A Romanian woman comes from Iceland to her mother's funeral. She lands in Bucharest on December 20th, takes a train which is delayed by five hours to Sighetu Marmației so she doesn't even make it to the funeral meal at the restaurant. Her brother no longer answers the phone, nor opens the door. Where are you heading, master? The novelist flinches and loses his train of thought. His neighbor wouldn't understand that he frequently passes through The North Train Station just to listen to the conversations in the waiting room and find subjects for his novels.
Ana-Maria Butuza
Is this seat available? he asked, even though I was alone in the carriage. I wasn't in the mood for company, and the train was almost empty. Can't you see all the seats are taken? I replied. I promise not to bother you, he smiled timidly. Where would you like to sit, in this lady's arms? I pointed to the empty seat beside me. By coincidence, you have the same seat as mine, he handed me his ticket. I didn't have a ticket. I stood up when the train entered the tunnel. We moved like on a chessboard: me on the opposite side, him on mine, with my wallet. But I only noticed that when I got off.
Elena Fermuș
I'm more of a princess, that's just my kind. Imagine, I sewed lace on my ski suit. Just to give you an idea. We were going to the mountains, and when I saw that my boyfriend had bought second-class tickets, I couldn't help but smirk. In December. When relatives travel with bags full of stuff. A little cabbage soup spilled over, a burp from a cousin, a fart from an aunt. A little politics. I forced myself to sleep. But not for long. I was woken by a hissing sound. An angry goose had escaped from a bag. I pulled the alarm signal, and off I went.
(Translated by Laura-Monica Doroiman / 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.