Free The Volcano That Changed The World by James W. Mercer Page A

early evening. Is that alright?”
    “Tha t sounds great,” Mark said as he slowly closed the door, observing the women walking away with the beach in the background. He suspected that an early evening to Greeks was likely later than an American interpretation of that term.
    He quickly s haved in the shower, which he kept short, and brushed his teeth. He felt much better, refreshed. Just as he finished dressing into lighter clothes and slipping on his sandals, there was a knock at his door.
    Opening it, h e was expecting to see just Alexia, but both she and Elektra stood before him, arm in arm. “Do you mind if Elektra joins us for dinner?” Alexia asked. “There are few other guests here and this is a good time for her to close the front desk and eat.”
    “Of course not; the more the merrier ,” he said, closing the door behind him.
    They made their way to an open-air tavern, with a table set on a wooden floor right next to the beach. With cliffs in the background, the Perissa-Perivolos Beach was a long stretch of soft black sand, which disappeared under the persistent gentle waves of the Mediterranean Sea. Having grown up on the Florida coastline, Mark considered himself an aficionado on beaches, and this one passed muster.
    For his benefit, English was spoken. As the conversation between Alexia and Elektra meandered, Mark’s eyes continually were drawn to the water. For now, he didn’t mind not being part of the conversation. He was just glad to be here.
    Looking off into the distant horizon, the only way to distinguish water from sky was by the different hues of blue. The Mediterranean’s darker blue with sunlight sparkling off the waves won the competition for the focus of one’s eyes over the cloudless light azure sky. As the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, however, the twinkling lights on the sloping landscape and the tangerine-tinged sky became the clear winners until the large red ball finally tumbled into the sea and the sky went dark.
    In the background was a mix of Greek music, the sound of lapping waves on the beach, and conversation between the two women, which was steady. Being quite tired, Mark was content to listen and get his bearings. After they ordered, he finally entered the conversation, asking Elektra, “Are you from Santorini, or should I say, Thera?”
    Elektra responded enthusiastically, “Yes, I am from here. We Greeks call this island Thera, but most foreigners call it Santorini, which comes from the foreign seamen’s pronunciation of the island’s church of Saint Irene.”
    Wanting to learn more about the local history, he asked, “Do you know the origin of the name, Thera? I know that Thera is the name of the ancient volcano that was located here. As Alexia probably already told you, I’m a geologist here to study it.”
    Without hesitation, Elektra responded. “Yes, she told me about your work. To answer your question, the name Thera comes from a Spartan named Theras, who settled here sometime after the large eruption.”
    The wine they orde red arrived. It was a white; Mark generally preferred reds. Alexia offered a toast, “To your first night on Santorini.” They clinked glasses and drank.
    He found it pleasing. It was very dry with a citrus aroma. It would go well with the local seafood he had ordered for dinner. “This is very good. What is it?”
    “ It is from our indigenous grape, Assyrtiko, which has been cultivated here since the ancient Greeks arrived.” Elektra’s voice sounded a proud note.
    Surpr ised, Mark said, “I don’t recall reading about Santorini wines.”
    Alexia injected abruptly, “Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile.”
    Realizing he had been ignoring Alexia, Mark gave her a confused look. “Is that Shakespeare?”
    “Yes, from Love’s Labor’s Lost .”
    “What does it mean?” Elektra asked.
    Alexia said thoughtfully, “Taken in context, it means that if you seek the truth only in books, you will be deprived.” She