A bullet to my head, Jan used to say. It was supposed to be a joke, but it was uttered with such frequency and fervour that it could be suspected that there were some layers of sincerity and truth in it, or, I don't know, wishful thinking. As it was to turn out, these suspicions were not entirely unfounded, but that will not be the point of this post. The bullet will be the point. Or, rather, the entire cartridge, which somehow found its way into my mum's possession, through Jan, in some way. 

Jan had access to weapons and ammunition. Reportedly, he had some in his house or garage, but I’ve never seen it, so I certainly don’t know what, where or how. Incidentally, Wanda had some too, but she didn’t talk about it. These were attributes of their activities, which were shrouded in mystery. It wasn’t that type of mystery that is exciting and deeply hidden; more of something embarrassing that just isn't talked about.

Anyways, my mum had a cartridge. For a Kalashnikov’s rifle, as far as I know (and I know very little of such things). The cartridge was whole, but there was a hole drilled in it, and some marks on the top of the casing indicated that someone had taken the cartridge apart at some point, and maybe had shaken out the contents and then had put the cartridge back together. My mum would wear it around her neck as jewellery when she was young. 

I wheedled my mum into giving it to me and I put it in a box. For a while I was also thinking about wearing it around my neck, but ultimately decided not to.

The piece is growing. The final climax of phase one is almost complete.

(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)