The submarine surfaced in the lagoon. The hatch opened. Three sailors climbed out. They each inhaled deeply, appreciating the fresh air.
"Hot," the first sailor remarked.
"Feels good," the second said.
The third remarked, "It reminds me of Cuba."
"Do you think the captain will permit us to have a few days shore leave, or just gather bananas and coconuts and go back to sea?" the first sailor asked.
"A few days on the beach would be nice," the second sailor agreed, predicting, "and since it would be nice, the captain will not do it."
"What is the point of shore leave on the beach if there are no women in swimsuits?" the third retorted. "That is the best part of Cuba, beautiful suntanned ladies in bikinis."
"Attention!" the first sailor ordered. The other two drew themselves up straight and serious. He planted a metal rod with a small flag on it in the sand. "I claim this island in the name of our glorious Motherland!"
All three saluted.
"Our beloved Rodina!" yelled the other two. Without another word, they marched off into the jungle to look for mangoes, bananas, coconuts, or whatever fresh fruit the island might provide.
No sooner had they left then Thurston Howell III walked down the beach, holding hands with his wife, Eunice Wentworth Howell. They often took a constitutional together when they needed to get away from the peasants.
"Dear, did it seem to you that Gilligan was acting strangely?" Mrs. Howell asked. She wore a light blue dress with a floral pattern, and carried a parasol - also decorated with a floral pattern - to protect her complexion from the sun. A triple strand of pearls hung about her neck.
"Gilligan always acts strangely, Lovey." The millionaire was dressed as though he was planning to spend the afternoon at the yacht club: a red ascot, a white captain's hat, a dark blue jacket, a light blue shirt, and white trousers. His white shoes were made of Italian leather.
"And I could have sworn I heard him speaking Farsi. Why on Earth would the dear boy speak Farsi? And where would he have learned it?" the middle-aged society doyenne asked.
"Farsi?"
"You know, modern Persian. I used to have the Iranian ambassador's wife to tea, and what he was saying sounded just like her."
"Now, Lovey, where would Gilligan have learned Farsi? I very much doubt he's ever been to Iran," Mr. Howell pointed out.
"Well, he and the Skipper were both in the Navy before -"
"Great Caesar's ghost, is that someone's idea of a joke?" Mr. Howell interrupted his wife.
She looked to see what he was pointing at, and saw a small red flag on a metal rod. In the upper left corner of the flag were a yellow star and a yellow hammer and sickle.
"Communists! On our island?" Mr. Howell was outraged. "That flag is an insult to every red-blooded American."
Mrs. Howell turned her head to the left and saw something even more disturbing. "Dear."
"Capitalism is the heart's blood of America. Communism - communism is an attack on everything that makes our country great." He marched up to the flag and pulled the rod out of the sand.
"Dear." Mrs. Howell tried to get his attention.
"Who could have perpetrated such a sick joke? You don't suppose the Professor would have done something this distasteful, do you? " Mr. Howell asked as he threw the rod to the ground. "They do say academia is a hotbed of liberal - "
"Thurston!"
"Huh?" He turned to look at his wife, and then saw the sub behind her in the lagoon. Four sailors in the uniform of the Soviet Navy were coming out of the submarine. None looked happy at the disrespect he had shown to their flag.
Just as Gilligan and the Skipper had searched the beach for useful flotsam and jetsam after the storm, Mary Ann Summers and Ginger Grant were searching the jungle to see if the winds had knocked any bananas or coconuts down from the trees. As they searched, they came across three Russian sailors, Ilya Svletanov, Dmitri Ivanov, and Sasha Fadeyev, also looking for fresh fruit.
"Strangers!" Mary exclaimed. Her mother had always warned her to beware of strangers.
"Sailors!" Ginger corrected her. She didn't recognize the uniform, but she knew it came from some sort of navy. "Sailors mean boats. Boats mean we're rescued!"
"Bozhe moi!" Ilya exclaimed.
"Women!" Dmitri and Sasha cried out (in Russian). They had been at sea a long time.
Ginger rushed up. She hugged and kissed the three men, one after another. After a second's hesitation, Mary Ann did likewise. However, she kissed them on the cheeks, not the lips.
" Bozhe moi!" Sasha exclaimed.
"Well, bozhe moi right back at you," Mary Ann said, having no idea she was taking the Lord's name in vain. "We are so glad to see you."
"The native women are very friendly," Dmitri declared.
"Da," Sasha agreed. "Better than Cuban mujeres."
The five started talking together and quickly discovered the language barrier. After a few minutes of "me Tarzan, you Jane," with some mangled mispronunciations, they managed to trade first names. Using sign language, the women got the men to follow them back to the castaways' camp.
"Professor! Skipper! Gilligan! We're rescued," Ginger called out.
"Look! Foreign sailors," Mary Ann pointed out. "This is Ilya, Dmitri, and Sasha."
Roy Hinkley, the high school science teacher nicknamed 'the Professor,' hurried out to greet the newcomers. Gilligan and the Skipper held back.
"Look at those uniforms," the Skipper said. "I think that's the Russian navy."
The Professor, having failed to communicate with the trio in English, tried French.
"Well," Gilligan shrugged. "I didn't wish for the nearest American ship, just the nearest ship."
Having no more success with French than English, the Professor attempted Latin.
Gilligan watched the Professor a minute, then asked the Skipper: "Do you speak Russian?"
The Skipper shook his head. "Just three words: da, nyet, and tovarisch." When Gilligan looked up at him with a puzzled expression, he explained, "Yes, no, and friend."
"Jeannie, I wish the Skipper and I could speak in Russian."
The genie was tucked away in Gilligan's pocket, as tiny as a pixy. She folded her arms, blinked, and voila! Her master and his friend knew the language of Pushkin and Dostoyevsky.
Gilligan and the Skipper stepped forward, greeting the three in fluent - albeit somewhat accented - Russian. They introduced themselves and the Professor.
"We were shipwrecked here," the Skipper explained. "Do you s'pose your ship could either get us to Hawaii or else call the U. S. Coast Guard?"
"Da, da," Ilya agreed.
Mary Ann fetched out the remains of yesterday's banana cream pie and forced it on the three sailors. They ate heartily. They would have eaten anything given them by a pretty girl, but after months of navy cooking, the banana cream pie was ambrosia. All three had seconds, and would have had thirds, if they hadn't run out of pie.
"I didn't know you spoke Russian." The Professor was surprised at the Skipper's and Gilligan's linguistic ability.
"Well, you pick up a lot of things at sea," the Skipper told him.
The captain of the sub barked out a question in Russian. The chief engineer, the only man on board who spoke English, translated.
"You are capitalist bourgeois swine?"
"Capitalist, yes, bourgeois, never!" Mr. Howell protested indignantly.
Ilya, Sasha, and Dmitri, accompanied by the other castaways, marched onto the beach carrying bamboo baskets full of fruit.
"What is this?" the captain demanded.
"Castaways, Comrade Captain." Ilya drew himself up to attention. He switched the basket of bananas to his left hand and saluted.
In fluent Russian, the Skipper introduced himself and explained, "We're the survivors of the Minnow, shipwrecked here two years ago."
The captain frowned. If they had been here for two years, he could not claim this island in the name of the illustrious U. S. S. R.
"Could you radio the U. S. Coast Guard or the Navy, give them our coordinates?" the Skipper asked.
The captain's frown deepened. The U. S. Navy would not approve of a Soviet sub being in waters that they considered their territory. "We will not contact U. S. Navy. We will rescue you ourselves." The chief engineer and the Skipper both translated his words for the others.
"Oh, Thurston, we're finally rescued!" Mrs. Howell coo'd.
"Good Heavens, I never thought I'd be grateful to a Communist," Mr. Howell replied. "Adam Smith and Thomas Hutchinson must be turning over in their graves."
Ginger rushed up and kissed the captain. Mary Ann did likewise to the engineer.
The captain pushed Ginger away. "Decadent capitalistic wench!"
The engineer had no complaints about Mary Ann's decadent, immoral, capitalistic behavior. He kissed her back, grabbed Ginger when the captain pushed her away so she wouldn't fall, and kissed her, too.
"One hour to resupply," the captain decreed. "Fresh water and fresh fruit. Get only what you absolutely need; a submarine has no spare room for luggage."
Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, Gilligan and the Skipper refused to translate Ginger's and Mrs. Howell's protests at leaving their wardrobes behind.
"How long will it take to reach Hawaii?" the Skipper asked.
"Speed of this sub is classified," the captain told him.
The Skipper nodded. When he was in the U. S. Navy, he wouldn't have told a Russki sailor the time of day. He couldn't expect the sub's captain to be more forthcoming with him.
"Bridge is classified," the captain added. "Go wait in wardroom with others."
Jonas Grumby had spent too much of his life at sea to even think about disobeying a ship's captain; he went back to the officers' wardroom and joined the other castaways.
"What did the captain say?" Mr. Howell asked.
"He told me to get off the bridge." The Skipper sat down beside Gilligan.
"Did he at least say how long it would take us to get to Hawaii?" Mary Ann asked.
The Skipper shook his head. "It only took us a few hours to go from Hawaii to our island. I know a Russian boat won't be as strong or fast as an American boat, but I'm guessing we should be back to Hawaii by dinner time. Certainly before bedtime."
"Home," Mrs. Howell more breathed the word than said it aloud. "Civilization."
Her husband reached over and patted her hand. "Soon, Lovey, soon."