Red Button

Florentina Enache
The door slammed against the wall in an enthusiastic, well-known movement. The voice fills the hall, then echoes through the house. Wife, put the soup out, put the baby to sleep, get your purple tongs and forget about the bra, I haven't time to unpack. What happened to you, did you take a bonus? Or did the footballers score? No, nothing, just attention and action because Gicu's at the controls and it's time for them to kiss a little bit. What about that willy down there? Not that one, today we're not exploding the passion, just defusing a little, just enough to make that schnitzel edible again.
 
Anca Chimoiu
She always loved red chores. That's why she used to giggle like a silly little girl when mummy sent her to granny's with presents. She'd put on her little red shoes, not at all suitable for the journey through the forest, take her little skull and off she'd go. Sometimes she'd stop and pick red popcorn. Or she'd linger and yawn at the butterflies, but not too long. Granny waited for her with a remote control in her hand. Little Red Riding Hood would put the basket on the table, press the little red button and the little house would fill with the cries of the slave Isaura: que pasa, mi amor, que pasa?

Cristina Daniela Dumitru-Pascal
I was always playing with the little girl downstairs. She had two little red buttons in her cheeks that made her delicious. The others were mean, calling her ugly and pushing her away. She'd come to me crying, I'd hug her and she'd get over it. One day she lost a button. You know, she told me, whispering, when my parents argued I'd put my fingers on my face, they'd kiss me and make up. But now my dad's gone. He took my button. I was beautiful to him. His eyes filled with tears. I kissed her cheek. And to me, I replied. And for 50 years it's been so.

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