January 22, 1965
First mate's log:
Wow, someone else visited the island, but he wasn't as friendly as Mr. Feldman! He was a Japanese soldier who spoke English but didn't know the war was over. He captured all of us, even the kids! He didn't seem to be violent, but he didn't like us being on "his" island. He arrived and left in a submarine. I don't think he's going to tell anyone we're here.
January 23, 1965
Carol Martin's diary:
As if the fear of dehydration hadn't been a bad enough experience, a couple days ago we were all captured by a Japanese soldier! I tried not to act scared, for my daughters' sakes, but it was very upsetting, even if the man didn't seem violent. To my surprise, Gilligan freed us. Then the soldier went away in his one-man sub. I've felt so safe here, perhaps too safe, with no crime to worry about. (Well, theft but the thieves are always caught.) I mostly trust the others but now I worry about who else will land on the island, and if the next man might be violent. I don't want to live in fear, but it's hard not to.
Oh, I wish Tim were here! Yes, there are men among us, but it's different when you have your own man beside you, day and night.
January 29, 1965
I found a treasure chest yesterday! We argued about how to split it, then Mr. Brady, whose grandfather is a judge, said that anything we find on the island should be split equally. Mr. Howell thought this was unfair because that means that the kids would each get a share, and so it'd be like Mr. Brady would get one-quarter of island resources, since he'd manage the little boys' shares. Then Mr. Howell offered us each $100,000 for our shares, which means the Brady and Martin families got $400,000 each. But when it turned out that the chest was full of cannonballs, none of us held him to the agreement. We're going to use the cannonballs for a bowling alley, so that way everyone gets to share them. (Well, not the kids, since the balls are too heavy.)
February 5, 1965
Oh, I hope no one ever comes to our island again! No, I know, we need to be rescued, but my fears of a violent visitor came true, in fact more than one violent visitor. Gangsters invaded our island! The main one was Jackson Farrell, who pretended to be a doctor until Gilligan discovered his identity. Thank goodness he didn't harm any of us, but he did have a gun, which Ginger tried and failed to take away from him. (She's braver than I would expect a Hollywood actress to be.) In the end, his gang came and got him and they all left the island, Gilligan having "accidentally" shredded his bag of loot. Perhaps I've underestimated that boy. Perhaps his bumbling hides his cleverness. Or perhaps it's just dumb luck.
February 11, 1965
The Skipper's having me build a playroom. Not like the little playground we have for the kids, but a place for us adults to hang out and have fun. We might even hold dances, like for Valentine's Day. I wonder if I would be too shy to ask one of the girls to dance. But I think it'd be OK because people don't really dance these days. They just choose up sides. And I'm pretty good at the Twist. We hear about new dances on the radio, but we don't know what they look like.
February 11, 1965
The batteries to the radio, made by one of Mr. Howell's companies, have gone dead. I like having that link with the outside world, I mean the non-threatening part of it. The children like to listen to Uncle Artie's Storytime and all of us adults have our favorite programs. Sometimes I'll listen to show biz news with Ginger, but I also try to keep up on hard news, although I worry about Tim being shipped out to Vietnam, if he hasn't already been. I'll admit sometimes I like to get lost in the lives on the soap operas that Mary Ann and Alice follow, because the crises are so serious but fortunately fictional.
Oh, and we're planning a Valentine's Dance but that will be difficult without music from the radio. No, no, I'm not going there for romance myself, but it'd be a perfect opportunity to nudge some of the single people together. The Professor might be able to recharge the batteries, and if not, maybe he could build a bamboo record player. The Howells brought along some of their LPs. Yes, they truly over-packed, but I'm grateful for that.
February 12, 1965
Wow! Yesterday the radio batteries died but the Skipper had some rechargeable ones, and the Professor knew how to recharge them with seawater. (It has nothing to do with credit cards.) And when the radio went back on, we found out that a deadly missile was going to be launched just about where this island is. And it's being launched today at noon!
Mary Ann brought me two coconut cream pies this morning because she thought she hadn't been nice enough to me, which is silly, because she's the nicest person on the island. And then the Skipper gave me one of the pies she made for him. I love her pies, but that was too much even for me. The Skipper and I ended up throwing them in each other's faces.
I can't believe I'm, we're all, going to be dead in a couple hours. Life on the island hasn't been perfect of course, but I've been pretty happy here, happier than I expected to be. And soon it's going to be over. And then it won't matter how much pie I ate.
February 12, 1965
I went for a walk after breakfast, trying to fathom that I, the children, every one of us will soon be dead. I couldn't tell my daughters about the missile that's headed towards the island, an island that the government thinks is uninhabited. I couldn't write about it after I heard. I guess I felt like if I didn't say anything, to my daughters or to my journal, then it wasn't real. But I knew it was.
Life on the island used to have its mishaps and crises, but it seems like in the last few weeks, it's gotten worse and worse. With the water shortage and the hostile visitors, there were solutions, even if we couldn't see them at first. But now? Nothing can save us from this missile.
I left my girls playing in their playground, with Alice looking after them. I needed time alone, to pull myself together and put on a happy face for their sakes. But in the jungle, I ran into Mike, who was whispering to himself.
"I'm sorry," I said, backing away.
"No, don't go. You're the only one who can really understand what I'm going through."
I've seen this strong, sensible man cry, when he first lost his wife, but this was different now. He was scared, but he had to hide it from his children, like I did. We talked about how hard that was, and all the hopes and dreams we had for them: growing up, going to college, having families of their own. Even Greg is only nine, far too young to die. And then there are hopes and dreams for ourselves, not just as parents. Mike wants to build important structures, "not just rinky-dink little bamboo huts." I reminded him that we wouldn't have survived without his architectural skills.
We both took comfort from the talk, which may sound funny with doom still hanging over our heads. After he patted my arm and left, I started writing in here. And now I'm going to go back to my children. I don't know if I can tell them the truth, especially not two-year-old Cindy, but I can at least be there with them, comforting them, whatever happens. I still have my fears, but I won't let that stop me.
February 13, 1965
Well, the Professor made a mirror to signal the search plane that they sent to make sure the area was clear before launching the missile, but, well, I broke the mirror. Then when the missile landed, it didn't explode. Instead, it chased me! And I was the only one skinny enough (not counting the kids of course) to crawl inside and disarm it, following the Professor's instructions. Then the missile took off again, with me inside!
It headed for the lagoon and out to sea. I guess I could've stayed on and tried to get rescued but I was afraid it would explode out there, with me trapped. So I jumped off and swam back to shore. I'm too worn out to build the playroom and everyone else seems to have forgotten about the Valentine's Dance anyway. I'm just glad to be safe and dry again.
February 13, 1965
For all his mistakes, Gilligan has a courage and daring I've never seen in anyone before. Not only did he try to disarm the missile, but he rode it out to sea! We thought we'd lost him. The children, who adore him, were saddest of all. Well, them and Mary Ann. We were all relieved when he returned to us, sopping wet. And Mary Ann ran to get a towel to dry him off.
The Valentine's Dance has been forgotten by everyone I think, but I'll look for other opportunities to get those two together. And I'll try not to think about how tomorrow will be my first Valentine's Day without Tim in ten years.