The Fifth Apocalyptic Knight Cristi Brosteanu

This is a novel written in Romanian and translated into English by its author. It is based on real life, featuring the life and formation of a Romanian youngster. This hero, diagnosed with brain tumor, undergoes after-life experiences. For you to get the taste of the originality of the book, please read the first pages of this captivating novel:

The phone was ringing. Because I was waiting for the results of the college admission exam, I lifted the handset.
“Hello, I want to speak to Cristi.”
“Yes, professor, it’s me.”
“You passed, you punk, you are a student!”
“Thank you, professor, thank you! You don’t know what wonderful news you gave me! Thank you!”
“Ok. You’ll have the marks later.”
“Sile, Sileee! I’ve passed, I’ve passed!”
Sile looked at me confused. He didn’t know why I was being so exuberant.
“I’ve been admitted to college! I’ve succeeded! I am a student!”
We hugged and I broke into tears. Behind me, there were my mother and my sister Iulia.
“Look at him, he’s crying!” said Iulia, and then she hugged me too.
After that, it was my mum’s turn to take me in her arms.
“Let’s call your father and tell him the news,” recommended my mother. So I dialed the Hârlau vinegar factory, where I was working with my father. I was a laboratory assistant and he was the head unit.
“Hello, this is Cristi! I want to talk to the Boss.”
“It’s me. What is it?”
“I’ve just got a call from the professor. I’ve passed! I am a student now!”
“Congratulations, well done! I’ll see you at home.”
Sile was waiting for me outside. I went out and I took him with me to my grandpa, to tell him the news, too. He was my mother’s father and the dearest person to me. He was the man who gave me most affection and love. Not that grandma wouldn’t have loved me the same, but grandpa had more time for me. Ever since I was a little boy, he took me everywhere with him. On the way to their house, images of my childhood quickly came to my mind – moments spent with grandpa, which created pleasant memories. Thus, I could see him processing the sheep milk, turning it into fresh cheese, soft cheese and light cheese. I would copy his movements, wishing to know how to make the same things. And I've really learned to prepare those products. But now I have almost completely forgotten the technique. And this is because the raw material disappeared when grandpa sold his sheep. In another image, it appeared into my mind the moment when grandpa, being euphoric, under Bacchus’ influence, climbed me up on the rams to ride them. The entertainment wasn’t lasting for long, because grandma appeared and correc­ted the situation, scolding grandpa. When he wasn’t influenced by the liquor, he put me to ride his horse, named Doru. But first, he would put a jute bag on the animal’s back, as a saddle. The riding took place on the pasture near the Bahlui creek and also near the grandparents’ house. Since then, I’ve got a great love for horses and riding.
As I approached their house, another image from the past became clearer and clearer. It was the one in which, along with grandpa, I was accompanying the sheep on the pasture and I was playing the flute. For me, those moments of fusion with nature were so pleasant, that when someone was asking me “What will you do when you grow up?” without doubt my answer was “Shepherd”.
“No, no. You will be a doctor or an engineer,” the automatic correction came from my parents.
When I arrived to my grandparents, they already knew the news. My mother had announced them on the phone. Grandma was the first to congratulate me.
“How are you, sir engineer? You came to see us? Come here, to kiss you. You have brought us great joy!”
Then, grandpa hugged me too. For me, their appreciation was the ultimate reward. I knew that I had made them happy, and they could be proud of their nephew who had just joined the intellectual class of society.