A New Hope

Monica Ciurea
My father is dead in the war. The boy is lost in thought. A father, two fathers, common noun, masculine. Very masculine. Still, it had to be proper, after all, he's my father. Good thing it's definitely articulated. Moving on: a war, two wars, common noun. Improper. Only the mundane ones are common. And why neuter? Because it includes both masculine and feminine? The boy scratches his head. The father is the subject, that's what he understands. But the war? What is it? A circumstance. Which one? Place, cause, purpose? Hand me the paper. My father is at home. That's much clearer.

Monica Aldea
The old hands of Saveta push the rusty gate of the cemetery. Today, she stops next to a cross from which time has erased the pain and the letters. From her empty eyes, sadness flows without tears. May God grant him eternal rest, as well as mine, wherever he may be. The priest gently lifts her by the shoulders and leads her toward the church. Tomorrow, I will receive the old registers from the parish office, and we will find the grave. This has been her solace for two years, soothing her wandering mind and the fire in her heart. Saveta crosses herself and heads towards the village. Maybe tomorrow.

Titela Durnea
Baptized Elisaveta, everyone called her Safta. As small and fragile as her body was, her heart was that big and her thoughts generous. That's how Tudose thought when he took her as his wife. That she would raise decent sons. But they took their sweet time showing up. She bore him three children, all girls. Each one more beautiful than the last. But Tudose's forehead kept getting darker under the wrinkles. When he took her to have a fortune told, Vanga told him to calm down, that everything would be fine. However, he remained hopeful. Nine months later, when Tabor cried out triumphantly, Safta fell silent.

(Translated by Eduard Mihai Uretu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)