WE ARE ALL PAGES, an excerpt

“A RETIRED PEDIATRICIAN LOOKING TO MEET a modest and respectful woman. Dad, are you sure about this ad?”

“Seeking to meet sounds better, right?”

“Yes, seeking to meet is better, but what I meant was…”

“Should I put my age down as well? I did write I was retired.”

“You’re still young at sixty-eight, so you better write that down, but I meant the rest of it.”

“Well, what is it? Don’t make me drag it out of you! You keep nagging me to meet somebody, and now… should I leave the pediatrician part out? Should I not write that I’m a doctor at all?”

“No, a pediatrician’s fine, it means you’re reliable. I meant the modest and respectful part.”

“What’s wrong with modest and respectful? Your mother was modest and respectful.”

“You won’t find a woman like her in a million years. Why not write, a fun woman?”

“Wasn’t your mother fun?”

“As much as she could be, yes. But when you write modest and respectful, you sound like someone who’s all about respect.”

“Respect’s the most important thing in a companionship! I should write that as well, that I’m seeking companionship. I don’t want them expecting marriage and real estate.”

“Listen to me, Dad. If you want modesty and respect, you propose marriage. If you’re seeking companionship, you write something different. Seeking to meet a fun and energetic woman who likes to enjoy herself.”

“Are you out of your mind? Do you know the kinds of women who would respond to an ad that says likes to enjoy herself?! Can I replace your mother with a woman who likes to enjoy herself? Is that most important?”

“Are modesty and respect most important?”

“Well, happiness looks different to everybody. Some people think it’s about having fun, others find it in modesty and respect. Our generation finds happiness there, in modesty and respect.”

“Yes, the men of your generation.”

“Boryana, I’ve never been a tyrant! Your mother liked this life…”

“Dad, I don’t want to argue. Truth is, the women of your generation have changed. How about, A retired doctor who can look after himself, seeking a cultured and fun woman for friendship and travel.”

“Cultured—yes. We should have something to talk about. But that fun part keeps bugging me.”

ZDENKA HAD TWO HOURS, a hundred and eighty Deutsche Marks (the euro wouldn’t be adopted for another two years), and Berlin. When you have Berlin, a hundred and eighty marks, two hours, and an eleven-year-old Tanya, you can’t just join a “walking tour” to see the sights. So what if they call her “a Bosnian bumpkin?”

(In ten years, she would come back, and tears would stream down her face while walking around that odd Holocaust memorial, which resembles a tomb next to a tomb, only made out of concrete. And Tanya would hug her tightly.)

What Zdenka needed was a mall, and because the word mall is international, people understood what she meant and led her to an enormous building. There, she showed the doll hanging from her keychain to a man who took her to the toy store. And there she was: Barbie!

Barbies upon Barbies, never mind a few Kens. Barbie as a hairstylist—with an entire salon. Barbie rides a horse; the horse is saddled and everything. Barbie cooking, with the kitchen included in the set. The Barbie toothbrush and mouthwash have some educational value, so she’ll take them. Barbie on a motorcycle, though—never. She just couldn’t bear Tanya asking for a real motorcycle, a leather jacket, and tattoos in five or six years. “Until you’re eighteen,” she’d tell her, “it’s my call. I decide what you can and cannot do. And I say you can’t ride a motorcycle.”

She unloaded a whole lot of boxes at the register, startling the cashier, who, it seemed, had never seen anything like that. Lots of things this cashier hasn’t seen, thought Zdenka, but kept her mouth shut. The total exceeded a hundred and eighty marks. She held the carriage in one hand and the Barbie bunk bed in the other and wondered which one to return. A German woman snorted behind her, and her daughter whined. Jealous.

She decided to take the carriage, paid, and held the bags, quite pleased. She wanted to turn around and tell them—the girl, the mother, and the cashier, that if she had more money, she’d buy even more dolls. She’d say, “When your daughter survives those one thousand four hundred twenty-five days in Sarajevo, you need lots and lots of Barbies…” But back in the day, Zdenka had studied French.

WHEN THE FOURTH WOMAN’S HUSBAND DIED, IT GOT EVEN MORE FUN, though not at first. For weeks and months and months and months, Zhana lived through what happened right before her eyes the last three times. Only now, she really understood. Neda, Vasilka, and Ivanka sympathized, as they should have. They tried not to give away the relief of finally being equals. There’d no longer be an imbalance between them.

After forty-seven years of meetings, always postponed or interrupted by raising children and husbands, they could now see each other every day, if they felt like it, without feeling guilty. The four of them had ended up together in the county maternity ward. One of them was born in that county, another was sent there from work, and the rest had come to live with their husbands. All four were admitted for preterm labor. They all had their kids in November and December, so each year at that time, they were throwing a lot of parties. Just when people really needed a pick-me-up—at the end of fall.

They weren’t family friends. God help them, they didn’t want to start looking like those “friends” whose husbands had been inseparable since the first grade. They had nothing in common with the “Sex and the City” characters, though people made jokes. Men were not the main topic. Their children weren’t the main topic either. Oh, yes, they were reliving their lives through them, and it was so great being thirteen again. Only now, they knew what to say, and nothing hurt as much or for as long. They fought like classmates and eventually made up, though not exactly like grown-up people. When their grandchildren came along, things became calmer but never dull.

The first to become a widow was Ivanka, and to take her mind off things, they promised each other they’d meet every Monday. Some of the meetings were held at the cemetery when Vassilka and Neda also lost their husbands. Zhana came along, she wanted them to stick together.

Today, they gave each other half an hour, scattered in different directions, then met up and took the tram to a pizza place that was friendly to retired women. They sat down and chose—not without disputes—food for sharing. They kept throwing glances at Zhana, who was staring at the coat rack. Their coats were quite decent, and only seven or eight years ago they’d been very much in fashion.

“Are we all wearing hand-me-down coats from our daughters?”

Their giggle startled the waiter. Women are the last to laugh and cry, but he was a young man and still didn’t know that.

Gabriela Manova is a writer, translator, and editor. She works between English and Bulgarian. Her debut poetry collection ("Навици"/Habits) was published in 2020. Her poems, articles, and translations have been featured in several print and digital editions. In 2023, she was a resident translator at the National Centre for Writing in Norwich, UK, and in 2024, she was one of the translators at the Koprivshtitsa International Poetry Conference.

In February 2024, the Elizabeth Kostova Foundation launched an open call for English-speaking translators to join the inaugural edition of the Bulgarian to English Literary Translation Academy. The Academy was designed to connect experienced translators with emerging talents in literary translation, fostering the growth of a new generation skilled in bringing contemporary Bulgarian literature to English-speaking audiences. Over a six-month period, mentors Angela Rodel, Ekaterina Petrova, Izidora Angel, and Traci Speed guided three mentees each, working across genres including fiction, children’s literature, and poetry. By the program’s end, participants had developed substantial translated excerpts to present to publishers, authors, and partners, and to use in applying for translation grants, residencies, and other professional development opportunities. The Academy has also enabled contemporary Bulgarian authors to have significant portions of their work translated, which they can present to literary agents, international publishers, and in applications for global programs. You can find more information about the Academy participants here. The Academy is made possible through the support of the National Culture Fund under the Creation 2023 program and in partnership with Vagabond magazine.