Peter Pišťanek - The End of Freddy

“That’s a bit awkward for them, isn’t it?” Urban smiles.

“It’s the jewel of their folk literature,” says Telgarth with conviction. “It’s our entrance ticket to the club of the world’s most cultured nations.”

“I see,” says Urban and, pretending to listen with interest, turns away from Freddy.

Kresan’s old father, obviously, will soon have to join the People Above. He recites with arms akimbo, like a visionary. Sometimes he makes small funny dance steps, sometimes his jerky motions mimic throwing a harpoon and other basic actions. He recites:

For no begraal!

Crownpont turmmissed,

Mork pinch crumdown.

Bont hazzerissed!

Chuk mahn bestage choosenu:

“Bergo! Falush? Inmead?”

Farbow no brokarah:

“Woolab acban winmead!”

Try slantban mordant,

Ment kaar da mamalpont,

For chinslob gordant,

Der punk soon gravlapont.

“Frick ent feer!”

Uthers feelsen mooleh.

Priktahn fan sholobahn,

Someken non bin fooleh!

“Bonga!” sant den pasha.

“Longa,” retorp masha.

Skrooni bot bagputen,

Vrooni muck lickputen!

“Has no one tried to work out what it might mean?” Urban whispers to Telgarth.

“No,” Telgarth shakes his head. “Why should they? After all, that mellifluous old Slovak is a great enough artistic experience. We Slovaks have the world’s loveliest language. Why bother about meaning?”

“I see,” Urban nods. “I understand.”

The old man is now slowly coming to the finale. He clenches his dry brown hands and shows them to the public like two wrinkled walnuts. His ecstatic gaze rises heaven-wards.

“Now Kresan’s grandson Jakub will take over,” whispers Freddy. “It’s a tradition that the last stanzas are recited by a new reciter.”

And indeed, to enthusiastic shouts, Kresan’s son relieves the old man. He loudly sets out to recite the rest of the epic:

Ona my heelah

Yola nigh meelah.

Minah sant krah,

Tunah ban krah! Wollah na bluh Boolah na fluh.

Meen ken forau

Forbrow bowdurf

Eh, Voylah!!

For lengsine.

Hipp Bowdurf!

Hipp Bowdurf!

Jakub’s performance sparks off spontaneous shouts of approval and admiration. They all congratulate his proud father. The groom toasts the grandfather and the grandson Kresan. He is evidently moved.

“But he said far less,” Urban criticises young Kresan’s performance.

“Why this constant fucking bitching?” Telgarth rounds on him. “It’s as if you were mocking the very essence of the Slovak nation. You know who you remind me of? The bloody Czechs. Yes, you have a Czech character!”

* * *

Indeed, Urban shows precious little appreciation of Telgarth’s newly discovered devotion to the ideals of the Slovak resistance and to the Junjan Slovaks’ national cause in general. But the thought that Urban could soon leave him and return to Europe is disagreeable to Telgarth.

Urban becomes Telgarth’s more or less involuntary companion. Any writer or journalist would have been happy to be so close to events talked about by the whole world, but not Urban. He is neither a writer, nor a journalist; the discomfort, the dirt and, in particular, being unable to get a table in a good café and order something nice is gradually getting on his nerves. Moreover, he misses his cousin Tina’s long, slim legs.

A few days after Geľo’s wedding he witnesses an unsuccessful attempt to catch Tökörnn Mäodna in Kresan’s settlement. Although the guerrillas shot all the mercenaries who came for easy pickings, Mäodna was not among them.

Urban then takes part in a legendary attack on the capital Ćmirçăpoļ, that Telgarth renamed New City. The guerrillas enter the city at night by train, and by morning they occupy the whole centre. After two days’ fighting, the guerrillas are surprised to get reinforcement from a Czech Army élite paratrooper regiment and capture the whole city for good.

The mercenaries are weakened: those who did not perish in combat, or weren’t hanged by one foot from street lamps, have run off into the tundra. Now that the Slovaks have imprisoned the Junjan Khan and his entire government, the mercenaries have lost any reason for loyalty. They were not going to get paid, anyway. And so they try to leave the archipelago in small scattered groups. Small mobile Slovak guerrilla units pursue and destroy them.

Freddy soon orders the prisoners to be released from the Kandźágtt camp. Freddy firmly rejects Geľo’s proposal to destroy and burn down the camp, so that not a trace remains. After all, who can tell if a correctional institution, from which escape is impossible, might not be needed?

“I’ve got no one here, Urban,” complains Telgarth, when a few days after victory they sit alone in some gruesome snack bar in the city’s port and pour themselves drinks from a well-stocked bar.

Telgarth’s personal guard is patrolling outside.

“But you’re surrounded by guerrillas waiting for any order you might give them, Telgarth,” Urban objects.

“Well yes, but you’re the only thing linking me to a civilisation I’ve abandoned over in Europe,” says Telgarth.

“What do you need a link for, when, in your own words, you’ve parted company with that world?” Urban enquires. “And especially if I have that bloody Czech character, as you’ve told me?”

“Look,” says Telgarth, “don’t take everything I say so literally. Here we are, just after a victorious war, facing terrible chaos. Keeping this up is a risky, deadly business. I have enormous responsibilities. I have a daily press conference and in the evening I give briefings to journalists. I’m writing a Constitution of the Slovak Archipelago Republic. I’m creating a new concept of the state. And I know nothing about all this. You were in politics, even in parliament. Why not be my adviser?”

“No, Freddy,” Urban laughs. “What advice could I give you? You’ve made your bed, so lie in it.”

“You’ve got experience,” says Telgarth. “All you need to do is put the brakes on me occasionally and tell me if such and such can’t be done. I need someone with an overview, someone I can fully trust.”

Telgarth pours himself and Urban a glass and gulps his down.

“Try and understand me,” he says. “Maybe I’m a bit depressed. I’m facing unimaginable duties. I have to make a free and sovereign Junjan Slovak state out of this wild country. And I also have other plans which I have to keep quiet about. And do you think anyone but me could see this through? Geľo? Frolo? Šebo? They’re simple hunters who bow to anyone who gives them a better gun than the old ones they shot walrus with.”

“You mean the Czechs?” Urban asks.

“I mean the Czechs,” Freddy nods. “A Czech won’t stop at screwing people who screw him.”

“Actually, I think that Czech aid was substantial all through the war,” objects Urban, “and still is. For example, everything we eat comes from the Czech Republic.”

“You’ve seen their flyer, haven’t you?” Freddy asks. “That’s the reason they’re doing it all.”

“But nobody’s told them yet that they’re not welcome,” says Urban.

“Their help was welcome,” says Telgarth slyly. “After we’ve finally liquidated the enemy, they can leave with our gratitude and good wishes. So? Will you agree to be my adviser? At least for the first few months?”

“What do I get for it?” Urban asks.