I have no tears, not even to water my grave. When the fellow with the future daughter-in-law walked through the gateway, with his big palm on her frail shoulders, their bodies smelling of love and happiness, I hated her. I made them stay with me in the house. I emancipated myself by cooking flambé steaks. I'd start every meal with a glass of palinka, I'd soak the meals with wine, I'd put out the fires of digestion with a fine brandy. I dripped malicious words in his ears. She spoke the truth; he brushed her off. She left. The same alcohol in him now sends me out in the cold, beaten up.
Laura Stanciu
To Ion Pop. For your information. With reference to your address registered at the City Hall of Sector 3, Communication Department, under no. 9/2025, we inform you that the aspects presented by you in the above petition have been verified and the following conclusion has been reached. According to the measurements of our experts, the pit mentioned in the address is mostly part of Sector 4. Specifically, at least three quarters of the pit. Please contact the responsible city hall. We'll be happy to help you with our pits.
Paul Dârvariu
We became friends when I moved here. Sile wasn't a bad guy, but he had a foul mouth. He got upset when he saw I'd brought a construction firm instead of calling him. We exchanged harsh words: me calling him out for working under the table and him for not accepting his barbecue invitations. It went on for eight years. Until Gore's funeral. Frusina used to tell me how hard it is to get a grave. Luckily, Sile took Gore into his family's grave. Free of charge. I approached Sile and hugged him. Now we're friends again.
(Translated by Andreea Georgiana Bogdan / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.