The Polpetton Hash – Chapter 3

Mauro was alone in the fog, thinking again of his book, when lightening up a cigarette the weak light illuminated a gigantic billboard which caught his attention. Framed in rebel curls, Robert Granzotto’s hale face camped on 64 cubic meters of a 3-D advertising billboard. Mauro’s mind, tired by emotions, indulged in recalling the age when the irresistible rise of the Venetian pasionario began…

In some ways Robert Granzotto left Geneva empty handed. It was April 7, 2002 and three days before he had got there to take part to the XXXVIII conference of the party hoping to leave it as its new general secretary, strong of the polls which in recent months saw him constantly rising. But he couldn’t obtain the absolute majority at the first ballot without support by the Mesopotamian satrap, whose fifty per cent was needed in order to be legitimized by a strong majority. He had instead to reluctantly accept the great compromise imposed by the old tyrant: to satisfy himself with the leadership of Italian radicals only, once upon a time the glorious log from which the transnational party had had origin from, but by now dried up of initiatives and skimpy in membership due to the careless of recent leaders.

“But what will it be of Capezzone?” Granzotto enquired pretending to care at the thought of the destiny of the most bankrupt secretary in radical history, hoping this way to move to compassion the leader so that he would evict the Belgian one instead from the transnational chair he really coveted.

“Don’t worry” – reassured him the satrap – “Daniel won’t notice if we leave him do whatever he has always done as secretary”.

Still today, actually, fifteen years later, the careful radical eye recognizes Capezzone distributing menu leaflets in front of the McPizza in Piazza di Spagna. They pay him casually under the minimal salary, but it’s enough to nourish himself of genetically modified burgers and achieve a bachelor with the University of Spokane (”If I only had listened to Suttora, who always told me to graduate before…”)

It was a way to test him on a small boat before putting him to the rudder of the real party – day-dreamed Granzotto trying to accustom himself to mess-tin -, the one which had as interlocutors heads of state and parliamentarians from of all the world, and such test in the Italian province he had to accept to face as bathe of humility in the mission to give back confidence to the activists so that they would return to the fold where they were waited for like prodigal sons by the thirty-nine presidents and the two radical members left in Italy. A nearly impossible challenge. He landed in Ciampino airport with an action plan already well outlined in his volcanic mind and found in Via di Torre Argentina the extraordinary board he had appointed a few hours before for the astonishment of the congress assizes which had just elected him. All women, in order to clearly begin signaling a cut with the recent past. More than a secretariat, maliciously complained the torpedoed men, a gynaeceum: Olivia Cats, Silvja Calves, Rita Saint-Bernard, Elisabetta Roastpaws, Orietta Squids…

Granzotto was a man of the world, comfortable among women (an euphemism for womaniser), and reaching the meeting room outlined with no hesitation his revolutionary plan, contemplating at the first point the change of the L – Italian radicals now would have become known as a movement “Liberal, Libertarian and Lay” instead of Liberist. The liberists would have got angry, if only there wer any left, but the new treasurer Polezel had already fired them all via text message SMS, by doing so balancing the budget in no time. Naturally the liberists protested, ironically setting up a trade union, but they were no match for the brawny an unyelding Polezel.
To the acute observer of radical things, initially the forced cohabitation between Granzotto and Polezel seemed destined to be stormy because of parochial rivalries: not only they were born in the adjacent municipalities of Santa Lucia di Piave and Mareno di Piave, but they had grown up in the split village of Boccadistrada (the place, meaning Mouth of the road, took its name from a prostitute who alleviated the pains of soldiers in the great war), and wer members of the implacably rival clans of the Bano’s Bar and the Sunlight Pizzeria respectively. But with tome the bond between the roberts gradually cemented until making them the inseparable pair that Mauro Suttora would later anatomize in hus book “Granzotto & Polesel Plc”.

A adjective changed and the finances balanced, a great campaign had to be devised to launch the movement towards luminous goals, and Granzotto did not hesitate a second in show the way: the new radicals would have launchud 25 bill drafts! Wasting no time in asking the members which bills to choose, he sent them instead to quickly start a professional training so that they could carry out an effective action. Overcoming the reluctance to the peculiar innovation, the radical activists peacefully invaded Italian streets ringing door-bells to introduce the 25 job draft proposals, for he was a practical man with a flair for DIY:

Clean the car; Unclog the washbasin; Cook the risotto; Hoover the carpet; Polish the silvervare; Vulcanize of bicycle’s tyres; Hang out the laundry; Repair the cuckoo clock; Iron the shirts; Renew the filter of the washing machine; Mow the lawn; Change the diaper; Straighten the aerial; Program the video recorder; Darn the socks; Queue at the post office; Buy the cigarettes; Walk the dog; Take the kids to school; Fix the remote control; Replace the dildo’s batteries; Shadow the cuckold husband; Set the modem; Tune Radio radicale; Manicure and chiropodist.

It was an enormous success. A joyful army of enthusiastic activists collected thousands of signatures and millions of euros in tips. From Venice to Sicily people can’t help talking about the 25 Job Proposals and the new granzottian radicals had become essential in managing the Country. The polls anticipated electoral successes unheard of before and for Granzotto and Polezel it was easy formalize their leadership in the Italian party conference in July. In one hundred days they had rebuilt the movement and with the experience acquired on the field they were now ready to turn Italy upside down with their liberal revolution.

But that was to be another story. Mauro recovered dazed by those disturbing memories to resume his investigation with experienced gait in direction of Porno Eden, as his old sexologist Rhoda Pellizzi had taught him how to anagram the nearby town of Pordenone.