Page 10 of Souls We Rip

For our dowry, if it would ever get used.

Our mum started shouting her listings, as we all did when we had fairs or had to sell our produce in the market.

As my sister and I joined in my mum’s cries, people crowded in front of the food stall, some of them pushing with their elbows.

“We’ve made enough food for everyone,” I shouted politely. “Please, either form a line or wait your turn.” I smiled at them, grateful that they would buy my mum’s cooking. “And thank you!”

She dismissed us from there with her hands. “Go, girls! I can handle it,” she urged, waving her hands to us. “I will grab your father when the time comes.” Her hands were already busy collecting the străchini.

“Are you sure?” I asked, concerned she couldn’t serve the wave of people demanding food.

I knew my mum’s dishes would attract more customers than my father had supposed. She was the light of our life; of course, she cooked as such.

My eyes searched for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. With my heart in trenches, I looked again at my mum, whose eyebrows were knitted.

“I raised you two, kept a home going and still managed to cook. Now, go!”

Angelica and I laughed, then ran away to the top of the hill where the music, young girls and boys were. Our feet were exhausted from the effort, the sunset warming our faces.

“A black cat!” my sister shouted, already taking three steps back.

I started to do the same, but someone bumped into me, pushing me to the side. “Sorry,” I mumbled, forgetting everything about the bad luck a black cat can bring. Wincing, I touched my shoulder.

Looking around, my eyes fell on the aflame candles inside glass jars. They were strung by a thick wire, forming a circle in the middle of the hill. On the grass were placed wool rugs, so we wouldn’t hurt our feet while dancing. Or when the time came to be picked by our fated one. If we had any.

A dance of hora was taking place right on the rugs. The men were jumping up and down, hitting their boots on the ground, while whistling. The girls were swirled from side to side, their skirts rustled around their ankles, creating white circles.

I grabbed Angelica’s hand, pulling her towards the only refreshments table, where our friend and neighbour, Gavril, was setting up his homemade socată.

He was in love with my sister ever since they were running around in puddles, trying to make each other fall in them and get all muddy and wet. Usually, the valley was filled with their giggles anytime it rained.

Not many people were waiting in Gavril’s line, the majority of the men preferring țuica or pălinca, from the opposite side of the meadow.

Gavril finished with the children who had requested socată, giving them large mugs filled with the delicious beverage. The elderberry juice sloshed over the containers' rims, the youngster starting to laugh.

When he noticed us, a bright smile spread over his lips. His usual rosy cheeks became crimson as we approached his stand.

“H-i,” he babbled, dropping the small decanter on the ground.

This earned him a frown from his father. We greeted both and, with shaking hands, we were served by Gavril with two glasses of socată.

“Have you set your eyes on someone, Gavril?” my sister asked, feigning ignorance at the young man’s behaviour.

My sister never told me if she fancied him or not, but from the long blinks and fugitive smiles, I guessed she did.

“Y-y-yes, I t-t-think so,” his lips trembled, but his dark eyes stayed fixed on my sister. Gavril’s cheeks turned red as ripe tomatoes, getting a smile out of me.

I pretended not to notice Angelica’s blush. I turned my head around and smiled, because if Gavril did stick with his plans, then Angelica and he would make the best couple.

“I’ll take a look around,” I said to my sister, whose attention was snagged by Gavril. I kept my laughter in my throat, and I kissed her cheek.

The orchestra played beneath the burning candles, its dulcimer’s tune filling the meadow with inviting tunes. Men stretched their hands to their wives, inviting them to a dance of brâu. The hum of chatter reached my ears, my heart swelling in my chest. It filled with joy when people laughed, cherishing the simple things in life. I relished in these rare events, a drop of passion in my quiet life.

One young man invited a girl to dance, placing his palms over her waist. She then put hers on his shoulders and started spinning on the rhythm of the music.

From where I was standing, the song was hard to hear due to the chattering of people. I walked among them, mesmerised by everyone’s joy, in search of the hypnotising musical notes.

The smell of the wild summer flowers floated to my nostrils, and I inhaled. Summer was my favourite season, even if there was much more work to do around the house than in the winter. The air was warmer, the clothing was thinner, and the people enjoyed life more.