"Trick of the Light" (10-16-05)
Wonka/Charlie
PG
in reference to the 2005 film, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
warnings for slight creepyness, a bit of slash content, and some angst
Charlie stirred as he felt the bed shift beside him. It hadn't been very long since he'd started staying the night every night, so Wonka's habits still disturbed his sleep. Easily he drifted back toward sleep to the measured shuffle of Wonka's feet on the carpet. There was a knock as he undoubtedly bumped a wall or piece of furniture in the darkness. Silence fell again briefly. A rattling clatter echoing around the adjoining bathroom shook Charlie back to wakefulness. Wonka swore under his breath. An even greater clatter followed; objects smashed loudly, bouncing and rolling on the tiled floor.
The voice rang out angrily, "CharLIE! Did you move things around in here?"
Charlie struggled to wake up enough to remember, raising himself to one elbow. "Er, yeah," he called. "I wiped up some water I'd splashed all over the countertop. Took everything off--"
Wonka interrupted with another shout. "Did it occur to you that there might be a reason why I have my articles laid out as I do?" An early-morning Wonka could often sound unnecessarily gruff, but for sheer volume he seemed quite out of character. Charlie slid out of bed as Wonka continued. "Perhaps you didn't care to notice the lack of deviation."
Charlie reached the bathroom doorway and watched the shadowy silhouette pawing blindly in the darkness. "I know you like things kept orderly," Charlie soothed, wanting to quell the outburst. "I tried to put it all back neatly. I'm sorry."
Wonka's voice lowered a bit. "Well...be more careful. I can't find anything."
"Well, here," Charlie said, reaching for the light switch. "Stop groping around in the dark."
"No! WAIT!" Wonka yelled, but it was too late. Screaming in pain as the light came on, he slapped his hands over his eyes. "Turn it off! Turn it off!"
Panicked, Charlie fumbled the switch to "off." Suddenly plunged into an even blacker darkness by contrast, Charlie blinked blankly, reconstructing the image of what he thought he'd just seen. Perhaps the blazing light had also hurt his own eyes. Perhaps it had been, as they say, a trick of the light. Perhaps he didn't want to know.
He listened to Wonka's labored breathing, unsure of what to say. "Willy?" he managed. "What's the matter?"
Wonka's voice came softly, brokenly. He was not keen to explain what Charlie was not asking. "Too much light," he said simply. "I have to have my corrective contact lenses in first...for protection. My eyes are damaged."
Charlie nodded to himself. He knew they were. He'd just seen a flash of them before Wonka covered them, but the picture had burned itself into his own healthy retinas. He couldn't shut the light off on that image.
The effect was frightening and unnatural, he had to admit, but so were many of Willy Wonka's characteristics. He was used to the man's unsettling features--enjoyed them, in fact. This one just might take more getting used to.
"Let me see." He didn't want to.
"No." Of course, he had to say it.
Charlie reached around the door jamb and flipped on a wall-mounted lamp. Its glow in the bedroom was dim, and even less light reached the bathroom. Wonka still stood holding his eyes as if wishing to fade away.
Charlie approached Wonka, nudging dropped items aside with his foot. Gently, he took hold of Wonka's wrists. "Let me see," he repeated. With only a sham of resistance, Wonka allowed his hands to be pulled away. The soft dark curtain of his lashes rose to reveal his eyes--the small black dot of each pupil shining in the center of white on white.
No color at all. Or rather, a slight circular edge or shadow was discernible where the iris should be. They were a bit bloodshot from the shock of the light, and Charlie couldn't tell if they were focusing on him.
"Pretty awful, huh?" Wonka said, without a trace of humor.
"What happened?" was all Charlie could say.
Wonka shook his head, unwilling to speak, turning his face from Charlie. "Some experiments backfire," was all he offered as he leaned back against the sink.
Charlie respected Wonka's reluctance, stroking the man's neck and shoulders as he pondered Wonka's cryptic reply. What kind of experiment could take his eyes, could burn the color right out of them, could mar his remarkable vision? Charlie's stomach dropped and numbness crept through his limbs.
"The Television Room," Charlie breathed. He read Wonka's lack of response as an affirmative.
After a few moments, Wonka spoke. "It took rather a long time to make the technology functional. Part of it's a trick, but part of it is a teleporter. The little boy was right--it required quite a lot of atomic power. Ironically, though, I think it was over-exposure to the trick of it that affected me. The flash of light was just a misdirection device, but... Well, I don't know. It's all pretty dangerous. But wow, what a moment to behold."
A chill ran through Charlie at the reverent pride in Wonka's voice. He found himself growing sadder and sadder--but not for Wonka's eyes. He felt consumed with sorrow for the sadness of the man himself. Charlie had always suspected, but never before had Wonka admitted to contriving such cruel machinations. The forgiving--or naive--side of Charlie had wanted to believe that the factory was simply full of hidden dangers to which the kids had unfortunately fallen prey. He should have listened to his suspicions sooner; this news might not have come as such a shock. "You really hate people that much? You'd waste your eyes to teach a little kid a lesson?"
"He didn't learn any lesson. And I've sacrificed a lot more than my eyes for my factory."
Charlie's anger softened slightly at Wonka's half-answer. He'd come to regard the factory with a proprietary love himself. He could respect Wonka's devotion...if not the malice behind it. Privately, he chose instead to pity Wonka, refusing to see him in an ugly new light. Many aspects of the chocolatier's life had changed since Charlie came to the factory, all to the positive, all due to Charlie. The young man's function went far beyond "heir." He was a healer. Charlie had a way with love.
"I hope you can still see me," Charlie said, with what he hoped was a comforting smile. He leaned up to Wonka and placed a kiss on Wonka's right, then his left eyelids.
Wonka kept his gaze lowered. "Yes Charlie, I can see you. I've never seen anyone more clearly. I was just hoping you wouldn't see me."
Instead of an answer, he wrapped himself around the man, replacing unease with acceptance.