-short Stories

Short stories: The magic The town Bread , onion and cheese Random thoughts The expectations Prin librarii … Fairy Tale Punga Povestea numerelor hipercomplexe Author : Spanu Dumitru Viorel , Romania

The Magic It was before the magic night of Haloween . The magic must not disappear . What about hope ? I went to the market to borrow a cigarette pack . Sometimes , it happens like this . When I came back , in the bus there was a poor man who was dumb . He wrote on a piece of paper : " I die from starvation " . People in the bus were so poor that nobody gave him a dime or an apple or a little piece of bread . Where is the hope ? And it was before the Holyday of Saint Dumitru . It seems that it is so little hope . There are such moments . The magic must not disappear !

The Town Bucharest , 1st November

The winter knocks at the door . It`s so beautiful because a few snowflakes twisted through the air . It`s quiet and streets are covered by the carpet of yellow and red leaves . The leaves have no worries : they don`t think at the high prices for food , electricity , phones , water , or at the warming bills . The holydays are coming . Still they won`t come with a their miracles . The miracle is already here . The miracle is that we are still alive !

Bread , onion and cheese So nice was the neighborhood of Giulesti . A county of the workers of Romanian Railways , close to the traveling steam locomotives , that move and take with them a bit of our souls . We , the kids from Giulesti loved those steam locomotives and we were talking all the time about them . My grandfather was engineer on such a machine and he gave me when he was coming home a box of cheap cookies . I was happy . The neighbours were also workers at railways. One day , our neighbour give us bread and onion and cheese . It was the best meal that I had ever eat . I said myself that when I shall grow I`ll buy everyday for myself bread , onion and cheese . The steam locomotives are gone and so are those marvellous days . The dream remains : I wait , here in Bucharest , for a time when I`ll afford to buy everyday bread , and onion and cheese . This is a Science Fiction story . All inhabitants of Bucharest of bread , onion and cheese .

have the kitchens full

Ginduri aleatorii Gerul e tinut la respect de termopane . In casa e cald . Se aud doar razele lunii lovindu-se de geam . Imi aprind o tigara ieftina . Rotocoalele albastrii fac volute surprinzatore . Ma gindesc la aleea de virtejuri a lui Strouhal . La piata varza era ieftina . Daca un taran vinde 35 de verze isi poate cumpara o pereche de pantofi . Daca vinde 500 de verze isi poate cumpara o geanta Gucci . Dar ce sa faca cu o geanta Gucci ? Mai bine vinde 200000 de verze si isi cumpara o garsoniera . Iarna s-ar putea sa fie lunga . Bine ca avem muraturi ! Este o liniste deplina . Nu se aude nici o soapta . Ca sa-l citez pe Alexandr Soljenitin , probabil ca : “ Trecuse o zi fără necazuri , aproape fericită .” Acest text este un pamflet . Cica !

Random thoughts Frost is held in respect by the insulating glass . The house is warm. One can hear only the moon`s rays hitting the glass. I light a cheap cigarette . Blue rings of smoke revolves surprisingly . I think at the Strouhal`s path of vortices . Sprouts at the market was cheap. If a peasant sold his 35 cabagges then he can buy a pair of shoes. If he sells 500 cabbages he may buy a Gucci bag. But what to do with a Gucci bag ? It`s better to sell 200,000 cabbages and then buy a studio . Winter may be long . It`s well that we have put pickles ! It’s a perfect silence. I can`t hear any whisper. To quote on Alexander Solzhenitsyn, probably : “The day had passed without trouble, almost happy “ . This text is a pamphlet. Cica!

The expectations The dawn is here . It is so cold and the light of november is shy . No birds are singing . A few people rush to their homes after working in the night shift . Some cars are parked on the street . One of the cars became a home . In the inside , with an old blanket on them , two people are sleeping . I do not know if they were eating something last evening , or last day . In the midst of the day they search for iron at the garbage just to sell it . I pass near them and sometimes I gave him cigarettes . I saw his eyes . There are days when he hopes nothing , there are days when it seems that he has expectations . Maybe Great Expectations . Expecting what ? Days come and go and nothing changes . What can expect a homeless man ? A job , and for sure , he dreams at a home . I do not know if I am in the past , in the London of Charles Dickens or in the Bucharest of the year 2009 . There are people so poor which are so passionate , so quiet , so good but they didn`t expect nothing . No hope , no expectation . They accept the fate . Today I so such a man carrying some used papers , willing to sell them for 50 cents . At a moment he stopped and shouted loud : I am hungry ! His wife told him to shut up the mouth . This is the question : If we all shut up the mouth expectations will die .

the

Prin librarii…

M-am uitat prin librarii dupa carti de matematica . Nu am fost atent la celelalte titluri , dar parca nu-mi amintesc sa fi vazut “ Arhipelagul Gulag “ . O carte fanion pentru experienta dintr-o anumita parte a lumii . Oricum cartile sunt numeroase prin librarii . Dar scumpe . Daca iti cumperi un tratat de filozofie , trebui sa maninci apoi 3 zile numai piine goala . Oricum , merita sa cumperi o carte scumpa .Trebuie sa stii adevarul , si pentru un minut ,macar , ai fost avertizat . Sa ne amintim : “ cine nu invata din lectiile istoriei , risca sa le repete “ . Pacat ca nimeni nu prea invata din lectiile istoriei si de aceea le repetam tot timpul ! Cartile sunt cei mai buni prieteni ai oamenilor . Fara cultura nu poti construi o lume libera . Ignoranta este sora dictatorilor . Mi-e dor de “ La Medeleni “ , de lumea mirifica de basm a zarzarului inflorit , de zmeul care plutea liber in vastitatea vazduhului . Nu stiu de ce imi amintesc acum de aceea lume . Ca o contrapondere la realitatea in care esti liber sa crapi de foame , una din libertatile care este reala . A , apropo de faptul ca nu prea luam in serios lectiile istoriei , iata o “ recenzie “ adhoc din 2009 a “ Arhipelagului Gulag “ de pe un blog ( “ written in moonlight “ ) : „ ... Şi nu, n-am terminat cartea, mai aveam vreo 150 de pagini şi am renunţat că mă scotea din minţi, citeam în gol. Ar fi bună dacă ar avea scris mai mare şi detalii reduse, că nu-mi pasă de fiecare deţinut politic şi de fiecare inginer arestat şi de fiecare student împuşcat. Îhh. „

Fairy tale Snowflakes twists through the cold and fresh air .

It was Christmas eve . Lights blink on the façades of stores in Bucharest . People are rushing to their homes with some gifts in their hands . Windy night comes over the county with its carpet of stars . In a house , the young girl puts some Christmas balls , bought 3 years ago , in the fir tree . Her mother was taking a nap . The girl remembers how she waited Santa Claus when she was little . Maybe he will come this year ! After she arranges the fir tree , she watches for a while the TV and then fall asleep . Stars just revolves in the frozen sky . The clocks tickle minutes and hours. It is very late in the magic night . Suddenly , some knocks in the front door . The girl awakes and asks : Who is there ? No answer ! She smiles : Maybe Santa has come ! She awakes her mother and both go to the door . The knocks continues . When they open the door , they see a little dog , frozen , sitting on the carpet in front of them . He is glad and he fawns , hitting with its tail the door . They laugh and then caress the doggy .Come in ! they encouraged him to step in . Doggy is happy , cause the house is warm . She tells him : You are hungry ! Mother looks at the little pet and said : the fridge is almost empty , but there is a small bit of salami in it . They cut the salami in three portions and put a third in front of the doggy . He is happy and he looks at them grateful . They all three eat their portion of cheap salami and all that beings dream at the Santa Claus . Outside , the moon send her friendly rays . From a speaker , Silent Night was coming over the city .

Punga Autobuzul se tira spre statie . Intotdeauna , asteapta la stopul dinaintea intersectiei . Este un fenomen straniu . Ar trebui ca in 50% dintre cazuri , masina sa prinda unda verde . Linga statie , citeva containere pentru deseuri . Doi barbati adunau din container pliante aruncate . Le vor vinde pentru 5 centi kilogramul . Erau bucurosi pentru ca strisesera

aproape 15 kilograme de hirtie . Vor cumpara piine pentru copii . Indesau teancurile de hirtie in pungi mari si vechi . Au plecat multumiti , cu sacosele pline . Pe jos a ramas o carte gasita in container . Nu mai aveau unde sa o mai puna . Si asa nu ar fi vindut-o decit pe un cent . Pe una din pungile lor scria : “ Pentru o viata mai buna ! “ . Vintul a pornit sa bata , rasfoind paginile cartii uitate pe caldarim . Paginile cartii , paginile vietii . Pe coperta veche scria “ Critica ratiunii pure “ . La urma urmei , ce rost mai are sa cari dupa tine cartea lui Kant ? Cu un cent nu poti cumpara o piine .

Povestea numerelor hipercomplexe

Ca de obicei , iar ma uitam pe fereastra . Nu-mi ardea de sarcinile de serviciu . Toata vara ma gindisem la ele , la numerele complexe , rotatii , translatii , algebre … . Toamna lui `94 asternuse covoare de frunze ruginii . In zare un V de cocori strapungea vazduhul . In fine , lucrurile se conjugasera : era o varietate de spatiu vectorial . Cind ma gindeam la el parca intram in casa mea . Ca sa vezi , ce lacuna , descoperisem acea varietate de spatiu vectorial fara sa stiu despre quaternionii lui Hamilton . Cei scrijeliti pe o bucata de piatra . De aici atita cazna , ca remarcasera si colegii . Traian Costachescu , fostul inginer sef , un tip destept , a batut saua ca sa priceapa iapa : “ Or fi descoperit si altii alte lucruri prin alte parti … “ . Ba chiar , intr-o zi , o colega a adus un vraf de reviste Fractalia , cu quaternionii , ca sa se dumireasca “ cercetatorul “ din birou . Never mind , era o varietate de spatiu vectorial complex original … Au trecut zile , luni , au trecut ani . Timpul s-a comprimat intr-un crimpei de amintire . Pe la prinz m-am gindit la cele citeva coli vechi si ingalbenite , ratacite prin casa - nici nu mai stiu unde le-am pus . Cit de putini stiu ca o descoperire in matematica inseamna o munca de Sisif ! Spatiul meu vectorial s-a strecurat printre numerele hipercomplexe ale lui Kantor , Solodovnikov si cele ale lui Davenport ca o pantera noaptea in savana . O sa caut colile , trebuie sa verific ca acest spatiu nu a fost inca descoperit . C`est comme ca ! Care-i tilcul povestii ? Ce inseamna 15 ani ? Nu poti face ceva durabil daca renunti !