At the bottom of the Box lies the Kitten. I got him as a gift from a lady working in a bookshop at the Zwycięstwa Street in Gliwice. I was there with my mother in my pre-school years, or rather, even pre-pre-school years; it must have been no later than 1985. Mum was chatting to the lady and I stood back and stared. My attention was absorbed by the lady’s very distinctive way of speaking – slow, with accented consonants. She pronounced her words in a strange, slightly robotic rhythm. With a look on her face as if she were thinking about something else, looking a little to the side. ‘What a good boy,’ remarked the lady, ‘do you want a kitten?’ I didn't reply, I kept staring. I got a kitten, which I named Kitten. 


I would sleep with him for a long, long time. I would hold his neck and bite on his tail, sometimes on his ear. I remember the taste very well – slightly bitter. For a while I wanted to pretend that he was my friend, that I could talk to him, explain things to him. I tried to give him a better name, such as Marek. But I wasn't too convinced it was a good idea and I gave it up. Our relationship remained purely physical.


Years later, Kitten was found by the dog, Hałas. He threw himself at him and began to tear him apart. He bit off his tail, he gnawed his eyes out. I threw myself at Hałas and it was one of those few situations when he had to acknowledge my presence and even superiority. I grabbed his neck with one hand and his muzzle with the other and squeezed while hissing: ‘let him go’. Delighted, he growled merrily and lunged as hard as he could with the Kitten in his teeth. But eventually he realised I was serious and he let the Kitten go. He looked at me in amazement, with respect, even. For a while I wanted to mend the Kitten, stitch him up, wrap him up, and so on. But I decided that everyone has to bear their scars.


The text of Things  is done. We talked about the finale for a while longer. Marcin came up with a figure referring to some old hits and embodying the process of memory disintegration. This figure appeared twice in the text, offering a perfect end, but previously appearing too close to the finish. I wanted to leave it out, but Marcin suggested a different, better solution. Now comes the music.

(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)