Heritage

The island was not large. It stuck out of the sea, away from the usual shipping routes, far from the coast. All rock, covered in wild flora and full of caves. The heat, spiders, snakes, and mosquitoes and the diseases they carried gave the picture just the right patina. Still, it was lively, at least in recent months. Almost overnight, a small hotel and a series of cottages had sprung up on the single narrow beach. No luxury, but the guests didn't require it.

This forgotten piece of land came into widespread awareness soon after the found old deed that confirmed ownership of the island, bequeathing it to esteemed and unesteemed descendants alike. The will was soon sniffed out by the reporters of the tabloids, and as the testator was none other than Roger "Golden Hook" Gulden, reputed to be a fierce and successful pirate, whose accumulated fortune was already the stuff of legend when he was enjoying his retirement somewhere in the South Seas, they did not retain the information merely to fill space on page eight and at half-past five in the morning.

A grandson of Roger's grandson now stood on the doorstep of the daytime restaurant and evening drinkery, leaning against the rail and watching the morning bustle.

History, stretched across the media, made many long-unseen people remember family ties and old friendships. Fortunately, after word got out that his search for the legendary deposite had failed, the number of friends gradually dwindled to a manageable number. There remained those whom the heir still liked to see.

"Are you really a descendant of that famous pirate?" asked Florian, a former classmate and, since then, a loyal friend. He had just stepped onto the pier from the small ship that brought supplies from the mainland every day. Today, moreover, it had brought not only a private guest, but also his simple but insistent questions, which had probably bothered him ever since he had received the invitation.

"Of course," replied Gulden. He nodded to the waiter.

"Did you really inherit this island and its treasure?" The next question didn't take long.

"The island? Of course."

The Hawaiian-shirted waiter brought them a tray with a welcome drink. He yawned and disappeared behind the bar to finish at least a little of yesterday's long shift.

"You sure you haven't found the treasure yet? I mean, I wouldn't let anyone in here until I'd crawled all over this damn rock from one side to the other and from top to bottom. And everybody knows you haven't discovered anything yet. That you're so unlucky."

Gulden reached for his glass.

Bad luck.

He recalled the phrase the dreaded pirate had written in the family bible in the margin of a page of the Book of Proverbs, chapter nine. He had read it before the discovery of the will.

Now it made perfect sense.

Treasure is found in the human mind. In the clever as well as the stupid.

The descendant of a man who might not have been the man the present day thought he was, smiled. He watched as the hotel guests discreetly disappeared among the palm trees, clumsily hiding their spades and detectors. They would return late in the afternoon, exhausted and hungry, willing to drink a whole load of alcohol out of pity.

What if they don't?

They've already paid for their stay. Week after week, it's booked practically a year in advance.

"You're right," he turned to Florian. Raised his glass. "I'm having a hell of a run of bad luck. For just make it last."

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