+++
title = "The Pension"
+++

*First heard in █████ ███████, 2023.*

It’s been about 20 years, maybe a little more, since I first heard about this small place on ███ ████████ █████, ██ ██████████, ██ ███ ███████ █████████. The place is called Rose. It’s a quiet spot with just a few houses, some dating back to the 11th or 12th century. The community is small, ███ ███ █████████████ ██████████, ███ ███████, ███ ███ █████ ██ ███ █████ ███ ██████████. █████ ███ ████ ██ ██████, ██████████ █████, ███ ████ ██ ████ live to be quite old—some reaching 90 or even 100 years. One summer, when I was vacationing there, my landlady, ███████, █████ ███ ██ ███████ █████ ███ ███████. One house next to hers had been abandoned for a long time. Back in the day, a small boat from ██████ ████ ████ █████—████ ███ ███ only connection to the outside world, looping around ███████, ███ ████. Once a month, the postman would come on that boat, bringing pensions and mail. Everyone would gather by the pier, waiting for him.

There was this one old woman, well into her 90s, who had been bedridden for years. She hadn’t left the house in ages. When the postman came, her family—children and grandchildren—would take the papers up to her room for her to sign, as she couldn’t come down. This happened several times.

But, over time, things stretched out, and eventually, the old woman ██████ ████ ████ ███ ███. █████ ████████ ████ ████ ████ ██ ███ ██████-█████████ ████. After the economic collapse about 30 years ago, her pension had become ███ ████████ ████ ██████ ██████. ███████ ██, ████ ████████ ████ ████████. So, they did something unusual. After she passed, they ███ ███ ███ █████, █████████ ██ ██ ████████ ██ █ █████ ██████. ████ ███ ███████ ████, ██████ ███, ’█████ ██████ █████ ████████,’ ███ ██████ ███ ███ █████ ██ ████. ███ ███ █████ ███ ████ ██████████, so no one noticed the difference. For more than ten years—maybe longer—they kept it going. In the end, though, the truth came out. But that’s how they managed to survive all those years.

