Peter Pišťanek - The End of Freddy

“Tie them all like this,” Telgarth orders. “When their tendons relax a bit — in about fifteen minutes — tighten the rope. When their feet touch their hands, call me. They’ll be ready to talk.”

Telgarth leaves the Russians and sits down by the fire. He looks at Geľo wrapped in his furs. He reaches into his pocket for a bottle. He takes a sip and throws the bottle to Geľo. “In an hour we’ll find out everything,” says Telgarth. “We’ll know everything they know.”

Geľo is silent.

“This is not torture in the real sense of the word,” says Freddy, detecting a silent reproach in Geľo’s eyes. “Nobody’s slashing them with a knife, burning them with fire, or flaying them. They’re torturing themselves with their own bodies. When we untie them after interrogation, they won’t have any wounds, any traces on their bodies.”

Geľo takes a drink and throws the bottle back to Telgarth.

“I’m not saying anything, for God’s sake,” he says. “I see you know what you’re doing. God himself sent you down here. I don’t like fighting women and children. I don’t even like humiliating an enemy prisoner. My heart says no, but my reason says yes. Ever since you came, we’ve begun to have success. And if we’re successful, more Slovak men leave home and join us. I know of a large unit that the Slovak fishermen have formed on the northern islands: it’s on its way here. We’ll strike Űŕģüllpoļ together. Slovak people are rising up across the land and fighting bravely. And we have you to thank for that, too.”

Geľo finds it hard to get the words out.

Telgarth is quiet for a while.

“I’ll find out for you how strong Űŕģüllpoļ’s defences are,” he finally says. “At least you’ll know what you’re up against.”

“And then what?” Geľo asks. “What if we make it into the city?”

“Then we’ll have to proclaim a free Slovak State,” says Telgarth. “And defeat the remnants of Junjans.”

“You know how to do that?” Geľo asks. “Because I don’t.”

“Necessity teaches us everything,” says Telgarth. “First, the world has to learn of our just struggle. We’ll take Űŕģüllpoļ and then we’ll shout about our cause to the world. That’s the only way. We have to get the support of world opinion. That’s the strongest weapon these days.”

“We’ve got support,” retorts Geľo. “The Czechs are for us, after all.”

“The Czechs?” Telgarth laughs. “Do you want to know something about the Czechs?”

“I’m a simple hunter,” says Geľo. “I can fight boldly and can also think about that fight. But thinking about several battles is something I can’t do.”

“That’s what’s called tactical and strategic thinking,” says Telgarth. “You, Geľo, are an excellent tactician. And I’ll be the strategist. I’ll sell our truth to the world.”

“No selling, Telgarth!” says Geľo. “We won’t sell anyone our truth.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” laughs Telgarth. “I meant that I know what to do to get more respect from the world. And also to make them fear us. As you said the other day, deep in the tundra, lakes of mineral grease have burned ever since the world began. Well, that mineral grease is the most precious thing in the world. It’s worth more than gold.”

“But there’s plenty of gold here, too!” says Geľo.

“It’s because of the mineral grease that the Czechs are so keen to help us,” says Freddy. “Whoever has mineral grease is the master of the world. Everything you see round you, ships, aerosledges, electricity generators, aeroplanes, all run on mineral grease. Without mineral grease all life on the earth would come to a halt. That’s how it is.”

The men look in the fire in silence for a while, occasionally taking a nap. The bottle keeps circulating.

“I didn’t know that,” says Geľo after a moment.

In about an hour, Geľo’s son Juraj shakes Telgarth’s shoulder.

“The feet have touched the hands,” he whispers. “Hurry, Telgarth!”

“What’s happened?” asks Telgarth without understanding, woken from a semi-conscious chilly nap.

“The feet have touched the hands,” Juraj repeats. “One Russian has stopped breathing. The others are all blue, too.”

Telgarth gets up and pisses against a rocky wall. Then he approaches the tortured mercenaries. He selects one of them who is still conscious.

“Well, listen, tovarishch ,“ he addresses him in broken Russian. “Tell us now how many of your soldiers are waiting for us in Űŕģüllpoļ. A few? A lot? A great number?”

The Russian mumbles something. His mouth is gagged, and you can’t make it out. His eyes shine madly and his forehead is dripping giant drops of cold sweat.”

“I know you can’t wait to tell me,” says Telgarth sympathetically. “But take it easy. I’ll go for a short walk and when I return, I may listen to you. So consider your answer carefully. Think about it.”

The Russian can see Telgarth leaving and begins to emit muffled shouts of desperation. Telgarth smiles angelically. On purpose, he walks slowly across a stony plain with a thin covering of scrub. He walks to its edge and focuses his eyes. In the distance lies Űŕģüllpoļ. You can guess its location by its few lights. This is no Bratislava shining from afar.

This world is not only wild, but beautiful, thinks Telgarth fondly. He will have a good life here. It is not only that the simple rules of this world will be easy for him to keep, but also that he will be present at their creation. This will be Telgarth’s world. It will be a substitute for the Meccano set that he never got from his parents as a child, since they had to build a house and had no money to spare for him.

When Telgarth ambles back from his circuitous walk, the Russian is ready to talk. His voice keeps breaking; at every second sentence he demands that they release the rope tying his wrists to his ankles. Freddy magnanimously ignores his desperate demands. The guerrillas learn all that they need to know. The position of the mercenary army in Űŕģüllpoļ makes it extremely favourable for a rapid attack by Slovak units.

“And what if it’s a trap?” Geľo frowns.

“What trap?” Telgarth laughs. “Just look at him. He would even tell you what milk he sucked from his mother.”

“What are we going to do with them now, Telgarth?” asks the armed Slovak who has been guarding the Russians all this time. “Shoot them?”

“Why” Telgarth is puzzled. “No need to waste bullets. Why kill them? They’ll die on their own.”

He turns his back on the interrogated Russian and misses the mad expression in his eyes when the guard gags him again.

Early in the morning, Geľo’s unit meets up with a unit of fishermen. Besides rifles, they also carry harpoons, terrible weapons in the hands of anyone who knows how to use them. Altogether, that makes about five hundred men ready for anything.

The following night they attack Űŕģüllpoļ. The battle is brutal, and there are losses on both sides. Finally, the Slovak guerrillas take the city.

Telgarth consolidates his reputation as a brave fighter who is cruel to conquered enemies. He teaches his people yet another way of getting information from prisoners: hanging them by one foot.

“It’s very effective,” he explains to his fellow warriors. “To hang someone by both feet is nothing. But if he hangs by one foot, he doesn’t know what to do with the other one. For a while he can lock it with the one he’s hanging by, but he can’t do that for long. If he lets the free leg just hang there, he’ll go mad from pain. And when we untie him after interrogation, he can do splits like a ballerina for a few hours.”