Peter Pišťanek - The End of Freddy

“Žofa!” he orders his bride. “Are our guests to talk with dry throats? Where’s the tea? And you, Jakub, where’s the booze, damn it all!”

The youngest son reaches for a carefully cleaned plastic bottle and treasured plastic cups. Kresan pours the drinks.

Geľo tells him about the situation at the front. The old herder listens with interest. Now he asks for explanation, now he nods sympathetically.

All this time, women in the kitchen corner use a hammer to break frozen raw meat into small pieces, slice the roast, take smoked tongues out of the pot, and make a salad of mushrooms, green herbs and roots cooked in fat. Soon Kresan’s yurt wafts a tempting aroma of delicacies.

“So the mercenaries seem to be resisting hard,” reflects Kresan when Geľo finishes. He pours more drinks. “Are they on your tracks?”

“They’re pursuing us,” says Geľo. “But they’ll be looking for most of us on the northern islands. We’ve swept our tracks clean.”

“They won’t look for you here,” says Kresan. “I put on an act for them and pretend to be on their side. One of their units may wander over here, but we’ll know long in advance. The herders on the pastures won’t miss a thing.”

“But they’ll come,” says Geľo. “They will. A unit of mercenaries will come here for certain. It’s been planned to happen.”

“Who planned it?” says Kresan with fear.

“We’ll discuss it later,” says Geľo. “Telgarth has come up with an excellent plan to capture Tökörnn Mäodna alive. But tell him yourself,” he asks Freddy.

Freddy blushes. They all look at him. So he starts to talk. Even though he’s learned quite a lot of Junjan Slovak dialect, he still uses a lot of fast Bratislava language. Geľo, who more or less understands him, occasionally has to interpret for him.

Freddy’s plan is simple. When the Junjan soldiers caught him a few days ago, he deliberately told Mäodna that the guerrilla leaders’ women and children were hiding at Kresan’s. So Tökörnn Mäodna won’t miss a catch like that: he’ll come here in person. In the meantime, Kresan will send all the women and children to safety in distant pastures. The settlement will be full of Geľo’s men dressed as herders. It will be a trap God would wish for. When the mercenaries come, the guerrillas will overpower them and wipe them out. They’ll take Mäodna alive.

Kresan shakes his head in disbelief. He utters incomprehensible shouts of amazement. He falls to the ground and jerks his head and arms and legs only to freeze suddenly, his eyes staring wildly. His expressions of admiration and respect are so exorbitant that Freddy is embarrassed.

“Without Mäodna, the Junjans are lost,” exclaims Kresan, when he takes his place and recovers from his astonishment.

“Yes, indeed,” says Geľo. “Victory will be ours.”

“And when are we going to do it?” Kresan enquires.

“We must wait,” says Geľo, “here, at your place. The mercenaries are on our tail, but we’re well ahead. But I know they’ll show up.”

“My herders have eyes everywhere,” says Kresan. “If just one mercenary appears within a thousand kilometres, we’ll be the first to know.”

Kresan orders another bottle of spirits and pours for everyone. Freddy’s cup is filled to the top.

“I’m already looking forward to life after victory,” says Kresan. “We’ll be the masters here. Nobody will be able to seize my modest property. If a Junjan comes near my settlement or my herd, he’ll get a bullet. There’ll be no pity. Let them all starve to death.”

“Yes,” says the priest. “We’ll be the masters here. Life will be happy. We’ve never known a life like that. We’ll have to get used to it.”

“It’s easy to get used to good things,” says Kresan.

“But we’ll have to get used to responsibility, as well,” the priest points out firmly.

“And what about you, Geľo?” Kresan asks. “What will you do after victory? Will you go into politics?”

“What an idea!” says Geľo. “First of all, I don’t understand politics and secondly, I’m doing it right now. After victory, others can take over. People who are true fighters and have education!” He looks at Telgarth.

“Will you go back to the coast?” Kresan asks.

“Maybe I will,” says Geľo. “I’ll trade fur and mineral grease. I was always good at trading. And I’ll hunt just for pleasure!”

“You’ve planned an excellent life for yourself,” Kresan adds.

“I only miss reindeer,” says Geľo. “Live reindeer. I have no herd. We’re poor at the coast. When hunting’s good, we eat. When it’s bad, we starve. And reindeer don’t have to be followed across ice floes. So, as soon as the war ends, I want to have a herd. I want to be like you.”

The old Kresan becomes more attentive.

“Well, we in the tundra are poor, too,” he says evasively. “The herd is attacked either by wolves, or disease. It must be better for you on the coast. The wolves certainly don’t attack seals and walrus as they attack reindeer. But if you like, I’ll help you. After all, we’re family! For every ten Junjans you or your men kill, you’ll get one reindeer from me. Just bring me their right ears, that’s all I need.”

Kresan reaches into his jacket and shows them ears on a thread. Some are fleshy, others as transparent as parchment. Big male ears and small soft female ones, too.

“They’re from the times when we settled accounts with the collective farm officials and their families.” The women hurriedly bring plates with various dishes. Kresan tries a little bit from each course.

Urban takes smoked reindeer tongue in a spicy sauce as this reminds him of a speciality from Prague’s Domažlice Room.

Geľo just toys with the delicacies and soon takes his leave. He’d like to see his family: he hasn’t seen them for such a long time.

* * *

Elena is waiting in her yurt with the children. Her hair is cleverly braided in a complex hairdo of thin plaits anointed with reindeer fat. She is wearing a festive dress made from skins of unborn reindeer calves, embroidered with coloured threads. The children are also well dressed and they’re excited to see their father.

Geľo opens the curtain and looks at his family.

“Is that you, husband?” asks Elena.

“Yes, it’s me,” says Geľo.

He puts away his weapons and comes to his children.

Jurko follows him into the yurt wearing ammunition belts and carrying a machine gun in his hands.

Geľo caresses each child and kisses its forehead. He gives them the modest gifts from Prague that he has been carrying all this time. He embraces and kisses his wife.

“And what happened to your hair?” asks Elena.

“It’s a long story,” says Geľo.

Elena discreetly points to a fur curtain dividing the yurt.

Geľo goes to the curtain and opens it.

Behind the curtain kneels Zuzana, his brother Adam’s widow, holding a child in her arms. She is also dressed for a special occasion. Around her eyes are tattoos of orange suns, so that she looks as if she had huge eyes. She looks at the ground.

“Get up and join us,” says Geľo.

Zuzana humbly gets up and, her gaze lowered, moves with tiny steps to join Elena.

“I’ve decided,” says Geľo, “to accept you as my wife once my sister-in-law. I accept your and Adam’s daughter Kristina as my daughter once my niece.”

“She’s a good wife,” says Elena, “and she’s sure to win your love, husband. We got along well in your absence.”

“My sister-in-law Elena was a good support for me during my unspeakable sadness, sir,” says Zuzana. “If it weren’t for her, I’d have died of sadness after Adam’s death.”