Grosse Fesse -

After the funeral, Patrice walked down to the lighthouse. He found the wooden chest. He opened it. He saw the dress, the gloves, the dried flowers, and the little painted duck.

The youngest dockworker, a boy named Patrice who had thought “Grosse Fesse” was just a joke, asked the old man why he had done it.

And in the harbor below, the waves beat against the stone, indifferent and eternal, as they always had. As they always would.

She asked what kind.

Then he would touch the wedding dress once, fingertips only, and close the chest. Blow out the lamp. Sleep on the cot with his knees drawn up, making himself small in the dark.