. They would both sit for a few moments in the dark and pray that their light would reach the whole village.
Sorin Rizeanu
Whenever it rains, you'll think of her. A few years later, in a taxi, you'll see someone who looks like her, but by the time you stop, she'll be gone. Friends say she's left the country, she'sleft you a postcard, but the postcard never reaches you. Late one night you receive a phone call, a warm voice like hers, but you can't distinguish it, the connection keeps dropping, flickering. And one of those days in March, when the sun burns you and the wind freezes you, you meet her by chance on the street, hand in hand with a little girl with the sun in her eyes.
(Translated by Oana-Elena Dragnea / 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.