I remember that yesterday I was his advisor, he started the day with a shot of vodka, then tied the nuclear briefcase to his wrist and went off to official meetings. Another shot at lunch, then we went to a function where he was offered a cocktail, he said: Spasiba, but do you have Absolut vodka? He downed half of the bottle, on the way out there was an orchestra playing, he put down the briefcase, snatched the baton out of the conductor's hand and for a minute, the leader of the rising sun moved his hands as if he were at the plenum of the central committee, even making the notes on the international scale tremble.
Alina Pădurariu
of my dress - uneasy, almost popping out of its tab. My adolescent, precocious bosom attracts hungry stares. I only want to be seen. To be heard. To be understood. To be asked how I'm doing and what I like. Why am I not being seen? Why am I not being heard? Why am I not being asked? I really want this, I really need to open up my soul. But to whom? How? Maybe someone will point out that the red button of my dress is about to pop out and we'll start a conversation. Someone that's attentive to details.
Elena Fermuș
It was November when, finishing her business in this world, she lay her hands on her chest. That's when I lost the first bet I had with myself; because I believed her to be immortal. I felt aggrieved. And during those three days, until they had to lower her into the ground, I was glued to her peaceful hands. How can I live without their touch? I would have swallowed them whole. Just to have them with me. To knit a thick, woollen shawl for my heart, for when it'll be cold. To frolic with me, like when I was a child: Lil' ol' lady walking thru the room, comes to the door and pushes the button. Riiiiiing'
(Translated by Cristina-Paula Grosu / 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.