The Last Nymph

The Good Life

Diane and Jim's high-tech catamaran was deceiving from the dock. It didn't seem nearly so big as when inside. Maera's eyes were wide as they entered the well-lit craft with its state-of-the art-trappings and luxurious interior. Even Doc was speechless as they were given a tour by Diane and the two crew—a thirtyish, British skipper they called Terry and his younger Greek companion named Sappho, both wearing all white. In addition to the four sleeping areas, the boat had a full bar and entertainment room, with big-screen TV, comfortable-looking sofas, an amazing sound system, an immaculate stainless-steel galley, and upper decks for lounging out in the warm sun. Though it was technically a sailboat, Doc could hear the twin diesel engines below the main deck begin to throttle up.

Soon they were silently cruising away from the dock and heading out in calm waters toward the fading light to the west—the direction of Lefkada. As the four acquaintances got comfortable out on the back deck, protected from the wind, the dark haired and shapely Sappho appeared, asking everyone what they would like to drink. Jim and Diane settled for some kind of cocktail, Doc ordered a beer, and of course Maera declined.

"I must say, Professor Abrams," Doc said leaning back comfortably, you do travel in style these days."

"Yeah, all those years I came to Greece to study archaeological sites, living in tents and cheap hotels, I just thought my holidays in this wonderful place should be a little better."

Doc nodded and smiled. "Well, that's Berkeley one, and Stanford zero," he added, referring to the two institutions' historical rivalry. Doc had, in fact, done the same thing by coming back to Greece, but his idea of any affluent lifestyle was just not to his tastes. Simplicity was what the retired professor of the two had opted for. And complete seclusion.

Diana turned toward Maera out of decorum. "Maera, are you Greek? Because you really look like you could be. . . Dutch, Swedish? German? And yet there's something more exotic about her looks. Don't you think, Jim?"

"I guessed French when I first saw you, Maera," Jim chimed in, smiling at her.

Doc jumped in to save her. "Well, she's . . . actually, Maera is . . ."

"I was born in the sea," Maera said unflinchingly.

"Well, yeah. What she means is . . . she's a swimmer. A . . . champion swimmer. Right Maera?"

"Oh yes. Much stronger than many of my sisters."

"She's referring to the national team she used to swim for."

Maera looked at Doc and could see from his worried expression that she should not say more.

"Yes," she concluded meekly. "Doc is right. My . . . team."

"Marvelous," Diane added. And what country was that from?"

"Georgia." Doc stated abruptly. See, originally her parents were from Communist Georgia . . . and during the political turmoil there in the eighties, they came down here to the island of Kalamos. To defect. Maera was later born to them and has lived over there on the island all her life. And pretty much alone now, sadly. It's quite an extraordinary story this young lady has."

"Fascinating," Jim said, looking at her in earnest and more intently.

"Not only fascinating. She's a wonderful person," Doc added. "The best of companions." He smiled at her caringly.

"Wow. That's very sweet," Diane said, smiling back at the two of them."

The boat had now gained speed, and once out in a more exposed sea, the swells and wind had picked up making the voyage somewhat rougher.