Peter Pišťanek - The End of Freddy

Introduction Peter Pišťanek (pronounced Pishtyanek ) is one of the most talented prose writers to appear after the fall of communism in Slovakia. He was born in 1960 in Devínska Nová Ves, a village now swallowed up by Bratislava, the capital of Slovakia. He enrolled in Bratislava’s Academy of Performing Arts, but did not graduate. He was also a drummer in a very well known rock group. At the end of the 1980s he began to publish in the literary monthly Slovenské Pohľady (Slovak Views). His breakthrough came with Rivers of Babylon (1991), a novel that caused a sensation and catapulted him into fame. That novel was the first part of a trilogy (now all published by the Garnett Press in English), followed by The Wooden Village and this novel, The End of Freddy . Since the end of the 1990s Peter Pišťanek has worked for advertising agencies and radio and edited an influential Internet magazine Inzine . He has also become an expert on brandies and whiskies.

Pišťanek’s reputation is assured by originality, craftsmanship and imaginative inventiveness. The End of Freddy , which Pišťanek declared to be his swan-song, is a magnificent finale to the trilogy: the scene now extends from the earlier novels’ Bratislava and its environs to Prague and Russia’s Arctic North, and to the fictional, but only too real, post-Soviet Khanate of Junja, where descendants of Slovak slaves rebel against their rulers, and the Czech state seizes its chance to acquire great power status.

The stoker turned gangster Rácz from the earlier Rivers of Babylon novels continues to grow in monstrous stature, just as the car park attendant turned porn-film scriptwriter Freddy Piggybank achieves unexpected glory. A host of new characters, from the primitive Junjans with their unpronounceable language, to a happy band of Czech naval officers, gives Pišťanek’s novel a Dickensian richness. To the ruthless intrigues of individuals is added a wide-ranging and convincing account of rebellion and civil war. The black irony of the earlier novels is, if possible, even darker, but its Czech scenes bring in positive characters and an affectionate tone, new to his readers.

The original novel switches with virtuosity from Slovak to Czech whenever the action demands. The translator and editor have decided to render the difference (the two languages differ little more than Edinburgh Scots from London English) not by writing different forms of English (which would have had undesirable side-effects), but by printing what was originally written in Czech in the more imperial Garamond typeface.

Time and place

The novel is set in the mid-1990s, when Czechoslovakia has split into two states, and Slovakia seems an anything-goes playground for mafias and corrupt politicians, while the Czech state, now a Kingdom in the novel’s imaginary world, pursues a more ambitious role in Europe. The fictional Junjan Archipelago lies beyond the Arctic Circle of the Russian mainland and, in shape, seems very like the Shetland Islands, magnified by ten and rotated 90 degrees.

Currency

The Slovak and Czech crowns were then worth about 50 to the pound.

Some characters and how to pronounce their names

We keep Slovak and Czech spellings of characters’ names, but here is a guide to a few more problematic and important ones. (Junjan names, given the language Pišťanek has invented for them, will defeat even the most smooth-tongued linguist.) All Slovak and Czech names are stressed on the first syllable:

Rácz, head of Slovak mafia pronounce as Rahts

Kubeš, Czech naval officer Koobesh

Mešťánek, Freddy Piggybank’s real name Meshtyanek

Geľo Todor-Lačný-Dolniak, Junjan Slovak rebel pronounce as

Gelyo Todor-Lachnee-Dolnyak

Mozoň, ex-secret policeman Mozogne [ n as in Boulogne ]

Peter Petro and Donald Rayfield

At this point my much respected readers should be asked if they’ve ever heard of a gentleman called Rácz. Of course, this is purely a rhetorical question, because if the reader in his boundless kindness has already reached for this modest book, then the author will not be presumptuous in assuming that the name of Rácz is not totally unfamiliar to the reader.

This literary hero’s faithful supporters and admirers will certainly be pleased to be told that, in my imagination, he is still having an excellent time. His hotels, restaurants, pizzerias, and casinos prosper just as they did in previous Rivers of Babylon books. He is doing equally well in other business activities. Since he is an influential man and knows how to win over similarly influential people, he has managed to privatise successfully some lucrative businesses. Take, for example, the once famous Stupava brewery that was recently going broke. Rácz bought it for peanuts and everybody thought that he was going to asset-strip it. But not Rácz. Not this time. Beer, unlike banking or insurance business, really amused him. He didn’t strip its assets: on the contrary, he surrounded himself by experts and invested in new technology. The quality of Stupavar 11˚, once so popular, went up. It won a prize at the Agrokomplex Fair and even got a gold medal at the Munich Beer Festival. Using sophisticated media campaigns he taught people how to drink Stupavar. And their new product, the dark beer Mast 16˚? It flies off the shelves even in the Czech lands. And that is, as they say, something.

Rácz is no great beer expert. When he needed experts, he bought them. He doesn’t drink much beer. He watches his weight. The slightest hint of a paunch is quickly dealt with in his home fitness room. He prefers good whisky, the best. He has been faithful to the Chivas Regal brand for many years, but won’t say no to other reputable brands either.

“It’s not only Scotland where they know how to distil a good whisky! Not just Heevash Reygahl !” he remarks and taps a bottle labelled Single Malt. “Malta, too! This Maltese one is quite good!”

Lately, he’s acquired a taste for cognac. If you want to please him, give him a bottle of XO . He’s sure to appreciate it.

Someone once brought him a bottle of a valuable old Armagnac. Rácz thanked him, so as not to offend the donor, but secretly gave the bottle to his chief bodyguard, Mozoň. “Rácz drinks only French cognac!” he declared condescendingly. “Armenian cognac, from what used to be Russia, is only good for ex-secret policemen.”

Rácz never refuses a good bourbon, either. “It doesn’t always have to be just Scottish or Maltese whisky,” he says. “Even the French can make a good one. Their bourbon’s not bad at all.”

So much about Rácz’s consumer habits.

He enjoys living in the luxury villa above the city. He’s not often to be found there, however. You’re more likely to find him in the Hotel Ambassador Rácz, where he has his office.

If he manages to get home early occasionally, he devotes himself to his family. It’s his temple and his refuge in the rough seas of the mundane duties and worries of a major businessman and a man of power. His beautiful, intelligent wife Lenka has borne him two sons: the older, Karol, and the younger, Attila. The boys are bright; they study well. Next year, Karol will go to an élite boarding school in Great Britain.