I always looked forward to spending a chunk of my retirement in a rural community. The life in the city had a negative toll on me, making me look older than my actual age. I desired more than ever the undiluted breeze of fresh air from the village, especially that with the river scent, and, of course, serenity and solitude from the unending noise of the city.
"What plans do you have now that you are retired?" The anchor, a new and young staff member of Carlos Car Company, to whom I had dedicated most of my productive years, asked, shushing the cheering audience who had come to celebrate my retirement.
I picked up the wireless mic and sighed with a broad smile. "First, I want to distance myself from the unending noise of life and the city and retreat to my uncle’s house back in the village to have some quiet." I replied, nodding to the approving claps of staff, and invited friends and family. It was heartwarming. I looked forward to spending more time with myself than with the people around me.
My two boys, Mark and David, had matured and become fathers to beautiful kids. My late wife would certainly applaud me for doing a good job raising our boys. I was awed at the many gifts showered by well-wishers and the continuous buzz of goodwill messages hitting my phone. I was only 58 years old, but I had fulfilled one of the criteria for retirement, which was 35 years of service, and my company had awarded me for the meritorious service both in cash and kind.
My contracted chauffeur, a young man in his thirties, arrived early enough on my scheduled weekend to transport my boxes to the village, a five-hour drive by road. I enjoyed the road trip most, especially because I found the chauffeur to be interesting and interactive. I was glad my retirement had begun on a good note, with optimism for the unknown days ahead.
"The cleaner surely did a good job here," I said to myself with a nod and broad smile as I entered the solid and aesthetically designed 3-bedroom duplex built in the old-fashioned way. Everything looked intact as I left it some 23 years ago after my uncle died. I was fond of coming over for holidays when he was still alive, enjoying the serene life in the village. The chauffer was kind enough to drop off my luggage at the house, relieving me of the stress of carrying it alone into the house. It was only a matter of time before I would engage myself in the task of arranging my load.
I showered and rested for the night after eating the food I had brought along. I was glad my entry into the village was largely unnoticed by the residents. My uncle was popular in the village as he was among the few educated and industrious elites who were both teachers and traders of merchandise. My uncle had taken over the responsibility of grooming me as his own since he had no children of his own and my parents had died shortly after my birth from an accident in the city. My uncle was the father, mother, sibling, and friend I never had. Losing him to an ailment was also a tragedy that destabilized me. The village was awed as my uncle donated the majority of his wealth to charity, the less privileged, and an orphanage home. He was loved as much in death as when he was alive.
The following morning, the rays of the sun hit gently on my skin as I gradually woke from sleep. The morning had been far from spent, and it had been a while since I had such long hours of sleep without the pressure of a deadline to meet. I freshened up and boiled water for custard for brunch, as midday already beckoned.
Gradually, I unpacked my load and began arranging them as I wanted, and by afternoon, exhaustion began to set in, even though I desired to go a little longer.
"I guess old age is taking its toll on me after all," I thought to myself, heaving a sigh of fatigue as I headed to the room for a shower. My toe hit something on the corridor, which drew my attention to a keyhole carved within the wooden floor. My curiosity got the better of me, and I wondered what my uncle could be up to by having a keyhole on the corridor floor. I took my shower, and my desire to unravel the mysterious keyhole made me continue the arrangements I made with conscious efforts to find the key.
My steps hastened to the corridor when I found a key hidden behind one of my uncle's framed pictures hung on the wall. Bending my knees beside the keyhole, I inserted the key I found into the hole, which fit in as it turned. I heard a creak sound in my uncle's room and headed straight for it, only to be faced with a yellow door previously hidden incognito behind a shelf of books. I never believed a door existed beyond the walls. I turned the door handle gently, my heart racing fast, wondering what lay beyond. I hit the switch right beside the entrance to the basement, and my eyes were met with numerous treasures of gold and silver scattered in it and accentuated by the brightness of the light. The sight of the treasures hastened my heart more, and I wondered how my uncle acquired so many of them. I looked around at various sculptures, golden cups, bracelets, etc. This was a wealth far greater than what my uncle had given out after his death. I took more steps forward and down to the basement, where a rusty book lay on a table in the room.
**Dear Jack, I hope you'll find these treasures handy someday. It's my token to you. Make wise use of it. Your dear uncle Harry**
I was speechless as I looked around. Just when I thought my life was beginning to tread slowly, a new chapter with extreme wealth lay before me. I walked out of the basement and back into the house, locking the basement just the way I had opened it earlier. By evening, I took a walk around the village, whose residents hardly hit a thousand by the numbers. Many people expressed great delight to see me, and I did well to wave and smile back. Deep within me, a surge of excitement leaped at the discovery of the unquantifiable wealth my uncle left for me. "Perhaps my retirement was about to take a new turn," I thought to myself.