Living in Spain

I’ve just read an article by a regular contributor to El País newspaper about a twenty-five-year-old Majorcan girl who won 126 million euros in a lottery recently. The writer wonders what will become of the girl, given that many people who win unusually large amounts of money end up ruining their lives. It reminded me of a man who lived near me many years ago. She should, perhaps, not employ a lawyer to protect her interests.
He was a plumber who, following an exhaustive search, was identified by the executors of the estate of a Texan oil millionaire as being his nearest living relative A letter from the executors informed him that he had inherited nine million dollars.
Over the first few months, the delay in the transfer of the money was put down to routine administrative problems. Meanwhile, he kept his job with the local county council and went to work every day as a plumber. He resisted all offers of loans from the managers of the two banks in the town, accepting a relatively small sum only to pay for a party for his family and friends in an expensive restaurant.
His son was a friend of my brother’s, and they remained friends over that first year of the inheritance, the young man insisting that his family’s life-style had not been changed by their good fortune.
My mother was a teacher in the local convent school, and she was shocked at the comment of the reverend mother when she saw the plumber walk up the school avenue.
‘I hope he’s coming to give us some money!’ she said.
He wasn’t. He was coming to fix their plumbing.
As the months went by, the banks increased their offers of money, each outdoing the other in an attempt to capture his account. One day he took their money and decided not to go to work. Unfortunately, he had never spent much time at home before, and soon he and his wife were having marriage problems. He started gambling and drinking, and ran up huge debts.
His wife left him and his son took to drugs. None of the money ever arrived. It was said that his American lawyers had used it all up.
He died a few years later, very likely as a direct result of just the promise of a large inheritance.
Some years ago, a magazine commissioned me to write a very short story. I called it ‘Brief Story’, and this is it:
A rich man called his sons to his deathbed.
To his first he said:
‘You’re an accountant. You’ve kept the taxman off my back all these years so I could increase my fortune. You get it all, if you use the lawyer I appoint to protect your inheritance.’
To his second he said:
‘You’re a doctor. You’ve kept me alive all these years so I could enjoy my fortune. You get it all, if you use the lawyer I appoint to protect your inheritance.’
To his third and favourite he said:
‘You’re the lawyer. You get the brief.’

Filed under: General by Vivion O'Kelly