Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.

CatCF (movie) Alternate Universe

choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy – n. 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. o. from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, bitter + atl, water.) + logy, study (Greek – logi see –logy) adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

Chapter Nine – Speculation and Confrontation

Charlie Bucket surged uncertainly between being positive that his gentleman was indeed Mr. Willy Wonka and being positive that he could not possibly be Mr. Willy Wonka. Absolutely everyone knew that Willy Wonka had not set foot outside his factory (or his factory gates) since before Charlie was born. His parents had told him this; his grandparents had told him this. He had heard it from teachers and overheard it in the conversations of the curious and the dismissive. He had even heard some speculating that Willy Wonka himself was dead and some person or persons unknown were now running his factory. The strangest speculation was the factory was running itself and would continue to do so for as long as it received energy and ingredients.

Shaking his head, Charlie dug out his lists and wrote Willy Wonka on the Guess list. He then dug through his book bag for an almost clean piece of paper and wrote Reasons at the very top. He created two columns – Why and Why Not. Chewing thoughtfully on his pencil, he wrote down 'Never leaves the factory' under the Why Not column. What did he have for the Why column? Just why had his heart and mind leaped to the conclusion that his gentleman was the ever mysterious and elusive candy maker? Finally, he wrote 'Center of picture at top of my window' under that column and then wrote 'River in window looks like chocolate'. He folded his hands under his chin and wished desperately that Grandpa Joe could answer his questions. After all, his grandfather had worked for Willy Wonka; surely he would be able to describe the man!

Thinking about Grandpa Joe working for Mr. Wonka all those years ago, he wrote "too young?" under the Why Not column. He might not know the age of his gentleman, but he seemed too young to have owned and run a candy shop back then. Across from it, he wrote "magic" under the Why column. Whoever had gotten into the house and fixed it up certainly seemed magical. So Mr. Wonka ought to be able to appear or even be younger than he actually was. He underlined "magic". Remembering yesterday, he wrote "bakery scents from the factory" and "baked goods appearing in our house" referring to the scents from yesterday and the delicious spread that mysteriously appeared on the table today. Still, why would Mr. Wonka care about the Buckets? Did he remember Grandpa Joe? Surely it wasn't the fleeting moments exchanged between him and his gentleman? It seemed rather obvious that whoever had left the baskets of food and blankets earlier was also responsible for the newest improvements for the Bucket family. Charlie added "genius" under the Why column. Grandpa Joe had always called Mr. Wonka a genius and said he created the most amazing candies. That could certainly qualify him to be able to do or create something that looked like magic. According to Grandpa Joe, he had built an entire palace out of chocolate once. Did that mean he could fix a little broken house in one night? He added the thought to the Why column.

The boy peeked over the side and down into the living room to look at his parents. Did they know what Willy Wonka looked like? Had they ever met him? Or perhaps, Grandpa Joe had shared more stories with them. He desperately wanted to ask but part of him was afraid to do so. He did not want his parents to guess that their mysterious and magical benefactor was the great Willy Wonka. He certainly didn't want them to guess that his gentleman was him. He froze and wondered why he felt that way. And yet… And yet…

Willy Wonka had apparently kept himself well away from the world for many, many, many years. If he had for currently unknown reasons dared to start returning to it, Charlie certainly did not want to be the cause to drive him away again. He thought, for the very first time, that it might be very, very lonely inside the chocolate factory. Did Mr. Wonka live in the gigantic complex alone? Did he have any family or friends living with him? Who worked the machines? It couldn't be just Mr. Wonka all by himself! Could it? Or were the people who thought the machines were running themselves right? Was Mr. Wonka all alone? Charlie shivered with something far colder than cold at the thought. He could not bear to think of living alone without his family to share and laugh and love. Or, the sympathetic boy thought with a sort of dawning dread, had he accidentally witnessed the funeral of Mr. Wonka's last living companion? With these thoughts filling his mind, Charlie Bucket began to think how he could get permission to go to the park that very afternoon even as his mind went back to the thought his gentleman could not be him. Everyone knew Willy Wonka never left the factory.

- W – C – F –

Charlie Bucket idly drifted back and forth on the swing set at the park. A short time ago, he had persuaded his parents to let him go to play at the park. Playing they firmly believed was something their son did not get nearly enough doing so they had agreed. He looked around wondering what time it was. It should be close to the time school let out, but he had no bells to tell him when that was. He could not see any of the tower clocks from the park due to the trees. He strained his ears and heard a distant tolling. Three chimes so it should be three o'clock, unless the clock was wrong which was entirely possible. He knew there was a clock on Apple Lane that was still on daylight savings. There was another clock on Oak Street that was perpetually six minutes fast and one on Daisy Avenue that was thirteen minutes slow. Still he stopped his swinging and started to look around, wondering which way his gentleman would come if he came today. If he was indeed Mr. Wonka, he should come from the direction of the chocolate factory.

The boy's head instinctively turned toward the factory on the hill with that thought. He tried to quell the butterflies that were fluttering in his tummy as he felt more and more anxious about the upcoming meeting. Something, he was not sure what it was, told him that his gentleman would be out for a stroll today. As the minutes crept past, his heart seemed to pound louder and louder in his ears. What was he going to say? How would he respond if his gentleman said he was Wonka? What if he said he wasn't? What if he laughed at him? Anxiety rising, Charlie closed his eyes and licked his lips. He felt so absolutely nervous he thought he might say nothing at all.

A familiar tap, tap, tapping sound and the clicks of hard heels reached Charlie Bucket's ears. He opened his eyes with a gasp, not realizing he had been holding his breath until then. For a moment, his ears rang as he blinked his eyes and looked to see his gentleman splendidly dressed in a coat the color of burnished antique gold. It was a glorious coat for a fine Autumn Sunday. The boy licked his lips and tried clearing his throat. He stood up and took a step forward, hoping desperately that he was not going to make an idiot of himself. His heart thrummed in his chest like the frantic wings of a trapped sparrow as the man walked closer.

"Hello Mr. Wonka." Even to his own ears, Charlie's voice sounded small and timid.

The gentleman's reaction was totally unexpected as with a gasp he jumped backwards as if the small boy had leapt forward to attack him. His face, impossibly, seemed to loose even more color. His lips twisted down, only to straighten in a line, and then open as if to speak. Charlie heard a squeak and saw that the man was nervously twisting his purple gloved hand on the head of his cane. He raised a finger from his free hand as he cringed only to step back and back and back. With another gasp, he whirled around and walked rapidly away. The little boy watched the man flee him with a stunned feeling. He would never forget the look on his gentleman's face for he had never before seen such an expression of stark panic and fear.