The Last Nymph

Fire Dance

After Doc had eaten his meal in the quiet company of Maera, and downed his fourth class of wine, he was feeling particularly relaxed and liberated. He took his plate, utensils and dishtowel back into the kitchen, returning a bit dizzy to the table. He was charmed to see the Nymph was a still watching the fire with fascination.

"So how do you find this fire, Maera? Not frightening, I see."

"The flames are beautiful . . . when not destroying ships or forests, Doc"

"Yes, as I told you, we humans have depended on fire for warmth in the winter. And to cook our food. Especially when we're lucky enough to have it brought to us from the sea . . . and by such a beautiful messenger."

Maera looked at him and smiled at the chosen compliment. He made it quite boldly, and to test his idea that she might find the opportunity that long night to engage in what Nymphs were notorious for doing—seduction.

She looked back at the fire surprisingly self-consciously.

"These flames look like they're dancing, Doc," she said innocently.

"Is dancing something you like?"

"Of course!" she said exuberantly. "My sisters and I spent many years together singing and dancing."

The professor knew exactly the pretext of the singing and dancing Maera referred to. As he looked in the fire, he envisioned the many sailors and fishermen she and her bolder sisters must have sung to over the centuries—and danced in front of. He had read throughout his career legends of the Nymphs singing from the waves with their melliferous voices. And how from cliffs and beaches they danced, taunting men with movements any young man would be incapable of turning away from.

Doc got up and went over to his cluttered shelf. He took down an embattled Sony portable music player, dusty since the last time he used it. It was battery-powered and played music from a USB inserted into it and which he had recorded while in the States. At the time he thought he should have such music to keep him company. Maera watched open-eyed as he placed the small boombox on the floor and adjusted it for a certain song from his favorite music—mostly retro from the 1980's, the nostalgic time of his own wild youth.

Suddenly, the small box on the floor boomed out with a strong beat and infective message. It was the ever-popular song by David Bowie, "Let's Dance."

Maera was frozen while listening to the intense sound, obviously never being up close to any technology such as this. She was suddenly in a space where music came with great volume and passion out of seemingly nowhere. Once she was over the shock of its novelty, the beat, the rhythm, the sound of Bowie's voice sent out a message she found impossible not to follow—"Let's dance!"

In no time, Maera was up out of her chair and swishing around the room in her white dress. Doc moved the chairs and table out of her way to give her full access to the space before the fireplace. She seemed liberated by the music, no longer shy or morose. And she moved impressively well, with the steps and grace of a professional dancer.

And then suddenly, causing Doc to stop breathing for several moments, Maera unfastened and threw off her dress, kicking it to the side of the room. As the lyrics blasted out of the music player, echoing through the small stone house, she began to freely writhe erotically and powerfully, like the flames in the fire before her.

"Let's Dance.

If you say run
I'll run with you.
And if you say hide
We'll hide.
Because my love for you
Would break my heart in two.
If you should fall into my arms
And tremble like a flower

Let's dance.

Under the moonlight, the serious moonlight.

Let's dance."

Doc was now mesmerized in his chair watching this paragon of youth and mythical beauty tease him into the thoughts and passions of a young man once more. For just a moment Maera looked over at him and smiled, seeming to be lost to the music. But it was not withstanding to Doc, and to Maera too, how obviously she now controlled the night—and the man, who out of his passion and stupidity, would want her more than anything else in this world. More even, as he felt the power of the true Nymph to be raw Nature, than his own life.

Orestes Roussos stood up, struggling to control his male instincts. He moved reluctantly toward the door. Fighting the urge to go back and hungrily watch her. In a burst of defiance against himself, he threw the door open and stepped out into the windy, dark night. The rain engulfed him and soaked through his clothing in a matter of seconds. As he stood in the midst of the storm, he listened to the muffled music behind the stone walls of his house and watched the hint of red and orange through the crude wooden shudders.

As Doc walked toward the cliff, he felt he had had an epiphany of sorts. It was about his own understanding of the past. Of the legends, and more importantly of his own struggle for strength in the face of Nature. For the Nymphs, he had always believed, were just Nature's incarnation of feminine energy and the power to beguile the weakest of men--yet this was before meeting Maera.

After passing along the trail in the rain for a while and hearing the waves hitting the rocks below with force, he stopped to catch his breath. It was a gesture to regain dominance over himself. A matter of control he had always been proud of. Yet so much now existed in uncertainty.

When he returned to the house and stepped inside, the music—which he himself had put on Repeat, was blaring still. The ambiance, however, had drastically changed as Maera was now nowhere in sight. Doc was left only with the haunting, melodic lyrics of Bowie:

"And if you say run
I'll run with you.
And if you say hide
We'll hide.
Because my love for you
Would break my heart in two.
If you should fall into my arms
And tremble like a flower . . .

Let's dance."

* * *