At the Market

Elena Fermuș
She remembers mom, a good fairy with sad eyes. Sadness that eventually killed her. She was only four at that point. Then, a cowardly man, dad, put them in a horse carriage, all of the siblings, like potatoes. For sale. She got off first. The soul to dollar exchange happened on a dry field. It's the first place she stops by each year, when she returns from America, full of hope that she will reunite with her siblings. Meanwhile the field turned into a red carpet. Of poppies. And she dedicates all of them to her fairy. I miss you.
 
 Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
In the market that only appears at midnight, a red-haired woman sold her soul to the Soul Flayers. Why are you here? they murmured. She flinched, but her heart was set on this. For his love. The eldest gave her a coin of darkness. You will have him, but he will never truly know you. In the morning, he gazed at her adoringly, but he looked through her, as if through a delusion. He called her name, but she no longer knew who she was. She was loved, but she wasn't herself anymore. She was a shade no one could remember.
 
 Camil Popescu
My only pleasure after 40 years of marriage is to buy cremeschnitte from the cake kiosk at the market, where my wife sends me with the shopping list for the soup. After I bought the carrots, peppers, patience dock and broccoli, you must get the broccoli, don't forget the broccoli. I stuffed myself so full of broccoli that dogs confuse me for the tree, y'know, with the green, curly hair. I stick my gums into that cremeschnitte and with my free hand pick up the phone: Did you get the broccoli? I listen and mumble some curses under my breath, while a stray dog is lifting its leg up.

(Translated by Adriana-Maria Botea / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)