Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

The Lover

how her tear ducts burned. For nights she would dream of him, and for hours would allow herself to be guided by an invisible, whip-like tongue tip. But, once in the Flower Market, when approaching the sleepy Don Juan, she would hit an invisible wall like a thin barrier that protected his adolescent-like figure. No one had known the small monk to make a sound, no one had seen the color of his eyes. Nobody had ever been able to ask him anything. In short, Eugen was a sleeping, anesthetic man, and the market was under the spell of his desire. In love with the quiet monk, many women wept in silence. Some committed suicide. Some still stay within monastery walls, and

others allow themselves to be consumed by social activities. Even the very beautiful Elena Razelta, who had fainted several times near the booth with honey, ended up married to a rude merchant, seeking peace in a story of self-flagellation. Evidently, Eugen the monk was aware of all these pains. Under the canopy at the out- skirts of the market, from time to time, a smoke signal reachedhim. And among the many affairs of this taciturn monk, one April day when the market was filled with lilac, the expected woman crept in. Alisa. That was her name. The daughter of a pastry chef, famous for his walnut cookies – whose fame

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