Disclaimer: I am not one of the lucky copyright holders of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in its many forms. I don't own anything at all. But I do hope you find this just for fun, not for profit, perhaps elucidating, gentle parody, entertaining.
dionne dance: Grandma Georgina appreciates the credit, and I appreciate the reviews, all of them. Squirrela: Real time was fun! Thank you. LiviahEternal: Thanks for following the story, and thanks for the reviews.
Once inside, Charlie and Grandpa Joe found themselves at the beginning of a corridor that was softly lit with ambient light provided by a clerestory. It was a very long, tall corridor. The expression on Charlie's face made it plain that he thought it would take them all day to walk to the end of it, but Mr. Wonka knew better. Manipulating space with perspective was a wonderful game, and he liked to play.
"Just throw your coats anywhere," said Mr. Wonka, offhandedly, as he proceeded to throw his on the floor. But in mid-throw, the similarity to February first got the better of him, and Mr. Wonka changed his mind. Before the coat could hit the floor, he caught it by its collar, and twisting it back up into the air over his head, he launched it instead at the lone red and gold chair standing in the corridor. The coat fell on it like a drape. The sunglasses followed with a thump. "Or, you could put your coats on the chair, with mine." His voice sounded strained.
Grandpa Joe and Charlie exchanged a glance; something had just happened, though they couldn't have said quite what. They hung their coats on the chair. The factory was startlingly warm.
Charlie could see that Mr. Wonka's frock coat had changed color. Today it was bottle green. Charlie had doubts about whether it was the same hat now, too. The accent band on this top hat matched the bottle green of the frock coat. Charlie wondered if Mr. Wonka had a hat for every coat, or if he just changed the accent band on the same hat. Whatever the answer was, it would stay a mystery for now, because he wasn't going to ask.
"There is so much to see that we can't possibly see it all," said Mr. Wonka, sounding cheery again, but reserved, as he started leading them down the corridor. "Seeing it all would take weeks. So I'll just show you some of the more important rooms. We'll start with the Chocolate Room." Then he frowned. He'd been about to say, 'after all, it is a chocolate factory', but he'd bitten back the words. They were distasteful reminders of the rotten brats he'd had in on February first, and it was all he could do to prevent a shudder. Charlie and Grandpa Joe would not have understood.
The three continued walking in silence; Mr. Wonka wishing he could deviate from the agenda of the original tour sooner — but this really was the best way to show off the Chocolate Room; Grandpa Joe comparing his former employer's former self to his current self, finding him changed, but, to Grandpa Joe's mind, not wanting to be; Charlie comparing the Mr. Wonka of yesterday to the Mr. Wonka of today, finding him confident, but more formal, cheerful, but more wary. Mr. Wonka was a puzzle.
The Factory was a puzzle, too. Charlie noticed that as they walked, the space had gotten smaller and smaller, and in almost no time, they were at the end of the seemingly endless hall.
A very tiny door stood in the wall at the end of the hall. It had a cunning little awning over it, and a tiny red carpet in front of it. It looked like the grand entrance of a mouse's house. They were all three bent over in the small space, with Mr. Wonka, violet eyes sparkling, looking at the two of them expectantly.
Charlie was at a loss. It was obvious that the door was too small for any of them, but Grandpa Joe, having worked for Mr. Wonka, knew just what to do. He looked expectantly back at Mr. Wonka, and said nothing, content to wait. In answer, Mr. Wonka smiled more broadly, and putting his hand on the wall, he gave it a push.
Charlie and Grandpa Joe found what happened next astounding. The entire wall opened, revealing a candy land of confectionary perfection. Mr. Wonka stepped quickly into the room, and was already striding away down a rock candy path. Had he not done so, Charlie doubted he could have moved. The splendor before him would have rooted him to the spot. But he didn't want to be left behind, so he grabbed Grandpa Joe's hand, and hurried after Mr. Wonka.
Mr. Wonka hadn't gone far. As soon as he heard their footsteps coming quickly up behind him, he stopped abruptly. Pausing for a count of three, he took two steps forward so they wouldn't run into him, and they didn't. He pivoted to face them. "This is where I mix the chocolate."
"It's beautiful," said Charlie, in his quiet whisper.
"Thanks for noticing, I think so, too," answered Mr. Wonka. There was no denying the smug happiness in his voice. "Let me show you the falls that do the mixing."
Mr. Wonka led them down toward the river that he explained was hot, melted chocolate of the finest quality, and on to a bridge near the falls. Stopping on the bridge, he explained the importance of the falls that mixed his chocolate, and its uniqueness in the industry. His Factory was the only one that mixed chocolate this way.
Charlie and Grandpa Joe could only stare. The fall was over 90 feet high, and the churning chocolate made a marvelous noise. There were pipes in the river at the base of the fall, and other pipes that traveled along the ceiling.
Mr. Wonka noticed Charlie noticing the pipes, and explained that they were used to suck up the chocolate, and take it wherever the Factory needed it. But what he also noticed was that Charlie was beginning to move in the slow, deliberate way he had used in Terence's shop the night before, and Grandpa Joe wasn't far behind him. All these sights were sapping the little energy they had. But Mr. Wonka had anticipated this development.
Giving them both a few more minutes on the bridge by the falls to catch their breath, Mr. Wonka said, "follow me, please," and started up a path that led around a little hill. Charlie and Grandpa Joe followed him, finding themselves in a little glade, with bright green swudge under their feet, and little yellow buttercups all around. Toffee apple trees grew on the edges of the glade, and in the center, was an elegant table, elegantly set, for three.
"I had so many things to do this morning I didn't have time for breakfast," Mr. Wonka said, as he pulled out one of the chairs. "Perhaps your preparations this morning put you in a similar situation. I thought we'd take a few minutes for a bit of brunch now."
"I don't mind if I do," said Grandpa Joe, looking at Mr. Wonka gratefully. He pulled out a chair for Charlie, and then one for himself.
Charlie thought the table looked lovely, and what was on it looked lovely, and the idea of brunch was lovely. He sat down at once.
Mr. Wonka held a plate of buttery croissants in his hand. He had taken one for himself, and now he offered the plate to Grandpa Joe and Charlie. They each took one.
"There's butter of course," Mr. Wonka said, "but I think there's enough of that in the recipe. You might like some jam though, just say what kind and I'll pass it to you. The raspberry is quite good; personally, I've had enough of snozzberry for a while. What would you like to drink? We have orange juice, coffee, milk, and naturally, hot chocolate. You can make chocolate milk! This hot chocolate comes directly from the river; it's very good. Charlie? Grandpa Joe, sir, please help yourself."
Snozzberry? Charlie had no idea what that was, but he was glad to hear Mr. Wonka say his name, because Mr. Wonka had been chattering along at such a brisk clip, Charlie doubted he could have gotten a word in edgewise. "Hot chocolate, please."
Charlie watched as Mr. Wonka poured hot chocolate into his cup and then into Charlie's. It was very thick and creamy looking, and it smelled delicious. As Charlie lifted the oyster-shell white porcelain cup off its saucer, he saw that the handle was the left hand curly cue of the trademark Wonka 'W'. The rest of the W curled around the cup in raised relief. It was an asymmetric design, and very clever.
Charlie took a sip of the hot chocolate, and forgot all about the 'W'. The taste of the chocolate was indescribably delicious, better even than the chocolate bars he'd had. He gave himself over to the experience, closing his eyes and savoring the myriad sensations he was feeling, a look of bliss on his face.
It became very quiet. Charlie opened his eyes to find both Grandpa Joe and Mr. Wonka studying him.
"Are you alright, Charlie?" Grandpa Joe asked.
Charlie felt embarrassed being the center of attention. "It's really good," was all he could manage to say.
Mr. Wonka laughed. He made a lot of chocolate, but he almost never got to see anyone, other than the Oompa-Loompas, enjoy it. It was an unexpected treat to see Charlie relish it so much now. "Have some jam," he said, placing the pot of raspberry jam in front of Charlie. "You'll like that, too."
Grandpa Joe looked rueful. It being such a long time since he'd had any, he had poured himself a cup of coffee. "Maybe I should have had the hot chocolate, too."
"Have some of everything," said Mr. Wonka, and they all did.
Brunch over, Charlie found his eyes on his crumb filled plate. The plate had the intertwined 'W' design that was over the main gate, in the same raised relief style as the cup, at the bottom of it. The tablecloth hadn't escaped the monogram either. In the tone-on-tone weave was the repeating 'W', in a floral style that, at first glance, looked like a Florentine vine design. Charlie traced the design with his finger.
"I have that on everything, don't I," said Mr. Wonka, watching.
"Um, yeah," said Charlie, squirming a little. Maybe he had been rude to draw attention to it, but it was too late now. "It seems like it."
"Know why?" Mr. Wonka was leaning forward intently.
Charlie shook his head. So did Grandpa Joe. He'd always wondered.
"When you see that 'W', what do you think of?"
"Wonka," answered Charlie.
"What does that make you think of?"
"Candy and chocolate," answered Charlie.
"Anything else?"
"No," said Charlie.
"That's why." Willy leaned back in his chair contentedly. He could see that neither Charlie nor Grandpa Joe had any idea what he was talking about. But he knew that once the Wonka name had meant excellence in dentistry in this town. Now it meant excellence in candy making, all over the world. It meant that he had effectively destroyed his pater's name, while promoting his own. The irony that it was the same name only made the accomplishment more sweet.
The thought put him in an excellent mood. He'd been thinking of himself as 'Mr. Wonka' all morning, to try on how that must seem to Charlie, but it was time to give it up. He was Willy to people he liked, and if they wanted to call him something else, fine, he'd translate it back to 'Willy' for them in his head. The other way was too confining, too restrictive, and worst of all, only one letter away from dear old... Oops… that's far enough down that path; he quickly blanked his mind.
"Mr. Wonka?"
There it was again - this time from Grandpa Joe. He laughed inwardly. Joe. He wasn't his Grandpa. "Yes?"
"The newspaper said everything in this room is edible. Is that so?"
"So it is," answered Willy, proudly, "but we needed to start here, because unlike nearly everything on this table, everything in this room is not high in potassium, magnesium, or phosphorus combinations. But cabbage is! Did you know that cabbage contains protein? It's an amazing food." Resting his elbow on the table, he put his chin in his hand, curling his gloved fingers along his cheek. "Maybe I can make a cabbage candy."
Charlie had no idea what had taken place in the last few minutes, but the formal Willy Wonka of this morning was gone, and the Willy Wonka he had met in the shop the night before was back. Relieved, he sighed, "If you do, it will be safe from me."
Willy laughed again. "It's only a thought." Sitting up, he gestured expansively at the rest of the room. "You're free to look around. Help yourselves to anything you'd like to try. That includes the river, but don't touch it. For starters, it's hot. For finishers, it goes into what I sell, so it has to stay pure. If the river's your fancy, I have mugs. One mug, one dip! I have lots of mugs!"
Willy returned his elbow to the table, and his chin to his hand, and drifted off into cabbage candy possibilities. But he drifted back almost right away, because the movement away from the table he had expected, hadn't happened. Charlie and Grandpa Joe were still sitting. "Really…," he began, but stopped and looked to his left when he saw that's where they were looking.
A small man, not more than two feet tall, dressed in a grey Nehru jacket and black trousers, stood beside his chair. "Ah!" said Willy, straightening up again. "Eshle!" Willy looked him up and down for a minute. "I like your threads today, and please give my compliments to Nôtla, if you see him before I do, brunch was excellent! Oh wait, where are my manners?"
Eshle started to answer, but Willy jumped back in before he could. "Don't answer that, it was rhetorical, we all know I don't have any, anyway, Eshle, this is Charlie Bucket and his Grandpa Joe. Grandpa Joe, sir, Charlie, this is Eshle, my chief Oompa-Loompa, and right-hand man. He oversees the running of the Factory." That wasn't enough. "Eshle is the person who makes it possible for me to lose all track of time in the Inventing Room, for hours or days, and," Willy tilted his head, grinning slyly, "give tours."
Eshle, laughing, bowed at the waist, his arms crossed at the wrists against his chest, hands touching his shoulders. The bow complete, he answered, ticking off each point on his fingers, "Thank you, I will, he'll be glad you liked it, buried under your excitement, of course you do," he turned to face the two guests, "I'm very pleased to meet you Grandpa Joe, and likewise, you Charlie," and then turned back to his boss, "Willy, you exaggerate, it's all in a, if I may say so, rewarding day's work."
Eshle finished, and Willy returned the salute, each of them grinning at the other for a minute. They both knew the effort put in by everyone last night to make this look effortless today. What with Terence, the ticket, THE BOY, and the time, this was a tour on quite short notice, and a tour that was a little different — it wasn't about weeding out, it was about winning over. The participants were a little different, too — there were energy concerns to think about; a menu to plan that wouldn't result in convulsions, or worse; adjustments to make to the Great Glass Elevator - it had been a long night.
Watching the exchange, Grandpa Joe couldn't help but think what a tragedy it had been for the town to lose this particular employer.
Willy became slightly more serious. "How goes it with the yacht?" he asked.
"Sadly," Eshle answered, "the bottom paint is not quite dry, so unfortunately, the yacht isn't ready today, as we'd hoped."
The way Eshle said it, Charlie couldn't tell if the hope had been that the boat not be ready, or ready. He looked to Mr. Wonka's reaction, which was perfectly nonchalant. It must be the former.
"Thanks for the update, Eshle. If you need me, you know where to find me."
Eshle, Charlie, and Grandpa Joe completed the social pleasantries, and with bows all around, Eshle left to resume his other duties.
Willy watched Eshle's retreating form and then turned back to Charlie and Grandpa Joe. "The other children…"
Charlie thought Mr. Wonka looked like he wanted to spit.
"…took a trip down the river in the yacht, which, by the way, I made from a boiled sweet. A very large boiled sweet. The bottom paint, which dries clear, is what keeps it from melting. It's an extremely high concentration of the ingredient I use to keep the ice cream from going all runny in the sun." With both elbows on the table, he made a steeple with his fingers. "But it doesn't last forever, and the new coat isn't any good unless it has time to cure. So... no yacht today." Willy waved the fingers of one hand in the air. "So, no big deal - we'll use the Great Glass Elevator, instead. Yeah. But, right this minute," he leaned toward them both, "you two still haven't seen this room properly… so go ahead... go see it... scoot!"
Willy's hands backed up his words as he gestured them away from the table, so off they went, Charlie holding tightly to his Grandpa's hand.