The warm night breeze was blowing outside Doc's house when Maera finished her story of Thoe. Doc filled both their glasses with wine and thought of what he could do or say to bring up his guest's sombre mood.
"I'll be preparing a wonderful salad with my own baked bread tonight. I hope you'll join me for it, Maera."
The Nymph smiled.
"Did you see me eat anything today . . . or even with the British people on their ship?"
"Actually, no," he said, with a perplexed expression.
"You forget . . . who, what I am," she said, still smiling, "Food is not necessary. At least not to the daughters of Nereus. We sea nymphs, . . . Nereids, are not different in that way from river nymphs, Naiads or forest nymphs, Dryads."
Doc scratched his head, feeling the dizzying effect from the three glasses of wine. "Yes, I suppose you're correct." He said this trying to suppress his once too serious, pedantic voice and knowledge.
"Now that was not true for the Sirens," Maera said, putting her full glass of wine down on the table untasted. "They were terrible things, those half-bird and half women. And as you probably know, they ate the bodies of the sailors they had forced onto the rocks with their disgusting songs."
"Yes, I'm aware of that. But also many of the things you have shared with me, Maera."
She looked at him with a puzzled expression. "And just how do you know so much about the world I am from?"
"I was a professor of mythology. Classical Roman and Greek literature."
"Just what is a . . . professor, Doc? I only know of several types of men . . . sailors, fishermen and those who fought wars and were carried across the sea on ships . . . soldiers?
Doc nodded and smiled at her wonderful naivete.
"Well, a professor is just someone who looks at books all day. He . . . or she, tries to figure out this wonderful life from the many stories and legends . . . tales which you amazing creatures created for us."
"And . . . a book? What is that?"
Doc raised his eyebrows. The way he did when amused or shocked.
He stood up and carefully navigated himself across the small room to a set of shelves. There were only a handful of books on them. Below, on the floor, were several boxes of books which he had had good intentions of unpacking. But still, after three summers, he had not.
" Here," he said, handing her a copy of a very old and collectible edition of Bullfinch's Mythology. It was the celebrated text with illustrations that generations of people--mostly children over the centuries, had been educated with about the incomparable myths of the classical world.
Maera took it in her hands with interest and began flipping through its yellowed pages. She seemed expressively amazed at the drawings of mythological creatures and Greek gods.
"This is lovely," she said, her eyes widening as she perused the pages more of delightful illustrations. Doc stood closer and gently directed her to a complex sketch of King Nereus and a few of his beautiful daughters. They were depicted surrounding him with his trident in his hand. He was full bearded, bald-headed, and sentries of giant seahorses were in attendance. The setting of the kingdom palace clearly put it far below the surface of the sea.
Maera began to laugh out loud. Her giggling was musical and had the timber and charm of a schoolgirl.
"Why do you find that so funny," he asked, realizing it was only a human's futile attempt to convey the king of the sea, and his importance symbolically to the ancients.
"Because my father looks nothing like that. This man is ridiculous. My father is noble and still quite handsome, like you, Doc. And those . . . human girls? They are supposed to be us? Nereids?"
"Yes, that's right."
"But we do not have the same face. The same body. They look like . . . pretty fish!"
Doc was now laughing, too.
"Well, I guess mankind is never too advanced to learn a few essential things from the authentic past," he said. "I've learned so much from you, Maera. And just today!"
She put the book carefully on the table, no longer particularly impressed with it. It was a telling gesture about the industry of scholarship and research, Doc whimsically thought.
"You poor thing," she finally said to him, looking around the room and then closely into his face. You will just eat . . . salad and soup tonight? But people eat much more that that I thought."
"Well yes . . . sometimes we do. But I have not taken a boat over to the mainland for weeks. And did not have time today to go fishing. You see, I . . ."
"Doc . . . make your bread and prepare your greens. I will bring you something I know human's love for this habit they have . . . of eating."
He seemed perplexed by her sudden directive.
"You just wait here. And make your cooking fire. I'll return with a gift for you."
The Nymph instantly got up. Holding the hem of skirt to move quickly, she left through the doorway and continued down the trail toward the sea. Doc stood halfway in and out of his house, watching her disappear through the trees and out of site.
Taking the last gulp of wine in his glass, he moved about in his simple kitchen, preparing the salad and kneading the bread dough to bake in his wood-burning oven. A container of fresh water which he collected daily from a nearby spring, supplied him with the basics for washing and preparing his simple, meager meals.
It was true, he thought--Maera's observation about humans and food. He was indeed overdue to take the charter boat, which left daily from Kalamos Port on the other side of the island, to bring back supplies of salted meat, eggs, pasta noodles and fresh fruit and vegetables. Fish and shellfish were abundant there on the island from the rocks, however, and had become a staple of his diet--though the luck of the angler was not always on his side. Nevertheless, he had become experienced in procuring and preparing the tasty Mediterranean fishes which in all the world had a taste, incomparable.
It was less than an hour when Doc looked out the door into the starlight and could see Maera returning with something heavy and large in her arms. As she stood outside the candle-lit main room of the battlement, he recognized she was carrying a large, fresh fish, appearing to be taken from the sea only recently.
Kalli Orexi—(happy eating), Doc," she said in Greek. She then lifted the heavy fish with some effort onto a stone table positioned outside for the very purpose of cleaning and filleting.
"Amazing! That's a . . .
"Yes, a Mayotika, the Greek fishermen call them."
Doc was charmed by her efforts to catch this rare fish for him. The "May fish" was a treasured meal from the Ionian Sea—something akin to tuna in other seas.
"This will make a lovely grilled meal for us, Maera."
"For you only, Doc."
"Oh. Yes."
He quickly went about fileting the fish outside and started the fire in his simple stone grill as well, on which to cook it. Doc recognized the size of this fish could easily feed him and others for several days after salting it. Ice was a luxury he sometimes would bring back with him in blocks from Mytikas across the strait, but instead, he had learned that salting, and other herbal preservation techniques by the ancients, were sufficient.
While his bread was baking inside the house and his fish roasting on the grill outside, Doc was mobilized with Maera amused at how he tried to be in both places at once. She finally giggled and grabbed him in route from one place to the other and held him at bay in her arms.
"You work too hard for this thing you call . . . eating," she said, still laughing.
While holding on to him that brief moment, Doc was at first uncomfortable with her young arms around him, trying playfully to impede his progress. She obviously did not understand the human obsession to complete the preparation of a meal.
He stopped, smiled and looked into her amused face. He tried for a moment to imagine a world where food was not an issue. How simple life would be to not bother himself with the industry of it. It was also a stark confirmation that Maera was in many ways not like him, or anyone else he had ever known. Especially the women he had been entangled with, and with whom he had tried himself to find love.
As she let him free to continue his culinary duties, he thought of inviting her to spend the night there in the stone structure—perhaps offering to make a bed for her in one of the corners of the battlement. But then, feeling her still-wet dress as it brushed against his leg, he realized her natural home was out there, offshore, and below the waves.
"You were great company for me, today," Maera unexpectedly said, signalling her immanent departure. "I must take my rest now in my own home tonight, Doc."
The announcement immediately put to rest his idea of a domestic invitation.
"No . . . No, you were the best company," he said, hearing the lovely fish now sizzling on the grill outside. Your storytelling was so special, Maera. And I thank you greatly for the Mayotika."
"They're not easy to catch, you know," she said in parting. "Especially in the starlight."
She smiled and then began to step away.
Doc was again speechless. It was not the first time he had been that way during the long day and evening.
Maera turned, and swishing her dress, still wet from the sea, she said, "We will meet again. For I have many stories to tell you."
"Yes. And let's not forget my promise. The promise I made to help you find . . ."
"Love?"
"Well . . . at least someone young like you . . . who can show you some of the joys of it . . ."
"I've waited hundreds of years, Doc. There is really no rush. And maybe it is not meant for everyone. Human or Nymph."
"No! Don't think that way. Every beautiful woman . . . every Nymph . . . is entitled to feel it one day!"
"There are many things harder to catch than Mayotika," she said, somewhat sadly. "But I suppose all days are new days. And you make those days more beautiful, Doc."
Professor Orestes Roussos stood before his ancient stone house, just watching as the Nereid sweetly blew him a kiss, then disappeared into the darkness.
* * *