The village fair; I draw near Pătru`s stall. A long queue has formed in front of him, all demanding the same thing: grape mash. Hey, cousin, you've hit it again with this mash; it's pure gold; what's the secret, asks Marin, sipping from a mug. Pătru answers, rakishly; well, it's simple; my grandma crushes the grapes with her splendid footwork, but only after she spends a week in the fields with her boots on; those boots work wonders. Marin is speechless and I don't want any more mash. Like, never.
Ioana-Ileana Mușatescu
Put it there. No, over there. No, if you put it where I told you, it's 12 points. Well, yeah, but over there it's an angle and we can tie it after that. It's more points, so we make two parts, we win for sure. Tie what? Next piece is an ankle too. Let's fucking finish the first one and leave me alone. Now give me the other ankle so we can get to that knee quicker and shut up `cause if it weren't you we wouldn't be playing Scrabble in body parts. Do you hear that? Do you think we have all the pieces? No, your head is missing.
Monica Aldea
Penelope sweeps into Olympus. Who dares disturb my breakfast, thunders Zeus. Yogurt on his chin, he goes at Odysseus' consort. Don't tell me you've come for wool. In vain you hide behind the cloth you are weaving. Stop limping, that ankle was not twisted at all when you showed it to the suitor. Juno, send back the kefir, it's out of date. Looking behind Penelope, Zeus suggestively blinks. Which one was the injured ankle? Come to Ithaca, I'm in the mood for a re-enactment. I owe it to Odysseus.
(Translated by Florina Georgiana Țîncu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by prof. 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.