The Last Nymph

Past Times, Past Encounters

Maera followed Doc up to where he had left his shirt and shoes. She seemed somehow closer to him now—linked in a special way after what they had discussed. Simply that this island was their choice as to where they each would finally escape. Doc felt the connection too, but in a confused way. Though he had never had any children, he recalled how close he felt to his sister's son. But that was years ago and the distance between Greece and the U.S. was too great to hold on to the rigors of family, especially since his life had become, in California, one hurdle after another. For it was there he worked to excel in academics—to make his mark in a competitive field and at premiere institutions.

There were also his past losses in relationships. Almost marrying once as a graduate student—an Italian national, much like himself, Bianca was the most serious love the twenty-four-year-old had experienced in his young, misplaced life. And while the dark-haired beauty had much of the same Mediterranean traditional roots as he had--being old-school in many ways, her insistence on leaving Berkeley after university to return to Milan was not something he could support. He often wondered about her, hearing later she had married and worked for a world-famous fashion house there.

There were casual infatuations and complications with young women while he attended graduate school, and a more serious relationship with a fellow staff member at Stanford who later died in a plane crash as a journalist covering political events in Central America. But Orestes had always felt, unless he returned to Greece and met someone with his traditional roots, he would not be content, feeling he had in some ways failed to close the circle his loving parents had always wished for him.

It was at mid-career, having taught some sixteen or seventeen years Ancient Mediterranean History, and his passion, Classical Mythology at Stanford, that he accepted that his burgeoning career, his admiration by students, and his love of fable could carry him on and sustain him financially—even spiritually into old age. He no longer sought-out the company of females as possible life-mates, or even tried to cultivate necessarily close friendships with either sex, as others around him had done, perhaps more sensibly.

Doc had--sadly to some, more practically to others, avoided the complications of sexual encounters after a certain age, and though he still had an eye for beauty of the female form and temperament, he came to see the opposite sex as something more aesthetic. Something now more akin to the wonders and mysteries of nature that still so inspired him. And so, this comprised his confusion, his current dilemma. It was from the growing attraction he had to the young nymph--a fetching beauty who sat, unselfconsciously next to him that day, swishing her white gown in the sunlight to dry its exquisite fabric.

As Doc put on his shirt, socks and shoes, Maera watched him with interest, seated on an adjacent rock.

"You know," he said, now more composed, "I would love for you to tell me of your life. And yes, Maera, of those former men you must have dallied with . . . as I understand all Nereids used to do.

Before she could speak, he reached over for her hand. "Let's sit under the pines, where the breeze can sustain us. And be out of this bright sun today."

"Yes," she said, taking his hand in hers. With the other, she pulled up the hemline of her dress to walk.

"I remember now, how sensitive your skin is to the elements . . . you men," Maera said this smiling. "All of you, I found, have this very problem . . . poor things."

She seemed then to refrain from giggling at the thought of it, as if those men she had encountered and obviously teased in the past were somehow inferior and no more than playthings.

"Doc smiled at the significance of this and walked up the embankment for a suitable place for them. It was there, in the shade where he had planned to share his bread, cheese, water—and just listen.

"So. You must have been quite a provocateur, young lady. In those days, when you and your sisters harassed ships and those adventuresome young men who sailed them."

"Yes, we did, Doc. You should have seen us. My older sisters were braver than I. And they knew well what those men wanted . . . or at least thought they wanted."

Again, this was an interesting revelation for Doc. Not just for academic research, but in actually understanding the nature of men, through a nymph's eyes more specifically.

"You see, when a sailing ship was passing by between islands, we would wait until the sailors anchored her. When they had settled down from their work, this is when the young men would rest on deck. Just singing or talking . . . as all sailors love to do."

Doc smiled and leaned back further to listen.

"That's when my sisters . . . three or four of the boldest . . . and sometime me included, would raise our heads out of the water so that they could see our fair faces and long hair. We would sing back to them. In any language they understood."

Doc opened his bag of food while listening. He sliced slabs of cheese onto the bread and offered a piece of it to Maera, who refused.

"What kind of song, Maera? What were the words?"

The young Nymph stood up. Moving her arms in an animated way to convey swimming, she then surprisingly began to sing with her wonderfully musical voice:

"Look to the sea, fair men. Look here, into the depths.

The sea is calm this day. And makes for us a bed.

We wait for you to please us, we sisters all. To please us like no others.

And in such a merry way . . . we will please you too!

Leave your ship young men, and join us here.

Here in the calm waters, a bed at the side of your ship!"

Doc immediately stopped eating at the beautiful sound of the song. It was not so much the alluring words, but the melodic, almost hypnotic sound of Maera's voice that made the little verse so compelling.

"That's very . . . interesting," was all Doc could say for the moment. He was stunned trying to fully digest what it was he had heard and perceived. The simplicity of it, coupled by its provocative theme, and her ever-melodious voice, thoroughly enchanted him.

"We sang many songs like that one," Maera continued, now in her less melodic voice. "Some I remember . . . and some I no longer do. My older sisters sang some songs that were quite . . . embarrassing. With words too strong about what those men wanted to do to us."

Doc was again taken aback to hear these comments, realizing there was actually differences of experience, levels of desire and maturity among the nymphs. It was a fact he had not encountered in the literature he had studied.

"And so . . . what would the men do?" he asked, further intrigued.

"When we promised to kiss them and let them touch us while in the sea, many could stand the taunting no more. And some would jump in to join us."

"Yes?"

"I remember my first kiss with a young sailor under the water. He was handsome and eager. He jumped off the ship—as many of them did, hypnotized, and still in his clothing. I let him take me in his arms as I had seen my sisters do. We kissed. And he tried to speak but could not under water. I smiled at him and saw his innocent eyes become frightened. I helped him back to the surface. There his mates pulled him on board. They scolded him. And the older men told him . . . we were just demons and had no feelings. That we were . . . not real women . . . and only played with men."

Doc could see Maera was sad again and becoming tearful as she related the incident."

"I remember realizing those men on deck were right," she said wiping her eyes. "Right about everything except one thing . . . Something they never would know."

"And what's that Maera?"

"That we do have feelings, Doc. Yes, we are not real women . . . but we do have feelings. And that is why I cry now. To tell you of this."

Doc tried to look closely at the young Nymph, but she turned her head from him. He could easily perceive she was quietly sobbing. Her delicate shoulders quivered as she let her raw emotions out. They were intense feelings which Doc was deeply moved to learn were so authentic—and ever so human.

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