The night-time jungle was dark and haunting enough, but as the Professor and Ginger made their way along the roughly marked trail the Professor was haunted by images of Gilligan writhing on the ground in agony. Every time that vision loomed up in his mind's eye he felt the urge to run away and hide himself deep in those jungle shadows, but when he looked up and saw Ginger run her long, slender fingers over the notches in the trees and beckon him on, he squared his shoulders and kept going. Ginger moved down the twisting path with sinuous grace, her red hair and gold-trimmed dress gleaming in the smouldering glare of his torch. "And the Lord went before them like a pillar of fire by night," the Professor murmured softly.

Those marvellous eyes turned on him, depthless in the firelight. "Did you say something?"

"I said I think I see some light." And he knew how true his words were even as he said them.

Ginger pointed behind her. "So do I. It's clearing up ahead, and can I hear the surf. We're almost there!"

They moved still further through the rustling tropical night, until at last the dark canopy of the jungle gave way to the expanse of the sky. A lush wall of tall beach grass before them hid the sea.

"Was this the place?" asked Ginger softly.

"Yes." The Professor came up to stand beside her, his fingers curling around her slender hand, seeking her strength. "I just pray we find some miracle to save Gilligan!"

Ginger squeezed back. "We will." She glanced down towards their interlaced hands, and smiled in spite of herself. "But I think you'd better wait a minute."

"Why?"

"Your shoelace is untied. Don't want you tripping over the cure, do we?"

The Professor looked from her bemused eyes to his errant footgear. He rolled his eyes and sighed, glad of the chance to ease the tension. "Good heavens. What's the matter with me tonight? Hold the torch for me, would you?"

Ginger smiled as at a private joke and took the flaming torch. Holding it aloft, she parted the tall, thick grass and looked ahead while the Professor knelt on the ground.

"Oh, this beach is beautiful at night. So romantic." She sighed. "I wish we were here for a different reason."

"So do I." Preoccupied with his shoelace and his fears, the Professor didn't look up. "Do you see any phosphorescent rocks? They should be glowing."

"There are plenty of them, Professor! Enough to light up every sign on Broadway. Why, even the sea's full of phosphorus! It looks like it's on fire!"

This time the Professor did look up. His heart was pounding. "What? Ginger...what did you say?"

She looked back, puzzled at his tone. "I only said that the sea was full of phosphorus."

"But...phosphorus doesn't occur underwater!" He stood up and strode forward to where Ginger held the long beach grass aside.

There lay the miracle.

For there was the ocean stretched out before them, edged by the dark silhouette of the cliffs along the distant shoreline. Slender palms saluted the glorious night sky: a milk-white moon in the indigo heavens, framed by diamond stars. A few lonely clouds floated like islands in that starry sea, but the wide expanse of water below was anything but still: it danced and sparkled with a thousand neon blue flashes, like a mysterious fire blazing just under the surface, all the way out to the horizon. The dazzling waves that broke on the rocks bathed them in their radiance, until they seemed to reflect the stars.

The Professor stood as if Damascus' vision had struck him blind. He hardly dared believe it. "That light!"

"It's so beautiful - it almost looks like it's alive," said Ginger.

"It is! I have been blind!" the Professor cried. "It's Plato's Fire of the Sea!" With a wild laugh the scientist charged down the sand-dunes, straight into the glittering waters. He splashed in up to his waist, flinging up the water in great fountains and letting it cascade down his arms in a bacchanal of joy.

Alarmed, Ginger kicked off her shoes, threw the torch down on the sand and splashed in after him. The water foamed around her, coating her in a sparkling mantle. She finally caught him and grabbed him by the arms. "Professor, what is it? What's the matter?"

His face was alight. "You were right, Ginger! I can make mistakes! Ha, ha!"

"What are you talking about!"

"That substance on those rocks wasn't phosphorus at all! It was this!" The Professor scooped up the shimmering water in his cupped hands. "Dino Flagellates!

"Dino who? What is that? Sounds like an Italian movie star!"

"No, Ginger! They're a microscopic bioluminescent life form. They generate light with their own bodies!"

Ginger held out her hands as the Professor poured the magical mixture into them. "You mean like a firefly does?"

"Exactly! Or the deep-sea angler fish, or the Bermuda fire-worm!" Even in a transport of joy, the Professor slid into lecture mode. "Most bioluminescent species live in the depths of the ocean, where there is no light. They have to make their own. Like this!" He spread his arms towards the glowing horizon. "But every so often they rise to the surface. Mariners as far back as ancient Greece described the phenomena as looking like the sea was on fire! They must have washed up on those rocks I found, and I mistook them for phosphorus. I never thought of them coming from the water!"

"But what about Gilligan? He ate them, didn't he? Are they dangerous?"

Roy Hinkley threw back his head and laughed. "Not Dino Flagellates! Not in the least! Gilligan is fine!"

With a sudden whoop the Professor caught Ginger up in his arms and they danced and swung in the moonlight, their laughter echoing amid the shimmering waves. At last they stopped for breath, splashing and soaked to the skin, as Ginger pulled her wet bangs from her eyes. "But Professor, what made poor Gilligan so sick, then? He threw up nearly everything he'd eaten today!"

The Professor smote his forehead and laughed again. "Of course he did! Ginger, Ginger, you're looking at the greatest fool from here to both poles! Come on! Let's get down to the lagoon. I think I know how to ease Gilligan's suffering and my conscience once and for all!"

***************

But they never reached the lagoon. Returning to camp for dry clothes, Ginger and the Professor found the Skipper and the Howells already there, seated at the communal table. Mary Ann was conspicuously absent, though delicious smells were coming from the direction of her baking oven. And wrapped in a blanket, curled cozily on Mr. Howell's chaise lounge while sipping warm coconut milk from a straw, was Gilligan. Only the faintest glow emanated from his fingernails now, and he smiled as the sodden two appeared in the light of the tiki torches. "Hi, Professor. Hi, Ginger. Where'd you get to?"

They both rushed to him, Ginger flinging her arms around his skinny shoulders until she nearly choked him. "Thank heavens you're all right, Gilligan!" she cried as she kissed him. "The last time I saw you you'd just about passed out!"

"I think I'm gonna pass out now!" Gilligan gulped in deep breaths as she released him. "Thanks, Ginger. Hey, how'd you get all wet? This is a funny time for a swim – and it looks like you forgot your bathing suits."

Mrs. Howell peered curiously through her lorgnette. "I suppose it's one way of avoiding the tropical sun, but really!"

"It's a one way to catch a tropical cold, I daresay," said her husband. "Ginger, my dear, you'd better have my jacket before you catch your death!"

"Hang on, Mr. Howell. Here, Ginger." Gilligan ably unwound himself from his brown blanket and passed it to her. "I don't need this thing anymore. I'm not sick."

"Thanks, Gilligan." The tall redhead smiled and stepped back to make room for the Professor.

Hesitantly the Professor knelt at Gilligan's side and pressed his hand against the young man's dark bangs. "Gilligan, thank heavens! I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you. How do you feel?"

"Like the heavyweight champ's used my stomach for a punching bag. I don't want anything to eat for the next week!"

The Skipper ambled over to rest a heavy hand on his first mate's shoulder. "Well, you brought it on yourself, little buddy. Don't expect any sympathy from me! It wasn't any fun starving for the past few days while watching you make a pig out of yourself!"

"Aw, come on, Skipper. You make it sound like I was greedy. I did it for you, remember? So we could both go back in the Navy!"

"Huh. The only place you'd have ended up is the infirmary. I could have told you a little guy like you couldn't take on that much chow!"

Gilligan gave an arch smile. "I guess you're right, Skipper. When it comes to taking on chow you're in a league all your own."

"Wiseguy." The Skipper's cap came down on his head, but so lightly it barely disturbed Gilligan's hair. "At least when I eat something, it's food. Not the Professor's formula!"

"Oh, yeah." Gilligan sheepishly wiggled his glowing fingertips and turned to the Professor. "Sorry about that, Professor. Guess I goofed again, didn't I? But I guess you wouldn't understand that...you never make a mistake."

The Professor gasped as if struck. He took a deep, deep breath and squeezed Gilligan's arm briefly as Ginger moved silently forward to stand at the scientist's side. The Professor cleared his throat, even as he felt Ginger's hand brush his shoulder. "This was my mistake, Gilligan. My carelessness. I should have told you what was in that bowl when I set it beside you. I could have done you terrible harm. Can you ever forgive me?"

Gilligan cocked his head and stared in innocent puzzlement. "Sure, Professor. I guess everybody makes mistakes."

The Professor gave a great sigh of relief. Looking down, he caught sight of Gilligan's hands and examined his glowing nails. "Well, don't worry about the rescue, Gilligan. This substance wouldn't have saved us. It's already wearing off, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Good thing, too. Otherwise I might have kept the Skipper up all night." Gilligan raised an eyebrow. "Oh well, Skipper. At least you could have read the Navy Manual by me, and we wouldn't have had to waste a candle."

"Nobody holds a candle to you, little buddy. That's for sure."

The general laughter that followed was interrupted by Mary Ann's entrance with two coconut cream pies on a tray. "Here they are, everybody! Fresh from the oven!"

The Skipper hit the table like a torpedo, scooping up knife and fork before Mary Ann could even set the tray down. "Mmm! That smells wonderful, Mary Ann!"

Mary Ann smiled. "And this one's just for you, Skipper. The other is for everybody else!"

"Little sweetheart, you're the best!"

Carefully the farm girl passed the pieplate over on a folded towel. "Watch out, Skipper. It's hot. Gilligan, are you having any?"

Gilligan shuddered and managed a weak grin. "Heh – maybe next time, Mary Ann! I'm on a diet!"

The Professor stood up. "I've got some herbs in my hut that should settle your stomach, Gilligan. I'll start them brewing, and maybe you will find you can manage some of that pie."

"That'd be great, Professor. Thanks."

"And perhaps you'd both better change out of those wet things," added Mrs. Howell, still peering through her lorgnette.

Ginger and the Professor looked sheepishly at each other and nodded. She went to her hut and he to his as Mary Ann began dishing out the pie.

A few minutes later the Professor was straining peppermint tea leaves over a coconut cup when he heard a knock at his door. He heard the wooden door swing open, and a soft voice murmured, "Well, at the risk of spouting theatre clichés, 'All's well that ends well.'"

He turned to a vision in the dancing candlelight: a vision of fire-red hair and fire-blue eyes. She was wearing the white dress she had made from Gilligan's duffle bag. "Thanks for the dance, by the way," said Ginger with a fond smile.

The Professor put his strainer down with a sigh of deep appreciation. "Ginger, how can I ever thank you for what you did tonight? You were magnificent."

She shrugged gracefully, still smiling. "I had a magnificent leading man."

He shook his head. "No. I didn't lead. You did. I don't know what I would have done without you tonight. I – I really haven't any words to thank you."

"Why don't you show me then, Professor?" She flowed across the room towards him, almost as luminous as the flickering beings that had lit the moonlit bay. About a foot from him she stopped, eyes gleaming.

Roy Hinkley held out his hand in his best boy-scout manner. "Thank you, Ginger."

Ginger's sigh could have blown out a volcano. She stared down at his hand in disbelief for a moment before she finally shook it, shaking her head in the bargain. "You're welcome, Professor." Slowly her smile came back, though she sighed again. "Is that for Gilligan?" she asked, indicating the coconut cup.

"What? Oh, yes. Yes. I hope he'll enjoy it more than the charcoal soup!"

She picked it up. "I'll take it to him, then. In the meantime—" and he caught one last flash of those blue eyes as she looked his still-damp physique pointedly up and down, "you really had better get out of those wet things!"

As she rippled out the door, Roy Hinkley looked down at his shaking hand. He closed his medical book, his fingers lingering to caress the soft leather. "Just one more cliché," he murmured, alone in the candlelight. "'Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright.' Thank you, Ginger. Thank you."