Pedals

Yuka Brevi
I daren't even take her out for a drink. She had a gold road bicycle with five gears and a thin pipe. The spokes were full of beads and producing a noise that made my teeth hurt. I liked the way she leaned over the arched handle bar like a ram's horns, and the way her disheveled hair fluttered. She took the curves fast, her knees and elbows full of blood mixed with mud and Rivanol gel. I was so in love that I was carrying her Спутник up the stairs to the balcony. Never mind the dozens of times I'd hit myself with the pedals. She lived at the fourth floor.
 
 Florina Hegedüs
In the evening, me here, him here, each of us doing an internal inspection. My attention is just in front of me but I feel his restlessness floating in the air. Between us there are sounds, subtle touches that come into our ears and descend into our hearts. My fingers are searching through black and white, through the distance that separates us. My feet are throbbing and I press it, with my right on my soul, with my left I release the delicate vibration in my body. We're in a race that, with one last accord, we both win. I stand up. Me, Mahler and the piano thank for the applause.
 
 Tibor Szente
I planted tulips. Long rows, on left and on right of the winding path between the budding trees. I know she loves tulips, in the vase, where her cat lounges, seeking the warm rays of the sun. Yesterday she went out to see how beautiful they are when they begin to burst into color, to unfurl almost erotically into vivid flowers, like tiny ballerina bodies, She stopped at the edge of the garden and gazed at them, with innocent wonder. She looked at one of them, almost black, in bloom. You can get closer to it, on the tiles, I said.

 
(Translated by Diana Sitaru / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)