Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Doina RuSti

jizya because he had to pay annual taxes for these 11 people. One of these was Ioanis who always felt small and stupid when looking at his father. And when such sadness descended upon him, his nose would swell, transforming into an old crow’s beak. Neither the knowledge he’d gained from the teacher Okimon nor the fact that he slaved about carrying baskets of fish mattered to his father. As for his passion for tailoring, he wouldn’t evenhear of it. Canyoumake a decent set of clothes?! No! So what kind of tailor are you? The clothes he dreamed of weren’t for the honourable neighbourhood of Căţol, nor for the city of Săruna. He liked pockets, as many as possible, disguised

the list of all the Milikopu cousins, armed with daggers and brass knuckles which quickly deterred him from wanting further details. The table was set with spinach cakes and silence fell over the 11 people present. His father’s sunburnt cheek always gave him chills. Traditionally, there are considerably numerous fathers who are unhappy with their children, but in this case the discontent was like a wound. Bradu Milikopu was a martyr and there are no substitutions for martyrs. He would wake up in the middle of the night and head straight for the pier. He’d fish until his eyes started itching, his jaw started trembling, his knees started failing him and all his money went to the

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