Gilligan's Soup
or: I Opened The Window And Influenza
Especially for CB, and anyone else who feels a little under the weather right now.
Mary Ann had felt it coming on for days. It started with a dull headache- the kind that feels like there's a band around your skull, getting tighter and tighter by the minute. With the headache came a tendency to be irritable, but she remained as cheerful as she could, going about her daily routine and hoping the pain would ease by itself.
Then came the sore throat, and with it the aching neck and shoulders. When carrying plates laden with delicious food to the table became an ordeal rather than a pleasure, Mary Ann knew she must be sick. And when she couldn't even enjoy the food, could only watch as the voracious hordes munched their way through platters of fish and fruit and home made pie, she knew that tomorrow she was probably going to feel even worse.
That night she tossed and turned for hours, trying to ease the pains in her head and neck. Ginger sympathised for a while, but by 2am the movie star was tired and irritable herself.
"Here, try my pillow," she suggested, throwing a cushion at Mary Ann. "Anything to make you go to sleep!"
Mary Ann didn't even have the energy to return the remark. Her throat was too painful. Instead, she could only croak her thanks. That's when Ginger finally realised that something was wrong.
"Mary Ann, you don't sound too good."
Mary Ann croaked again.
"Come to think of it, you were quiet at dinner, too. Even when Gilligan and the Skipper held that disgusting belching contest."
Mary Ann tried to laugh but it hurt too much. Gilligan and the Skipper didn't usually display such bad manners at the table, but it had started from something the Professor said about cultures that saw belching as a sign that the meal was good. Apparently a particularly loud belch was seen as a compliment to the chef. At which point, Gilligan had deliberately swallowed some air and then belched as loudly as he could, sitting there with a big grin on his face afterwards. Following a brief silence during which Lovey Howell almost fainted with horror, the Skipper had tried to out-belch Gilligan, and, determined not to be outdone, Gilligan had promptly returned fire, declaring that no-one appreciated their chef more than he did. Mary Ann had smiled weakly at him, but all she had really wanted at that point was to lie down and crawl under a warm blanket, even though the night was hot.
"You should see the Professor in the morning." Ginger said, and then shuddered. "You could be coming down with something horrible!"
But Mary Ann was finally going to sleep, already drifting into a virus induced dream where belching monsters chased her through the jungle until headhunters caught her and tied her to a pole, whereupon Gilligan, dressed as the Chief Headhunter, danced menacingly around a campfire keeping the belching monsters at bay with a sharp spear.
The next morning, Mary Ann could barely move. She tried to struggle out of bed- there was breakfast to be made- but her whole body felt as though it were made of lead. Her shoulders and her pelvis ached unbearably, her legs and arms hung from her like dead weights. Her vision seemed distorted- colours were too bright, spots and stars flashed in front of her eyes as soon as she raised her head. She fell back onto the bed, unable even to let out a groan.
Ginger was already up and dressed. "I knew you were sick," she murmured, laying her hand on Mary Ann's brow. "You're burning up! I'll go get the Professor, immediately!"
Mary Ann drifted off to sleep again. The next thing she was aware of were voices talking around her, wavering in and out like the radio being tuned into different stations. The Professor, the Skipper. Then a higher pitched voice, more anxious than the others. Gilligan. Then a reprimand. Then more anxious whining. Then the Professor, his tone much more mellow and soothing.
"Mary Ann, I believe you are suffering from influenza."
"Oh, no! Influenza! Not influenza!" cried Gilligan. Then, after a brief pause, "What's influenza?"
"The flu, Gilligan!" said the Skipper, tersely. Perhaps because he realised he'd be waiting a long time for his breakfast.
"Oh. The flu. That's bad."
Mary Ann smiled. She reached her hand out. She wanted Gilligan to take it. She wanted to reassure him that she didn't mind that he didn't know what 'influenza' meant. But of course, he didn't- he just stood there, staring at her. She knew he wouldn't, but it had been worth a try. With an involuntary shiver, she let her arm drop, curling it around herself while she burrowed deeper under the blanket.
"You're not to leave this bed, Mary Ann. At least, not for today."
Mary Ann smiled again. Briefly she wondered what Ginger would say if she were told not to leave her bed by the Professor. Mary Ann thought the Professor would be taking his life into his own hands if he gave the sultry movie star such an order. Influenza or no influenza!
"Breakfast..." Mary Ann murmured, even though it made her whole neck hurt.
"We'll take care of breakfast, don't you worry," said the Professor, oblivious to the thoughts that were going on in Mary Ann's head.
"Oh, great," the Skipper moaned. "Who's going to burn the pineapple fritters this time?"
"I will," said Gilligan, brightly.
"Skipper, poor Mary Ann has other things to worry about besides breakfast," said the Professor.
"Oh, I know that, Professor!" The Skipper approached Mary Ann's bed, looking down at her in sympathy. "Mary Ann, don't you worry about a thing. You take as much time as you need so that you can get better."
"She'll need to drink plenty of fluids to keep hydrated," the Professor said. "And soup, if she's not eating."
"We can make soup," Skipper said.
"Fish soup," Gilligan said. "Lobster soup. Coconut soup. Pineapple soup. Coconut and pineapple soup. Coconut and pineapple soup mixed with fish soup and lobster soup." He rubbed his stomach in anticipation. "Nummy num num. I can taste it now!"
"How about chicken soup, with you as the chicken!" The Skipper took off his hat and whacked Gilligan over the head with it.
To the familiar sounds of Skipper and Gilligan being, well, Skipper and Gilligan, Mary Ann finally drifted off to sleep. It was like being serenaded by a lullaby. But as soon as she went under the bad dreams began again. The belching monsters pursued her up and down the jungle paths while the headhunters waited to capture her and take her to their leader. This went on for what felt like hours, until the smell of something warm and delicious assailed her nostrils, telling her there was something worth waking up for. Something much nicer than monsters and headhunters, even if their Chief did look just like Gilligan.
When Mary Ann eventually prised open her eyes, she was surprised to find that Gilligan himself was sitting patiently beside her bed holding a full bowl of soup in both hands. The red of his shirt was a little too bright at first, and made Mary Ann close her eyes against the throb of pain that resulted. But she was so happy to see him there that she cracked them open again, feeling a tired smile stretch its way across her face.
"Hi, Gilligan," she croaked.
"Hi, Mary Ann. Boy, you sure sound like my pet frog!"
"Thank you." Mary Ann tried to laugh, but it hurt too much.
"It's kind of cute," Gilligan grinned. He lifted the bowl up so she could see it better. "Here. I brought you some soup. Fish and coconut, with a squeeze of lime. It tastes yummy."
Mary Ann didn't feel much like eating but she knew she had to get something in her stomach as she hadn't eaten properly for nearly two days. She needed her vitamins and minerals, according to the Professor. "Hurts to move," she murmured.
"Okay, well...I have an idea." Gilligan pulled his chair right up to Mary Ann's bedside with one hand while he balanced the soup bowl a little clumsily in the other, spilling some of it on his sleeve in the process. "I'll feed you. Just like you feed me when I can't do it myself." He waited while Mary Ann pulled herself higher up on the pillow, smiling sympathetically when she made a face and winced at the ache in her arms and shoulders. "Hurts, huh."
Mary Ann muttered something in agreement.
"Well, this'll make you feel a million times better." He spooned some soup out of the bowl and brought it close to her lips. She opened her mouth- gosh, even her jaw muscles ached- and accepted the small amount of soup that Gilligan poured in. It tasted wonderful, just as he'd said. Warm, a little salty, a little sweet, and laced with the tang of lime.
"Mmmmm!" she murmured. "Mmmmm!"
"That's exactly what I said when I tasted it. Mmmmm-mmmmm!"
Mary Ann swallowed the soup gently past the lump of razor blades that she'd obviously swallowed at some earlier time without even realising. Otherwise why would her throat be so sore!
"Was that good?" Gilligan was looking at her with that childlike curiosity of his, his head tipped over to one side.
Mary Ann nodded.
"Okay. Here comes the choo-choo train!" Gilligan spooned more soup into her waiting mouth, opening his own mouth at the same time. "Into the tunnel!" he said, gleefully, making Mary Ann almost choke with painful laughter. "Was that good?"
She nodded, her eyes watering as her throat burned.
"Ready for more?"
She nodded, opening her mouth. Gilligan started making train noises as he brought another spoonful of soup to her lips.
"Into the tunnel!"
This went on and on until Mary Ann had finally had enough soup and was exhausted from trying not to laugh at Gilligan's train noises and declarations of 'into the tunnel!' every time he gave her a spoonful of soup. But the soup had been delicious, warm and soothing, and just spicy enough to make her feel better already.
"Did you like it?" Gilligan asked, leaning down to place the bowl on the floor beside her bed.
"Yes," she croaked. "Was lovely."
"I made it," he said, proudly, puffing out his skinny chest.
Mary Ann's eyes widened, which made them start throbbing. "You did?"
"Uh-huh. I wanted to. Because otherwise you would have gotten that awful stuff that Mr. Howell made once. Remember?"
"Bouillabaisse," Mary Ann said, wincing as the syllables scraped past her throat.
"Boo-ya..." Gilligan frowned purposefully as he tried pronouncing the unfamiliar word.
"Fish soup," Mary Ann smiled. "Yours's much nicer."
"Skipper thought so too. He said it smelled delicious. He wanted some," Gilligan grinned. "But I said, 'no, no, en oh, no! This soup is for Mary Ann!'" He beamed with pride.
"It was the best soup ever." Mary Ann reached out from under the blanket and tugged gently on the leg of his jeans. Then, even though she knew it would really hurt and that she'd regret it instantly, she swallowed a tiny bit of air and let out a very small and very ladylike burp.
"What was that?" Gilligan cocked his head mischievously.
"Belch."
"Sounded more like a flea's hiccup!"
"Compliments to chef," she smiled, tugging on his pants leg again.
"Pretty small compliment," Gilligan grinned.
"Meant from the heart. Thank you." Warmed by the soup and feeling more comfortable than she had in a long time, Mary Ann felt her eyes growing heavy as sleep threatened to take over again.
"You're welcome," Gilligan smiled. He fell silent for a few moments. Then, after taking a deep breath, the words began tumbling out of him like a cascade of pebbles down a hill. "I don't like you having in-flu-enza, Mary Ann. I wanted to go butterfly hunting with you today, but you were asleep, and anyway, you're too sick. And I had to help Ginger with the laundry, even though she likes it better when I don't help. And everyone was quiet at lunch because you weren't there." He watched her intently as she began to doze, lulled by the sound of his voice going on and on. "You look tired, Mary Ann," he observed."Will you be okay, or do you want me to sit with you awhile?"
"Sit with me awhile." Mary Ann whispered. "Keep talking."
"Keep talking?" Gilligan's eyes grew wide. "I never get asked to keep talking!"
"Keep talking," Mary Ann repeated.
"Well, okay. Let's see..." He chewed briefly on his thumbnail. "Oh yeah. Skipper yelled at me for standing on his foot, and then he yelled at me when I got off his foot, because I stood on his other foot."
Mary Ann's hand let go of Gilligan's pants leg as she fell asleep at last. Feeling her fingers release their grip, he looked down to see her arm dangling loosely off the bed. Gently, he reached down and lifted her arm up, holding it lightly at the wrist and elbow. He folded it neatly over her stomach, on top of the blanket. He peered into her face to make sure she was really asleep. When he decided she was fully unconscious, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before sitting back in his chair and letting out the breath he'd been unaware he was holding.
"Sweet dreams, Mary Ann," he said, softly.
Mary Ann slept for hours. There were no more bad dreams filled with belching monsters or leering headhunters. This time there was a lagoon made of spicy fish soup and a myriad of colourful butterflies decorating the sky. And then she was on a train, and Gilligan was the train driver, sitting in his cabin with a big Casey Jones hat on, pulling on the steam whistle.
The next day, Mary Ann's fever broke and she opened her eyes to see Ginger and Gilligan looking down at her.
"See?" Gilligan was saying. "I told you she'd be okay!"
"Mary Ann!" Ginger exclaimed. "You've been asleep for hours and hours! I was so worried!"
"I have? Hours and hours? What time is it?" Mary Ann was surprised to find that even her sore throat had gone.
"It's the morning, Mary Ann. We've just had our breakfast!"
"The morning? Really?" Mary Ann looked from the worried face of Ginger to the beaming grin of Gilligan and back again. "I didn't mean to worry anybody, really, I didn't. But I think I just had the most wonderful sleep of my life! And I feel so much better now!" She raised her head off the pillow only to feel a crashing pain behind her eyes as her brain got used to the different orientation. "Ouch! Or at least...I did."
"Don't be too hasty to get up," came the Professor's soothing tones. Their resident genius had entered the girls' hut as soon as he heard all the voices. "The virus won't have completely left your body yet. You're still weak. You still need to rest."
"But, Professor! I have to..."
"You don't 'have to' anything, except stay in bed." The Professor raised one eyebrow, and then, to Mary Ann's delight, he shot a glance at Ginger, who immediately blushed.
Mary Ann's head fell back onto the pillow. She had to admit, staying in bed while everyone fussed around her had its merits. She didn't often get this kind of attention, and while she didn't like being sick for longer than she had to be, she decided it would be all right to follow the doctor's orders for a day or two longer. "Gilligan's soup," she smiled, fixing her eyes on her red shirted friend. "It cured me."
Gilligan shuffled his feet, embarrassed, while Ginger and the Professor both turned and stared at him. "Aw, Mary Ann. That's nice of you to say, but it was only soup."
"It was more than only soup." Mary Ann tried to get him to look at her, but he'd gone suddenly shy.
"How could it be more than only soup?" He was thoroughly perplexed. "If it was more than only soup, it wouldn't have fit in the bowl!"
Mary Ann loved the way Gilligan always took things literally. Pulling the blankets up around her shoulders, she snuggled down into the bed's cosy warmth for a whole blissful day of rest and recuperation. "I'll tell you how it was more than only soup, Gilligan," she said, coyly. "If you'll sit with me awhile."
End