"How did you eat?" "How did you build those huts?" "Was there fresh water?" "How did you all keep from going mad?"
Each has a reasonable answer; indeed, I took pleasure in answering.
"There was an abundance of fruit and fish. The huts were made of bamboo frames, palm fraun walls. We were lucky enough to have a fresh spring and clean groundwater. There were so many of us, and so much to do, there was no time to go mad."
But one day, the head of my department at the university called me into her office.
"I have a question of my own," she said. And I knew she was going to ask what everyone had been thinking about, but no one brave enough to put into words.
"You're brilliant," she said. "That's not flattery, it's raw truth, and you know it."
I made a gesture of acknowledgement and waited, waited for the dreaded question to fall from her lips.
"Why couldn't you--" She paused, and decided to try a less direct route. "You practically built a new civilization there. You built homes. You built a vitrolla! You recharged the radio batteries, you made a pedal-powered car, you made a washing machine--and no boats?"
No one really realizes what a remarkable bunch of people the crew and passengers of the SS Minnow were. Are still. They were much braver than I imagine most people are. They all wanted to leave the island; but never very much. It never drove them mad.
Everyone missed something of their old life, though, except Gilligan and myself.
Jonas Grumby, the Skipper, was a man of the sea. He was jolly and kind, and certainly not stupid, on the land; but to be truly happy he needed to be at sea. (Preferably with a woman.)
Eunice Howell and Thurston Howell III, you really surprised me. I never expected two aristocrats, cream of the social crop, to fare so well on a desert island. You never liked it; but your joking lightened the mood, and you rarely complained.
Ginger Grant was an actress, with some money, and a lot of attitude. We usually avoided each other; she seemed to do well, helping with laundry and cooking, but who could tell? She was, after all, an actress.
Mary Ann Summers, sweet young thing. You almsot enjoyed it here. The work and semi-isolation reminded you of your farm at home; and if you had been a little older, you would have missed your family less.
Willie Gilligan loved the island, perhaps more than any of us. He didn't seem very bright; but what no one ever noticed was his way with animals and nature! How many parrots did he catch and teach to talk and do tricks? How many chimps followed him around? He would eat random things from the jungle, and rarely fall ill. An extraordinary creature, that Gilligan.
And myself? Well, how often do you get a chance to live alone, away on a deserted island that has fresh water, good food, and an opportunity to build all your favorite inventions from scratch? I do not know, reader, if you've noticed; but scientists are usually the enemies of administrators. They are burned out quickly, an dturn into snappish, introverted crazies who lock themselves in a lab and only come out briefly to teach the next generation of unfortunate souls.
Let's just say I locked myself on an island.
Did the others really fail to notice how many radio stations we picked up? How many visitors we had? Did they really think our island was so far out of the way?
"No boats," I told the department head.
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because I'm selfish," I replied.
The only one, I think, who was onto me, knew what I was doing, was Gilligan. But he loved the island, and so didn't say anything.
To my surprise, I really feel worse for him than for myself. For me, the island was extremely amusing, and it was a way to run away from my problems. But for him, it was a way of life; I think he felt more comfortable there than he did anywhere else.
In the end, it really was Gilligan's island.