Part II: Gilligan's Genie
"Boy, that was some storm last night," Gilligan said. He was a skinny, dark-haired man in his late twenties, although he looked and acted younger.
Jonas Grumby, the former captain of the S.S. Minnow, nodded. He was twice Gilligan's size, and more than twice his age. "Let's hope the storm washed something useful up on the shore. You go that way," he pointed, "and I'll go this way."
"Right, Skipper," Gilligan agreed. They headed in opposite directions.
Gilligan wandered along the beach for several minutes, keeping his eyes open for flotsam or jetsam that might have washed up on the beach. Nothing caught his eye but driftwood. Then he saw the sun sparkle on something in the sand. He hurried over and pulled out a glass bottle, half-buried in the sand.
"I wonder if there's a message in it." Gilligan grabbed the bottom of his red shirt and used it to rub some of the sand off the bottle. Then he pulled the cork out. He peeked into the bottle, hoping to see a message or root beer or something interesting.
Purple smoke began to waft from the bottle. Gilligan held it at arm's length. The smoke coalesced and formed into a female form: a very beautiful female form, a blonde clad in a pink and red harem costume.
"Oh, my gosh, you're a genie!" Gilligan exclaimed.
The genie knelt before him. She placed her hands before her, as though she were praying, and bowed low. She spoke in a dulcet voice and a respectful, almost reverent, tone. Gilligan couldn't understand a word she was saying, but it sounded beautiful.
"Gee, that must be Arabic or Persian," Gilligan guessed. "Or maybe Chaldean." He vaguely recollected mention of 'Ur of the Chaldees' from Sunday school, many years ago.
She rose gracefully to her feet, then rushed forward with gay abandon and embraced him. She kissed him once, twice, thrice. Although surprised, Gilligan did not protest her actions. Finally, he drew back, needing to catch his breath.
"Wow."
She spoke again, her words as sweet as birdsong and as incomprehensible to the sailor as Italian opera. She looked up at him expectantly.
Gilligan shook his head. "I'm sorry; I don't understand you."
She began babbling at him in Babylonian, or perhaps Mesopotamian, again.
"I wish I could understand you," Gilligan said.
"O my master, I am so grateful to thee for freeing me from the prison of my bottle. I shall serve thee all the days of thy life," she told him in Ancient Persian.
"Hey! You're speaking English," Gilligan marveled.
"No, master, thou art speaking Persian," she told him.
"Oh."
"Thou mayest ask anything of thy slave, master. Thy wish is my command," she assured him.
"Oh, no, you're not my slave," Gilligan told her.
The genie put her hands together again and bowed. "I am thy slave, master. Thou hast freed me from my bottle and I am thy genie."
"But slavery's illegal. I can't own you."
"Thou dost not want me?" She looked about to cry.
"Of course I want you. Any man would want a girl as beautiful as you, especially if she were a genie," Gilligan assured her. "Especially when she kisses like you do. I just can't own you."
The genie pouted prettily, obviously confused. The sea breeze blew across the lagoon, blowing her blonde hair.
"And you don't need to call me 'master.' My name's Gilligan. Just call me Gilligan."
"If that is thy wish, Gilligan," she replied hesitantly.
"What do I call you? Is it okay if I call you Jeannie?" Gilligan asked.
"Thou mayest call me whatever thou wishest, mas- Gilligan."
"Do I still get three wishes, even if I'm not your master?" he asked. "Well, two wishes. I used one so I could understand you."
"As many wishes as thou desirest," she assured him.
"I've got to take you to meet the others." Gilligan's face fell. "The Professor won't believe in you. He doesn't believe in magic. He doesn't even believe in black cats or four-leafed clovers. And Mr. Howell, he only believes in cold, hard cash." Gilligan thought hard and quickly. He wasn't sure how Mrs. Howell, Ginger, and Mary Ann would react to a genie, or if they'd believe she was real. He remembered seeing the play Peter Pan when he was younger. Tinker Bell would have died if children didn't believe in fairies. What would disbelief do to a genie?
He wasn't willing to take the risk.
"On second thought, maybe you'd better not meet them yet." Gilligan decided to keep her a secret, just to be on the safe side. "We're shipwrecked on this island. Can you get us home, Jeannie?"
"Of a certainty, mas- Gilligan," she corrected herself. "In the blink of an eye, I can transport thee and thy friends to Baghdad or Cairo or wherever pleaseth thee."
"That would be great!" Gilligan's face lit up with excitement, then fell again. "But if we just appear out of nowhere, then - "
"Hey, little buddy! Did you find anything -" The Skipper stopped short. He gave a wolf-whistle, then hurried forward to join Gilligan and Jeannie. "Gilligan, where'd she come from?" He took off his hat. "Very pleased to meet you, ma'am. Jonas Grumby, captain of the Minnow. But just call me Skipper, everybody does."
Jeannie put her hands together and bowed.
"Skipper, this is Jeannie. Jeannie, this is the Skipper. He's my best pal," Gilligan told her.
The Skipper looked at Gilligan, confused. "What gibberish are you babbling?"
Gilligan realized he had spoken in Persian. He concentrated and forced his mouth to speak English. "Sorry. Skipper, this is Jeannie. She's a genie. Jeannie, this is the Skipper. He's my best pal."
Jeannie spoke a sentence in Persian.
Gilligan translated for her. "She says she's honored to meet you."
"Well, tell her I'm honored, too."
Gilligan did so. Jeannie bowed again, not quite so deeply this time.
"A real, live genie, just like in The Arabian Nights," the Skipper marveled. "Do you realize what this means? We can go home! We're as good as rescued."
"Uh, one little problem." Gilligan explained his theory of what might happen to Jeannie if the Professor and the others didn't believe in her and his rationale.
"Gee, little buddy, you might be right. We wouldn't want anything to happen to this pretty little lady here." The Skipper scratched his head.
"Jeannie offered to just wish us home, but then everybody would want to know how we got there," Gilligan said. "They'd have questions we couldn't answer without telling them about her."
The Skipper nodded. Jeannie looked from one to the other, waiting for someone to speak in a civilized tongue.
"You could have her wish for a boat to come to the island, or for a plane to fly overhead," the Skipper suggested.
Gilligan thought a moment. "Better be a boat. She's been in her bottle a long time. She may not know what a plane is." The scrawny sailor turned to Jeannie. In Persian, he asked her, "Can you have whatever boat is nearest to our island change course and come here?"
"Yea, verily, master."
"Gilligan," he reminded her.
"Gilligan," she repeated dutifully. She folded her arms, bowed her head, and blinked. "The boat comes, but I know not how long it shall take them to reach thee."