10. Just Too Small
7:30 AM day 3
Starker's large frame sat in a little chair in the wheelhouse of the small boat. He looked a little green and held a paper bag in his hand, should he throw up again. "Seigfried, I vas just thinking."
His comrade stood at the wheel, looking out at the watery horizon. "Bad idea."
"How vill ve know when ve found ze machine? Ve don't know vhat it looks like."
Seigfried rolled his eyes. "Dumkoff, ve have this." He pointed to a monitor beside the compass. "Zat blinking light is the machine. Besides how many boxes are there in the middle of the Pacific zat have 'Property of KAOS' stamped on the side?"
"How much longer until ve get zere? I don't zink my stomach can handle much more." He held a hand over his midsection and moaned a little.
"Starker, zis is KAOS." He began with mock pleasantness. But his demeanor switched instantly with his next words. "Ve don't whine here!" After a moment of silence he added. "The machine is not moving so I assume it's run aground somewhere. Ve ought to be there zis afternoon."
Starker sighed miserably. "Zat's a long time. Ve could always sing vun hundred bottles of beer on ze vall to pass the time."
Seigfried tapped an impatient hand on the wheel and gave him a withering look.
Starker slumped a little more. "Sorry. I forgot. Ve don't sing here either."
9:10 AM day 3
Consciousness slowly wafted into Gilligan's mind. His internal alarm clock and the light he could sense behind closed lids told him that he had already overslept. He wondered groggily why the Skipper wasn't yelling at him yet. Usually by this time the captain was all over him, hollering things like; 'Quit being such a lazy bum and get your carcass out of bed.'
"Coming, Skipper." He mumbled to the voice that he only heard in his head. He tried to roll out of his hammock but there seemed to be something blocking him. Finally he opened his eyes and his brows immediately furrowed in confusion. Something wasn't right. This wasn't his hammock. As he sat up and looked around him the events of the last two days settled into place: the machine, shrinking, Gladys, Mary Ann's pie. He was going to have to write all this down in his diary when he was big enough to hold a pencil again.
"Hey, Skipper!" He called as he threw off the 'covers' and stepped out of his matchbox bed. There was no answer and Gilligan could see now that the Skipper's hammock was empty. "Where'd he go?" He made a move to go outside to search but after only a few steps reached the edge of the table. Pushing his hat back he scratched his head in frustration. "How am I gonna get off here?" That's when he spotted the chair. It was scooted right up against the table. With only a small hop he landed on the back of it. Both the back and the seat were covered with a thick padding of grass to make the chair more comfortable to sit in. But for Gilligan the long blades made a perfect means of descent. It was like climbing down a wall of stiff, thick, green ribbons. The grass skirting around the bottom stopped several inches from the ground. When he reached the end Gilligan let go and dropped to the sand. Without a look behind him he headed for the door.
As he strolled outside he couldn't help but be awed and intimidated by his surroundings. The huts towered above him like green skyscrapers and were as long as city blocks. To his right the sand seemed to stretch on like the Sahara with one mountain-like table in the center.
There was a sudden rustling to his left. He whirled around to see the grass of the hut moving. Swallowing hard he backed up slowly, his mind making up all kinds of huge terrifying monsters. He yelped in surprise as a black beetle the size of a cat emerged and skittered across the sand. Relaxing a bit he stepped closer for a better look. "Hey there." Its size was a bit unnerving but the insect didn't really scare him. He'd played with beetles all his life, even sneaking them into school on occasion to keep himself occupied during those boring history lectures. But he had never seen one in such detail. Before, they hadn't looked like much more than a shiny black speck with legs. Now he could see the grooves in the shell, the tiny hairs on the legs and the odd-looking compound eyes; like a million tiny marbles glued together in a sphere. He didn't get a long look for the insect quickly scampered away, leaving a line of little tracks in its wake.
He continued on, enjoying this enlightening morning walk until he reached the supply hut. Easily slipping through the bamboo bars that made up the door he started over toward the desk where the Professor sat. He had a pencil in hand and appeared to be studying some papers.
Document in hand the Professor stood turned toward the door. On his second step things happened rather quickly. A small scream sounded from below him. Startled by the sound he looked down to see Gilligan directly in the path of his descending foot. He tried to stop mid-stride and raise his foot back up, but the momentum sent him tumbling backwards, slamming into the desk. Both the Professor and the desk hit the ground hard, sending notes fluttering in all directions.
Gilligan ran over to where the Professor was now sitting in the sand, looking at the mess and shaking his head.
"You alright, Professor?"
"Gilligan," He said with an irritated sigh as the tiny first mate stood beside him, looking up worriedly. "You need to watch where you're going."
"Me?" Gilligan said defensively. "You were the one who almost stepped on me!"
"I apologize." He said, as he stood and righted the desk. "But people are unaccustomed to looking down when they walk. You need to announce your presence."
Gilligan nodded. "Okay, Professor." Being flat as a pancake wasn't his idea of fun. "Oh, hey." He said, remembering why he had come here in the first place. "Have you seen the Skipper?"
"He's down at the lagoon, checking the lobster traps." The Professor picked up a handful of paper and set it back on the desk.
Gilligan frowned a little. Before he could open his mouth the Professor continued.
"You had a difficult day yesterday and he decided to let you sleep in."
This was the second day in a row that the Skipper had done that job for him. Which to Gilligan just seemed odd. "Maybe I'd better go help him."
"Gilligan…"
"What?"
"Those lobsters are this big." The Professor held his hands about a foot and a half apart, which to Gilligan was about as long as a limo.
"On the other hand, maybe I'd better not." He said hesitantly, scenes from the movie 'Pincers' flashing through his mind.
--
The Skipper had just finished putting this morning's catch in one of the large water barrels which they now tried to keep stocked with either crab or lobster. It was easier for the girls to cook what was immediately on hand instead of calling one of the guys, usually Gilligan, to go check the traps before every meal.
He'd been out all morning and decided that it was time to check in on Gilligan. "Little Buddy, you awake?" He asked softly as he stepped into the hut. Mr. Howell's handkerchief was pulled back and he could see that the little matchbox was empty. In fact Gilligan wasn't even on the table. "Gilligan?" He said a bit louder as he scanned the room for a spot of red and blue.
"Where are y—" His words were cut short as he both heard and felt a crunch under his right foot. The Skipper's face turned ashen. "Oh, no. Gilligan!"
It felt as if his heart had stopped. Not wanting to look but knowing that he had to he held his breath and slowly raised his foot. His body relaxed and he almost laughed in relief. There, half buried in the sand were shards from a crushed shell. Gilligan was always picking up shells from the beach and adding them to his collection. He must have dropped this one.
Well, now that he knew he hadn't killed him where was Gilligan?
"Hey, Professor, have you seen Gilligan?" The Skipper asked as he entered the supply hut.
The Professor looked up but it was the little figure on the table that spoke up. "I'm right here, Skipper."
The irate captain stormed up to his little first mate, who sat on the edge of the table in the midst of the Professor's notes. "What do you mean running off like that?"
Gilligan's face scrunched, in both defense and puzzlement. " 'Running off'? All I did was walk over here. What did you want me to do, leave you a note?"
"Well at least I would know where you were." The Skipper shot back.
"You've never cared where I was before, unless you wanted me to do something."
"You've never been four inches high before. You could get into a lot of trouble."
"Speaking of which." The Professor spoke up. "Somebody needs to keep an eye on him. He came in here unannounced and I nearly stepped on him."
Gilligan frowned, somewhat put off by the remark. He was an adult and he certainly didn't need a babysitter. "Hey, listen, I can take care of myself."
The next thing he knew he was being set down on the table where Mary Ann was making breakfast. "But Skipper…"
The captain stabbed an insistent finger at him. "Now you just stay here. I've got to bring some water up from the spring." With that he headed off down the jungle path.
"That's my…" Gilligan's shoulders slumped and he finished with a sigh: "…job." It wasn't that the first mate was particularly fond of the many chores he had on the island. But something really bothered him about the Skipper's suddenly taking over his duties.
"How are you this morning?" Mary Ann asked. She sat by the table, stirring a large bowl of batter.
Gilligan weaved past several large pieces of fruit to the edge of the table, where he could talk to her better. He gave a little shrug. "Alright, I guess."
"What do you think?" She held up a wooden spoon covered with dripping yellow goo.
He dipped a finger in and quickly stuck it in his mouth. Nodding thoughtfully he said: "Pretty good. But needs a little more sugar."
She picked up a half gourd filled with cane sugar and dumped a little into the bowl. "That's what I thought. It's a new recipe. I hope it'll be done before lunch."
"You're cooking lunch before breakfast?"
"Oh, we already had breakfast."
Gilligan's jaw dropped. He looked both hurt and shocked. "And nobody told me?"
"Well, we thought that after everything that's happened you'd like to sleep in." She reached over somewhere behind him and picked up that same little bottle cap he had used as a plate the night before. In the morning light Gilligan now recognized it as the one from the Skipper's sea chest. It was from the first beer bottle his big buddy had opened with his teeth. It was overflowing with crab and daintily diced fruit. "This is for you."
Well, as long as he got breakfast he supposed it was okay. "Thanks, I'm starved."
She smiled. Gilligan always seemed to be hungry. She liked cooking for him because he enjoyed food so much and was always appreciative.
His breakfast didn't last long at all and soon he set the empty bottle cap down with a satisfied sigh. "That was great!" He stood and looked around the table at all the ingredients she had lined up for lunch. "I can help. What do you want me to do?" Gilligan asked.
"Sure. Thanks Gilligan. You could…" She started to point but stopped as she realized he was too small to pick up the knife. "…or maybe…" She frowned a bit as she realized that wouldn't work either. "…Well, you could always…No I guess you couldn't." After a second of confusion she just smiled. "I've really got everything under control. Why don't you just keep me company, okay?"
He sat down, slouching a little, with both legs dangling over the edge of the table. "Sure." He let out a small breath that said he wasn't satisfied just sitting there.
Mary Ann recognized the sound and bit her lip, wondering what she could do to make him feel better. "You know, Gilligan, I don't need any help. But Ginger does."
He perked up a little. "Yeah?"
"She's over there, rehearsing a play." Mary Ann pointed to the other side of the clearing where they could see the movie star sitting in one of the lounge chairs, talking to herself. "She said she needed someone to play the other part."
"Hey, yeah!" Gilligan rose to his feet. "I could do that."
"Do you want me to take you over there?" She asked, trying to be helpful.
The first mate's forehead puckered in a tiny frown. "I can do it myself." He walked to the edge of the table and began walking the rim, looking for some means of decent. But he went full circle and found nothing. His mouth twitched sheepishly to one side. "Well, maybe you could put me on the ground."
She managed to hide an amused smile as she set her hand on the table, palm up, just as the Skipper had done.
Gilligan stared at it for a moment, feeling a bit awkward. She was a girl after all. But after a bit of thought he shrugged and climbed on, deciding that hands were hands and it didn't make much difference. "Just don't drop me." He said nervously. She wasn't the Skipper and he wasn't sure he trusted her as much.
Slowly and smoothly she lowered her hand to the sand and the tiny first mate stepped off. "Thanks." He said over his shoulder as he started off toward the other side of the clearing.
It took him a little under ten minutes to reach the lounge chair where Ginger was talking to herself.
"Oh, Tony don't leave. Please. You'll be killed you if you go!" Her voice sounded as desperate as her words and her arms reached out to an invisible leading man. After a moment of pause she turned her head as if ashamed by words that only she could hear. "No, Tony. It's not your duty. I need you more!"
Gilligan stared straight up at the colossal actress that towered so high above his head. At this angle he saw more of her armpit than her face. He tilted his head a little so he could see her better. "Hey, Ginger."
She jumped a little at the unexpected voice. Looking down she smiled as she saw Gilligan. "Hi, Gilligan. I didn't see you there."
"Yeah, I've been getting that a lot today." He mumbled, to quiet for her to hear. Aloud he said: "Mary Ann said that you needed help rehearsing a play or something."
She tried to suppress a giggle but failed. "I don't think you can help me with this one, Gilligan. You couldn't put your arms around my wrist let alone my waist."
"Oh." Was all he said, both relieved that he didn't have to do a love scene with Ginger and more than a bit depressed by being told he was too small again.
"Top of the morning, Ginger." Mr. Howell said as he towered into view. "Marvelous day to take a jaunt down to the old green." He had his island made golf bag and clubs slung over his shoulder. With a polite nod to the movie star and not even an acknowledgement of Gilligan's presence he headed into the jungle.
"Hey, wait!" Gilligan called, deciding suddenly to follow him. He ran hard for what seemed like forever and he only caught up because Mr. Howell had stopped to adjust the strap on his bag. "Hey, Mr. Howell!" He yelled, between gasps of breath, staggering to a stop.
The millionaire looked down in surprise. "Why, Gilligan, my boy, I didn't see you there."
"Yeah, it figures." Gilligan said under his breath, getting tired of hearing those words. "I was just wondering if you needed a caddy."
"Caddy?" He gave a loud laugh. "My dear, dear boy. You couldn't even carry the ball!" The rich man shook his head and started walking away, still snickering to himself. "Of course you could always have a go at being the tee."
Gilligan just watched as Mr. Howell disappeared into the foliage. His head bowed and shoulders slumped he turned back and suddenly realized that he didn't know which way to go. He had followed Mr. Howell into the jungle where fallen leaves covered the ground and shoes left no footprints to follow. Tuning in a circle he stared up at the ferns and bushes that towered so high above his head. There was no trail to follow, no indication of which direction camp might be. A horrible fear crept over him and he knew he was lost.