Daddy, spare me the stork, the monkey, or natural birth-I came from watermelons. One red, one yellow. See how rosy I am? And blonde. I went to church with Grandma, we gave an offering and a prayer so you and Mommy would make up, because I haven't heard you talk to each other in days. Don't worry, nothing bad will happen. That's what the lady writing this story promised me. But... why is everything getting darker around me? Where is everyone? You lied to me. I didn't lie. I just erased a little with my eraser. Now, go on-be born.
Elia Ghinescu
Ana has apples. Write that down, children, in your notebooks, after dictation! screeched the teacher, shifting her wooden pointer from one hand to the other. The hell she does, thought the lanky boy in the back of the class. He had been sitting in the last row for four years now, never managing to move forward. He rarely came to school, but he could read-his brother had taught him at night by oil lamp. The watermelon rows in the fields stretched over a kilometer long-who else was supposed to weed them? He wrote in his notebook: Ana has watermelons. Then his pencil tip snapped off.
Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
Mom, yesterday I heard you speaking harshly to Dad. I understand that you argue, but Mom, just a few days ago, you told me I should learn to control my anger. Now it's my turn to ask you to control yours. I'm asking because my strength comes from your relationship. From the two of you, together. And just as I have my so-called irrational fears-about our cats, about the house catching fire, about floods-I'm also afraid that one day... you might separate. And you told me you were soulmates.
(Translated by Mihaela Stănilescu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by 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.