Then I drove, from the airport to Wawel, then I came in, I remember, to Frank’s quarters, and then I extended my hand in Deutscher Gruß, so Frank nodded his wrinkled, vulture-like head, and I reached to my pocket and took out the Glock, and I started to shoot at Frank, emptying the clip, so the ruler of the Polish march deflated inertly in his wheelchair, and the saline solution leaked from the hole-ridden IV. I replaced the clip and shot the secretary so she would stop screaming – she screamed in Polish – but then I saw the adjutant who burst in to the chamber because he had heard the noise made by the chair I knocked over, so I shot him too. Then, remembering the old tradition, I said out loud:
“In the name of the Republic,” but then I dropped the gun and the gun fell on the floor, and I walked away, and no one tried to stop me, and I walked by the place where in two thousand and twelve we woke up the Wawel Zmey.
The Zmey who happended to be a Black God and slept, balled-up and copper-scaled, under the Wawel rock, and that was two thousand and twelve. We unearthed him by accident while digging under our gym, the one opposite the Wawel hill, we were redecorating and Skinny heard a loud noise coming from underneath the floor, so we smashed the floor, expecting to find buried Nazi treasure, we somehow figured that, as a rule, if it’s a treasure and it’s buried, then it’s a Nazi treasure, and then we climbed inside a hole, a hole that was just a tiny nook under the floor, but there we saw some old brickwork and we felt like we needed to dig some more.
So Skinny bitch slapped me on the neck and told me to start digging, so I did. I was a simple hooligan and I had one purpose in life: to be one of them, to be a true Cracovia firm man, to get the T-shirt and be just like them. And they knew it, they felt how determined I was and they could tell that I was actually too determined, plus they knew what I didn’t: that I cared too much, that I was too humble, that I would always be welcome to hang out with them, but I would never become a part of the team (…).
So I dug and dug, and they dug with me, and finally we dug up this giant copper mass, just to start screaming in terror like kids watching a horror movie, so the Zmey spoke:
“Stranno rieszczeta. Nie imam nynie ischoda ot togo mesta. Wiedita mene bole otrokowic a sotworu wy niepoborima. Idita.”
At first, of course, we couldn’t understand him, but finally we did, so we started bringing him offerings of virgins, and he ate those, but we only fed him filthy Gypsies because he didn’t care and we felt wrong giving him our home girls; either way, he devoured them and made us invincible.
So, no longer afraid of the Wisła bastards or coppers, we killed all Wisła fans, and they featured us in every single news programme, so the military police started patrolling the streets, so we killed all the coppers and all the MPs, so CNN , NBC and BBC all covered us, and we offered the wives and daughters of the coppers and the MPs to Zmey, and then we had a great war, and I still was not one of the top dogs, so I killed my brothers because Zmey told me so, and then when the world was all in flames I went to the Wawel vault and I opened the grave of my father, king Kazimir, and I took his crown, put it on my head, spat on his carcass, and then Zmey ate me too (…).