THE COOK

Tony Tellalov

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At the end of the warm and not too rainy autumn he departed for good. She only understood he went away. She cooked and waited. After awhile she fed another, who disappeared just before Christmas.

From this winter to the next fall three more departed. At dusk she caressed the forgotten shirts and sighed. At dawn she washed the shirts and waited for no matter whom. Someone, anyone must come back, she thought.

When everything was repeated again , she realized she had too many shirts left behind. She gathered them and sold them at the market, then bought a ticket for somewhere with the money and left.

And soon after she left a man stepped out from her house and his long, bony fingers hung a sign on the door: 'Cook wanted'.

© Tony Tellalov
© Vesselin Vesselinov, Craig Hasbrouck - translated from bulgarian
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© E-magazine LiterNet, 01.09.2011, № 9 (142)