Year after year, on Christmas Eve, dad would sneak out of the house while we helped mom put raisins on the gingerbread Christmas trees. We never once suspected that he had anything to do with the whacking of the whip outside, a sound that stirred in us children a sweet unease, like a long-anticipated fearthat he would gently provoke from the doorstep: Did you hear that too? That was all it took for the three of us to forget about the gingerbread and rush outside. Santa was always in a hurry, leaving only the sack in the snow.
Cecilia Fofiu
She fumbles in the keyhole and steps into the little house, dimmed by curtains. The objects seem to smile at the reunion after so much bitter time. She scans the room and places, one by one, on the tabletop: the wedding portrait, the small wooden shrine, a tiny icon, and the framed photo of the children. She pulls out a brand-new jute sack from the cupboard, carefully packs the items, and leaves, not wanting to pay too much for the taxi. She's content-she's gotten used to the nursing home, and her sons have plenty of money now. Besides, after the demolition, new homes will be built over her life.
Monica Ciurea
My first Christmas came with a case of the throat wobbles, for which Gaia cast spells: "May it vanish into the wilds, where no rooster crows, where no fair maiden treads." She also told me the story of the cursed princess who was given a sack: Take what you love and leave. I guess dad didn't know the story-he never tried to put me in his sack. He just stuffed his hands into his pockets and left. When it comes to mom, I managed to pull her out of the bathtub myself. She was the only one I still cared for, but Gaia put her in a box and sent her away into the wilds. Longing for them, I wait with my sack empty.
(Translated by Andreea-Nicoleta Ban / 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.