Chapter Four
The next morning Mary Ann was up bright and early. Ginger, wrapped in her orange blanket in the other bed, yawned daintily behind her hand. "Where's the fire?" she mumbled, groggily.
"No fire," Mary Ann chirped. "I'm going to hang the mistletoe. As a surprise, before everyone else wakes up." She fastened her shorts and selected her pretty gingham blouse, the one that tied at the front.
Ginger yawned again, then smiled. "They say the early bird catches the worm. Or in this case, the sailor."
"Ginger!" Mary Ann laughed. "Don't forget whose idea this was in the first place. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd think this wasn't just about Gilligan and me." She finished dressing and brushed her hair into pigtails. "After all, he's not the only single man on the island who wouldn't know a romantic gesture if it fell out of a passing airplane and landed on his head."
Ginger squirmed inside her orange cocoon like a giant red-haired butterfly. "You're right, Mary Ann." She imagined the Professor's handsome face as he stood waiting for one of her kisses. "I do have a hidden agenda."
Mary Ann picked up the mistletoe. She went over to Ginger's bed and tugged on the movie star's big toe. "Not so hidden," she giggled. "Come on- come and help me hang it."
In the boys' hut, the Skipper was trying to shake Gilligan awake. It annoyed him how the boy slept lightly until you wanted him to get up and then he became as immobile as a dead tree trunk. "Gilligan! Gilligan! Wake up!"
"Go'way," Gilligan mumbled, swatting irritably at the Skipper's hands.
"Gilligan! Wake up. That's an order! I want to hang the mistletoe."
Gilligan opened one bleary eye and peered at the Skipper in disbelief. "Now?" he whined. "Why now?"
"Because I want it to be a surprise!" the Skipper explained, hanging on to the last vestiges of his patience.
Gilligan screwed up his face. "Skipper, it's too early to start kissing. Besides, if no-one's awake then there's no-one to kiss except me, and I'm sure not gonna kiss you."
"My poor heart is broken," the Skipper lamented. "Now come on, get up, or I'll tip you out!"
With a groan of protest, Gilligan half climbed, half fell out of his hammock and staggered over to the table to collect the best of the many attempts at mistletoe he'd spent all night constructing.
Ginger clutched her orange blanket tightly around herself. She tottered out of the hut behind Mary Ann, blinking in the early dawn light.
"There's an overhanging branch in the clearing near the tree," Mary Ann said softly. "I saw it last night. If we hang it there, no-one will miss it!"
"Mary Ann, I'll make sure no-one misses it, even if I have to light it up and point a big red arrow at it," Ginger said, wryly.
The Skipper pushed Gilligan out of the hut, ignoring the young man's petulant muttering. "Come on, Gilligan, there's an overhanging branch by the tree. If we hang the mistletoe there, no-one will miss it!"
"Then can I go back to bed?" Gilligan sulked.
"Then you can dance the Watusi through the jungle on your hands, for all I care." The Skipper suddenly stopped dead. He tugged on Gilligan's sleeve, pulling the first mate backwards. "What the-?" he blustered. "Look over there! It's the girls! What are they doing up?"
On the other side of the clearing, Mary Ann and Ginger stopped dead in their tracks.
"Look! It's the Skipper and Gilligan!" Ginger frowned. "What are they doing up?"
The four castaways approached each other cautiously, wearing identical looks of confusion. "Good morning, girls," the Skipper said as cheerfully as he could. "Not to be rude or anything, but may I ask why you're up so early?" He tried to ignore the sight of Ginger wearing just her blanket. Her bare, creamy shoulders were enough to turn him into an awkward schoolboy at the best of times. He was thankful for the Navy training that allowed him to remain stoic.
"Not to be rude, Skipper, but may we ask you the same question?" Ginger smiled, aware of the effect she was having on the Skipper.
"I believe we asked you first, Ginger." The Skipper resolutely stood his ground.
Gilligan's eyes were fully open now. He had spotted the small sprig of seaweed and ribbon that Mary Ann clutched tightly in her hand. "What's that, Mary Ann?" he asked, curiously.
"Mistletoe," Mary Ann replied, then pointed at his untidy collection of vine leaves and nylon wire. "What's that?"
"Mistletoe." Gilligan peered at his effort and then at hers. "Yours is much prettier."
"It's just seaweed," Mary Ann said, apologetically. "And some ribbon. And a few old pearls. Nothing special."
"It's nice. It looks like mistletoe. Well, more than mine does. I'm sure you'll get lots of kisses."
Mary Ann looked at his face. He was tired, but smiling. Had he said that just to be polite? "I'm sure you will, too," she said, looking down at his untidy collection of mismatched leaves and knotted twine.
"Mine's stupid," he remarked, as a leaf fell off it and twirled lazily to the ground.
"It's beautiful," she replied, and then, feeling suddenly courageous, she leaned up and kissed him quickly on the cheek. "Look- it's already working."
Gilligan's face reddened. He looked up to find the Skipper and Ginger staring at him.
"Too early to start kissing, huh, little buddy?" The Skipper chortled and slapped Gilligan heartily on the back. With the ice broken, all four castaways laughed, eager to avoid further embarrassment, until a commotion from the nearby Howells' residence made them stop. "Don't tell me the Howells are awake too!" The Skipper groaned.
"Yoo-hoo! I hope you haven't started without me!" Mrs. Howell ran across the clearing in a sort of elegant half-trot, flapping her hands in the air. "Come along, Thurston, do hurry!"
Mr. Howell looked even more asleep than Gilligan. Muttering a string of unintelligible oaths, he lurched to an abrupt halt behind his wife. He was still wearing his pajamas and his hair stuck up at angles. His beloved Teddy nestled in the crook of one elbow and in his other hand he held a basket. The basket was filled to the brim with a scrappy assortment of jungle vegetation tied into bunches with coloured ribbon and string.
"What have you got there, Mrs. Howell?" the Skipper asked, pointing at the basket.
"Why, Captain, can't you tell?" Mrs. Howell clapped her hands and jumped up and down with glee. "It's mistletoe! Thurston and I had a wonderful time making it, didn't we, Thurston?"
"Anngh eerughh ooergh," Mr. Howell mumbled with a grimace that said the time had been anything but wonderful.
"Mistletoe?" cried the Skipper in dismay, his jaw dropping.
"Mistletoe?" cried Ginger, clutching at the folds of her blanket.
"Mistletoe?" said Mary Ann and Gilligan, in unison.
The door to the Supply Hut opened and the Professor sauntered over to see what all the fuss was about. "Did I hear someone say 'mistletoe'?" he remarked, looking at each of them in turn.
The castaways shuffled from foot to foot as though they had been caught doing something naughty. The Professor spotted Mary Ann's sprig of seaweed and then he noticed the Howells' basket. He folded his arms across his chest and his blue eyes filled with amusement. "Well, Skipper, so much for being the only one with the idea- it appears we now have an abundance of the stuff. I hope everyone is fully aware that according to ancient Christmas custom, a man and a woman who meet under any hanging of mistletoe are obliged to kiss." He smiled and waited for the inevitable question.
"What does 'obliged' mean?" asked Gilligan.
"It means you have to." The Professor lowered his voice to make himself sound more serious.
Gilligan panicked. "But if it isn't real mistletoe, then I don't have to give real kisses!"
"Gilligan! You mustn't be a spoilsport!" cried Mrs. Howell, feigning great disappointment. "Why, it's simply magical to kiss someone special under mistletoe, real or not! Isn't that right, Thurston?"
Mr. Howell had fallen asleep on his feet, snoring gently through his open mouth with Teddy snuggled tightly against his chest. Meanwhile the basket dangled loosely from his fingers, threatening to spill all of its contents onto the sand.
"He's probably dreaming about it right now," Mrs. Howell asserted.
Gilligan found himself torn between real worry and confusion. He didn't want to be a spoilsport, but how was he going to avoid kissing if there was 'mistletoe' hanging everywhere? The thought of Ginger advancing on him with her lips puckered sent shivers up his spine for all the wrong reasons. Until his eyes fell on Mary Ann, smiling shyly at him from under her eyelashes, twirling her little sprig of seaweed. There was something about the way she looked, the way her skin glowed as the sun began to rise, that made him feel suddenly calm. Behind her, on top of the beautifully decorated tree, the little cross-eyed angel gazed down at him as though waiting for him to speak.
"Well, I guess if it's tradition," he said, hesitantly.
The Skipper folded his arm around Gilligan's shoulders. "Gilligan, little buddy, there are times in life when you've just got to take it like a man. And this is one of them."
"Okay." Gilligan shrugged. "I guess I can take it like a man, even if I feel like a chicken."
"Good boy, Gilligan!" laughed Ginger, clapping her hands together. "It'll be so much fun! You won't regret it!"
Gilligan watched Ginger's generous curves bouncing up and down inside her orange blanket. He wondered how many times he would have to kiss her and why exactly she scared him so much. I will regret it, he thought. Then he looked over and caught another shy smile from Mary Ann. Their eyes met and held, and all the confusion in his head seemed to melt away, seeping into his collar like snowflakes in front of the fire. But then again, maybe I won't.
"And now that we're all finally agreed," the Professor smiled, breaking into Gilligan's reverie, "What say we get this mistletoe hung?"
With a chorus of hoorays, the castaways scattered across the clearing and the hanging began in earnest.