At the Market

Dorin Vasile
I arrive at the break of day. No soul in sight, to the left and to the right. Where are the slaves? Where are the women? Where are the children meant to be good servants? They all left. When I learned the news I wanted to throw my fur cap. The voivode outlawed slavery. There. It's over. If only I'd asked for compensation, but, by Jove, I don't even remember how many I had. Ten gold coins each would have been something, since the bookkeeper lost track. He says that if I let it be, they'll pray for me in the church. Had I known beforehand, I would've bought about a hundred young slave girls.
 
 Adina Colțea
It's been two decades since Măriuca lived by herself and kept the household in God's hands, as she would put it. She only worked to stay in His good graces and received more days on this earth in exchange. That day, a desire for plum dumplings spurned her, so she took herself to the market to find the plums she likes. She'd barely begun haggling that the man yelled at her about how his plums aren't meant to be used in dough and that he knows better what she wants. That she should even thank him for the effort. Măriuca gave up, feeling bitter now. Once returned to her hut, she made some polenta round as the sun.
 
 Carmen Moldovan
Taken to the market like cattle, then set on fire with gasoline for the crime of having kissed a boy. Saved from her family and community and taken to the civilized world by a humanitarian organization. The olive-skinned woman waited anxiously at the airport, so she could go hold a speech to help other women like her. Then, one moment, her gaze met another woman's, a transiting Parisian painter. It was enough for the two of them to recognize each other. The same soul, two parallel lives.

 
(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)