Grosse Fesse -

His real name was Étienne Morel. He was forty-two, broad as a cider barrel, with a face weathered by salt and silence. The nickname—meaning “Big Buttock”—came from the other dockworkers, who watched him haul crates of mackerel up the slick gangplanks. Étienne carried his weight low and heavy, like an anchor. They meant it as a jab. He accepted it as a fact.

Every evening, after the last boat docked and the other men staggered to the tavern for calvados and laughter, Étienne walked the opposite direction—down the crumbling path to the old lighthouse. No one followed him there. No one asked why. grosse fesse

The dockworkers, for the first time in living memory, did not use his nickname. They stood in silence, caps in hands, as the priest spoke of a man who had loved greatly and lost greatly and never once complained. His real name was Étienne Morel