The Tale of a Fateful Trip Pt. 4: 1967 (R)
I leapt upon him, breaking the hammock and sprawling us both on the ground. From on top of him, I rained down blows, but he’s very strong (more so now, I believe, than when we first arrived) and my attack seemed to have little effect. When he displaced me from my position and began striking me in the face and torso, I’m afraid he had much greater success. Each impact was an explosion of light and pain and I felt consciousness threatening to leave me. Somewhere past the Skipper’s fists I heard Mary Ann emit one timid, “Stop – please” while Gilligan just laughed and clapped like he was at a Punch and Judy show. My defense was meager, trying to block his strikes while simultaneously kicking my legs, twisting myself vigorously to get out from under his bulk. In a burst of ingenuity and desperation, I lobbed a handful of sand into his eyes and won my release. He spat and exclaimed but I was already running by the time he’d gotten to his feet. I didn’t look at Mary Ann, couldn’t, I just made a dash for the jungle.
It’s a small island and one well-explored by those it has hosted for these last two years, but I made my way here, to a treetop lookout I constructed during the early months of shipbuilding, and I should have some warning when the Skipper comes looking for me. I hope he does, soon, for I am newly resolved – a commitment of every physical and intellectual resource at my disposal – that he will die. I will see to it that that man perishes by my own hand.
Log of the Minnow: Jonas Grumby, Cptn. Feb. 15, 1967
I let him go this time. Let him spend a little time jumping at shadows. Shouldve known it would come down to this – him and me. She ought to be flatered.
Prof. Roy Hinkley’s journal. 3/23/67
A pattern has been established. I detect Grumby approaching (my various and quite basic “early warning” systems – mainly tripwires and coconut shell “chimes” – are doing their jobs), wait until he’s spotted me and then I dash off for the next hidey-hole up a tree or into a cave or even into the ocean. I am buying time, building up his sense of overconfidence at his skills as a hunter and establishing a profile of myself as the inept, frightened prey. Days are passing in this cat-and-mouse exercise but I’m spending the time well. No matter what random tracks I leave behind for Grumby to follow, I’m leading him, slowly, right here to this spot that I’ve been cultivating, preparing for his arrival. Let him stalk through the jungle like a chest-beating ape, smirking and laughing at me behind his bushy white beard, I’m the overseer of this behavioral experiment and he’s following the maze perfectly to its inevitable conclusion.
And what, when this is ended, will I say to Mary Ann? What possible justifications will she muster to explain her abandonment of me and our plan for escape? Is there something Grumby has offered her that I cannot/did not? Is there, perhaps, a threat involved? There must be some influence or intimidation at work to have turned her away; I refuse to conceive of any dark cosmology in which my beloved farm girl would willingly serve as passive spectator to a brutal clash for her hand. I hope I have to believe that a day will come soon when her motives, her heart, will be made clear to me.
Prof. Roy Hinkley’s journal. 4/2/67
I believed, for a moment, that it had worked. There was even the briefest glimmer of remorse for, the dark intensity of my feelings toward the man aside, there is little pleasure in causing the suffering and death of another living being.
As night began to fall, the Skipper and I resumed our chase (he came upon me as I was venting my bladder from the side of the cliff). There was some cause for concern for, tonight, he had enlisted Gilligan as a second prong of attack. Giggling as if involved in the best game of tag of his life, Gilligan sprang at me through the brush while Grumby charged from behind and to the left. I was able to dodge their advance, scrambling low and fast through the space between them, losing my pants in the process. I just kept running, stark naked, genuinely surprised this time but clear-headed enough to lead my pursuers towards my completed trap. We, the three of us, came down the hillside quite adeptly and were immediately in the thick tree stands of the jungle. Gilligan, being the faster, was right behind me. This almost caused me to redirect our path, since I did not, in any way, wish him ill, but in the moment’s heightened emotional responses, the crescendo of my hatred of Grumby, I stayed on course.