“They’re no good to us,” says Kresan. “They jam in this cold. On your way back, just throw them in an ice hole. Nothing good comes from a Russian. We’ve kept some Czech weapons, just in case. Czech weapons are good quality, and here you never know what can happen.”
Kresan wipes his mouth and gets up. He takes Telgarth and Urban outside to a neighbouring yurt. He draws the leather from the entrance and shows them what’s inside. The cold space inside is filled with a stack of wooden crates. Some have their covers open and all kinds of weapons can be seen packed in them.
“The herdsmen brought these yesterday from storage,” says Kresan. “If you like, you can start loading tomorrow morning.”
Urban spots a typical tin of Prague ham in one crate. He picks it up.
“What?” Freddy asks. “You feel like some?”
“How about you?” asks Urban. Just imagining eating or drinking anything makes him feel sick again.
“I don’t fancy those things any more,” says Telgarth. “I prefer the local food. There’s nothing tying me to your country. I’ve no one there.”
“But what about coffee and milk?” says Urban, pointing to a case of condensed milk.
“I don’t know,” Telgarth shrugs his shoulders. “I haven’t tasted it since I’ve been here. I prefer tea. Local tundra herb tea.”
“And wine?” Urban tests him.
“This is my wine,” Telgarth taps his fur coat that hides a flat bottle of moonshine. “That’s enough for me. Junjan Slovaks are modest.”
“And I suppose you’re a Junjan Slovak?” says Urban with a tiny hint of irony.
“I certainly am,” says Freddy.
He turns away from Urban and checks the ammunition in the crates.
Kresan joins Telgarth and Urban.
“Oh, there’s a lot of good food in the tin boxes,” he nods with admiration. “We’ve tasted everything. We liked this one best of all.”
Kresan grabs a half-kilogram tin of pork in its own gravy and shows it to them.
“What sort of meat is it?” he asks. “It’s delicious.”
“It’s pork,” says Urban.
“What?” Kresan hasn’t heard right.
“Pork,” says Freddy. “From a pig.”
“A pig?” Kresan is dumbfounded. “But that’s an insult to us. Do the Czechs have such an animal in their country?”
The reindeer herder shakes his head incredulously.
“Take it, uncle,” says Telgarth. “Take all the tins you like.”
Kresan is abashed.
“How could I?” he objects. “All this is for the guerrillas. I’m not going to deprive those who fight for me? We have our own reindeer meat. But to tell you truth, the tinned meat is different somehow, finer.”
Freddy makes him take two tins of pork. A piece of paper falls out of the case; the draught blows it into a crack in the wall.
Urban bends to pick it up.
“Leave it there,” says Kresan. “We get a lot of these papers. I can give you some. The paper says the Czechs want us to fight for them, for some sort of Czechoslovakia.”
“For what?” Urban is apprehensive.
“For Czechoslovakia,” Kresan repeats: clearly the word is awkward on his lips. He is someone unused to saying it every day.
Urban picks up the flyer.
Telgarth puts a finger to his lips. He looks at Urban meaningfully.
“We are sitting on the biggest oil reserves in the world,” he explains in a whisper. “When drilling starts, the Arabs are finished. And somehow the Czechs have found out. When they began bringing humanitarian aid, they brought geologists by submarine. They hired native guides and surveyed every square metre in the taiga. According to them, we’re the richest country in the world. I talked to them in Űŕģüllpoļ, before they flew back home with the samples. They were quite beside themselves. They never saw anything like it. Oil, gold, uranium, diamonds.”
Urban laughs.
“So that’s why you’re here, Freddy!” he says. “Well, I have to admit I’ve rather underestimated you. This is a different business than making porn films. Freddy Piggybank, oil sheikh!”
Kresan looks at them meekly. The newcomers are laughing, so he is too. He understands nothing of the fast Bratislava prattle.
“Papers like these are packed in every crate, he says. “But here nobody understand these Czech signs and squiggles.”
Urban reads:
Dear Slovak brothers.
It’s only recently that the Slovaks’ and Czechs’ common state was treacherously destroyed after almost 70 years of history. Today the time is coming which our nations have been waiting for so long: a common state of Slovaks and Czechs will be restored under its original name The Czechoslovak Kingdom! This time, however, the state will do without the degenerate population of the Carpathian Slovak republic, who also call themselves Slovaks. We have had enough of their quarrelsome and yet servile nature. This time we shall enter into a state union with you, good and forthright Slovaks of the Junjan archipelago, who follow in the steps of the heroes of the glorious works of Ondrej Sládkovič, Stano Chalupka, and Jan Botto. The former khanate will be renamed after our glorious victory Slovakia. After the liberation of the entire territory of Slovakia from the barbarian yoke and Junjan oppression, the brotherly Czech kingdom will extend all possible economic and cultural help, so that the living standard of our Slovak brothers will rise and will rapidly become full fledged citizens of a newly restored union state of Czechoslovakia.
Hurrah for the eternal friendship of the Czechoslovak nation!
Hurrah for Slovakia!
Death to the Junjan occupiers!
Hip, hip, hurrah!!
The Royal Czechoslovak National Committee in Exile The Slovak National Council in Exile
Urban finishes reading the flyer and gives it to Freddy.
Freddy shakes his head. “I know that flyer very well,” he says.
“When did the Czechs get submarines?” wonders Urban. “The country’s landlocked! Our newspapers say nothing at all about this.”
“It’s no big deal to buy a few submarines, is it?” asks Freddy. “Today anyone will sell you an old World War Two submarine. If the Czechs could have a merchant navy, why can’t they have submarines now? Who cares? The main thing is that they bring weapons and ammunition here. If you like, I’ll show you one of those submarines one day. From inside. You like those Czechs and I’ll introduce you to one of the captains. They’re interesting, outgoing people. They like having visitors and they’ll have a drink with you.”
“You’ve seen such a submarine already?” Urban asks.
“Seen?” Freddy brags. “I spent a week on board one. It was called the Kamýk. And ever since I became commander of New Bystrica, I’ve made friends of all the Czech captains that come here. How many times I’ve been there when the cargo is unloaded! I know them all. We used to have such parties together…”
“In New Bystrica?” Urban is at a loss.
“Yes, New Bystrica,” says Telgarth, “the new Slovak name for Űŕģüllpoļ!”
“You know,” says Urban, “there are places I’d like to see. I’ve been to the US. I shan’t go to Mars. But I’ve always wanted to be in a submarine.”
“When we’ve finished everything we have to do here,” promises Freddy, “we’ll go back to the south coast and attack New Bystrica. After we conquer it, Czech submarines will be docking there again. They’ll like you, since you are a Czechophile. They like us too, since they’re sure we’re fighting for their cause.”
“Well, aren’t you, Freddy?” Urban asks.
“We’re not fighting for any Czechoslovakia,” says Freddy. “We’re fighting for freedom, that’s what we’re fighting for. But our aim isn’t a ‘state union’ with the Czechs, but a free Slovak state. A Slovak empire. And, by the way, Urban, I’ve told you five times now that they don’t know me here as Freddy, Freddy Piggybank.”