Rumor has it the old man still wanders around in his handmade rowboat, endlessly drifting through Crest Lake. Looking for his wife, he is endlessly unsatisfied. The rest of the underpopulated town knows his wife’s fate and what became of her fragile body that humid August day. and to some extent, the old man know, too. But to jolt his aged, wondering memory would do no good. So thats how it went, and he continued peacefully, not knowing. Then one day he received a letter, and the nostalgia overwhelmed him. The return address was familiar, as was the handwriting and the perfume sprayed.