The Last Nymph

Summer Storm

By the time Doc had made it back to his house, the clouds had blown over the sea from the north. From this, he could tell there would be a squall if not a full-blown rain storm. Already from the vantage point of his roof, he could see the boats coming inland, fishing and pleasure crafts. It was always a treat for him to watch the larger sailboats when the wind kicked up, sailing off-power and in this case, reaching north-northeast into the wind with their sails billowing. Seeing that the storm looked ominous, he departed the roof, avoiding any lighting strikes which sometimes hit the trees near his house.

Though he had learned to put up with rain, as the Ionian islands were verdant green because of it, he was upset with himself for not making his fortnightly trip to Mytikas for supplies earlier. That was when he had planned to do his usual retirement check banking and purchasing of supplies. It was a joy for Doc to reflect, as he was once told by an old fisherman, "you teachers wake up every morning with money under your pillow." And truly he was aware that it was something the harder laborers anywhere in the world could not say in most cases. For though the Greek infrastructure was slow between the U.S. and that country, and highly unpredictable, he was able to get cash on the mainland from his life-support system—the nearest ATM machine. It was a thirty-minute boat ride into the Mytikas port from Kalamos for this process, and a good walk to the only bank in town. Yet, Doc felt blessed by the convenience of it.

Doc's twice-monthly ritual on the mainland would begin with his taking out a good handful of Euros from the cash machine, usually if it worked. But in the summer the windfall was more often. He then would walk with empty milk crates to the various shops and markets to load-up on supplies for the ensuing weeks. Pulling the fully-stocked crates, stacked in tandem on an skateboard he had inherited from a former student, he would then push them along the cobblestone street, brimming with perishable goods and supplies back to the port for departure. This would sometimes be that very evening before dark, but on days the sea was rough, the voyage back to Kalamos might be the following day or days.

But on this dark and blustering evening, and possibly for the next several days, this procedure seemed to be remote due to the summer storm. As the wind greatly increased at dusk and the lightning began to boom over the sea, Doc made himself comfortable inside, opening the windows to let the warm wind circulate, and later, lull him to sleep when night came.

Just as darkness was setting in and the lighting outside was frequent and fully dramatic over the sea, a light knock was barely heard on his heavy oak door. Opening it, he saw his favorite Nymph standing outside fully drenched and holding in front of her diminutive body, an enormous lobster by the creatures long red feelers.

"Maera! Please. Come inside," he offered.

I really don't know what it feels like to be hungry," she said cheerily, "But I can only imagine you are, Doc. I know people love to eat these."

Smiling back at her and feeling blessed by his good friend and good fortune, Doc opened the door and let the Nereida in—her bare feel leaving little puddles on the hard stone floor.

"You must stop feeding me like this, Maera. May Fish and now . . . lobster! You'll spoil me like a child."

Doc motioned her in and she did so bringing with her the delectable meal, hanging limp and freshly dead. He motioned her over to where he produced a large metal pot for boiling. As he ladled fresh water into the pot and put it onto the fire he had already lit, he looked up at her thankfully. He could see from her expression that she seemed also to be happy and content in his presence.

"I'm glad you're out of the storm, good friend," he told her. Several thunderclaps exploded just then outside and very near the cliff, emphasizing his point. "Not a safe night, it seems . . . either on land or in the sea."