The story ȚÂȚE, Povestiri erotice, Trei, 2007.
Radu Afrim’s recent premiere is titled TEATRO LÚCIDO LA MALUL INFINITULUI, performed at the State Theatre of Constanța. The show is a typically Afrimian fantasy, which incorporates three contemporary short stories: Vizită în casa unui bărbat în absența soției sale by Adriana Bittel, Variabila Dostoievski by Bogdan Răileanu, and Țâțe by Doina Ruști. (2025-04-08)
The short story Țâțe, staged by Radu Afrim — Doina Ruști
The short story ȚÂȚE first appeared in the volume Povestiri erotice, Trei Publishing House, 2007.
In his characteristic style, Radu Afrim has staged a production titled TEATRO LÚCIDO LA MALUL INFINITULUI, in which he incorporated Țâțe, bringing it into an imaginative world that opens toward the mysterious zones of the subconscious.
The premiere took place on April 4 at the State Theatre of Constanța.
Then the touch had happened. The man had run out of patience waiting for her to hand him another plant, and suddenly reached his arm toward the plastic crate; on its way, the back of his hand struck her breast. It was a lightning-quick touch, almost imperceptible, but it electrocuted her brain and made her hear, for the first time, the voice hidden in the bowels of the mountain. She knew she ought to be embarrassed, but she didn’t dare look at him, feeling she was as red as a workers’ flag. Then they went on planting flowers, while he kept talking in a low voice, fully aware he was speaking only for her.
“I used to wait for her in the evenings by the willow, and when I saw her white dress, I’d step out of the dark, grab her in my arms and press her against the block wall. Maybe you know her?”
“If you tell me what her name was…” Sabina had tried, in the same faint voice, still staring at the peaceful soil.
“What her name was, what her name was! Well, what’s your name?”
“Mine?” She was so surprised, as if only then she truly felt disturbed, that, forgetting her earlier embarrassment, she raised her eyes to him. That was when she really saw his almost green eyes, melting as he spoke to her, slipping like streams of honey into her soft, viscous soul.
When she told him her name, he held out his hand to her like to a comrade and said his own name in turn — a name that rose toward the sky like evaporating perfume: Ginel.
And then it happened the second time. He took her by the shoulders to help her step lightly to the other side, and from the height of her shoulder his fingers knocked against the terrified, yearning nipple of her breast. From that moment on, all she did was wait for the next touch. Her knees trembled a little, and in the most obscure places of her body, floods were being announced. But the thought of drowning was above all her other desires. Her entire life suddenly shrank to this desperate need for him to reach out his hand to her breasts once more, at least once, unexpectedly swollen and aflame.
Ileana Marin has written a review for the magazine Ficțiunea.
