Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

The Lover

The rape was being staged from close proximity by a mind that made no effort to be discrete. On the contrary, it exuded emotion, proud and confident in its power. Alisa rolledher eyes, casually observing the piles of white flowers, the moving heads, the wicker baskets and the cageswithgoldfinches, until, between two perplexed shoulders, she laid eyes on the barren stand, under which Eugen the monk slumbered. Watching his lowered eyelids, relaxed face and ears reddened with exertion, she was struck with the same desperate passion that had struck half the women in the Flower Market. Hesitating, she went over to the honey stand, from where the impatient, snake-like desire

was emanating. Alisa walked alongside the rows of jars, up to the white chair. The monk was bent like a currant branch. He knew very well that Alisa was looking at him. He had heard her steps, had felt her pulse and had tasted her cloud-like soul. However, he remained frozen. The April sun warmed the top of his head, and in the darkness of his being, the millions of warriors fed him with the joy of victory. Another woman had become attached to him. But Alisa did not see it that way. She was disturbed and was almost overwhelmed by panic, but not enough to not feel the light tremors of the invading soul. The monk’s

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