Gilligan hobbled through the jungle in such blind desperation that it was almost a surprise when he reached the place where his feet had automatically taken him: the mango pool.
It was pretty: gloriously pretty, with a strange serenity that seemed to come from its being so hidden away. Soft, hazy sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves and hovered like mist against the sheltering green of the jungle. Where the light hit the water the pool sparkled turquoise, and tiny orange fish darted amid the shadows. A path fringed with orange fire-opal flowers meandered along the edge of the pool to where the slender young mango trees slept in the morning stillness.
Gilligan took a moment, breathing deeply, conscious of a deep pang of loss. He had loved this place from the moment he had first found it, but now its peace and beauty could not touch him. He was lost.
He eased himself down to sit on a flat rock by the edge of the pool. Leaning forward, he gazed at his reflection in the barely moving water. "Who are you?" he whispered. "Do I even know you anymore?"
He dragged off his hat and plunged it into the pool, scattering his image into a thousand ripples. He pulled the hat up, streaming, and poured the water over his aching head. The water was deliciously cool, but he took no comfort from it. He scooped some up to drink, but after only a brief sip, let it weep through his fingers as he buried his face in his hands.
Several minutes passed before he was even aware that something was crying.
At first the sound was so soft he thought he had imagined it. Then he heard it again. He sat up, looking around. Listening intently now, he heard it once more: a soft, sharp cry of something in pain.
It seemed to be coming from the bushes. Instinctively, Gilligan followed it, creeping slowly to where the foliage grew dense and lush behind the shafts of light. "Where are you?" he whispered. "What's wrong?"
The cry sounded yet again. Gilligan knelt down to peer into the shadows, and all at once he started and nearly forgot to breathe. Staring back at him was a pair of yellow eyes.
The young sailor sat back sharply, tense with fear, until he realized that whatever the creature was, it must be very small. And it was hurt. He leaned forward, carefully lifted away the thick fronds and hanging leaves, and gasped. There before him was the beast of his nightmare.
And yet it was not. It was very small. Though it had the same dark gold fur dappled with black rosettes, the same rounded ears and long tail, this slender creature was no bigger than a housecat. Gilligan's fingers could almost span the delicate throat, and the fine limbs were hardly wider than his thumb. The huge eyes gleamed in the tiny triangular face.
Gilligan stared in wonder. "Oh, what are you? You're beautiful!"
The little wild cat made no move to run away. It only made that soft cry.
"What's the matter? Are you hurt?" He held out his hand. "Come on. Don't be scared."
The creature stepped forward a few paces, its eyes never leaving Gilligan's. Gilligan noticed its gait was off as it hopped clumsily on one hind leg. Then he saw the bright red gash on the creature's thigh.
"Oh, you poor little guy! What happened?" The cat leaned forward to sniff Gilligan's hand. "There, you see? You can trust me. Take it easy, now – I wanna have a look at that leg." Gilligan reached down and fingered the limb with great care. "Doesn't feel broken. Here, let me clean it up for you." He pulled out his handkerchief and leaned over to dip the corner into the pool, then cleaned and carefully bound the wound. "It hurts, doesn't it? I know. I wish I could do something more for you."
The cat rose a bit and rested a paw on Gilligan's leg as if in invitation. "Can I? Oh, gosh, I'd love to!" Gently he lifted the creature into his lap, marvelling at how his fingers sank into the warm, velvety softness of its fur.
The first mate looked at the gleaming black and gold coat, the sleek, muscular body, and those strange, deep, incisive eyes. "I don't get it," he murmured. "You look so much alike…but you're so little. So gentle."
The little cat cried again, and Gilligan was moved with pity. "Hey, shhh. It's all right. I've got you."
He stroked the creature and spoke softly to it, amid the hushed murmur of the insects and the soft music of the birds.
Back at the camp, the castaways had sat slumped around the table for a time in dejected silence. Finally, Mary Ann spoke for them all. "Oh…it's so unfair! To think of Gilligan with that kind of guilt on his conscience? Where's the justice in that? Kinkaid was the murderer! Gilligan is the sweetest, most gentle boy I've ever known!"
Jonas Grumby clenched his fists 'til his knuckles went white. "Oh Mary Ann – if there were any justice, it would have been me!"
"Kinkaid said you were too big a target," Mr. Howell observed quietly.
"I meant it would have been me that put paid to Kinkaid, Howell!" the Skipper snapped. "I'm the Skipper! I'm the one that's supposed to look out for everybody! This is all my fault! My little buddy never should have had to do this!"
"No, no, it's my fault," said the Professor. "I should have thought of some way to outwit Kinkaid. Instead I just sat spouting nonsense about positive thinking!"
"I should have offered Kinkaid my entire fortune," said Mr. Howell. "Anything would have been a better price than this!"
"You tried, Mr. Howell," said the Professor sadly. "Kinkaid simply wasn't interested in money."
Mr. Howell shook his head in incomprehension. "That's true. Gilligan was the first man I ever met who was too good to accept a bribe. Kinkaid was the first who was too evil."
"I should have made sure he drank that potion I gave him," said Ginger, shuddering as she remembered the hunter's arms around her. "And I should have made it poison!"
"Oh, I wish I'd distracted that awful servant of his a good deal sooner!" said Mrs. Howell. "You men might have been able to do something!"
"You were incredibly brave, Mrs. Howell," insisted Mary Ann. "So was Ginger. I just sat there and cried. A lot of good that did!" She stood up. "Well, I'm through with just wringing my hands and hoping for the best. I can't bear to think of Gilligan out there alone, thinking what he's thinking! I'm going to go find him!"
The Skipper caught her arm. "Mary Ann, it's no use! You heard what he said!"
"I heard what he said, Skipper, and that's why he shouldn't be alone! That was a cry for help if I ever heard one!"
The Skipper shook his head wearily. "Mary Ann, believe me, it's eating me up inside to think of my little buddy feeling guilty about Kinkaid, after what that monster put him through! But you know what Gilligan's like with his wild ideas. You can't just lecture or cajole him back to normal! He shuts you out!"
"I'm afraid you're right, Skipper. Nevertheless, I share Mary Ann's concern," said the Professor. "Gilligan isn't rational in his present state; in fact, judging by what we've just seen, he may even be driven to do something deperate. We must find some way to temporarily disassociate him from his current state of self-condemnation so that we can begin to reinforce his ego identity."
"By Jove, Professor, there's enough material in that speech for a whole psychiatrist's convention," said Mr. Howell. "If that's what the poor boy requires, I'm afraid we've got a losing battle on our hands."
The Skipper looked up sharply at those words. His brow lowered and he fingered his chin in thought. "Say…maybe not, Mr. Howell. If we could just distract my little buddy somehow…get him calmed down enough for me to talk to him…maybe there is a way. At least it's worth a try."
"But distract him with what?" said Ginger. "Beauty won't do it. Food won't do it. What do we have that's bigger to Gilligan right now than his own pain?"
The Professor threw up his hands. "I've no idea, Ginger. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it!"
"Well, come on, then! What are we waiting for?" cried Mary Ann. "Let's go!"
"All right," said the Skipper. "Follow me. I know the way."
At least the Skipper thought he did. But the pool was so well hidden in the maze of the jungle's light and shadow that he led them past it several times without realizing. Finally he took a chance and pushed his way through the foliage, and was rewarded by a flashing glimpse of turquoise.
"Gilligan!"
"Gilligan, are you there?"
"Gilligan, my boy, where are you?"
As the castaways came up the path they saw Gilligan look up from where he was sitting by the edge of the pool, and all breathed a sigh of relief. The Skipper surged forward. "Little buddy! Gilligan! Thank goodness you're all right! I—" He stopped suddenly as he saw the look on Gilligan's face. "Oh, please don't look at me like that!"
To Jonas Grumby's relief, Gilligan sounded more sad than angry. "I said I wanted to be alone, Skipper."
"I know you did. I'm real sorry I had to break my promise to you, little buddy, but we were so worried about you! We just didn't think it was a good idea for you to be alone right now! We're only trying to help you! "
"But I wasn't alone, Skipper. And now you've scared him away!"
The Skipper drew back, blinking in complete surprise. "What? Scared who away?"
"The little cat," said Gilligan, with true worry in his voice. "He was hurt and I was trying to help him!"
It was the second surprise Gilligan had sprung upon them in one morning. The castaways all stared at each other, their eyes widening in epiphany. Mary Ann crept forward and knelt down, almost afraid to scare Gilligan away. "Oh, we're sorry, Gilligan! We didn't mean to! Like the Skipper said, we were worried." She tried to force her voice into a more conversational tone. "But...gee...I never knew there were any cats on the island. Where did you find him?"
"I didn't; he found me. He just showed up a little while ago." Gilligan looked off towards the bushes. "I sure hope he comes back. I'm real worried about him!"
"Oh, the poor thing." Ginger bit her lip, trying to improvise. "I had a little cat once. He used to climb the tree in the front yard all the time and then he couldn't get down. I got dates with a lot of handsome firemen that way."
"I think he fell out of a tree," said Gilligan softly. "He hurt his leg. He sat here with me and let me hold him."
"Wh-why…how sweet, dear boy!" said Mrs. Howell gently. She gave a little embarrassed laugh. "It's strange…I suppose I must be getting over my allergy to the creatures. I don't even feel the least inclined to sneeze, and I'm usually in a dreadful mess whenever there's a cat in the vicinity."
The Professor knelt to Gilligan's level as well. "Gilligan, you intrigue me: I'm very interested in this cat of yours. I wish you'd tell me more about it."
Gilligan looked back at him, almost suspicious. "Why?"
"Merely scientific curiousity," said the Professor innocently. "Cats are not indigenous to this part of the world. I'm wondering what species the creature belongs to. And besides—" the Professor's eyes suddenly lit with a burst of inspiration, "it may help me to advise you as to how to care for it."
"Oh! Do you think so?" For a moment there was something like hope in Gilligan's voice. "I'll try, Professor." The first mate frowned in intense concentration as the others traded glances and crossed fingers. "Well, he's only about this big," Gilligan said, holding up his hands, "and he's just beautiful. Yellow fur, black markings, long tail, and the biggest yellow eyes I've ever seen. He looked like a little tiny leopard."
"I say, sounds rather like an ocelot," said Mr. Howell. "Our neighbour Mrs. Vandermere used to parade one about on a leash. That woman always had to be the first in the neighbourhood to have anything."
"I don't think this is an ocelot," said the Professor. "The creature Gilligan's described is too small. No, Gilligan, I'd say what you've got there is a margay: one of the smallest of the South American jungle cats."
"South America…" Gilligan gasped. "Yeah, Professor, I think you're right!" He looked searchingly into the distance, as if trying to capture a distant memory.
"What is it, little buddy?" asked the Skipper.
"I remember now, Skipper…I went to the zoo once, a long time ago, when I was a kid. There was a travelling exhibit with animals from South America, and they had one of these little guys. And I remember, that was the name! A margay!"
"Yes, the Amazon jungle is inhabited by a number of feline species," explained the Professor. "Everything from the little margay to the ocelot to the 'beast that kills with one bound:' the jaguar."
Now Gilligan's eyes went huge and dark. "The jaguar!" he whispered. "So that's what it was!"
Everyone noticed the sudden change. "What's wrong, Gilligan? What do you mean?" asked the Professor cautiously.
Gilligan shivered. "I remember now: the zoo had one of those too. It was huge. It kept pacing around, snarling at the bars, and when it roared it didn't sound like a lion's roar: it was more like a weird, deep grunt. It scared me half to death."
Mary Ann looked at the Professor worriedly, then leaped in, trying to keep the conversation moving. "Gosh, Professor, if these little margays live in the jungle with jaguars, how do they manage not to get eaten?"
"Oh, they've evolved a very efficient mechanism for survival, Mary Ann. You see, the two species don't compete with each other. Each has their own special role to play, and they almost never meet."
The Skipper's eyebrows rose. "How do they never meet if they're both in the same jungle?"
"It's simple, Skipper. The jaguar prowls the darkness of the jungle floor. With its strength and ferocity and cunning, it can handle prey far too large for the delicate margay. Meanwhile, the margay hunts high in the treetops, where the jaguar could never reach. And unlike its fierce cousin, the margay is a gentle creature. Gilligan claims to have actually tamed this one."
The first mate shuddered. "I don't think I'd want to try and tame a jaguar."
"A lion's pretty fierce too," said Mary Ann. "But Daniel tamed one. So did you."
Gilligan looked up in surprise in her words, then looked away.
"Little buddy, we'd be glad to help you look for him."
Gilligan shook his head. "Thanks, Skipper, but I don't think that'll work. He's too shy. Maybe if you all go away, he might come back. But I want to stay here and make sure he's okay."
"Well, I--" the Skipper caught the Professor's surreptitious nod. "Well, sure, Gilligan, if that's what you want. But what if he doesn't come back right away? Do you mean to stay out here all night?"
Gilligan looked worried for a moment, looking around. The Skipper seized his chance.
"Because I'd be glad to come back and camp out here with you for the night, little buddy."
Though it was a very tentative smile, it was still the first one the castaways had seen on Gilligan's face since the night before the hunt. "Thanks, Skipper. I'd like that."
