Peter Pišťanek - The End of Freddy

Urban sighs, picks up his tackle and slowly sets off back to the hotel. It is time to prepare for the dinner.

As usual, there’s no hot water. And even several bangs on the pipes with a blunt object won’t change a thing. Never mind, Urban will take a cold shower. And gladly. He only has to think of the months spent with Telgarth, Geľo and their regiment in the inhospitable tundra. Then he couldn’t shower or bathe at all. He suffered like an animal. Geľo and the other Junjan Slovaks were used to it, they’d never bathed much. At most twice a year, they’d heat up stones in the bath, but at other times they would just roll in the snow. Freddy never had any particularly rigorous hygiene routine, so he did not mind. When Urban’s entire body and head began to itch, then he would force himself to undress, go out into the snow and thoroughly wash his body with it, like the other men. Each time he had a small heart attack and his body went into convulsions. So a cold shower in the Hotel Ambassador does not bother him at all.

After his bath, he wraps himself in a sheet and lies down for a while. He falls asleep and only by chance wakes up at half past seven. He quickly puts on his suit. He bought it himself at Telgarth’s prompting a few days after victory. The SNFL leaders needed to wear something other than fur and camouflage; foreign visitors and journalists had turned into a flood after victory. Freddy again showed more resourcefulness than the simple hunter Geľo. He asked Urban (“You were always so fashion-conscious.”) to fly to Norway in a requisitioned Yak 40, quickly repainted as a government plane, and buy each leader a good quality suit, tie, shirt, shoes, belt, hat, and a coat. For himself, too. Urban obeyed. He was given gold to pay with. Two Slovaks from Košice, ex-military pilots who’d been kicked out of the air force, flew the plane. Like other adventurers, they came to Junja and fought in the Slovak Liberation Army. As pilots, they bombed Junjan mercenary positions from the air, using planes taken from the mercenaries. One man was pilot, the other stood tied to an open door, throwing bunches of hand grenades on mercenaries’ heads. Urban flew in the pilot’s cabin, listening to their incredible stories.

They landed on their last drops of fuel at Kirkenes airport in Norway. Urban went to town, to sell the gold in a jeweller’s, and then they went to a small department store near the airport to shop. Urban had a rough idea of the quantity and size of the suits he had to buy. In the end he was happy to have bought the necessary number. Just to be sure, he bought extra shirts. They didn’t have very many coats, and he bought just all the hats they had, that is, eight in all. The pilots kept carrying it all to the plane and Urban just kept buying. In the grocer’s he bought three thousand dollars’ worth of delicatessen items. There was a bigger problem with alcohol. The woman in the store was reluctant, but when she got a hundred dollars for her own pocket, Urban could choose whatever he wanted. A few cases of champagne, a case of bourbon, a case of whisky, a case of cognac, and ten cases of vodka crowned Urban’s successful day’s shopping.

When he got safely back to New Bystrica, on the last drops of fuel, the leaders of the uprising tried on their suits. Some found a jacket that fitted, others trousers. Finally everyone had something. Urban had to tie everybody’s ties: his fingers had cramp by the last tie.

Next came formal picture taking. The leaders of the uprising were smiling proudly, but amiably. In the middle stood Telgarth and Geľo, the two supreme representatives of the free Slovak Archipelago. Around them stood the others: Geľo’s brother Samo and his son Juraj, Šebo, Sirovec-Molnár, Turanec-Štefánik, Kyselica, Jakub Kresan, the priest, Ondrej Jančo-Divný, Fero Premieň and other front leaders. It was the first group photograph of the Provisional Government of the Slovak Archipelago Republic.

“How about you, Urban?” Telgarth shouted, as the photographer was already setting his aperture and focusing.

“Why me?” asked a puzzled Urban, putting away the cases, boxes, and bags in which the clothes and shoes had been packed.

“Come and have your picture taken with us!” suggests Telgarth.

“Why me?” Urban smiled. “I’m not a politician at all.”

“You fought with us, for God’s sake!” Geľo joined in. “You’re one of us!”

“Sure,” said Telgarth. “Come over here! Make room for him!”

“But I’m not a government member…” Urban tried to wriggle out.

“You’re my adviser!” claimed Telgarth. “My adviser on… integration.”

“Well, in that case…” Urban shrugged, threw the boxes aside, checked his tie and stepped into the frame.

The photograph flew round all the world’s media.

And this is the suit that Urban is now wearing, as he dashes to the former Khan’s palace, where he is expected for dinner.

His steps echo down the wide avenue. Strange country and strange city, he tells himself, looking at the megalomaniac buildings among which, here and there, a pedestrian figure in a hurry emerges.

A surprise awaits him in Telgarth’s palace.

When he hands the servant his coat and scarf and enters the room, Telgarth and his mysterious guest are already having an aperitif.

“Rácz!” says Urban in shock.

Rácz turns to Urban with a smile.

“Urban,” he says. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Man…” Urban catches his breath. “I really wasn’t expecting you.”

“And are you glad to see Rácz, or not?” Rácz enquires.

“Now that I don’t depend on your good will, I’m glad,” says Urban.

Rácz takes it as a joke and starts to laugh. An obviously tense Telgarth joins him, forcing a smile.

“Yes,” Rácz concurs. “Rácz was always a man of good will.”

He interpreted it his way again, Urban tells himself. As always.

“So the old company is back together,” says Telgarth cheerfully, as if there ever had been any kind of old company.

“Rácz is glad to see his good old friends doing so well,” says Rácz menacingly.

The servant by the drink table gives Urban a questioning look.

“I’d like champagne and a drop of vodka,” Urban tells him.

Urban gets his drink. He looks at the bottle like a connoisseur. They are the same bottles he brought from Kirkenes some time ago. Soon it will be time to do more shopping.

“Listen,” Rácz continues jovially. “Rácz has found you two getting up to no good without Rácz, so he’s flown straight after you. You’ll get nowhere without Rácz.”

Urban feels shivers going up his spine and into his ears. Whenever he heard Rácz try a clumsy joke, he had shivers right down to his behind.

“Rácz has come to help us, Urban,” Telgarth tells Urban, apparently reciting lines Rácz has drilled into him. “The Slovak Archipelago is awash with oil. When extraction starts, the Arabs are finished. But huge capital sums are needed for that. And I don’t want to let any fucking foreign capitalists here. No multinational conglomerates. We’re against globalisation. We want a market society compatible with the rest of the civilised world, but we want to get there in our own special way. All the profits have to stay here, in the Slovak Archipelago Republic that we shall soon proclaim.”

“And you’re going to put in the capital?” Urban asks Rácz.

“Well, I’ve saved up a little bit,” says Rácz. “And if need be, I’ll sell all my companies in Slovakia. That would be a beginning.”

“You don’t need much to begin with,” says Telgarth.

“Nobody will steal that oil from us,” says Rácz. “We’re in no hurry. Rácz is doing everything with forethought.”

“And shouldn’t Geľo be here, too?” Urban asks. “As far as I know, he is the Prime Minister.”