A selection of short stories translated into English by Antoine Cassar

I went to see her
(...) The last time I visited him, he didn't look so good. My younger sister, who'd just left, had kept going on about how he seemed to be getting worse. So, feeling I should keep things light, I asked him about the women in his life. That's how we ended up talking about the one in Spain. He used to enjoy talking about them. He'd seem to forget his pain, his eyes would sparkle and suddenly focus. Because since he'd got ill and been taken to hospital, the women he'd loved during his life had become for him a photo album he never tired of thumbing through. And hidden beneath each photo, another fifty. [read more]

The Madonna round Evelina's
He had met her at the Hungry Duck, in the heart of Moscow, where the ladies can drink as much as they like free of charge until half eleven at night. The two of them happened to be at the bar. She with a Hanky-Panky, he a Vodka Martini. Their eyes fell first on the glasses; then, they looked at each other and realised that they were, kind of, alone. And it's astonishing how, even in the freeze of Moscow, one word leads to another. And the following morning, he was a little surprised for as he was leaving her tiny apartment, Evelina hinted that she would like to meet him again. And so they did. [read more]

At Livia's Bar
This time she's building a city. The first city after eleven islands in a row, now gathered together in the soft red folder which, when her father goes out for a coffee in the evenings and she finds herself alone, she takes out of the drawer beside her bed, and from which she pulls out one of the maps and descends somewhere upon it. [read more]