Dinner was eaten on the sub, not in a restaurant in Honolulu. And it was borsht, which pleased the palates of none of the castaways.
When the night grew late, they were offered no bunks, but forced to sleep in the chairs in the wardroom. After some mutterings about the inferiority of Russian shipbuilding, they made the best of the situation and eventually fell asleep.
They awoke to a breakfast of kasha - and no sign of Hawaii. The steward who brought in seven bowls of buckwheat porridge, seven bananas, and seven cups of tea refused to answer any questions. When they tried to ask someone else, an armed guard at the door kept them from leaving the wardroom.
It wasn't until they were let out one at a time to visit the head that Gilligan was able to speak to Jeannie without the others overhearing.
"Jeannie, can you let me know when this boat gets close to an American ship?"
"How shall I tell an American ship from another ship, my master?" she asked.
"They'll speak English like we do, and the flag is really pretty: red and white stripes with a blue square in the left hand corner, and fifty stars across the blue square," he told.
"Shall I transport thee and thy companions to the nearest such ship, my master?"
"I told you, it's Gilligan," he reminded her. "No, don't wish us there. Just let me know when there's an American ship within ten miles."
"Thy wish is my command ... Gilligan."
They weren't in Hawaii by dinner. They weren't in Hawaii by bed time. They weren't in Hawaii by breakfast. Lunch time came and went - without them being fed or reaching Hawaii.
Needless to say, the rescued castaways were less than happy. They made their displeasure known. Loudly.
The XO came in. "You will be silent. Captain's orders."
The Skipper didn't bother translating his words to the others. "Why aren't we in Hawaii yet? We should have reached Honolulu hours ago, even if your men were rowing this garbage scow."
"Where is lunch?" Mr. Howell demanded, neither remembering nor caring that the XO didn't speak English.
"I hope," Mrs. Howell said, "that you aren't mistaking this for a proper cabin."
"The captain has complained about the noise. You will not raise your voices again." The XO turned and glared at the Skipper. "Tell them, and keep them in order." He hurried out of the wardroom.
"We're hungry," Gilligan called out after him in Russian.
Gilligan felt a tug on his shirt pocket. "Gilligan, the ship thou seekest is nigh."
"Thanks," he whispered. He tapped the Skipper's arm, to get his attention. He mouthed the words, "One of our ships is close."
The Skipper nodded and eased his way over to the bulkhead. He picked up a butter knife as he passed the dining room table and began tapping in Morse code.
A moment later the Professor's eyes widened. A former scoutmaster as well as a high school science teacher, he knew Morse code fluently. He automatically translated the taps in his head.
SOS. American citizens prisoners on Russian sub. Survivors of the wreck of the Minnow. Any US vessel, please assist. SOS.
Two minutes later, the door was flung open. The captain began cursing in Russian. Two armed sailors accompanied him.
"You shouldn't say things like that in front of the ladies," Gilligan said.
The captain backhanded him. Gilligan fell against a chair. Jeannie clung tightly to the material of his pocket, lest she be spilled out and fall to the deck.
"You can't treat my little buddy like that," the Skipper protested. One of the guards raised his pistol and pointed it at the Skipper. The older man closed his mouth.
"Now, see here, my good man, what do you think you're doing?" Mr. Howell demanded.
"You signal American vessel. You tell lies about our ship," the captain accused. "If you wish to live until we reach Sakhalin, you will be silent."
"Sakhalin?" Gilligan repeated. He rubbed his jaw. Nothing was broken, but it hurt.
"What's Sakhalin?" Mary Ann asked.
"It's an island in the Sea of Japan," the Professor said quietly. "A Russian island."
"It's where this," the Skipper remembered there were ladies present, and didn't use the word he'd originally planned to say, "where the captain plans to take us instead of Hawaii."
"But he can't do that! Skipper, Gilligan, tell him he can't do that," Ginger insisted.
"The pen may be mightier than the sword, my dear, but the sword - or in this case, the guns - speak louder and stronger at any given moment," Mrs. Howell quoted Leonard Wibberley.
"You two, you come," the captain ordered. "No sailors, no Morse code."
The Skipper and Gilligan looked at the guns, then at each other. With grudging meekness, they followed the captain out of the wardroom.
The Professor hesitated a second, then picked up the butter knife and began tapping on the bulkhead. SOS. SOS. Seven Americans prisoners on Russian sub headed for Sakhalin. Roy Hinkley. Thurston Howell. Eunice Howell. Ginger Grant. Mary Ann Summers. Jonas G-
The door of the wardroom opened again. The Professor slipped the knife into his pants pocket.
"You dare disobey?" The captain was furious. "Whatublyudok sent that message?" He didn't care that no one in the wardroom could understand what he was saying. Given that he used words inappropriate to an officer and a gentleman, that was probably for the best.
"Captain to the bridge, please. Captain to the bridge," the words came over the PA system.
Swearing, the captain stormed out of the wardroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
On the bridge, the XO saluted. "Sir, we are being hailed by American vessel."
The Skipper and Gilligan exchanged pleased glances.
"Attention Russian submarine, this is the U. S. S. Noa. Please surface. We understand you have some American passengers on board."
Gilligan and the Skipper grinned. In his pocket, Jeannie danced for joy.
The seven castaways (and one shrunken genie) rejoiced to find themselves on board the Noa. The cookdished them up seven steaming hot plates of spaghetti. Junior officers vied for the chance to lend Ginger and Mary Ann (and the other castaways) a change of clothes. Ginger signed autographs for anyone who asked, and for some sailors who didn't.
"How long until we reach Pearl Harbor, sir?" the Skipper asked the captain.
"It'll take us about two days," he replied.
"Gee, I wish we could go faster," Gilligan said. "I can't wait to reach home."
Within his pocket, Jeannie folded her arms, nodded her head, and blinked. The destroyer began to pick up speed, just as the genie had commanded.
The next morning, the castaways had ice cream for breakfast. The engines, going faster than their designers had intended, had burnt out during the night. The U. S. S Noa was dead in the water, broadcasting her own SOS. The crew and passengers had no choice but to eat the ice cream before it melted.
Gilligan whispered a word in Jeannie's ear. Two hours later, the Queen Elizabeth II, on a world-wide cruise, came to the rescue of the U. S. S. Noa.
"Mr. and Mrs. Howell, so good to see you again," the chief pursuer greeted them. "I'm very sorry, but your usual cabin is already booked."
"As long as we get to Hawaii, I'd be willing to travel in steerage," Mrs. Howell declared.
Her husband gasped in amazement. "Lovey, don't say such things."
"Unfortunately, we just left Hawaii," the captain of the cruise ship informed them. "Our next port of call is Tahiti."
"Tahiti!" the castaways repeated.
"Tahiti is quite civilized these days. We'll radio ahead that you're on board, and from Tahiti you can fly back to Hawaii," the captain told them. "Until then, please consider yourselves our guests."
"You take as long as you need to reach Tahiti," Gilligan said. "I've decided not to rush this rescue business."
The diminutive djinn stood at the porthole, looking out at the passengers.
"Jeannie, do you see the way those women are dressed?" Gilligan asked.
"Yes, Gilligan." Her blonde hair bounced as she nodded her head enthusiastically.
"I wish you had clothes like that."
An instant later, Jeannie was wearing in a green striped sundress.
"And I wish you were normal sized," Gilligan continued.
In the blink of an eye, she went from four inches tall to five foot four. She stood on the deck, next to the porthole, instead of actually standing in the rim of the porthole.
"Now you look like anyone else on board, only prettier," Gilligan declared. "And if the Professor and the others think you're an ordinary passenger on board, we don't need to correct them, do we?"
"Not if it is not thy wish, my m- , Gilligan," she agreed tentatively.
He held out his arm to her. "Then would you join me for a stroll on the Lido deck?"
"It would be my pleasure."
"Oh, and I wish you could speak English," Gilligan added as an afterthought.
Ten minutes later, Mr. Howell looked up from his mint julep. "Who is that ravishing creature that Gilligan is squiring about?"
Mrs. Howell looked up from her magazine. After two years on a deserted island, it was a blessing to read something that was only a week old. "I don't know, dear. She is lovely, isn't she?"
"She reminds me of you in your younger days." Mr. Howell leaved over from his deck chair and kissed his wife. She blushed and kissed him back, and they forgot all about Gilligan and Jeannie.
However, over the course of the next few days, they saw the pair of them together several times: splashing in the pool, playing shuffleboard, leaning on the railing as Gilligan pointed out a pod of dolphins to her, sitting next to the bar sipping Shirley Temples.
"I wish you were a regular girl," Gilligan said. They were up by the bow, looking at the moonlight reflecting on the water.
"Are you sure you wish to make that wish? If you do, I will become human, permanently. If you change your mind, I can't become a genie again, and you won't have any more wishes ever again." Left unspoken was that she would grow old and die, as mortals did.
"I guess that's not an official wish," Gilligan conceded. "Just if you were a regular girl, we could have picnics on the beach together, or I could take you to the movies or go dancing."
"You want me to be a regular girl so we can be together?" she asked.
He nodded. She reached up, held him tight, and kissed him. He did not object, not in the slightest.
"Jeannie, I think I love you. "
She kissed him again. "If that is truly thy wish, then I will be happy to become mortal for thy sake."
Gilligan thought a moment. "It might be best if you wait ' til we reach shore ... just in case. We've had a little trouble with this rescue business."
Jeannie nodded. Her master was not only handsome but wise."Since all wishes will end when we reach shore, have you any other wishes, whilst you still may?"
"Yeah, the Skipper is my best friend. I wish the Skipper could be as happy as I am." There was a cool breeze coming over the bow. He wrapped his arm around her to keep her warm.
She snuggled contentedly into his embrace. "Happiness cannot be weighed or measured, but ... I might be able to do something."
When the QE II docked at Tahiti, dozens of reporters were waiting to meet them. The Skipper wolf-whistled at one of the women, an attractive redhead in her late forties. "She's gorgeous. Think I could interest her in an exclusive interview?"
"Mom!" Ginger cried out. "That's not a reporter." She turned to Mary Ann and hugged her. "That's my mother!" She jumped and waved. "Mom!"
"Your mother?" the Skipper asked. "Well, no wonder she's so pretty. Runs in the family."
That afternoon and evening were busily chaotic and chaotically busy. Reporters demanding interviews. Reunions between Ginger and her mother and the Howells and their accountants and attorneys. Dinner with the American ambassador. The Skipper sat on one side of Mrs. Grant at dinner, and Ginger sat on her other side. The next day was more of the same, except they were the dinner guests of the mayor of Papeete. Again, the Skipper and Ginger sat on either side of her mother. Finally, though, they all flew back to Hawaii.
From Honolulu, the Howells returned to New York, to recuperate from their ordeal at their mansion in the Hamptons. Mary Ann went home to Kansas. The Professor was offered a position at CalSci, the prestigious California Institute of Science, and thus became a professor in fact as well as in name. Ginger returned to Hollywood, but only briefly. Two months later, she returned to Hawaii, to star in a new TV show, Jungle Queen, being filmed on location. Her mother came with her. Six months later, there was a double wedding as the Skipper married Ginger's mother and Gilligan married Jeannie. Except for weekend fishing trips, the Skipper and Gilligan did not take to sea again; their wives forbid it, considering it too dangerous. Instead, they opened The Skipper's Seafood and Shawarma Saloon. Their restaurant had the coldest beer, the freshest fish, and the best Mideastern food in Honolulu. The restaurant critics were unanimous in their opinion that the kitchen produced culinary magic.
They all lived happily ever after.
As did astronaut Tony Nelson, eventually, after he spent three uncomfortable days on a deserted island, because the ship that was supposed to pick him up had been diverted to aid the U. S. S. Noa, which was suffering from a mysterious engine failure.
The End