Following that unforgettable night of merrymaking with the visitors—drinking, dining, storytelling—and all in the company of the elusive Maera, Doc settled into his Venetian stone abode to try to make up for lost sleep. Somehow, the evening seemed more like a dream to him than a typical summer night on Kalamos. The season had always presented the two seas on either side of the Greek mainland with long, warm days and short, balmy nights. But that previous magical night just seemed too short for all he remembered happening.

It was a particular gift of the gods that this area of the Mediterranean was comprised of literally a thousand islands, nestled around a wild and mountainous body of ancient land. And all of them, on both the Aegean and Ionian, were known for their glorious combination of a warm sun, coupled by a cool breeze. And this was the case for practically the entire year, as only for several weeks in the dead of winter could it be called unpleasantly, 'cold.' And when those days and nights did appear in January or February, Doc would stay close to his fireplace within the small stone structure, which provided him amble warmth.

But these were now the days of summer, and long days they were. The geography of the relatively small island, with its almost vertical rise of a central mountain, gave Doc the challenges he needed most the year for practically endless exploring. New costal and mountainous features on the island—places Doc had not previously ventured, gave him great delight. And while the other side of the isle, near Port Kalamos, was seasonally populated and teaming with tourists that time of the year, he was happy to just stay on the northeastern side, where the forest was dense, the cliffs more vertical, and where he might come across yet a new turquoise green cove to swim alone in.

It was on that next day, waking up late, but nevertheless venturing out, that Doc packed cheese, bread and some drinking water to take with him. In order to keep to his daily regime and stay as physically fit as he wished to remain, he would hike vigorously, then find a place to swim. He did this to cool himself from the sun, but also to purposely tire himself out for a relaxing evening back by sunset. There, after a brief dinner and an hour or two of reading, the retired professor would be ready for nourishing sleep.

On this day, and after the late start, he had much to think about while hiking along the cliffside. Particularly he wondered what his new friends must have believed about the impish girl who joined them, appearing suddenly out of the sea. While he remembered she was careful to not tell them she was herself a Nereid, her tales after dinner were telling and curious. They were of Sea Nymphs, ships and Sirens—encountering and charming sailors from antiquity. This must have given the Brits much food for thought. Especially concerning Maera's mysterious appearance, her vague identity, and her dramatic departure back into the water.

* * *

As Doc spent the rest of the morning hiking, he knew exactly where to find a beautiful place to swim, enjoy the breeze and sunlight, and perhaps nap somewhere in the shade. He had no idea upon leaving the castle he would be visited again so soon. And by someone he was beginning to call, 'familiar.'

While taking off his shoes, socks and t-shirt to swim, Doc always modestly remained in his hiking shorts to brave the sea. He dove from a rock into the cool water and felt the summer sweat immediately cleansed from his body. He swam out ten or so meters into the wide cove, where opening his eyes in the salty water, he could see a white sandy bottom, perhaps four-to five meters below him. There were other, darker stationary objects below too, which he knew to be large rocks and sections of dark-green seagrass, waving freely in the currents.

Suddenly, his eye caught sight of a large, whitish object passing by him quickly under the surface. It traveled all the way back toward the rocks. Being a Californian for so many years, Doc never lost his fear of sharks. It was a phobia instilled in all people from that far away coastline, and occurred both from seeing the movie, "Jaws" in its early days, and the fact that the Central Coast of California was the natural habitat of the legendary Great White Shark—supreme man-eater in all the world's seas. The Greeks, Doc had learned, did not fear sharks while swimming. And this was because there were so few of them in the Med, and only benign species splayed the waters there. An old fisherman told him once. "The sharks in this sea are afraid of us . . . because we eat them." Nevertheless, Doc had become a true believer in the hazards of sharks in California. It happened many years before when one of his university students, surfing off the San Francisco coast one summer, was brutally bitten in half—along with his surfboard. It was an image he never had to see—though one he could never get out of his mind.

As Doc began to swim back to the rocks, the flash of white approached him again. As his pulse quickened and he frantically took what he hoped was not his last breath, the beautiful head of Maera surfaced next to him. The white dress she wore, billowed under the surface of the clear water.

"Hello, my good friend," she said in a musical voice.

"Doc sputtered and tried not to choke on the seawater he had taken in.

She swam close enough to touch him, her head and reddish-blond hair now shining in the sun. It dawned on Doc as he tried to calm himself, that Maera's eyes were actually the color of the sea itself—an emerald green.

"Surprised to see me?" She asked, innocently. "I'm wearing clothes again. Like you. Not like your friends . . . who go without them."

"Yes, Maera," Doc said, relieved by her presence. He was clearly out of breath, while treading water. "Let's go over to the rocks, OK?"

She smiled at him, then giggled a little, and surfaced dived out of sight. When she appeared again she was waiting for him, several meters away. Sitting half-submerged on the sun-warmed rocks.

Doc swam slowly to where she sat. He watched her twisting handfuls of her thick hair to wring it dry.

"I saw you here today. So lonely looking . . . And thought you might like someone to talk to, Doc."

"Well, OK. Thanks . . . but you see, I . . ."

"You're often alone, Doc . . . Are you happy that way?"

He struggled to get onto the rock to sit, feeling heavier out of the water and a little self-conscious about his naked upper torso.

"Yes. I'm . . . Well, I am by myself a lot," he told her, rubbing the salt water out of his eyes. "You saw how I live . . .Remember the castle? I really don't mind being alone. It's something I . . ."

"I understand. It's how I live too."

Maera for the first time seemed sad. She got out of the sea further and Doc marveled at her flowing gown. It was something he never got used to—so incongruous with being in the sea.

"I guess I just like it better this way. Alone," he said.

"I used to have many of my sisters here," Maera went on, melancholic. "Around these islands. But the people just became . . . too many. And too mean to us. So many people now, Doc. And not nice."

He thought about the Halcyon days of the myths. Perhaps a happier time, indeed. "Yes, I know," he said, also sadly.

"We used to have so much fun. Playing with the fishermen and sailors. Promising to marry them. Kissing them under the waves."

Doc was surprised at her innocent ideas. Her sense of playfulness.

"I'm the last one now," she said, the musical voice now gone. "I was always one of the youngest."

Doc climbed up higher and sat on a rock across from her. The warm sun was already drying his skin.

"Where did your sisters go?" He asked in earnest. "You were fifty in all, right?"

"Yes. But only a few of us came this far. To the Ionian Sea. All the others stayed in the Aegean. It's where my father is. But those of us who left . . . against our father's wishes . . . we could never go back. Most were finally captured. By men. And did not survive their ways."

"Truly?" Doc found this intensely interesting, having studied the lives of Nymphs in myths.

"They can be cruel creatures . . . men. But just as they can be beautiful."

Doc could see a gleam in the Nymph's eyes, not unlike a schoolgirl's.

"Sometimes they were like the Sirens themselves," she added. So horrible to us."

Doc, knowing what he had learned from a lifetime of humanity, just nodded his head in agreement.

"Others of my sisters went back to the Aegean Sea. The other side to my father's kingdom. I don't know what became of them, really. But I'm the last one here. And I've chosen this island. There are not many people. And it reminds me of the beautiful time when the sea and land were so perfect!"

Doc smiled sympathetically at the heartfelt comment.

"Then you can see why I've made my home here, too, Maera. For the very same reasons you're here."

The girl thought about what he had said and suddenly stood up in the shallow water. She walked up to him and held out her arms for an embrace. Doc felt moved by this Platonic sense of kinship. He then stood also and stepped forward to comply with her hug.

As she embraced him and put her young Face on his shoulder for the moment, it was the closest sensation Doc had ever had to a paternal feeling. One of wanting to protect something or someone so rare and special.

"That was nice," she simply said. "You know it has been many years since I let a man hug me like that."

"I'm sure there's been a few," Doc said, in mirth.

"Not really a lot. But some I will always remember."

Doc nodded his head again, feeling rather speechless.

"Would you like me to tell you of some of the more . . . special ones I did let hug and kiss me?"

Doc was charmed. He smiled back at her. She did not know he had spent his lifetime reading from stones, scrolls, and dusty books the intrigues of the deities, spirits, and beasts. And how they interacted with men and women. Now at last he could hear first-hand authentic tales by a beautiful Nymph which were thankfully never written down.

* * *