I didn't have money to fix the roof, so we made love in the rain. She was fine with it. She'd lie naked, back arched to the sky, smiling with parted lips, as if the wind whispered secrets just for her. Her wet hair stuck to her shoulders, and her hands traced promises on my skin-promises she never voiced. She'd leave in the morning, barefoot, her light dress clinging to her thighs, leaving behind eloquent silences. I knew she wasn't mine-she was only hers. But I also knew how to love without asking. And I let her go.
Gheorghiță Mircea
Otani, known as Viyon, boarded the train at Musashikogane station. The Chuo Line train took him to Nakano Station, where the bar was. It was the only place he could still drink and write in peace. He had married Sachi, the barmaid who served him and paid for his sake with her salary. Otani wrote feverishly all day, and in the evening, he met the drunken prostitute Akiko at the Tanigawa brothel, bringing her sake paid for by his wife. He despised her, but she was the only one he could sleep next to. At home, the crying of the baby disturbed his writing.
Cecilia Fofiu
The newborn with a caul finished off the young girl and shocked Jenia, who hadn't seen such a marvel in 50 years of midwifery. She shrieked like a turkey hen when she turned him upside down. She made the sign of the cross over him and laid him in the arms of the broad-faced man with red hair, just as agreed. And off they went. The years passed, as did Jenia, and the event remained hidden. When the fear of hail is great, a young man comes down from the mountains with an axe, which he hurls into the Right Place and scares away the calamity. Villages call him the Right Man.
(Translated by Miruna-Camelia Baicu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by prof. dr. Nadina Vișan, coordinator of the translations / Edited by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.