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Doina RuSti
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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
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