An Old Game

Written by Eowyn Cwper

“With all things involving superpowers, never-before-seen technology, planetary colonization and world war, it seems like the common man has no place in history anymore. Not that he ever had much of one, mind you. But there was a time when one could dream of entering the history books on account of an almost ordinary deed.

This is why I want to tell you about such a common man. A man whose feat was unremarkable yet major at the same time. Oh, but I guess the Swiss and the Italians deemed it pretty serious at the time.

See, Giacomo Zefirelli single-handedly changed the border between the two countries. An architect of sorts. ‘Tis said that he made a living out of his story afterwards, but I don’t buy any of that. I’m sure he was good with numbers, mind you, but words? Quite a common man, as I said. Kind of like me.

Anyways, back in the day they were building a winter sports resort up in the Swiss Alps. They were trying to save skiing from global warming, see. Them kids may happily rummage about in the aether and be proud of the power of their industry, but meanwhile the weather changes, and ice and snow are endangered, as you know. So, Giacomo was working on that project and the paperwork was a bloody mess. It had been translated back and forth between Italian and German and some things got lost in the process, I think.

And here he is, an honest and thorough worker getting all fed up with the struggle and the red-tape. So, he decides to tidy things up for everyone. He goes over the documents, verifies everything, and submits them to his superiors. Nothing continues to happen for a while as everyone hopes that the situation will fix itself, but eventually someone moves forward using the documents provided by Giacomo. They were probably thinking that it would be easy enough to blame issues on a simple worker like him if there were any.

Now, heh, I doubt that whoever made that move expected things to get this bad, but in the middle of Giacomo’s corrections, there was a mistake that happened to place half of the privy right over the border! But the error wasn’t spotted, everyone was too happy to finally get started. Authorizations had been signed, sent over, sent back, signed and stamped again, the work had begun and ended. It wasn’t until two months after the resort opened that they realized that both countries were getting shat on, ha!

Now, the problem was what to do with the damned thing. The Italians took it as an act of aggression that the wealthy tourists’ crapper had been placed on their territory. Their ego was bruised enough by the German conquests already, and they wouldn’t have it from a “neutral” country, as it may. Ultimately the Swiss didn’t care enough to risk vexing a neighbour over something so ridiculous. They agreed that the whole building was on Italian territory, under the condition that it could be used freely by the resort’s clients. In doing so, they had to move the border slightly. So now, it’s only Italy that’s getting shat on. And believe it or not, they’re happy about it. Switzerland hadn’t lost land in almost a century and I think that spiting them over a few square meters for a loo is still giving them satisfaction to this day.

Anyway, that’s the story I remind myself of when I feel like the common man has no place in today’s world. What do you make of that, huh?”

The man who had been listening did not answer immediately. He frowned and sucked on his pipe softly, looking at the storyteller from the opposite armchair until he could see him twitch with impatience.

“You have outdone yourself this time, I must admit. It does sound like a story polished by the many times it was told. I still do not think it happened, though.”

“Now what would make you say that?”

“It is just a tad over the top.”

“Over the top? ‘Tis surprising, for sure, and that’s what makes it an interesting story to tell!”

“It simply does not hold water. Most of the Swiss-Italian border is mountain ridges, and there is no reason you would need to build anything right over it, even chalets. There are mountain passes, of course, but those are places where the border is known and often materialized. I do not see how they could have gotten the authorization, let alone managed to build a whole resort – unless it was the lavatory alone, which makes it even more strange – without anyone noticing that it was in Italian territory. As for how the dispute was settled, international affairs can be silly of course, but this is ludicrous. There were a million solutions to this before they let it blow up into a diplomatic incident.”

The storyteller had opened his mouth several times to try and protest, but as the demonstration ended he fell silent, a surly look upon his face. Smoke spirals surrounded him contently, as if expecting him to restore some credibility to his story.

“I was, however, quite entertained!” added the man with the pipe, as if realizing that he had been harsh on the man. “For a moment I almost pictured you as that Giacomo, telling the one big story of your life, hoping that your grandchildren would remember him for it and pass it on, whether true or false! You know, perhaps you should have made a living as a writer, not me!”

“Oh, bugger off, I don’t want anything to do with filthy intellectuals of your sort. I’m but a common man!”

Both men were smiling slightly at this point. They said no more, and contemplated the rising sun out the window of the residence. The air smelled of smoke and complicity.

“That makes four points for me this month, does it not?”

“Does. And one for me.”

“You had cheated, old fool.”

“Wanker.”

~Fin~