There was an elderly workaholic who lived in the center of the village. He seemed to be busy from morning till night with his vegetable gardens, construction, some kind of marketing and livestock. Everyone knew he was rather lonely, with no wife and no children. And, needless to say, sometimes people discussed among themselves where the old man’s animals would go, where the hut would go after his death. The neighbors hoped in vain to take something for themselves, as well as in vain believed that the lonely grandfather bequeathed his financial savings to charity.
Shortly before his eightieth birthday he was gone. When it came to the will and funeral preparations, the male lawyer with whom the old man was drafting the will showed up. The old man thought the unthinkable – to slaughter the animals and sell them to meatpackers, making money to cover the funeral, to leave the hut untouched, and to put his property, like his pension savings and the money he had been saving for years, in his coffin, like some kind of pharaoh.
The lawyer was adamant – the client’s wishes are law for him. But why did he tell the whole village about it? Not even a day after the funeral, and in a fresh grave rushed “tomb raiders. People are not afraid of anything if it concerns money, especially other people’s money.
I don’t know exactly who the neighbors were and how, but they went all over the place, and in the house of the deceased too, and he hardly managed to take anything with him to the other world with such neighbors. Better still, he would have bequeathed it to some orphanage…
