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“One bonus question a week, any subject, I have to answer, and that’s the question you’re asking me?”
Charlie colors, but he’s sure. “That’s the question.”
Willy, satisfied, stands taller, his demeanor thoughtfully, happily, expansive. He giggles. “Okey-dokey, tis an easy one, then, for you see—really—as it so happens—you were the very second person I ran across when I very first ran across this town.” Willy’s eyes sparkle. “That being the case, when I ran across you this time, you, for heavens sake, would be the obvious, logical, choice for me to make. And so I did: I chose you.”
Charlie doesn’t shake his head, but he wants to. That’s insane. “But I couldn’t have been the second person you ran across. I wasn’t born yet.” He pauses, daring to lift his head, and meets Willy’s gaze. “You have to answer honestly.”
“Honestly?” Willy wrinkles his nose. “Ew. Did I say that? That I’d answer honestly?”
Willy’s tone is as mischievous as it gets and Charlie smiles. “Yes, you did.”
Willy’s blithely waving hand is decidedly dismissive. “Details, details… It’s always the details that trip you up, wouldn’t you say? No, don’t say,” as Charlie begins to open his mouth, “I shall continue, because I am being honest—or at least sincere—as you’ll find I nearly always am.
"The first person I came across sold me a map. You had a shoeshine kit, which, by swiping a brush over my boot a time or two, you used to relieve me of a sovereign. By the way, your swipes did little good; that poor boot was beyond sprucing.”
Well. Charlie had put a brush to Willy’s boot at the shoeshine stand, but that event took place a little over a month ago— not in the dim time of the way-back-when!
Willy, chipper as ever, chatters on. “Right after I dropped the pumpkin—that was one ooey-gooey catastrophe—honestly, my dear boy, pumpkins and pavements seriously don’t mix—but being the enterprising soul that you are, you did it again!”
A dropped pumpkin? Charlie’s brow knits. He knows nothing of a dropped pumpkin. He does remember the ooey-gooey mess of the pumpkin Mike Teavee trampled to jellied pulp in the Chocolate Room, but Mike Teavee isn’t Willy Wonka and he surely never will be.
“That pumpkin cost me three sovereigns,” Willy blathers on, “but you, with that brush of yours—and the speed of a roadrunner to get to the mess—cost me another.” Here Willy stops what he’s doing—which is walking—and turns to Charlie. “You were quite cheerful about it. The way you are now. With my sovereign reserves quick dwindling, I quick skedaddled, before you could cost me another, but you, dear fellow, gave chase. ‘Brush your coat, sir?’ you asked.” Willy pauses and his eyes go dreamy. “I did love that coat.” He sighs, his dream ending... “I said ‘no’, but, money-hungry tyke that you were, you didn’t give up, Charlie, oh, no! Not you! Your next gambit was cologne. Did I want any?”
Charlie’s brows unknit and climb. Cologne is not something he carries, or even thinks about.
“Know what I said, what with my sovereigns fast disappearing into your outstretched hand, and the morning not but half-gone?”
There’s the dreamy look again. Charlie, knowing nothing of this dream, shakes his head.
Willy’s giggles giggle up like bubbles from a spring, popping as they surface.“I told you to leave me alone! Isn’t that rich? Here it is, all these years later, and it’s into your outstretched hand that I’m placing my entire Factory.”
Neither knitting nor purling, Charlie’s face clouds. Willy is being as crazy as Grandma Georgina! “My hand isn’t outstretched. And it wasn’t my idea for you to do that.”
The hurt in the boy’s voice hits like a curve ball. “I’m sorry, my dear Charlie, ’tis merely a figure-of-speech, I assure you! It’s true what you say, this is all my idea, and if I’ve offended you by suggesting you’re anything other than entrepreneurial, forgive me. That's not my intention. But I am trying to answer your question, and your being a go-getter is a part of that.”
Charlie takes this in, along with the slight bow Willy has made him while touching the brim of his top hat. Charlie lifts his shoulders and lets them fall. They stand in silence, until Charlie determines that Willy is waiting for him. “Are you sure you’re okay, Willy? You do know that wasn’t me, right? I’ve never sold cologne or brushed coats for money in my life.”
Willy resumes his walk, climbing the stepping-stones in front of him, his quiet laugh joyful. Charlie’s shrug is forgiveness enough. “Maybe; maybe not. Maybe, and not telling me, you’ve found the Fountain of Youth, and you’ve been sipping from it for all these years.”
Charlie smiles at this, the chuckle at the back of his throat making it to where they both can hear it. “Not me. That would be you finding that.”
“Sort of,” agrees Willy, softly. There is Wonkavite, as Charlie well knows. Willy halts, facing the chocolate fall. He raises his arms, his walking-stick held in his right hand at its middle—it might be a wand, or a baton—and stands as if ready to conduct said stupendous chocolate fall, for they have reached the apex of the bridge across the chocolate river nearest it, and who can resist its hypnotic power? But the mighty fall needs no conducting, and Willy lowers his arms, and then himself, and sits, patting the stepping-stone beside him.
“On the second night,” Willy tells him, “I made my acquaintance with the bucket family. There were five of them.”
Charlie, seated, frowns. “That’s not right. There should have been six. Or maybe three.” Charlie isn’t sure when his parents married and the households combined, but at least with this observation Willy is allowing that Charlie hasn’t been born yet. He didn’t say there were seven. That’s progress.
“Nope. There were five. You know, like, five Golden Tickets? Five is a handy number.” Willy falls silent and the chocolate fall roars on.
“I’m not sure how any of this is answering my question,” Charlie eventually says.
“Isn’t it?” Willy asks back, plucking a blade of swudge, stretching it between his gloved thumbs, and seeing if he can make it whistle. He can, and after he does, he pops it into his mouth and lets it dissolve. “I think it is. In great detail. But if you like, I’ll start again.” Charlie nods. "Okay. Here we go.
“Once upon a time, there lived a small boy who loved chocolate. His family didn’t have a lot of money, but they had a deep love for each other, and that was all that mattered.
“Because they didn’t have a lot of money, this small boy got only one bar of Wonka chocolate a year—”
“On his birthday!”
“That’s right, Charlie, on his birthday, and he thought it was the best chocolate in the whole, wide, world! The very best! The little boy would make the bar last and last, by only nibbling at it, like a mouse.” Charlie nods. “But that wasn’t all. The little boy slept in a narrow bed, in a tiny room, that really wasn’t a room at all. It didn’t even have a door, or four walls.” Another nod from Charlie, his expression thoughtful. The corners of Willy’s mouth lift. “Right above his bed—and I mean right above his bed, it was that close—was the roof, and in the roof was a hole, and through that hole the small boy could see the moon on some nights, and the stars on other nights, and on some nights a little of both, and on some nights he could see neither, because there’d be clouds in the way, but whatever he was seeing as he lay there, he’d be dreaming of making his very own chocolate, in his very own shop, with his family’s very own name above the door and everything.”
Charlie draws his lips into a thin line. This strangeness has to stop. “Willy.”
“Charlie.”
“You’ve got it wrong. I didn’t dream of making my own chocolate. I dreamt of seeing the inside of your Factory.”
To Charlie’s utter shock, Willy’s left arm lifts, and with a soft chuckle, he snakes said arm around Charlie’s shoulders, drawing him close, leaning his now hatless head atop Charlie’s, and then, giving Charlie’s shoulders a warm squeeze, lets him go. “Do you think I’m talking about you, Charlie?”
Charlie’s confusion, multiplied by the uncharacteristic contact, is slow to fade. “Weren’t you?”
“No, my dear Charlie, I wasn’t. That’s my story. My bed was a bunk in a berth on the river boat my Mamma and I shared. There was a hole in my roof. It was a hatch, with a cover made of glass. So, a hole in my roof, but” he winks, “climate controlled.” Laughingly, Willy gives Charlie a nudge. “Not like the hole in your roof.”
Charlie, his confusion fading, attempts a sheepish grin. “I did have a tarp.”
“Didn’t know we had so much in common, did cha?”
Willy giggles, and now Charlie’s smile is real. “No, I didn’t.”
“So, that answers your question, yeah?”
Charlie thinks. Oompa-Loompas pass behind them, on their way to other chores, and then they are gone. The furrows in Charlie’s brow have only deepened. “Not really. You said you had a hunch I’d be the winner, right from the start. But you didn’t know these things about me right from the start. You found out about them later.”
“And every one of them convinced I was right, right from the start. Face it, as much in common as we have, you may as well be me, and I may as well be you.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” says Charlie.
“I would,” says Willy, “but I do see what you mean about finding these things out later. So I’ll level with ya. Knowing it was gonna be you from the get-go was two things. One, I’d seen the others’ interviews. Seriously, after seeing those, could you see me giving my Factory to any of them?”
Charlie couldn’t, really, but ‘no’ in this case is more politely thought than said. “What was the second thing?”
Willy pops to his feet. Hearing Willy’s light voice over the roar of the chocolate fall from the distance of his height is a non-starter, so Charlie pops to his. When he has, Charlie finds the tip of Willy’s walking-stick pointing to the hem of Charlie's pants. “Get those from a mailman in Minsk, did you?”
“No…”
“That’s where I got mine from, back in the day, and back in the day—and this is two, if you haven’t guessed—I wore mine the way you wore yours on the day of the tour.” Charlie’s brow puckers, and Willy’s laugh is kind. “Their hems above your ankles; above the tops of your boots. It wasn’t chic back then, when I was doing it, either. But as you stood at the gates with the rest of that motley crew, I took one look, saw the tops of your ankles uncovered by pants, and knew it would be you. You’re so me. Through and through.”
“But that was because--”
“Yeah, I know why that was because, and your because was the same as my because, and that because was because I didn’t have a lot of choices back then—please don’t make me say that again—but one of the choices I could make was to keep the mud off my pants, and there, for whatever reason, was you, making the same choice. We’re so alike. Right from the start, my picking you was me picking me—what other choice could there be?—and you can’t deny it.”
Charlie’s laugh is as fresh and welcome as sunlight streaming from behind a bank of clouds. Willy is crazy, and Charlie can deny it, but seriously— It was high hems and a lack of mud that tipped the scales in Willy’s mind in Charlie’s favor? It couldn’t be funnier. “Your hunch came from a lack of mud on my pants?”
“More about the un-chic height of the high hems, but, yeah, that, too, near enough, my dear Charlie. Does that answer your question?”
“It does,” Charlie beams. “I’m so glad I got the mud off my pants the night before!”
Pleased, Willy hefts his walking-stick. That’s done, they’re off to the Inventing Room—a couple of experiments there need tending to—and, if he’s lucky, Charlie won’t have noticed the bit he needn’t have volunteered—
“Except,” Charlie starts… “You said you met my family...”
Charlie’s noticed. Well, he, Willy, would’ve. “So I did, but there’re buckets and then there’re Buckets, Master Bucket, and I meant the first kind.”
Charlie understands, and laughs. “You mean they were metal.”
“I mean they were catching and holding water, because the roof over my staff room at Scrubitt & Bleacher’s Guest House and Laundry was not up to code. Like the roof at your house, over your room, tarp or no tarp. You’re so me.”
“Huh,” is all Charlie can manage.
“It’s uncanny, really,” agrees Willy.
“I did have a tarp,” says Charlie.
“So you’ve said. And still do, as far as I know, though I suspect you have less need of it.” They’ve reached the river’s shore. “The boat,” Willy gestures with one hand, “or” gesturing with his other hand, “the Great Glass Elevator?”
“Oh, the boat, for sure!”
Charlie’s face is flushed as they dock, the rapids-filled ride as exciting as ever. “Do you have this boat because you lived on a river boat?”
“Got it in one,” replies Willy, after thanking the Oompa-Loompas.
“And the rapids?”
“Not so much. The rivers my Mamma and I traveled were as calm as serenity. Changing altitude in locks was the big thrill in that world. I got the rapids idea from the same place I got the idea for the round doors you so often see throughout the Factory.”
Charlie takes new notice of the great round door that is swinging inwards as Willy speaks. “It looks like we’re going into a vault,” Charlie remarks.
“Doesn’t it? What better place to keep secrets than in a vault? And that’s how I think of quite a few of these rooms: as if they’re vaults.”
“And the rapids?”
“An experience I found more exhilarating than I thought I would, on the occasion of finding myself immersed in an expansive vat of chocolate, draining with exponential speed.”
“That doesn’t sound safe.” 'Ja, not safe,' Charlie could hear Augustus Gloop's voice saying in his head—
“I’ll go along with that. It wasn’t. It sure showed-up Herr Gloop’s chocolate thrill-ride! His was tame in comparison, though his was improved with added musicality. There was no music in my case, though there was an Oompa-Loompa involved. Dodging the giant mixing vanes was full-time dodgy in itself, but it was quite a ride. And it made the chocolate light, and frothy, so ya know, maybe even bigger rapids than those were the way to go…”
“So that gave you the idea for the chocolate fall!”
“It did, which just goes to show you, you never know who’s going to inspire you with some of your neatest ideas.”
The experiments are bubbling away, Willy tinkering with this and that, cupping his hand to waft their scents to under his nose, sharing the ones he likes with Charlie, who, preoccupied, follows after. “Willy.”
“Charlie.”
“If life on the river was so wonderful—”
“Why did I object to your family moving in?”
“Well, yes... Why?” Willy has turned his head, but not before Charlie sees the moisture glistening in his eyes. “I’m sorry, if you don’t want to say…”
A quick fingertip to the corner of his eye, and Willy answers. “Long story short: The river didn’t last. My father caught up with us, and my mother died soon after, suddenly, of a mysterious illness that smelled a lot like almonds.”
Charlie gulps.
Willy nods. “You’ve met my father.”
That’s too true. Charlie has. Once. Once was enough. The shudder Charlie tries to resist is more powerful than he, and Willy sees it, too.
“I see you can agree with me the man had influence.” Willy places the heated test-tube he’s holding with the help of a pair of tongs gingerly into its rack. “He wasn't the only one. I met other influential people along the way. They gave me a whole new slant on the ways of the world, and the people in it, but you know that. It’s you and yours who’ve reminded me of my life on the river; a life I’d lost my belief in.”
Charlie bites his lip. “Will I meet people like the ones who made you change?”
“Probably. Unless you hide, I don’t see how you wouldn’t. They’re everywhere.”
“Will you tell me about the ones you met?”
Willy’s hands are folded in his lap. Closure has it comforts. But forewarned is forearmed, and it's for Charlie, so not to be lightly dismissed. “Maybe,” Willy allows. “When you’re older.”
A small smile reaches Charlie’s lips. It’s vague, but the answer is not a ‘no’, and, as Charlie knows, he is getting older with every passing second. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks for telling me what gave you your hunch about me being the winner.”
Willy’s return smile is as warm as it is genuine. “Right from the start.”
THE END