'Told ya it'd be a porker.'
Grandpa George was right: the boy finding the first Golden Ticket was a porker. But that wasn't all: pork surrounded him. That's because his parents ran a butcher shop, and they were standing in it.
There were lots of media people in the shop, with microphones and cameras. I guess if you find a Golden Ticket, the media is bound to find you. We watched his interview on our tiny television, with its wire coat hanger antenna, all of us together, with me sitting in the middle of the bed, surrounded by the people who loved me, in the same way this boy, Augustus, was surrounded by his own fat, that you could see he loved making, and by his own fat family, who you could see loved him. His mum was oinking over him like a pleased mother sow. She was fat. His father, in the background, making a braid out of sausages, was fat. They were all fat. 'Fat, fat, fat', as my Grandpa George had said. And they sure were. I could only swallow my salvia, that would otherwise drip as drool, as I looked on with wonder and serious envy.
We were careful to keep our conversation only about the ticket-finder, but I think we were all mesmerized by the yummy food we were seeing: sausages, and hams hanging from hooks, and enough meat in that one shop to last us for a year! Then there was the candy on Augustus's face to look at. It was all over his lips and chin. He couldn't be bothered to eat it carefully! Unless he had a really long tongue, he was wasting a lot of it. It made me heartsick to see that.
Augustus tore at the wrapper of his next chocolate bar as if it were garbage, ripping into it with meaty hands, and watching him, I felt as if he were ripping me down the middle of my gut. It was a cinch he didn't put his wrappers on his bedroom wall! If he did, he'd have enough to make them his wallpaper. He bit into the bar. I heard it crack. It had caramel in it, and the caramel dripped down like a curtain over his chin … Imagining the gooey, sticky sweetness in my mouth, the saliva I'd taken pains to swallow before formed all over again.
I think we were all having the same problem. I heard Grandpa George's stomach rumble, though he coughed to cover the sound. Was it heaven to have more food than you needed? I'd love to be fat; not as fat as Augustus was fat, but fatter than I am… I wanted that for everyone in my family.
The thing of it was, Augustus had taken a bite out of the Golden Ticket he'd found. Would Mr. Wonka refuse to let Augustus in because the ticket had a chunk out of it? How could a boy so full of food, not look at what he was eating before he ate it? I could only shake my head. Only four Golden Tickets left, I said.
Grandpa Joe caught my meaning. Now that they've found one, he said, things will really get crazy.
He sounded sad, and I knew how he felt.
The next ticket was found on the day before my birthday, and it was found by a girl named Veruca Salt. Her family lived in a big, old, stone mansion in a place called Buckinghamshire. They showed a picture of her house—it was supposed to be impressive—but what I thought when I saw it was that it would fit into a wing of Mr. Wonka's factory, and not take up the whole wing.
Really, they didn't have anything on Mr. Wonka when it came to living space, but they sure had a long hall. It reminded me of the Hall of Mirrors at the palace at Versailles, except it had no mirrors in it. Instead, it had animal heads on the walls. All kinds of animal heads. I decided the Salts did not like animals. They were standing on a polar bear rug, complete with the polar bear's head. How far did they have to go to find a polar bear to shoot? I'd think a long way. I decided the Salts were a determined lot.
Veruca was a toothy girl, but she hadn't bitten out a corner of her Golden Ticket, so she had that going for her. She held her ticket in front of her with both hands, smiling with pride. Her mother was equally proud, but I couldn't tell if it were for Veruca's ticket win, or for the huge stone on the ring on her finger that she had draped over Veruca's left shoulder. Her father had a sneer on his face, as if he wanted to shoot everyone there, but that changed to a condescending smile when he knew the cameras were on him. He told the story of how Veruca had found her Golden Ticket.
'As soon as my little Veruca told me she had to have one of these Golden Tickets, I started buying up all the Wonka bars I could lay my hands on. Thousands of them … hundreds of thousands…'
They were determined, I was right, but Veruca hadn't looked for her Golden Ticket herself! Her father had done the work! Actually, the people working in his factory had done the work! How was that fair? It was bad enough they were as wealthy as Augustus was fat—maybe more wealthy then he was fat—but that didn't seem fair at all! I had to say something!
'I didn't think that was really fair. She didn't find the ticket herself.'
'Don't worry about it, Charlie,' said my Grandpa Joe. 'That man spoils his daughter, and no good ever comes of spoiling a child like that.'
That seemed lame to me, even if it were true—she had a Golden Ticket, after all; spoiling her hadn't kept her from that—but I didn't say anything else about it, because, right then, my parents got home. They had my birthday present with them, and wanted to know if I wanted to open it now, even though my birthday was the next day. What could I do? I had to smile, and I did. I put out of my mind the comparison with the Salts. '…hundreds of thousands…' while all my family could afford was one bar.
That put them tops in my book: really, we couldn't afford one bar, but my family was willing to make the sacrifice for me. I almost didn't want to take it, but the money had already been spent, and to refuse a gift is one of the most hurtful things a person can do to another person. I took it happily, and then I remembered: Mr. Wonka hated this town. He wouldn't have sent a ticket here. I hoped to keep their hopes up a little longer.
'Maybe I should wait till morning,' I said.
'Like Hell,' said Grandpa George.
'All together we're three hundred and eighty-one years old: we don't wait,' said my Grandpa Joe.
He had a point. I pulled the bar out of the wrapper, knowing there'd be no Golden Ticket inside. I tried to keep from frowning, but I don't think I got that done. Dealing with their disappointment would be hard. Everyone was on pins and needles, but not me. Taking my time, I opened the bar carefully. The wrapper would be going on my wall, after all, but once I got that clear, and the foiled mostly undone, I couldn't stand it anymore! I snatched away the wrapper—
Nothing. Nothing except chocolate. It was a thrill I lived for every other time in my life, but Mr. Wonka had managed to find a way to make his chocolate a disappointment. How strange of him to want to do that.
'Ah, well; that's that.'
My Grandpa Joe was putting a good face on it. I thanked him for that, in my head, and felt sorry for Mr. Wonka, but not too sorry. The chocolate, I knew, would make everyone feel better. Mr. Wonka's chocolate could do that. I knew that from experience.
'We'll share it,' I said.
'Oh no, Charlie, not your birthday present,' said Grandpa Joe.
He said that because usually I ate the bar myself, like a little mouse, nibbling a tiny bit at a time, until it was gone. I could make one bar last for weeks that way, and chocolate doesn't spoil fast, so you can do that. Tonight was different, though. Tonight our hopes were dashed to pieces like a pirate ship in a storm, smacked apart on sharp rocks, even my hopes, because you never knew with Mr. Wonka, my Grandpa Joe always said. He might have sent a ticket to our town. 'It's my candy bar,' I said, 'and I'll do what I want with it.'
We shared, and Mr. Wonka's chocolate did make us feel better.
Are these my characters? They are not. Is this purely for entertainment? It is.
Thanks for reading.
Have my reviewers made my day? They have, and I thank them, one and all.
As it ever is in my stories, direct quotes from the 2005 movie are in italics.