Agnosia

Monica Bologa
I don't recognize the room-the curtains at the window, the paintings perched on the shelf. Where the hell am I? I turn my head to the left. A man sleeps, his cheek pressed against the pillow. His hand rests on my left breast. I place my palm over his and guide it downward, across my belly, lower still-over the heat between my thighs. With his eyes still closed, he begins to caress me. I surrender to his touch. My cry of pleasure shatters the morning stillness. You've never been this loud before, he said, utterly astonished. Darling, I don't recognize you.
 
 Camil Popescu
You meet her in front of Cireșica^[1], hand in hand you stroll into Cișmigiu. You rent a boat-wow, look at those beautiful swans! You coo at them like they're kittens, then laugh and wonder aloud how one even calls a swan. She's holding a rose in her hand. You call each other by pet names-Are you cold, my little kitty? No, my sweet tomcat. Every now and then, you pat the pocket over your chest. The little box is still there. Your heart's racing. The boat drifts to the middle of the lake. You let go of the oars, take out the ring, and ask her: And who are you now?

 Florentina Enache
The smell was insane. He hadn't felt anything like it since he was a clueless pup, gnawing on everything in sight. He rewound the tastes of his digestive memory: his first bite of bread, a chicken wing, a bit of cheese. You never forget the taste of a full belly, his kin had told him the first time he ate his fill. In the box on the table was one of his all-time favorites: a perfectly crisped Quattro Formaggi. Hunger and craving lashed at his senses-he saw nothing, heard nothing. The broom struck him hard, sending him flying out the window. He crash-landed in the parking lot and bolted back to retrieve the meatball.

 
(Translated by Ioana Andreea Radu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)