"Gnomon" (9-13-06)
PG
Wonka/Charlie

In the darkness, a frantic hand on his shoulder was shaking him. Charlie woke into alarmed confusion. "Wake up, Charlie; Charlie, wake up," Mr. Wonka was whispering. "Hurry. It's urgent."

When was it not urgent with Mr. Wonka?, Charlie wondered. And almost always in the middle of the night, too. Charlie slid over. "No no no," Wonka said, no longer keeping his voice down. "That's not what I meant. Follow me; I want to show you something."

As they clomped down the hall, Charlie summoned up enough alertness to notice that Mr. Wonka was wearing an overcoat. It didn't quite compute in his still-foggy brain. This could only mean that they were going outside, and Wonka's trips out of doors were beyond rare. Charlie felt glad he'd at least grabbed his robe before being shied bodily out his bedroom door.

If the march down the hall and a short upward ride in the elevator didn't jolt Charlie to wakefulness, the sharp pre-dawn air of January did. The door clanged shut behind them, and Charlie shivered in the bitter chill. They'd stepped outside onto a narrow service platform of the factory's main smokestack, and though the air was still, it unforgivingly pulled the warmth from any skinny body. Charlie folded his arms tightly to his chest and kept back from the edge. The height was dizzying and he was unsure he could trust his own footing.

Mr. Wonka, on the other hand, leaned forward fearlessly from the railings as if he'd have been comfortable floating there unsupported. The town lay as quiet as the breeze, and he hung spectacularly above it like a benevolent figurehead. He gazed straight ahead, past the soft cut-out lines of gray houses and toward the approaching sunrise. Looking outward instead of down was more grounding, and Charlie gladly switched his focus.

At the horizon, the colors of morning were being pushed into view. Blues melted quickly into fiery reds, and each streak of color became vibrantly sharper. With an almost sudden entrance, the first hot sliver of the sun burned over the edge. As if daybreak had resuscitated the small town, life returned to the landscape below, and Charlie forgot his cold ears and toes.

He had to admit it was astoundingly impressive to watch dawn actually break; this morning would seem to have been an especially good show. Charlie could hardly help but utter a respectful "Wow."

"Mmn," Wonka agreed. "But watch this." Grabbing a fist full of Charlie's sleeve, he led the boy quickly around to the dark side of the tower. The town stretched out just as far to the west. In fact, this side of town was the one Charlie knew better. Over here had been the neighborhoods of his school, his paper route, and his old home. The snow laying on this side began to glint orange in the reflection from the sky.

"See that?" Wonka asked, pointing a warmly-gloved finger. He was pointing practically straight down, but at what exactly Charlie couldn't tell. He tried to follow the invisible line from Wonka's finger, but whatever lay below was still hidden in the shadow of the tower. But Wonka slowly raised his arm, and its path became clear. He drew a line straight along the center of the main street, further and further, higher and higher, but it wasn't the road he was pointing to. He meant Charlie to follow the shadow itself.

Widening his perspective of the layout below, Charlie took in the broader view. Like an ancient divining monument, the factory gently gestured across the landscape. From its hilltop stronghold, the building dominated the skyline and also cast the most massive shadow. It clearly indicated one point of focus: the now-vacant lot where the Bucket house once stood. The lip of the smokestack just touched the dark square which marked the old ruined foundations.

Wonka's enthusiasm apparent on his face, he gave Charlie a backhanded swat on the shoulder. "You see? It points right to your house! Well, where your house was. It's like a giant sundial, or an observatory…like Stonehenge."

They watched silently as the sun rose higher and the pointing shadow grew gradually shorter and shorter, being pulled back up under the factory which had cast it. If he stared hard enough, Charlie could imagine himself standing on the edge of that shadow, being dragged toward the factory as if it were winding in its carpet. The sensation was familiar and welcome to the empire's young heir. He knew very well the powerful commanding pull of the factory. Because after all…

Lost in his imagination and reverie, Charlie didn't notice Mr. Wonka waiting expectantly for his reaction. He watched the boy askance, scrutinizing his silence. He'd counted on Charlie's astonishment, not his distant brooding stare. "I thought you might," he shrugged, "find that interesting."

"Oh, I do!" Charlie assured Mr. Wonka, turning toward him. "But Willy, I've seen it before."

"You have?"

"Of course. But not from this angle. I lived at the other end of it, Willy," Charlie explained.

Wonka inclined his head.

"Of course I've noticed it," Charlie continued. "Your factory was the first thing I'd see every day of my life. Certain times of the year, that shadow fell across me. I did use it as a sundial."

Wonka let out a relieved cloud of breath, amused at his own obtuseness.

Charlie went on. "And once I tried to use it as a prophesy--last year, when the Golden Tickets were circulating. Every day of that month your factory woke me when it let the sunlight hit my pillow. I hoped maybe it had noticed me and seen how much I wanted to come visit it, and meet you. If I sent that message, it would come true. I like to think it worked. It just took a little longer for you to know, I guess. You're not as easy to wake up!" he added.

Wonka stared with genuine surprise into Charlie's flushed-pink face. "Maybe it did find you," he admitted. "There's a lot of magic here; I wouldn't be surprised." He looked down at the sprawling chocolate factory, and shook his head in disbelief. "But I didn't know it could do that."

The chocolatier's eyes flashed cunningly and he lowered his voice. "I wonder what else it can do," he mused.

"Let's come back at sunset," Charlie suggested.

"Good idea. But wear a coat!" Wonka teased, opening the door for the frozen boy. With Charlie safely ushered back inside, Mr. Wonka hesitated, casting one last admiring glance toward the sunrise, and a muttered "Thank you" to his factory.