Peter Pišťanek - The End of Freddy

One day Urban is in his office, wondering what to do next, casually leafing through the latest issue of Stern magazine. There is a big article about Junja there. One photograph captures a guerrilla commander with an eye patch standing amidst a group of his fighters, as he looks gravely straight into the camera lens. Below the picture is a caption which, translated from the German, reads: One of the most fearsome revolutionary leaders of the Junjan Slovaks, Telgarth, who has become deified in his own lifetime. The Slovaks’ struggle may be just, but their uncompromising stance hinders the peace process in Junja.

Urban freezes, dumbstruck. He recognizes Telgarth as his Freddy Piggybank. Is it possible? Freddy’s alive! And if Freddy is alive, so are Urban’s hopes of shedding the nasty burden now hanging round his neck now like a millstone.

Stern goes on to say:

… on the coast road by the airport we get to Űŕģüllpoļ, taken about two months ago by the guerrillas and renamed New Bystrica. We slowly approach the buildings. Right by the first buildings we see patrols of Slovaks. On the road are barricades patrolled by Slovaks who check our documents. Nearby is a group of foreign photo-journalists with cameras ready to shoot. They are dirty and the stress of their everyday work is obvious. One of them tells me in broken German that there is no more fighting in the city. While he is saying this, a constant noise of shooting comes from the streets. People walk by as if nothing was happening. We pass through the city. The streets are full of armed men. They shoot only in the air. Slovak guerrillas are celebrating.

“Three helicopters carrying mercenaries came yesterday,” a cameraman from the Czech weekly Reflex announces. “The Slovaks fought back. Some mercenaries in the commando were killed; the rest flew away. A group of mercenaries fearing capture committed suicide by shooting. Two helicopters were left burning on the tarmac.”

Nobody knows why the helicopters came and flew away. “They came to rape Slovak girls,” is the rabble-rousing claim of the commander of the city, Telgarth, a living legend among the Junjan Slovaks and at present the most famous guerrilla leader. Foreign analysts believe that after the Slovak forces’ final victory Telgarth will be head of state.

It is certain that the population, mostly of Slovak and or part-Slovak race, has joined the guerrillas. The government invaders had to retreat. Residents of Junjan origin have fled the city. Those who failed to do so were beaten and had their heads shaved. After taking the city, the Slovaks, led by the guerrillas, raided the Junjan army stores where they found a supply of handguns, so that everyone is armed to the teeth.

We pass a burning airport building. Everywhere are traces of fighting. Nobody is putting out fires. Everyone is trying to steal whatever he can use. Doors, tables, chairs, metal rods… Under our feet we hear the crackle of dozens of cartridges. We visit the rebels’ headquarters in the main railway station building, about a kilometre from the airport. Junja has about three hundred kilometres of railway, but the main station is a monumental marble building erected in the best traditions of socialist brutalism. The road is littered with giant concrete blocks and wrecked cars. The guerrillas move about in cars that can only be called “wrecks”. One wreck looks particularly ugly. As if a napalm bomb had exploded in it. “There were four of them inside,” an American CNN cameraman says. “One fired an anti-tank weapon at a helicopter trying to land. The helicopter exploded, but the reactive gases burned everything in the car. They’re crazy.”

In the new masters’ car park we see old Volga, Moskvich, Pobeda, Kharkov vehicles, and military GAZ jeeps. It looks like a working open-air museum of the Soviet car industry. The cars are in a dreadful state, with no doors or bonnets, their bodywork bullet-ridden. The broken windows bristle with gun barrels. Even a month after the conquest of the city, there is no calm and the guerrillas rush about to mop up the last bits of dying resistance. This is a war not of tanks and armoured personnel carriers, but of obsolete Moskviches, driven roughly by people who a month ago had no idea what a car was.

By the building’s entrance we see a few prisoners tightly tied in a coil. This punishment is commander Telgarth’s speciality. He uses it as an educational tool and as an ingenious way of executing people. No wonder this enigmatic and charismatic guerrilla leader gets such respect from his men and arouses such horrible panic and hatred in his enemies.

We are expected. Escorted by guards, we enter the hall. We walk through offices. All the doors are open. In one of office we meet commander Telgarth who has been expecting us. He is a stocky middle-aged man. He looks ordinary and normal except for a black eye patch over his right eye, which gives him an extremely combative look. He is dressed in a fur jacket and trousers. He wears fur boots. He sits at a desk in the middle of a looted room. On the right of the desk lies his submachine gun, on the left is a pistol: both are Czech made. He smiles and in broken German offers us tea. He is evidently proud of his linguistic ability. He waves his hand and an armed men hand us envelopes. I open mine: it is an ordinary press kit, as if we were somewhere in Europe, attending a press conference with the manager of a successful company, not in the middle of a raging civil war. The kit includes an information bulletin divided into chapters:

Who are the Junjan Slovaks?

Who are Junjans?

Who are the mercenaries fighting for Junjans?

Why have Junjans forfeited their right to live?

What will Junja be like after the Slovak Liberation Movement’s victory?

There are also colour slides attached to a page. I hold them to the light of a paraffin lamp. One shows atrocities by foreign mercenaries against Slovaks. Another shows Telgarth holding a weapon, looking into the distance with clear eyes. Yet another shows a group of Slovaks in typical fur outfits: one is Telgarth — probably a commanders’ meeting.

An armed man brings tea; Telgarth is ready to take our questions.

Q: Mr Telgarth, was Űŕģüllpoļ conquered under your command?

A: I am one of several leaders of the Slovak resistance. The supreme commander of the guerrilla unit that took the former Űŕģüllpoļ, now New Bystrica, four weeks ago was Colonel Todor-Lačný-Dolniak, a Slovak national hero. I am his deputy with my own command authority.

Q: In the political staff of the resistance you play an important role. What is your function?

A: First of all, I am a soldier of the Slovak revolution and any political functions today, while combat continues, have little meaning. After the final victory, I will, however, hold the office of chief administrator.

Q: What does that mean?

A: I shall be responsible for creating the independent Slovak state’s power structures; for maintaining order and security against internal and external enemies; for the purity of language and of the Slovak race; for education, culture, and trade; for foreign policy; for everything.

Q: Ah, that seems quite a demanding role.

A: Yes, I enjoy the confidence of the Slovak people.

Q: There are voices in the Slovak resistance that point out that you are a foreigner in Junja and should not have such an important position in the leadership of the resistance.

A: I’m not aware of any such discussion. I have proved my devotion to the national cause so many times by risking my life, that nobody can have any doubts. I even suffered for the national cause in a labour camp where I would be to this day, if I hadn’t managed to escape. Today I have enormous power, but also great responsibility. It is true that I was not born in the Slovak Archipelago, but I’m as good and true Slovak as my fellow combatants. Napoleon was a Corsican, not a Frenchman. And Stalin was not a Russian, but a Georgian. If you think about it, all Slovaks are foreigners here.