Translated by Mona Lepadatu



Horica was running for the first time on the lawn behind the stables. He was born in spring and had only been kept indoors, in the stall full of fresh straw. Only today, in full autumn, had he been left to roam freely all over the field where Manu had gathered the maize crop. Now he was running around happily, doing rounds between the door of the stables and the forest edge limiting the property of his master. He was not allowed beyond the trees, he didn’t know what was behind them and he didn’t care to know. When he was coming back for the third time, in his donkey’s run he caught a glimpse of his neighbour through the acacias. He stopped as if electrocuted and started to follow her discretely. Her amazing beauty pinned him down near the woods till evening when Manu came to take him to the stables.
‘Stop! stop!, Horica. Come on, come this way, it is getting dark.’

So far Horica had never sighed before. He had not had any reason to. Sensing his master’s call he could not help his first sigh, which proved to be a catastrophic bray, a combination between the screech of tyres with the brakes on, the harrowing of train cars taking a turn, a factory siren and the convulsive cough of people with lungs diseases. Shaken from numbness and bending over to pick up a rope, Manu fell on his side, hands over head.
‘Pooh! you scared the hell out of me.’

Horica, amazed at his bellow himself, couldn’t understand his master’s reaction, just as his master could not understand his endless love for the long-eared neighbour behind the trees. The sigh drew the attention of the beauty and, curious like any female, she came quickly near the acacias.

*
‘What was that?’ asked the waitress on the patio where I was having lunch with Cristi.
‘My colleague just sniffed... Bless you, Sache’ said Cristi casually.

I don’t reply. I don’t know what got into me, for a moment I felt the acute desire to heehaw. I look at the confused waitress, shrug my shoulders and smile. I scratch behind my ear and heehaw again.

‘Sache, what’s wrong with you?! People are staring at us’ whispers Cristi.
‘I’mmm in love!
‘Hush, what the hell, lower your voice. In love with whom?’

*
Finding himself taken away from his lover, Horica started a lamentable dissertation with the intention to explain his pain. Was it his fault he was a donkey? Was it his fault if, no matter what he wanted to express, joy or despair, his vocal cords could only produce horrible noises? He didn’t have a nice voice, he knew that, but he had some gloriously long ears instead. Manu was pulling the rein in vain, Horica had no intention to budge.
‘Houw, come on, come now. To hell with you, stupid donkey.’
And, without further ado, Manu punched him right between his eyes. Horica was stunned and dizzy as he was he could still see the frown on his master’s face.

*
‘Braaaay!!’
‘Sache, are you mad?! The check, miss, please’ Cristi asked in a hurry.
‘Right away, I’ll write it right now.’
‘Cristi, I have a headache. He hit me, stupid man. I’m in love, maaadam.’
‘Two hundred fifty thousand’ says the waitress and pushes the bill to Cristi.
‘Miss!! I’m totally in love. Totally. What’s your name?’
‘Who are you in love with, mister? Me?’
‘Yep. A dooonkey.’
‘How dare you, jerk!’

*
Towards midnight Horica managed to escape. He got out of the stables and started galloping across the fields, then among the acacias and entered in the neighbour’s courtyard. Sniffing like a hound he stopped at his chosen’s window and started singing. The she-donkey, donkey as she was, could not stay indifferent to such a gesture.

*
Cristi kept pushing me towards the exit, impatient to get into the street and escape the stare of the other customers. The hysterical cries of the offended waitress kept scratching our eardrums. Suddenly, right by the gate, I pull myself from his clutch and run back, towards the lady who had waited on us.
‘Let me drink until I diiiie, maaa’am...la la la la .’
‘Heeeelp!’

*

Horica was proud of his deed. His lover was called Margaret and last night he had declared her eternal love. They could rarely see each other, mostly in the evening, after work. Their donkey’s love resembled the love of poets, youthful and burning. What did it matter that she slept in the same stall with Muddy? Muddy, the neighbour’s horse, was as haughty as can be. He need not worry about that, Margaret couldn’t stand horses.

Their happiness lasted for months on end, until one evening when Margareta didn’t show up for dinner. She didn’t show up the next day, either. Now longing replaced worrying and, on top of all donkey thoughts Horica felt jealousy, in all its glory. Horica tried to escape again. No success, though, unfortunately Manu had replaced the locks with some new ones, Chinese, making going out impossible. One day he followed Muddy, with the desperate intention to ask about his lover. Horses will be horses, born stupid. He either wouldn’t tell him, or he didn’t understand the question.

After a while, Horica turning thinner and thinner until he was only ears and nothing else, one noon he saw Margaret. And not alone, but with a nice long-eared colt. Horica pulled his chain and started galloping towards the acacias edge. Seeing him drawing near, Margaret looked down, while the colt staggered hesitatingly towards him. Horica stopped a few steps away as if thunderstruck. He rolled his eyes, his legs became too weak to hold him. He fainted on the neighbour’s new wheat crop.

* * *
After last autumn’s event with the hysterical waitress, I constantly avoided the patio café. Today though, on the spur of the moment, I suddenly push the chair under my desk and walk straight to the restaurant in question. I enter the patio shaded by blossoming chestnut trees and I stand, hands akimbo, in front of the waitress who was just waiting on some customers.
‘You fool!’

The woman stares at me, hesitating what she should throw at me: the soup or the second course.

‘You! How could you cheat on me with … a horse? And who? Muddy, that idiot with tiny ears. You know what? Now you might as well take care of that little mule alone, it’s your business. Feather-headed woman!’