Doc contemplated his dinner engagement that afternoon and realized it had actually been months since he had spoken at length with anyone on the island. Except, of course, Maera—on those rare but recent occasions she had appeared to him. As the day slowly morphed into a long summer evening, the hot sun was mercifully reclining into the western sky. I would soon disappear behind the large, western island of Lefkada, bringing its usual gold and pink hues to both land and sea.

Orestes Roussos was always seen as a handsome specimen of a man, and now in his advanced years—late sixties, he was still of noble appearance. His graying temples and almost white beard—were he to let it grow out, would only add to his somewhat professorial countenance. This matter of facial hair, however, was somewhat of an obsession with him, as he had elected to not allow his graying beard ever to have free reign over his face. In deference to this, he engaged in a morning shave every other day, simply as a way to maintain some connection to his civilized life and habits from the onset of adulthood.

Deciding to make the most of the evening invitation to the Brits' exquisite schooner, Doc shaved and took his daily bath, pulling off the clothesline his favorite black golf shirt with the faded Pebble Beach emblem. The article had kept its charm with him as he had bought it as a souvenir many years before at a Philology conference at the iconic hotel and country club. For most of his days now, however, Doc lived and slept in simple t-shirts which he had collected over the years while still a jogger in the San Francisco Bay Area. These once colorful shirts each had a different venue and date on it of yet another 5K or 10K run he had participated in, organized by cities up and down the California coast.

Aside from this now useful collection, Doc had purchased before coming to the island, numerous pairs of expedition shorts with bomber pockets, and several pairs of Levi jeans. Rounding out his simple wardrobe were several cotton sweaters for winter and a heavy waterproof sailing jacket with a hood. As a man of practicality and thrift, he had always presented himself while a student and later professor in California, with that tidy but laidback attitude—a style so well-known as simply Westcoast culture.

As the sun began to disappear behind Lefkada's silhouette, Doc looked into his hand-held mirror just once. Before he ventured out to his new-found company he wanted to see exactly what the young and carefree group would see him as. Staring back curiously from the glass was a tanned face with surprisingly few wrinkles. A pair of gray-green eyes perused the onlooker, with a face that spoke of satisfaction with the life he had finally opted for.

Just before leaving for the cliffside, and his walk south to the schooner, he reached into his only cupboard in the makeshift kitchen. It was there he kept safe from the ants and rats, certain perishables brought over each month or fortnight from the town of Mytikas on the mainland. For there he had also stored the last three bottles of his favorite California wine—a white zinfandel, originally from a whole case. The bottles had lasted him over the past three years, celebrating only those special moments by himself. The building of his home, anniversaries, and a few miserable winters inside the stone turret when the pounding rain lasted over a week. It was Doc's impression that California wines could hold up to any French grape or vintner, and he more than expected to argue that point with his benefactors that evening when the wine was poured, and comparisons made.

Soon walking to the edge of the island from his castle abode, and then south along the forest trail, he eventually found himself looking down at the impressive wooden ship, gently rocking under anchor in the cove. As he approached the sea's edge, he called out and quickly received a friendly wave from one of the men onboard, sitting at the stern. Other members of the familiar crew were already lowering the dingy to the water to taxi their guest onboard.

To Doc's surprise, his ferrymen were the two fair girls, Eva and Kate, manoeuvring the small inflatable craft by themselves and close enough to the rocks for him to leap into it. Surprising still was the fact that the two were still without a stitch of clothing. This gave Doc pause at first, as he wondered why these otherwise proper young women would not be modest enough, or even concerned about their nakedness. Why the entire group, he pondered for that matter, had earlier been so averse to clothing?

Nevertheless, Doc agilely stepped into the rubber craft from the rocks and sat across from the girl who rather sensually and unflinchingly manned the oars to steady them.

"Top o' the evening, Doc," the girl still standing, said. It was Eva, as he remembered. She was the more golden-haired of the two, sporting what Orestes could now, closer, see were tattoos on both wrists. On one arm were a series of Chinese symbols—images of calligraphy he did not know. And on her other wrist was a gracefully-wrought geometric design, worn as a permanent and colorful bracelet.

"We're glad you could come, Gov'nor," the second girl, Kate, chimed in, now doing most the rowing back to the ship. Doc could see that from her neck hung a lovely turquoise stone-neckless, something he took to designate evening attire or perhaps the festivities of the visit. While in the care of both females as he waited to be delivered onboard the ship, the retired professor could not help but take close notice of their youthful bodies. He quickly made the assumption from their dark, evenly spread suntans, that they took nudity seriously, at least in this corner of the world, and during the summer season. It obviously encouraged a feeling of freedom in its unencumbered simplicity.

As they all disembarked the dingy up onto the stern deck of the antique ship, Doc was greeted by Seth and John—not surprisingly still naked themselves.

"Welcome to our 'umble 'ome," Seth said, smiling and reaching out for Doc's hand. He too now wore only a neckless, of leather with a silver coin attached.

"It's my pleasure to join you," Doc replied, being offered a chair near the railing. John moved what seemed a portable table to the center of the deck and soon chairs were placed around it. John brought out the bottle of French wine he was promised, no less chilled on ice as a white varietal before dinner. When Doc held out his own bottle in return, the two men smiled and purveyed the new label with curiosity.

"Well we'll definitely have to give this soldier a go," Seth said, offering to put it in the ice bucket with the other.

Doc nodded and smiled in agreement.

"At that point the two young women, who had briefly disappeared, came back on deck with frosty wine glasses, and a bouquet of flowers, obviously gathered from their travels on the island that day. They both took seats next to the men around the table and smiled cordially at their anointed guest. Once again, Doc felt a bit intimidated by the bare bodies in his presence, but also knew he was somehow getting accustomed to them.

"Well, I must admit," Doc said, a little shyly, "I didn't expect to be entertained in such sumptuous style here this evening."

"You only go round once in the game, aye, doc? It's a matter of choice, eh?"

John said this while pouring the French wine for all.

"Well, that's why I'm here, I guess," was his sincere response.

"No," Seth weighed in. "You, my good man, have beat the odds . . . by a million to one! I don't know how or why you're 'ere at this moment in time with us . . . in this amazin paradise! Why you even go by Doc. But it matters little. The good news right 'ere, mate, is you've made something spectacular of your life."

"Here here!" John chimed in. "It's true, Gov'nor. We're all in awe of ya."

As the group held up their glasses toward Doc and then at the sunset, he felt for the first time in many years speechless and totally humbled.

Feeling his sentiments welling up his throat, Doc just held his glass up like the rest and everyone took their first sip of the admittedly fine libation.

"Now you'll 'ave ta excuse the little 'un right now, Gov'na. Sita's work'in away in the galley tonight." It was Kate, making a good excuse for the chef's absence.

""Dats right," Eva added. "Mix'in up them spices she knows so well. And it be all for the lamb."

"Nice cuts. We brought 'em over from the coast. Just this mornin, from Mytikas," said John. "And Grillin 'em she is . . . like a mad woman, up on the bow, ya know."

It was true, as Doc could smell the unmistakable aroma of cooked lamb wafting over from somewhere onboard in the gentle breeze.

"Alright mates! Let's all go see the chef princess now! Shall we?"

The two girls smiled at Seth's urgent suggestion, and everyone picked up their glasses leading Doc around the ship's gunwale. They passed up some steps to another, wider deck. The spacious wooden-planked floor stretched, polished to the vessels bow. There, in the center, was a large portable barbeque instillation, obviously for the sole purpose of cooking outdoors and on an open fire. And standing in front of the grill with only a cook's apron around her lovely dark body, was the young Sita. Her large cook fork was steady in hand as she tended to the thick portions of lamb shanks and ribs. To the anticipation of everyone, they steamed and hissed over the open coals. This aroma together with what looked to be halved, marinated potatoes and mushrooms, was heady and intensely alluring to the festive group. It had been months since doc had eaten lamb and the prospect of his first and only meal of the day being this gourmand cuisine, caused him to question his good fortune and fate at encountering the mysterious foreigners.

"Sita, you're the goddess, baby!" John said affectionately, moving nearer to kiss her on the shoulder. The girl turned, kissed him on the cheek then faced the group and smiled.

"Doc? How be ya this evening?"

"I'm fine, Sita, Thanks. Just marvelling at your expertise there. Seems you may have the coveted PhD in grill."

Everyone laughed.

"Well just 'old on there, good man. You've not tasted a morsel yet!"

"Soon to be. Soon to be," Seth said, taking another sip of his wine. Everyone did the same.

At that moment it gave the group pause to look out and appreciate their surroundings—the still green land on one side of the ship and the calm, distant sea on the other. It all was in that magic process of changing from harsh reds and yellow tones to more lavender hues and a steely gray across the water.

Suddenly, while everyone seemed to be in anticipation of Sita's expert work, and their mesmerized stares were now fixed upon the white-hot coals, there came a voice from the water.

It was a young female voice, definitely not from the group. And definitely not from the shore. It was disturbingly from the sea.

"Did you bloody 'ere that?" John asked sharply, while moving to the rail of the ship to look out.

"Doc?"

Again, the innocent voice. Calling again, closely rising from somewhere in the swells that gently moved the ship.

"Be damned! I heard her again, ya know!"

"Doc!"

The voice was no longer distinct. But very close.

"Oh me gosh! Who is it, people? Good Lord!" exclaimed Eva,

"It's someone swimming . . . just there!" declared Sita, pointing with her fork.

"Doc?"

The voice was louder and undeniably calling for Doc. Everyone now looked in the direction of its watery source.

There in the sea, just off to the side of the ship now, was the unmistakable head of a fair-complexioned girl, stationary in the water and looking with equal curiosity at all of them.

It was John who finally had the presence of mind to break the eerie, momentary silence.

"She's there . . . off the starboard . . . and she's ask'in fer you, Doc!"

Doc was paralyzed with confusion. Half of him wanted to make no claim to the apparition and ghostly voice, but the other, more honest half, knew who and what it was—Maera. The Nereid who seemed now to be watching. Perhaps even stalking him from the sea.

"Do you know the lass, Doc?" Katie asked with fright in her voice.

"Well, I . . . Yes. You see, sometimes . . ."

"Doc? May I come aboard? Please?"

Seth, as captain of the ship, took charge of the situation.

"Of course, you can, Love! Swim over 'ere! We'll put the ladder down for ya!"

In a matter of seconds, Maera did just that, and to everyone's dismay, including a totally surprised Doc, the two men were helping the nymph on board.

As Maera stepped onto the deck, wearing incongruously a full pink gown, everyone silently beheld her grace and beauty as if the sea had rendered up something unknown. Something heretofore unexplained—except of course, to the former professor.

With the naked observers on deck ironically looking on in astonishment, the fully-clothed nymph stared back at them, wide-eyed and with equal amazement at their nakedness. The interchange—including Doc's unknown involvement in all of this, promised to be an even more enchanting evening than anyone had planned.

* * *