They called him Mecenas, the great collector, the perfect arbiter of good taste. He had paid without blinking ten million for Parmigianino's "Madonna". His Pinacoteca had become a Mecca for the flies of beauty. She reminds me of Raphael's virgins, the envious buzzed. Delicate and fragile, her face is a transubstantiation of the human into the divine, claimed other lovers of Phaidros. But he saw her as she was, in the light of truth. Ten lines, six colors. A mirror for the nakedness in the eyes of the viewers.
Ana Ludușan
Maria, one of the youngest novices, often wanders through the forest with her hair unkempt, singing as she runs around wildly, immersed in a happiness that only leaves her face when the abbess makes her scrub the floors as a sign of penance. I don't know why you punish me. When I run through the forest with my hair unkempt, I meet God, she tells the abbess. I don't find God in prayers; I find Him there among the trees, in the thin air, discovering together with Him, Music.
Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
In front of the icon, the new hope of the Garden of the Mother of God begins its speech. Water is cosmic vibration. We, the chosen people, have known this since Dacian times. Jesus, from the icon, seems confused. When he hears "chosen people," he raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth, but says nothing. Instead, he brings his hands to his ears, as if he wants to shield himself from the noise. The new hope, steadfast, now speaks of the saving power of Romanian compost, while Jesus's gaze becomes a blend of patience and divine misunderstanding.
(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)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.