“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.”
“Why the ‘sir’?” Geľo shakes his head and sits down. “If you want me as your husband, call me Geľo. If not, call me Geľo, anyway.”
Zuzana blushes.
“So?” Geľo wants to know. “Do you agree?”
“Oh, yes,” Zuzana says quickly. She throws herself at Geľo’s hand and covers it with kisses.
“In that case,” says Geľo, “and if my wife Elena also agrees, we can be married tomorrow by the priest.”
“I agree,” nods Elena. “At least I won’t be so bored here.”
Geľo gives Zuzana a gift of perfume from Prague.
“You won’t have to wait for me much longer, my wives,” Geľo assures both women. “Victory is near. Then we all go back to the coast. We shall live as never before. And now, let’s have some food.”
Between courses, Geľo drinks moonshine and lovingly watches his children play with their new toys. They don’t even want to eat. Jurko helps his mother and Zuzana.
“And you, Jurko, sit here, by me,” Geľo addresses him. “You’re a real fighter and guerrilla. You’ve been through fire and blood with us. You took Űŕģüllpoļ and fought in the encirclement. You’ve always been at my side. From now on, you sleep in the men’s corner. And take this, and drink it! A man needs a drink of spirits, not to hold on to his mother’s skirts!” The boy, flattered by the compliments, sits next to his father. Soon another course arrives, fish baked with herbs in the ashes.
“Well, in God’s name!” Geľo sighs and loosens his belt. “It’s good to be home! And it will be even better!”
* * *
The party at Kresan’s yurt really gets going only with the third bottle of moonshine.
Urban expresses an interest in being introduced to the ladies.
Kresan nearly chokes on his food: mixed company is not the custom in the tundra. Finally, not to offend the special guest from afar, he agrees. He claps his hands to call the women of his family to the men’s corner.
The women come. They blush and cover their faces as they giggle.
“Why don’t you sit nearer us?” Urban enquires.
Freddy chews a bit of meat. He burps and rubs his ear. He knows something of local customs.
“In the country Urban and I come from, it’s customary for ladies to sit at the same table,” he says in explanation. “Not just at weddings and funerals, like here.”
“Then who cooks the food and serves?” asks one of Kresan’s sons who has until then been quietly eating and drinking.
“Everything is cooked in advance,” says Urban. “And then they consume it.”
“Then they what?” Kresan can’t understand.
“Then they eat and drink,” says Freddy. “Men and women together.”
“And after the meal?” asks the youngest of Kresan’s sons, Jakub, who is still single.
“After the meal, the party goes on,” says Freddy.
“With women present?” Kresan is astonished.
“Yes, with the women,” Freddy confirms: his voice suggests that he withdrew his moral support from this custom a long time ago.
“Then your country’s men are pitiable,” the old reindeer herder concludes. “Don’t they know that a woman’s tongue is a hundred times faster than the fastest dog sledge, but to no avail? That a woman’s garrulousness is like the tundra wind: it stops you speaking, steals words from your mouth and, if your constitution is weak, can even drive you mad.”