At our plant

,

it was always a given that there had to be a Mr. Mietek. Not that anyone dared to say it out loud. Some even preferred to rely on instinct and not think about it. It was natural, a result of the nature of the plant and its history. Not that anyone dwelled on it, but about 60 years ago, a young Mr. Mietek got a good slap in the face from the grandfather of the current manager, and somehow, ever since then, we've always had Mietek on the team. Of course, the connection wasn't certain or obvious, but I suspected something. I don't know about others, but I did. Our current Mietek was a forklift driver. He was an honest guy and eager to get the job done. He was also a great comrade. Mietek and I would often go for a beer after shift, or play a game of bridge while the manager went out to collect cement. Things weren't bad for us – we, the plant, Mietek.

And then Zdzich, the cleaner, retired. Two days without Zdzich were enough for our little business to start turning into a mess. The manager put an ad in the newspaper. The very next day, the first candidate showed up. The manager took him to the office. Stach, who knows where, always had everything figured out within minutes. He reported that the new guy supposedly had good references and that the manager would definitely hire him. They spent a long time in that office. Then, to our surprise, the manager himself emerged. Through the doorway, we saw the new guy, still sitting calmly at his desk. The manager looked nervous. He passed us without even telling us to get back to work. He pulled out a pack of Mars and lit up. Oh yes – something clearly threw him off, because he lit the filter and popped the other end in his mouth. No one even thought to approach and ask, but somehow, inexplicably, a slight sense of unease spread across us all.

The manager threw down his cigarette (yes, he smoked the whole thing from the other end!) and stiffly walked back to the office. As he passed us, I thought he whispered under his breath, "Well... he has references..." They sat there for another half hour.

Finally, the new guy emerged from the room, and we pretended not to notice him and returned to our work. Then he approached our largest group and, with a considerable amount of shyness, greeted them, looking down:

"Hello, colleagues." "Ah, he's hired." We needed the cleaner quite a bit, so each of us understood that it was worth giving him a warm welcome so he could settle in quickly and get back to work. We stopped working again and went over to shake his hand. Roman was the first to extend his hand.

"Hello, I'm Romek.

" "Hello, Mietek."

We all shivered. We looked at him with slight consternation, then at each other. Several muffled "chugs" were heard. We were the ones swallowing.

Of course, we tried to regain our composure, shook hands with him one by one, introduced ourselves, and so on. When it was Mietek's turn to greet him, we all held our breath involuntarily. But after a funny "Mietek"—"Mietek," they simply exchanged rather shrewd glances, smiled, and that was it (I guess that's how greetings between namesakes always go).

Mietek the old one got back in his wheelchair, Mietek the new one got a broom and a bucket of water, and went with the manager to see the whole building.

Yes, it was one of those moments when everyone knows what's going on, but no one says a word. In a way, such nonverbal communication is interesting, but—I swear—I'd rather do without it this time.

We all felt we were losing ground. Their natural and relaxed greeting, and the new one's almost timid demeanor, gave us some encouragement, but it wasn't enough. Definitely not enough.

It just so happened that I was on the same bus home that afternoon as Stach. We exchanged comments about the national team's last match and the budget for next year. Then we were silent for a few minutes. I fell into thought. Then, as if through a fog, Stach's words reached me.

"Hmm... Maybe the manager wants to fire old Mietek..."

Oh, now I was sure it wasn't my imagination. Let's be honest – fear gripped us like hell. Simply put, one Mietek was the norm. An excellent norm, a pillar, a symbol of stability. Now there were two of them. Think about it, it didn't bode well. One Mietek felt like a figurehead – that was clear. That was always clear, even though we were afraid to talk about it, or even think about it. Two – who knew what they were capable of. The waiting period began. We weren't ready for what was to come. Truth be told, we weren't ready for anything.

The days passed. Both Mieteks worked diligently. But we – less and less, because we didn't sleep through the night. The trips for beer, to the game, to the pool table ended. I had dark circles under my eyes, and once I almost got hit by a horse-drawn carriage. Now I always rode with Stach, even if we finished at different times, because each of us was afraid to move alone. But we didn't talk much. Each of us slowly became a walking wreck. That's how they got us! I knew, I knew right away, that they were plotting something. They were destroying us from the inside. The day Mietek arrived at the plant, they penetrated our minds and began to eat away at us. We knew we wouldn't last much longer.

One morning, the manager called us all to the duty room.

"We need to talk." He fell silent for a long moment. This invasion was taking its toll on him too. He was pale. I could have sworn he'd gone even grayer. His shirt wasn't washed. "We need to talk because there's a case. I'll keep this short. I'll keep this short because... I'll keep this short. Money disappeared from my desk. If whoever did this confesses, there won't be any police or this whole mess. That's it..." He turned and left, slamming the door. We, though only one of us was probably guilty, all tucked our tails between our legs.

About fifteen minutes later, Roman accosted me. He pulled me aside. He looked around to make sure no one was listening, took a long swig of bolt from the rifle, and began in a conspiratorial tone:

"Fuck..." His voice was very hoarse and weak. In fact, it barely flickered, just as the life within him barely flickered. "Now... you see, this is a chance, this is theater, I feel like it's theater, you know..." (no, I didn't understand) "Fuck... this is the moment to, you know, screw them." He looked around suspiciously again. He brought his unshaven face even closer to mine and continued. "Now. We'll go to the manager and tell him. We'll say we saw them, the fucking Mietkóws, stealing, you know. That it was them...

" "But we didn't see them, Romek.

" "Well, to hell with that! This is, you know, the one moment when you can..." and here he made a throat-slitting gesture.

"Romek, get a grip!" I shook him by the shoulders. "Romek, it's not like that. We'll have to say when, under what circumstances, and that's all..." The manager will ask a lot of questions! Hundreds, thousands, and then it'll come out that we were lying and...

"No... this is fucking theater..."

He grabbed me by the sleeve and practically dragged me to the manager.

"Manager," Roman began, and I lowered my head and covered my face with my hand in embarrassment. "My friend and I saw who was stealing."

The manager perked up, looked up, and stared straight at Romek.

"It's two Mieteks. They were stealing. We saw."

I grimaced, knowing the questions would escalate, and we wouldn't be able to answer them in agreement. Meanwhile, the manager pondered, then said,

"That's interesting, buddy Roman, interesting what you're saying. And you, buddy, do you confirm?" he turned to me, and I nodded absentmindedly. "Well then," he beamed, swearing he was literally filled with joy, "we're calling the police!

Oh my! I couldn't believe it. Already? Is it over? We're calling the police?"

In about 20 minutes, two officers arrived and took both Mieteks away. Instead of being furious at being betrayed by people he trusted, the manager walked around all day, fresh and cheerful. After his shift, he called Roman and me back to the office. Oh, he wasn't going to leave it at that. Now he'd ask about this and that.

He pulled two envelopes from his desk drawer. He handed one to me, one to my companion.

"Here, fellas. At least let me lose some money... it won't really make that much difference... Here's some for a beer... thanks... "

I was speechless. Romek, on the other hand, seemed calm and unfazed, only slightly more cheerful, as if he were receiving his regular paycheck. We left the manager's office. I stared blankly ahead. We went outside. I still didn't understand a thing.

"Did I say theater?" Roman said lightly, patting me on the shoulder. We went to catch the bus.