Broad-shouldered and perpetually dusted with fine wood dust and salt, Marek moves with the heavy, economical rhythms of a man who has learned to conserve effort. His hands are calloused like rope, with small crescent scars along the pads of his thumbs where nails split and splinters hid for years. He favors working sleeves rolled high revealing forearms like trimmed timbers. He keeps a short, salt-stiff beard braided with thin strips of weathered sailcloth tied in knots that mark important years of his life. Unexpectedly, he keeps a single, tiny porcelain toy boat stitched into the inside pocket of his apron like a secret talisman that looks fragile against his bulk.