Peter Pišťanek - The End of Freddy

“But I don’t even like that executive style,” says Ondrejka. “Those stupid mini-suits. All the girls in the office then look identical, like supercharged bitches in a hurry.”

The prisoner lies in the snow and even at a distance it is clear that she will never get up. The snow around her head is bloody. The guard who hit her so precisely behaves as if nothing has happened. She shouts at other lichen-gatherers and only occasionally casts a glance on the prostrate woman now being covered up by falling snow.

“It was a white woman,” sums up Ondrejka, when he looks at the prostrate woman from a safe distance.

Other men look that way without much interest.

A Dutch reporter, one of a new batch of prisoners, turns hysterical. He shouts in fury. A Hungarian and a reporter from Mladý svět knock him down and hold him down by force. One of the two Romanians gags him. The Dutchman emits incoherent muffled noises at the guards.

Gorloy approaches, whip at the ready, his face vengeful and curious.

From somewhere in the forest comes a high-pitched whistling. The women stop working and muster themselves into a column. Gorloy loses interest in the Dutchman.

“I prefer women dressed in suits to those in modern grunge and those hooves,” Blažkovský resumes the topic, to break the tension.

“Tell me, how can women make themselves look so bad?” Freddy asks. “If nobody likes it and they find it hard to walk in those hooves, why do they wear them?”

“Because they’re all cows,” Blažkovský closes the debate.

Gorloy runs up with Pushkin and Agapp.

“ Ünńcrzžhy! Ünńcrzžhy!” they shout. “Line up! Line up!”

The foreigners are lined up and herded at the end of the column, behind the women.

The female prisoners eye them curiously. Some are young, others old. They drag the corpse behind them in the snow. Her bloodied face bounces on the frozen ground. From the tundra come the wolves’ howls.

“I don’t even like the way they paint themselves,” says Ondrejka. “Every time I see a girl like that on the street, with that long hair and emphatic eye shadow and lines, it reminds me of all those ridiculous German soft-porn films they show on satellite TV.”

“Ah, satellite TV,” sighs Blažkovský.

The camp is not far off now, and with it the hope of warm beet soup. The men forget about women and start on another topic.

“Do you remember the milk bar in Bratislava, opposite the theatre?” Ondrejka starts. “I used to go there for their cheese salad and crunchy bread rolls. And they had draught Kofola to go with it…”

Doložil gets behind Freddy.

“We’re escaping,” he mumbles. “Tonight. Get ready.”

This surprises Freddy.

“How are we going to escape?” he is stumped.

“Men from my unit have come for me,” whispers Doložil. “They’re somewhere about in the tundra. They probably sailed here on a kayak. They gave me a sign a while ago. You’ll come with me.”

“And what about them?” Freddy points at Ondrejka and Blažkovský.

“We’ll leave them here,” says Doložil. “They’d slow us up. No one will harm them. They’ll be freed in good health. I’m taking only you.”

“But why?” asks Freddy.

“Because you saved my life,” says Doložil. “Because you’re my brother. And what’s more, you’re a brave fighter who won’t break.”

“What should I take along?” asks Freddy practically.

“Nothing,” says Doložil. “There’s enough of everything.”

“ Krŕtoğąå ! (Silence!)” Agapp and Gorloy shout in unison, but dare not whip anyone.

The dogs are nervously barking, straining at their leashes. They’d love a bite of fresh meat. The guards can barely hold them back. They let them lick at least the bloody snow left by the murdered female prisoner.

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* * *

That evening Freddy is tense as he lies on his bunk. He is shaking as much with cold as excitement. The time for escaping is ineluctably nigh. Freddy would perhaps even prefer to stay, he fears an uncertain future. He knows what he has here. He could easily wait here to be ransomed. If the Slovak government won’t pay, CNN will. It’s only a matter of time.

There is no escape from the Kandźágtt camp. All around is hostile tundra that gradually turns into an endless snowy plain. When the wind starts to blow, it turns a man into an icicle in a few minutes. The founders of the camp realised that and that is why, as we said, Kandźágtt consists of only a few wooden barracks and a square for mustering prisoners. No fence, no window bars, and only one tall tower rising up. The barracks are of a cheap sandwich construction, so inside it can be even colder than outside.

Freddy has got used to the cold in the barracks. He feels the cold, but it doesn’t have a devastating effect on him. This is partly the influence of the hallucinogenic mushrooms. He is wrapped in a blanket and another one is at his feet. When he goes to sleep, he wraps himself in the other one, too. Today he realises that he has wrapped himself in it for the last time. Help is coming tonight.

He remembers the time spent in the camp and falls asleep.

It is perhaps a few hours after midnight when somebody shakes his shoulder. It is Doložil.

“We have to go,” he whispers.

Half asleep, Freddy is scared: he is slow recognizing Doložil’s voice.

“Move it faster!” hisses Doložil impatiently.

Freddy pulls himself together, takes the rolled up blanket and blindly follows.

“No need for a blanket,” says Doložil, who can see even in the dark.

Doložil and Freddy slip out of the barracks. The gale almost knocks them off their feet. They carefully hug the wall and then turn the corner. The camp is lit up, and even in the gale they can hear the roar of the generator. The lights flicker sometimes under the force of the wind. The fugitives keep to the shadows.

Dogs start to bark wildly. Their barks shake the wooden kennel wall.

Doložil and Freddy run from the light into the darkness, to the tundra. The gale seems even stronger there. The barracks at least broke the wind. The snow is bright and lights their way. Between the snow banks stand dark figures.

“Geľo,” a voice shouts, “is that you?”

“It’s me,” says Doložil.

“And where’s your hair?” asks the man in surprise.

“That’s a long story,” the man who was Doložil waves his hand. “I’m bringing a friend.”

Freddy finds himself encircled by men in hooded fur coats.

“A Slovak?” someone asks.

“He’s one of us,” says Doložil. “His name’s Telgarth.”

Somebody hands Freddy a bottle: “Drink up, Telgarth!”

Freddy takes a drink: searing heat seizes his guts. He immediately feels better.