Peter Pišťanek - The End of Freddy

Suddenly Geľo stops the dog sledge, flings himself onto the ground and examines the reindeer droppings. They tell him when the reindeer herds passed by. He clears the snow with a stick, and removes moss, grass, and willow leaves: they tell him which way the reindeer passed.

“I have nobody in Slovakia now,” says Freddy. “My family’s been taken from me. My parents are dead. And my friends? You’ve always been my only friend.”

Urban is quiet. If he weren’t a cynic, he’d have said he was moved at that moment. A man has to fly thousands of kilometres and trek through hundreds of kilometres to know someone whom he thought he had known for so many years.

And again the guerrillas’ sledges rush into the wind. The lead dog finally smells human habitation and turns sharp left, rushing ahead, straining its last remnants of energy.

A man’s silhouette appears in the dark.

“Who are you, in God’s name?” shouts Geľo and gets ready to fire his submachine gun.

The unknown man recognizes Geľo’s voice and comes up.

“Geľo?” he shouts, “Is that you, brother? Don’t shoot!”

“Martin!” shouts Geľo and jumps off the sledge.

They introduce each other, and Telgarth passes round his bottle of moonshine.

Urban is amazed again to see what respect and admiration Telgarth commands among these people. Everyone knows his name.

“In this weather, wolves get at the herd,” says Martin. “They attack the deer every night. We don’t have enough herders. So I’ll help them. I, too, have ten times ten reindeer over there!” he adds, not without pride.

“Is the herd far away from here, brother?” asks Geľo.

“Not far,” says Martin. “If you run, you’ll sweat only eight times. That’s why I’m walking. There’s no point taking out the wind sledge.”

“And where are your yurts?” Geľo asks.

“Here, quite near,” says Martin. “You’ll sweat only three times.”

“Are my children and wife all right?” asks Geľo.

“They’re fine,” says Martin. “Kresan’s made them their own yurt.”

“And how about your Maria?” asks Geľo about his sister-in-law.”

“Oh, she’ll be glad to see you!” Martin says.

“And Zuza and her child are fine?” asks Geľo after his sister-in-law and future wife inherited from his brother. He feels as if something has moved in his crotch.

“All’s as it should be,” Martin assures him. “They’re with your family.”

“And our father?” asks Geľo.

“He died a few weeks ago,” says Martin. “He went out at night to take a shit in the tundra and the wolves tore him apart.”

“So the wolves did it,” Geľo nods. “And is Kresan at home?”

“He is,” nods Martin. “He’s been waiting for you for a long time.”

“Take us there, brother, and then one of us will take you to the herd,” Geľo proposes.

“Wise words, in God’s name, brother!” agrees Martin, takes another sip of moonshine, shoulders his rifle and hops onto Geľo’s sledge.

* * *

Kresan’s herds are numberless. His wealth cannot be counted. Where his reindeer pass, no moss will grow even after three warm summers. They’re divided into ten herds. In each herd, there are twenty times twenty, and twice more twenty times twenty. That’s how many reindeer old Kresan has. You can’t keep them in one herd: they get restless for lack of moss and will run away from you.

Each herd comes with ten tents where the herders and their families live. Ever since the guerrillas’ women and children from the coast joined them, that makes more than a thousand souls. They’re all employed and fed by Kresan. But nobody is idle. The children help the herders with the herds; the women process the meat, milk, and skins. They smoke the reindeer cheese, salt, mix, and preserve the reindeer feta in round wooden churns. Every pair of hard-working hands is needed.

Kresan lets each of his herders keep a pair of their own reindeer. Then the herdsman sees himself as a small farmer and runs round exhausting himself, protecting at the same time Kresan’s huge herd.

Kresan is a good Slovak, but he likes to get on with everyone. When the Junjan extortionists come, he complains, but gives them whatever they ask for. If they raise their demands, he gives them more. He doesn’t want trouble. He’s hard on his own people, but yielding to Junjans. He’s not cowardly, just reasonable. He knows that if he made enemies of the Junjans during a civil war, they’d send their mercenaries to destroy him.

The reindeer in the tundra are easily harmed. Junjan revenge would starve, as well as Kresan, a thousand people: a thousand good Slovak men and women. Kresan can’t fight for the whole Slovak nation. It’s enough for him to fight for his employees. So he yields. His commitment to the Slovak cause is met by supplying Slovak guerrillas with dried meat, reindeer cheese and other foodstuffs behind the Junjans’ backs. In the tundra he makes and maintains secret storage places for weapons, ammunition, tins and medicine brought by Czech submarines.

So when Junjan mercenaries come to requisition reindeer, he gives them, without a word, as many as they ask for. Only he knows what he’s thinking then. The positive side is that he can also supply the guerrillas with fresh information on the mercenaries’ movements in the taiga.

“Let’s be true Slovaks, but not everyone has to know about it,” he’s glad to repeat when his close relatives are around.

As soon as news spreads of Geľo’s and his men’s arrival, the whole Kresan settlement comes to life, as if night were over and it was time to get up.

Kresan, too, wakes up. He lies on soft reindeer skins, covered by a fox-fur coverlet. He looks blank for a moment, but then he gets up. He calls in both daughters and his bride and gives them each an order:

“Anča and Cila, cook a full pot of walrus meat. The lean one! These slant-eyed Slovaks from the coast are mouse-eaters! They don’t understand good reindeer meat. You needn’t keep serving them the best. And you, Mária, light another lamp. Light two! Three! Kresan’s not a poor man, he’s not going to welcome special guests in the dark.”

Geľo, Telgarth, the priest and Urban clamber into the warm corner.

“Is that you, Geľo?” Kresan asks.

“Yes, it is,” answers Geľo.

“And Telgarth himself!” an amazed Kresan shouts, recognizing Telgarth by his black eye patch. “Oh, what an honour for an ordinary poor reindeer herder! Oh, how many brave heroes in my unworthy yurt!”

The men sit down round the reclining Kresan.

“This is Urban,” Geľo presents his guest. “He’s from overseas, too, from the Slovaks’ country. He came to see Telgarth; they’re old friends.”

Urban bows awkwardly.

Well, I can see that we can’t lose if even foreign Slovaks support us,” exclaims Kresan. “Slovaks must stick together! This is how, look!”

Kresan clenches his dry hands and presses them to his chest so everyone can see.

“Slovak brother, embrace your mother!” he adds.

“Do you know why we’ve come, uncle Kresan?” asks Geľo.

“Yes, your messenger arrived three days ago,” Kresan confirms.

“We were held up on the coast, until we found the number of dogs we needed,” says Geľo.

“It’s all ready, as you asked,” reports Kresan. “Yesterday the herders brought the ammunition and tinned food. One storage place was found and looted by Ökötöm-kökötom, the snow monster, but he left the tins alone. And we’ll give you lots of reindeer cheese and dry meat. After all, you fight for us, too, my heroes. And what’s new? How is our cause?”

Geľo was about to open his mouth, but Kresan interrupts.