Peter Pišťanek - The End of Freddy

“It melts,” the priest said, “just as when you boil tea in a kettle.”

“And the sea isn’t frozen either?” Geľo wants to know.

“It isn’t,” agreed the priest.

“So how do they hunt seals and walruses when there are no ice holes?” asked Jurko.

“That I don’t know,” the priest shrugged. “But apparently, it’s as warm there as if you’d lit two fires in a yurt.”

“And where did you find all that out, priest?” Geľo was amazed by so much information.

“From my grandfather,” said the priest. “His grandfather, my great-great-grandfather, still remembered the Slovak land.”

“So why are we here, if Slovaks live over there?” said Geľo angrily.

“Our ancestors weren’t doing well in their country,” said the priest.

“No wonder, if they had no walruses or seals,” Geľo joined in. “The fools hunted them out and there were only shore mice left to trap.”

“Whatever happened,” said the priest, “the Slovaks decided to sail overseas, not here, but to a completely different country. Just to survive. That was when the Junjan Khan needed slaves. So he bribed a foreign devil captain who deceived our forefathers and offered to take them on his huge kayak across the sea much cheaper than any other foreign devil sailor. Well, instead of taking them where they wanted, he took them to Junja. But that was a long time ago, many dozens of winters ago.”

“So we’re slaves, are we?” asked Jurko.

“We used to be,” said the priest. “Our forefathers were slaves. Well, they had to work very hard for their masters. But more and more escaped north. Here, to the snow plains, and even further, to the northern islands. The last of an almost extinct northern people lived there, and they helped our people. They taught them how to survive and everything. Later, the Junjan Khan abolished slavery and pardoned runaway slaves. Then the Russians came, overthrew the Khan and set up Soviet power. Junjans joined the Bolsheviks. But our people did not go back south to the towns. They stayed here. Some became hunters, others fishermen, or reindeer herders. Junjans founded hunters’, fishermen’s and herders’ collectives to keep on squeezing them, but they had a little bit of freedom, all the same, even if for each Slovak arctic fox trapper there were five Junjan officials and their families. But we had freedom. Because a Slovak is like that: his character is as meek as a dove’s, but he’ll give his life for God and his beloved freedom.”

“And what about the town Slovaks?” Geľo asked. “When I went to Űŕģüllpoļ to buy a hunting rifle, I saw them.”

“The town Slovaks are poor people,” said the priest. “The Junjans treat them like dirt. They’ve got used to humiliation. They do the meanest work: they take out rubbish, sweep the streets, and clean lavatories. Here, on the coast, they couldn’t survive any more. I’m afraid the Junjans have managed to kill their Slovak pride over the years.”

“When you went to Űŕģüllpoļ, did you go by train?” asked Jurko.

“How else? Of course I did,” said Geľo. “Day and night, all the way to the south coast. You were very little then.”

“Well, I’d like to ride a train, too,” Jurko fantasized. “It must be great.”

“It’s bad in the town,” said Geľo. “Here on the north coast, Slovaks breathe freely. This is what our nation is like: we don’t start anything new and don’t abandon anything old. As God has commanded us.”

Geľo blushed lightly. His last remark was made only to show respect for the priest.

“The Junjans are God’s children, too,” said the priest. “They were created by the Almighty, too.”

“But he can’t have been thinking when he did it,” said Geľo.

“He could have made fewer of them, too,” the priest agreed.

“They’re a mob of thieving gangsters!” Geľo got worked up, sensing that the priest had given him a green light. “They steal from the traps. If I catch one, I’ll put both his hands in the iron jaws, pull down his britches and let him turn into an icicle.”

“The Soviet regime collapsed,” said the priest. “The collectives fell apart, but the officials are meant to live on money from our taxes. Junjans, unlike Slovaks, don’t have to pay taxes. But the officials don’t get their money. The tax collectors, the ones who come to our settlements, keep it. They spend it on drink and gambling. So the others thieve to survive. There are a lot of clans of officials living here on the coast: take the Glebąârs, or the Ęńjors from Gargâ settlement, for example. They’re big clans who’ve lived for generations off the collectives. They are born parasites. They need victims to keep up that way of life. They’ve been brought up like that for generations. That’s what they are.”

“But if no one stops them robbing us,” Geľo put in, “then no one can stop us punishing them for it. We, too, are what we are.”

“The law’s on their side,” said the priest.

“It’s a bad law,” Geľo snapped. “Junjan law.”

“That’s what it says in their constitution,” said the priest. “The only full-fledged citizens with full privileges are the Junjans. We Slovaks are second-class inhabitants. We don’t even have their citizenship.”

“What do I need their citizenship for?” Geľo got upset. “I want to be left alone. If I ever catch a Junjan stealing from me, then, as God is my witness, I’ll cut his hands off and throw them in the ice hole.”

“Keep calm, Geľo,” said the priest. “God’s law is clear: whoever slaps your face will have his head broken. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. That’s what our Lord Jesus Christ told us. He used to crucify his enemies on the cross. Revenge meant everything for him. That is why Slovaks honour the symbol of the cross. And God’s law is, for a Slovak, above the law of any Junjans.”

“But what can I take from them for the fur they steal right out of our traps? Do you live in this world, priest?” Geľo got angry. “Even if I crucified their family to the third generation, what would I get? Didn’t they steal Sirovec-Molnár’s traps? And Cižmár’s dogs? And what about the accordionist Trefuľa? Tell me, how many accordions he had to buy, after all those they stole from him? And it could be worse, of course! If Hüğottynünđ Űrģüll could bring back the Khanate, he can bring back slavery, too. Then we’d be given to the clans of officials and everything would go back to the collective farm times, or even worse.”

And so Geľo Todor-Lačný-Dolniak and the priest went on arguing politics and venting curses for a long time. No wonder, for the journey to the Stormy Tooth had many miles to go. The whole day passed in pleasant conversation. The evening came and our travellers had to find a place to spend the night. Being tough, resilient children of nature, they slept under the open sky, on the sledge, wrapped in fur. They assigned turns to keep watch and went to sleep.

Here the author would like to stop for a short explanation. The Junjan Slovaks’ native language is Slovak, but an archaic nineteenth-century Slovak. The Slovak migrants used a language spoken in Slovakia when Slovaks were forced to settle the Junjan islands. Over the years, the Junjan Slovaks’ language has been enriched by so many Russian, Junjan, and Inkirunnuit expressions that my dear reader would find exact transcription of our characters’ dialogue hard to understand. So we have the Junjan Slovaks speak a contemporary, almost literary Slovak, at most seasoned with a few unusual expressions to bring out the idiosyncrasy of their dialect. That is all. The author is grateful for your understanding.

In the morning, Geľo, Jurko and the priest continued their journey. Finally, on a blindingly white plain a rocky cliff emerged in the distance. It was in fact the shore, since the plain which our characters had crossed was the frozen, snowbound surface of a sea inlet. If they’d decided to travel along the coast, the journey would have taken twice as long and involved traversing the settlements of several clans of Junjan officials, and that would have ended badly. A cleft hill jutted vertically up from the range of cliffs. That was Stormy Tooth.