"This is not Fudge Mountain."
"Behold the Wonkamobile. A thing of beauty is a joy forever."
"I'll grant that I like the retro-design, but 'there is no joy in Mudville' at being subjected to another quote."
"You just used a quote," said Grandpa Joe.
"Fight fire with fire," said Mr. Wonka. "What's with all the carbonation? We did this joke in the scene before the scene before this scene. Does it fly? Is this Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang?"
Charlie was unforthcoming. Grandpa Joe nudged him on the shoulder, but Charlie only shrugged. With a smile for Grandpa Joe, Mr. Wonka raised a brow. The three watched as the gaggle found seats.
"This man doesn't believe in social-distancing, does he?" observed Mr. Wonka.
Knowing how much Mr. Wonka disliked people touching him, Charlie had to grin at that, but he kept quiet. That man up there didn't believe in the sanctity of clothing, either, as Mr. Wonka would soon discover. The Wonkamobile began its lumbering travel.
"EWWWW," erupted Mr. Wonka, as foam spewed from the machine's stack. "What IS the point of this?"
"Candy doesn't have to have a point," said Charlie.
"Get the wool out your eyes, Charlie, THAT'S NOT CANDY!"
Grandpa Joe was laughing. There was nothing about this machine that was Wonka in any way, and it had Mr. Wonka beside himself. When the machine disappeared into a film effect, reappearing pristine, Mr. Wonka rolled his eyes to the ceiling, but with Grandpa Joe bent over with humor, he took his cue from him.
"Even the movie-makers, the dreamers of nightmares," he laughed, "knew that contraption needed cutting," said Mr. Wonka, ending with a smile.
"Let's do it again," said on-screen Charlie.
"Let's not, and say we did," said Mr. Wonka.
"Yes, let's not," said Charlie.
"Oh, look, he's making them put on hazmat suits! Aren't you glad I didn't make you guys do that?
"I am," said Grandpa Joe, in all seriousness. "It would have wrinkled our clothing terribly."
Mr. Wonka giggled like a fool. In the Television Chocolate Room, the Television Chocolate Room filled the screen, and they watched, as on-screen Mr. Wonka ushered them in.
"Wonkavision: my very latest and greatest invention."
"So not the Television Chocolate Room," said Mr. Wonka, dryly. "Why would it be? Silly me."
"It's a TV dinner," said on-screen Mike.
"That's clever," said Mr. Wonka.
"It's Wonkavision."
"He already said that. I'm guessing I just add 'Wonka' to any word, and call it good, right? How utterly uncreative of me," said Mr. Wonka.
Mike leapt into the teleportation device, and shrank, appearing in the television screen.
"Our little group is getting smaller by the minute," said on-screen Grandpa Joe.
"That's clever," said Mr. Wonka, with a glance at Grandpa Joe, who beamed at the praise. Mike was deposited into his mother's purse.
"What a good idea," said Mr. Wonka. "This is what happens when you send a man with a boy: no handy purse. Poor our Mike: he was dangled by his shirt collar all the way to the Taffy-puller."
"He's lucky it didn't rip," said Grandpa Joe.
"Yeah," said Mr. Wonka, with a quick grimace of dismay at the thought of the clothing abuse. On-screen Mr. Wonka expressed an opinion. "I see we agree on the springiness of small boys."
"Ears and all," said Charlie, remembering the mention of the very same thing in the London play.
"Ears?"
But Charlie shook his head, and Mr. Wonka let the movie play.
"I'm warning you Mom; there's a nail file in here…"
"Ooo, shades of Mike-the-Angry! A gun in my stomach to start the day, and now this!"
"WHAT DO YOU GET FROM A GLUT OF TV?"
"A film on a screen that makes fun of thee!" chanted Mr. Wonka.
"A PAIN IN THE NECK AND AN IQ OF THREE…"
"That, too," said Mr. Wonka. Charlie and Grandpa Joe giggled.
"WHY DON'T YOU TRY SIMPLY READING A BOOK?"
At that, Charlie frowned, and Mr. Wonka noticed.
"So much to do, so much to do, invoices and bills, letters … I must answer that note from the Queen."
"Name-dropper," sneered Mr. Wonka. "How'd we get here? Weren't we last seen in hazmat suits? Where's the 'you're the winner' part?"
Charlie looked up and away, his urge to rise and leave so great he had to grip the sides of his bean bag to resist it. Mr Wonka, as quietly as he could, tapped Grandpa Joe on his forearm. "I think we're up to the part they've been so eager not to part with," he whispered.
Catching the whisper, Charlie twisted himself deeper into his chair, his hands crossed under his chin.
"Mr. Wonka, what's gonna happen to the other kids? Augustus, Veruca?"
"You're such a caring boy, Charlie. It's your Achilles' heel."
Charlie's eyes popped wide open. "What!"
"My dear boy, I promise you they'll be quite all right…"
"To date," said Mr. Wonka, "you've cared about everyone else, even going so far as to hurt yourself to do so. Didn't you start out our adventures together by proposing to torpedo them?"
Charlie shook his head, confused.
"It was a rumor I heard, I think from George … "We need the money more than the chocolate."
Charlie felt the familiar, tonight, heat. He had said that.
"…Anyway, don't worry about them."
"What he said," said Mr. Wonka, "but change the 'them' to 'it'."
"Er, what do we do now, Mr. Wonka?"
To Mr. Wonka's surprise, his alter-ego suggested they show themselves out.
"…I'm terribly busy. Whole day wasted…"
"Not the whole day," murmured Mr. Wonka. "This movie is under two hours." His alter-ego ducked into his office.
"What happened? Did we do something wrong?"
"Well, I can guess," said Mr. Wonka. "Can't you, Charlie? You were there."
Charlie had had enough. He straightened his back. "It's important to remember that's not me up there, and more importantly to me, it's important that you remember it's not you up there, and more important even than that, is that you remember it's not my Grandpa Joe up there."
With a searching look to Charlie, and a reassuring one to Grandpa Joe, Mr. Wonka folded his hands together, and leaning forwards, gave his full attention to the screen. The scene played out in harsh words, harsh actions, harsh voices, and harsh threats.
"You're an inhuman monster!"
"I said, good day!"
"Come on, Charlie, let's get out of here. I'll get even with him if it's the last thing I ever do. If Slugworth wants a gobstopper, he'll get one."
Mr. Wonka, motionless throughout, stopped the movie. Rewound it. Replayed the scene. On-screen Charlie's eyes were wet, and off-screen Charlie's eyes were wet, too. Grandpa Joe couldn't be more transfixed had there been a knife in his heart. Mr. Wonka stopped in the same place. Rewound it. Replayed the scene. Stopped it again.
"I smoke?" Mr. Wonka asked, incredulous.
Charlie took a breath, wondering if he could trust his voice.
"I'd never smoke. It ruins the tastebuds. How could I taste anything?"
"Mr. Wonka," said Grandpa Joe, his voice trembling. "I'd never say that. I'd never do that."
"Why cut everything in half? I know that, Grandpa Joe, sir, any more than I would screech like that. Look at the way it's mussed his hair! It looks like stuffing shaken out of a pillow. I'd rather run out of hair cream, than let that happen! I know why everything is cut in half! He's been gnawing the furnishings to get out of a tiny office without a window! He's claustrophobic!"
"Gnawing on that safe is going to break all his little teeth off."
Mr. Wonka giggled, and hit play. Charlie had tried to say that last in his, Mr. Wonka's voice, with not very much success. The movie back in motion, the situation remained dire. On-screen Charlie, his voice a whisper, approached on-screen Mr. Wonka's desk, Mr. Wonka with his back turned, pen on paper, ostensibly working. Charlie placed the gobstopper on the desk, and retreated.
"So shines a good deed, in a weary world."
In the Television Chocolate Room, Willy Wonka's bitter laughter rang out. Grandpa Joe and Charlie could only stare at him. He pointed to the screen. "You don't think that's funny?" Their stares said they didn't. Mr. Wonka shrugged, and went back to the movie. "You need to realize it is Me-Up-There who is doing the good deed. We'll soon see what it is.
"Oh, Charlie, forgive me for putting you through this. Please forgive me."
"Ah, yes, the good deed: forgiving the errant, when they show repentance."
"Come in, Mr. Wilkinson. Charlie, meet Mr. Wilkinson."
"Scarface!"
"Slugworth!"
"No, no, that's not Slugworth. He works for me."
Mr. Wonka stopped the movie. "Grandpa Joe, sir," he said in a calm, collected manner. "Do you remember what I said about this man, at the beginning of this evening's gripping entertainment?"
"I do," said Grandpa Joe.
"Please share it with Charlie."
Looking upwards, Charlie turned with interest to his grandfather, who cleared his throat and said: "This man had shown us from the start that he can't be trusted."
"Precisely," said Mr. Wonka, "and this is more of that."
On screen, the grand prize was hinted at.
"We'll take the Wonkavator."
"Oh, well, Mr. Not-Me, a change to the formula: we sometimes omit a syllable."
"…the Great Glass Wonkavator."
"Getting its first two names right doesn't get you off the hook, my dear smoker. It's all or nothing."
Mr. Wonka, flexing his fingers like a spider doing push-ups on a looking-glass, watched in silence as the Great Glass, ugh, Wonkavator, capsule-size, burst through the Factory's roof. He watched as the pedestrians marveled at the view from the air. He listened to the explanation they knew by heart. When Charlie threw his arms around Willy Wonka, and Willy Wonka threw his arms around Charlie, Willy Wonka froze the frame, and two in a tight hug.
Without freezing themselves, Charlie and Grandpa Joe made no sudden moves. The room filled with the same quiet that had pervaded the room when the Buckets, Doris and Eshle had finished the movie.
"Who was here for this?" asked Mr. Wonka.
"My family, myself, Doris and Eshle," replied Charlie.
Mr. Wonka pressed play, and the credits rolled. "That man cares nothing for his hair."
In no time, the credits, only the cast names, came to an end.
"That's it?"
"That's it," said Charlie.
"Hmm." Mr. Wonka had hit pause as the next movie cued up. He studied his slippered feet, rolling them to and fro to let the cursive 'W's on their toes play in the light. "Hmm," he said again. "Not-Me's accuracy score rose towards the end. The Television Chocolate Room scene was close to mine. His description of the workings of the Great Glass Elevator were close to mine. What he says about his reasons for having the Golden Ticket Contest were close to mine."
"His terrifying me with his up-and-out insinuations was close to what you did on the day," said Grandpa Joe.
With narrowed eyes, and tilted head, Mr. Wonka scooped up his walking-stick. "Don't you think that was pay-back for You-Up-There calling him an inhuman monster?"
"I didn't call you a monster!"
"You used to work at the Factory." Mr. Wonka set his jaw, staring at a spot on the far wall.
Grandpa Joe sighed. He understood immediately. "I didn't tell you about the spies." Mr. Wonka's jaw flexed, as if he was grinding his teeth. "I didn't know about the spies."
"I know you didn't, but that day, then, I didn't know you didn't."
"What about me?" piped-up Charlie. "I was in that Elevator, too."
"If you don't enjoy adventure, you won't enjoy this Factory, and if you don't trust me, you won't enjoy this Factory. I confess you were a victim of proximity, but it was also a way of taking your measure. You weren't found wanting." Mr. Wonka let his eyes measure Charlie from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, and having done so, turned his attention back to that spot on the far wall.
The silence built again, and Grandpa Joe wondered the best way to make his exit. Mr. Wonka showed no signs of rising. Neither did Charlie. If they wouldn't, he would. Creaking to his feet, he surveyed the tops of their heads. "Charlie, it's good to have you home. I hope you're planning on staying. Mr. Wonka, the family is going to want a report on your reaction. What should I tell them?"
Mr. Wonka giggled, and a smile played about his lips. "They will, won't they? You poor thing!" Mr. Wonka set his walking-stick back on the floor. "Tell them, only a mad-man would wear beige trousers!" With a smile, he got to his feet. "Shall I walk you home?"
Grandpa Joe eyed the walking-stick on the floor. "I can find my way, thank you."
"Shall Charlie walk you home?" asked Mr. Wonka gesturing to Charlie's seated form with his hand and arm, graciously extended.
Before he met Grandpa Joe's eyes, Charlie looked at that same spot that had so interested Mr. Wonka. "No need a-tall for that. I'd rather … well, I'd rather mosey on my way, my way."
Mr. Wonka bowed from the waist. "Well said, sir. Goodnight." Grandpa Joe shuffled his way to the door, sending a friendly wave their way as he went though it. "What about you, Charlie? You can leave your Grandpa Joe to reflect in peace. There's more than one way back to your house from here."
Charlie jumped to his feet. "NO!" He bit his tongue. "I mean, no, I'm not tired, I slept on the plane, and the train, and—"
Mr. Wonka smiled. "The automobile?" Charlie nodded. "I'm not tired, either. Shall we watch Mr. Wonka and his Chocolate Factory again?"
"NO!" said Charlie, "I mean, if you want—"
"To," said Mr. Wonka grinning. "Always thinking of what others want … Nah, I don't want to. I was serious about those trousers; I don't think I can face them again." He bent down and picked up his bean bag chair, dropping it in such a way that the chair so lately vacated by Grandpa Joe would serve as a backrest to it. With an expressive hand, he invited Charlie to do the same. As Charlie did, Mr. Wonka sank into his, and Charlie followed suit. "Charlie. You're back. Why?"
Charlie found himself remarkably uncomfortable on his bean bag chair. Should he sit up, lie back, curl up, stand up? Cross his ankles, fold his hands, look at Mr. Wonka, look away from Mr. Wonka? He decided to stand. Mr. Wonka rose with him, the bean bag chairs between them, as they stood on the far side of each arm of the solid chair. His lips moved, he was ready to speak, but what he said surprised him. "You brought two bean bag chairs!"
Mr. Wonka giggled. "You noticed that?"
"My family told me only you and Grandpa Joe were going to watch the end."
"That was the plan."
"But you brought seats for three!"
"If I hadn't, where would you sit?"
"How did you know I was coming back? I didn't know I was coming back, until I was on my way."
"I didn't."
"But—"
"I brought two chairs. Do you remember what I told Violet in the entrance hall?"
"Confidence is key."
"Confidence is key, so in the same way that Sherlock Holmes is confident, I was. If you came back, I'm a genius, and if you didn't come back, I had a nice, big, comfy chair for myself. I'm a winner either way, wouldn't you say?"
Mr. Wonka's eyes were so mischievous, Charlie had to laugh, which only served to make Mr. Wonka all the happier.
"I was hoping you'd come back. I did my best to make it happen. I hoped you wouldn't leave, but you did. At least it was in a huff. That gave me hope."
"What did you do?"
"I left the best chocolate I can make on your dining table for you to taste."
"Ohhh," said Charlie, a light dawning. "Can we sit down?"
Mr. Wonka obliged before Charlie could finish his question. Feet flat, knees raised, his arms around them, Mr. Wonka faced Charlie at an angle. Charlie mirrored him.
"I didn't want to go. I thought you wanted me to go."
"I've told you that caring about what others want, when that caring wounds you, is your Achilles' heel."
"Yeah, tonight!"
"I'll quote Glinda, the Witch of the North: you 'had to learn it for yourself'. You're back. You must have learned it. Who put you on the right track?
"That girl I met in the play I saw. Her name was Matilda. She had a terrible family. They were shallow, and treated her terribly." Mr. Wonka made his face a mask. Charlie hurried on. "At the end of the play she had a new family, a loving family, who loved her the way her own family didn't."
Mr. Wonka, his eyes flicking to the floor and then back to Charlie, made a small noise in his throat, as if having decided on one course, chose another. Charlie was glad he was sitting down. "So she's like me."
"She was like you, a lot like you, and her new family was a lot like us, and the villain of the play was a lot like your father, and if your father was anything like Miss Trunchbull, you're lucky to be alive!"
Mr. Wonka giggled with abandon. "I've often thought so. What a strange play."
"I checked to see who wrote it. His name was Roald Dahl: Roald Dahl's Matilda."
"Didn't we see that name at the beginning of this movie?"
Mr. Wonka picked up the remote, to rewind the movie, and check.
"Please don't," said Charlie. "I've seen enough of that movie, and I don't care who Roald Dahl is, but he does seem to think the way we do."
Mr. Wonka let the remote rest in his lap. "Good for him. How did Matilda help you?"
"She had a song. She said only I could change my story. She said sometimes you have to be naughty. I thought you didn't want me here. I thought I'd be naughty if I stayed, but here is where I want to be, and I don't care what you say, I'm not leaving!"
"You naughty boy!" It must have been the lateness of the hour, or the dimness of the lighting, or the way the movie he'd just seen had unsettled him, but Mr. Wonka kept speaking, as if to himself. "Two years ago, I did want you to leave, because it is a big wonderful world out there, and it shouldn't be missed. But someday, I hoped you'd choose the Chocolate Factory again, because until you did, my best secrets would stay mine." He paused, checking to see he had Charlie's attention. "Savvy? I'm sensitive to betrayal, and if the world held more delights for you than this Factory does, that would be another one. That movie was one."
"Do you hate Mr. Wilder now?"
"Nah, he's an actor. He says lines. I guess he has some input, but if, as you say, the same man was involved in that and Matilda, he went off the rails in this one." Reaching for his walking-stick, Mr. Wonka rolled it in his fingers, the light dancing off its swirled ridges, making patterns on their faces. "Mr. Wilder never tried to contact the Factory. He never spoke to me. He screamed. He screamed at Charlie. I'd rather cut out my tongue. He got it almost all wrong."
"What did he get right?"
"The ending."
Neither moved. The moment passed.
"What d'ya say we watch 'Young Frankenstein', Charlie? I love that movie."
Charlie nodded. "I do, too."
THE END
Quoted material in italics are direct quotes from the 1971 and 2005 films. Capitalized lines are song lyrics. Willy's Wizard of Oz quotes are in italics. The Mudville reference is from the ballad Casey At the Bat, by Ernest Thayer. Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang is a book by Ian Fleming, a good friend of Roald Dahl. I still do not own either of anything of the Chocolate Factories ... wait; strike that, reverse it ... and there is no copyright infringement intended.
On the one-hundred-fourth anniversary of Mr. Dahl's birth, I'm in a time crunch to post this. I apologize for any proofreading errors, I'll fix them tomorrow. My thanks to my readers and especially to my reviewers, I hope you enjoyed this story; I discovered I liked writing it more than I thought I would.