An Old Lady with an Orange

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This was last week on Tuesday, in a yellow tram running on the ring. The city clock indicated the end of another winter day: the time was precisely 2.55, displayed in blue numbers.

The doors opened, the chill came in, the girl sat down. She was so young and focused on reading the translation of a Japanese novel. The weather didn’t seem to bother her in the least and bilious strangers didn’t exist for her. She was entirely oblivious of the tram ride, her rosy fingers turning page after page.

An old dignified woman took the blue seat, next to her. When the tram started moving, the old woman forcefully leaned against her clenched fist to better maintain her equilibrium. A minimal portrait – intermittent mutters, careful glances around, leather gloves, and an orange in her left hand.

Unexpectedly, the old lady turned to the young girl and said in one breath: “So far, I could sometimes spot the meaning of all this. And when I didn’t see it anymore, I would find beauty. Hardly ever both of them. And when I didn’t have either… Well, that was the most unbearable part.” Her face turned away, her glance piercing the old buildings, and then she suddenly stood up, greeted the third tram stop with a “hello” and got off.

Written by Caprescu

februarie 1, 2010 la 1:44 am

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