(Part ii)
Charlie stared past a set of large iron gates, to gaze upon the twisting metal behemoth that was the world renowned chocolate factory of the illustrious Willy Wonka. The factory that would now belong to him . . .
It was an incredible, yet indescribable feeling for Charlie to be standing before this great factory once again, much as he had done nearly fifteen years prior as a poor twelve year old boy, clutching to a piece of gold that would allow him to finally meet the man behind all of his childhood dreams . . .
Charlie shook the now painful memories from his mind, setting his jaw in determination. This was no time to be taking a trip down memory lane, especially when said memories were trying to betray him by insisting that they were joyful, attempting to elicit a response similar to yearning from him.
But Charlie knew his emotions to be treacherous before that day, and as the iron gates creaked open to allow him passage, he had already hardened his heart for the task at hand: To assume control of the factory from a dying Willy Wonka with no remorse what so ever.
Charlie roughly shoved his hands into his battered tan raglan and stepped into the looming shadow of the factory, slowly making his way towards it.
As he approached the entrance he noticed that a hunched figure of a man leaning on a cane was waiting for him. Wonka had once again forgone the goggle-like shades that he had once insisted on wearing whenever he ventured outside. Perhaps Wonka no longer saw the point in protecting his vision, as it, along with everything else, would be abandoning him soon enough anyway. Unlike his previous visit, Wonka's apparel was freshly tailored and fitted, and from the top hat on his head, to his velvet frock coat and the shoes he wore, Wonka was clothed entirely in black. The only colour that Charlie could see, now, as he stopped in front of the living legend, was a dark royal purple within the pattern of his paisley shirt, and in the stitched "W's" that adorned his otherwise black gloves. Wonka's ever present silver "W" broach and watch seemed to glow phantasmally against his dark attire. The whole of Wonka's being at that moment seemed ethereal, yet was omniscient of the end that was very near for this man . . .
One side of Wonka's bold lips rose in a shy smile. "Hullo, Charlie. I'm glad you've come."
Charlie was the one to avert his eyes this time. "Yeah . . . Well . . . let's just get this over with."
Wonka nodded and turned towards the entrance, gesturing for Charlie to follow.
The long walk from the entrance of the factory to the Great Glass Elevator at the end of the entrance hall was an awkward one for both Willy Wonka and Charlie Bucket as they walked side by side in silence.
Wonka was the first to break the quiet. "You . . . you didn't bring Sarah. I was . . . I was hoping to meet her."
"I'm sure you were, and I'll thank you not to be so informal when addressing her." Charlie refused to make small talk with Wonka. It would be too friendly. Too relaxed. Too much like old times . . .
Wonka's elegant cheekbones coloured with a faint blush and his eyes turned downcast. "I'm . . . I'm sorry. I-"
"Just drop it alright?"
Wonka didn't try to make conversation after that, and soon enough they had reached the Great Glass Elevator. The doors slid open and after following Charlie inside, Willy pressed the translucent button for his office.
The elevator jolted to life, sending Charlie (who had forgotten just how powerful the stupid hunk of glass actually was) crashing into Wonka, who in turn ended up pinned between Charlie and the transparent wall of the elevator.
Memories assaulted Charlie's mind with a tremendous force now that he was in such a intimate proximity of Wonka. The feel of the man underneath him, the smell of his clothes, the sound of his stifling gasps . . . he felt . . . he felt-"
Charlie's brain had finally caught up with his fluttering heart and he recoiled away from the reacquainted form of Wonka. He huddled in the corner of the elevator absolutely refusing to look at Wonka for the remainder of the ride. He needed to get this done and over with now. . .
Willy was trembling and taking shuddering breaths, trying desperately to regain his composure. He had just been in a wonderful dream, a dream where Charlie had actually hesitated to remove himself from his being. Had maybe wanted to remain tangled with his former mentor, the way they had before. Before . . . they had been torn apart . . . But one glance at the man in question glaring determinedly away from him, and Willy knew that there was no chance of them ever being on friendly terms again, leave alone being anything more . . .
The elevator finally came to a halt and both parties exited, entering Wonka's office in silence. Waiting for them there, sitting beside Wonka's cherry wood desk were two very opposing men. One was a bespectacled elderly looking man who, despite his hunched posture, was still very tall. The other man had a youthful appearance yet had an air of wisdom of one that had lived a very long time, and unlike the other man, this man was quite short. In fact, he was so short, that he would have reached no more than a grown man's knee. This man was an Oompa Loompa.
Wonka gestured Charlie towards them as both men stood to greet the two who had just stepped out of the elevator.
Nodding towards the elderly gentleman, Willy began with the introductions. "Charlie this is my lawyer, Mr. Burton. He's the one whose gonna take care of all the paperwork regarding change in ownership and accounts and all that boring, complicated stuff."
Charlie and Mr. Burton exchanged the proper greetings, shaking hands.
"And this is Wishniak, the Oompa Loompa Chief. Surely you remember him? Yes, of course you do. He's here on behalf of the Oompa Loompa's to act as a witness and overseer of the whole thing."
Wishniak gave Charlie a critical looking over, and Charlie couldn't help but feel that the chief was judging him, looking for what, Charlie wasn't sure.
The elder must have found what he was looking for, for his face suddenly brightened and he bowed at the waist, arms folded, in the traditional Oompa Loompa greeting.
Charlie quickly followed suit with a greeting of his own, and he just managed to catch Wonka's wistful expression as he righted himself. It was quickly gone however, and Wonka's expression turned serious as he moved behind his desk, sitting down and inviting the others to do the same.
Once they were all seated, Wonka opened an envelope that had been sitting on his desk, removing three bundles of paper, handing one to Charlie and resting the other two in front of him.
"That's your copy, Charlie. You can take all the time you need to read through-"
"That won't be necessary. I want this done with as soon as possible. I have nothing to loose anyways."
Wonka's look of surprise faded and he nodded, "Alright, you can always read through it later for the details. I'm sure you know the gist of it anyways. Basically you sign this and I sign this and they sign this and you get to own the factory. So, shall we get started?"
They all signed the papers in turn, and once the last person had signed, Mr. Burton collected a bundle of the papers and excusing himself, left the office. Wishniak stayed behind.
"Only one last thing to do now . . ."Wonka then reached inside of his coat to slowly pull out his silver ring of keys. He hesitated, turning them over carefully in his gloved hands, an unreadable expression on his face. After a long while something changed in his eyes and he quickly handed the keys over to Charlie as if he would change his mind if he waited any longer.
"It's all yours Charlie."
It was an indescribable feeling to be holding the keys of the factory of his dreams, Charlie could hardly believe that it was real. But something was off here . . .
"Wait a minute . . . if you're giving me the keys now, then that means you're leaving now?"
Willy gave Charlie a sad smile. "Yeah . . . I ah . . . I've already made arrangements to spend what's left of my life someplace . . . someplace else. I'll be buried there as well, so you won't have to worry about me hauntn' the factory afterwards or anything . . ."
Charlie didn't respond. How could he? What did he say to this man who spoke of his impending death with such nonchalance?
Willy then turned to Wishniak."Well, I guess I'd better get goin' then. You'll take care of anything else that Charlie needs?"
The chief bowed and then gestured for Wonka to kneel so that he could speak in Wonka's ear.
"Yes, yes of course you can . . . no I haven't . . . yes I do . . . you too."
Wonka stood up smiling sadly at Wishniak before turning to Charlie. "Charlie, Wishniak wants to see me off in the Chocolate Room with the other Oompa Loompa's, you're . . . you're welcome to come as well but it's understandable if you'd rather not-"
"I'm coming too."
Willy looked surprised at first but then flashed a gentle smile. "Ok . . ." He then limped his way towards the elevator, with Charlie and Wishniak following closely behind.
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Perhaps it was the fault of time, for Charlie knew that the Chocolate Room was beautiful, after all, he had lived in the place and yet he was still stunned as he entered into the glowing green meadow and the scent of the most incredible chocolate in the world filled his senses.
Equally as incredible was the sight of thousands of Oompa Loompas of all ages that filled the Chocolate Room to see off their saviour for the last time. They were everywhere. They filled the swudge ledges, and the candy pink Viking style boat, they hung from the twisting sugar trees and some had even sat on the roof of the old Bucket shack . . .
His house . . . Charlie had not seen it since the day he left. The day that it had all fallen apart . . .
"It's disgusting Charlie! What that man did to you was horrible!"
"But Mum I don't . . . I don't understand!"
"Mr. and Mrs. Bucket please let me explain-"
"How the hell can you explain to us why you . . . you stained our son!"
"But . . . I'm not . . . I'm not dirty . . ."
"Oh my poor Charlie. Someday you'll understand. Someday you'll know . . . just what has happened to you . . ."
"Charlie?"
Charlie snapped out of his flashback to see Wonka looking at him with concern.
"Yeah . . . I . . . didn't catch what you said." Charlie felt numb. He could still hear the voices of his angry parents, of a desperate Wonka, of himself crying . . . No, his parents had been right . . . and he knew the difference now. No matter how happy he had been . . .
"Sorry, I was just saying that I should be getting down to the riverside as I'll be leaving on that boat over there."
Charlie followed Wonka's finger towards the river that pointed past the seahorse boat to another boat that Charlie had missed completely. And it was to no great wonder that he had missed it as the boat was made entirely of what seemed to be transparent glass, it's shape barely discernable save for the bulbous molding of the glass that glowed like liquid water frozen in time. As they approached the vessel, Charlie could see that it was crafted in a similar fashion to the pink seahorse, yet the oars were translucent and some sort of bird acted as the bowhead instead. It was, in short, eerily beautiful.
"Not bad huh? A one of a kind she is." Willy had come up beside Charlie and was now appraising the boat as well.
"Everything is one of a kind here, Wonka."
Willy gave a small smile. "Yes, I suppose so."
"But . . . but how will it take you out of the factory when it's on the Chocolate River?"
Wonka then turned to Charlie with an expression that Charlie would never forget. "There are rivers in this factory that are not made of chocolate, Charlie . . . I'll get to where I need to go."
The Oompa Loompas had moved closer to the two, crowding around the scene in an arc, Wishniak standing in the lead.
Willy motioned towards the chief, "Well, I guess it's time to go. No need to waste everybody's time standing around here."
Wishniak came forward then and bowed, the entire Oompa Loompa population following suit. Wonka returned the bow, his eyes shining as he stood.
Charlie felt something tug painfully within him but refused to show any emotion. He could not allow himself to care . . .
And then Wonka turned towards him, unsure of what to do or what to say. He finally decided to take his chances and offered a shaky hand to Charlie with a nervous smile.
Charlie took the hand in his with a lack of hesitation that surprised even himself and then, holding the hand of this amazing dying man, Charlie was taken with the sudden urge to draw him in for a furious embrace, to feel him living and breathing against him one last time . . .
But he didn't. Instead he simply allowed the hand to slide from his, and watched dumbly as Willy Wonka gave him a sorrowful, yet loving smile. "Good luck, Charlie." He then moved towards the boat, but as he reached the end of the plank he glanced back to whisper, "Be happy." And then he was sitting in the back of the boat, his gloved hands resting on his cane in front of him, his face expressionless.
The Oompa Loompa's had come up to the river's edge now, with Wishniak standing beside Charlie and for a long moment nothing happened. But then the crystalline oars suddenly, miraculously, rose into the air as if each were welded by some invisible rower, and then descended once more into the sweet river to begin rowing, propelling the vessel forward.
Charlie stared at Wonka, his words echoing through his mind, "Be Happy" He was happy . . . wasn't he? No, . . . he wasn't. He had not married Sarah. His family, the same family that he had left, had hated Willy Wonka for, were all dead. And yet his prejudice against the man he used to love more than anything remained. Why? Why did it still matter? Did it still matter?
Charlie went to call to Wonka then but it was too late. The boat slipped into the darkness of the tunnel and the splashing of the oars immediately ceased. Willy Wonka, was gone.
Charlie's voice died in his throat, much as Wonka would soon die . . . A thought then occured to Charlie . . . What was it that Wonka was dying from? It seemed ridiculous now to think that he hadn't thought to ask before and so he turned to Wishniak.
"Great Chief?"
"Yes?"
"What . . . what is it that Mr. Wonka's dying from?"
Wishniak looked sadly up at Charlie. "A terrible disease, I'm afraid. One that has ravaged him to his very soul, killing him slowly, day by day. It has been very hard on us all, and now it will claim his life but at least . . . now he will know some sort of peace . . ."
Wishniak looked away even as the other Oompa Loompa's began to chant a slow and mournful tune. But Charlie needed to know more.
"There was no cure?"
"Just one. But it proved impossible to retrieve. And every time Willy Wonka would fail to get it, he would die a little more. . ."
Impossible to retrieve? What sort of disease was this?
"What . . . what was the disease called?"
"Pectus Pectoris Infractus."
Charlie's blood ran cold. He couldn't have heard right . . . The Chief couldn't mean . . . Willy couldn't be going to . . . going to . . .
"That's . . . that's Latin isn't it? Willy taught it to me . . . but Great Chief . . . it can't be-"
The chief turned to him then with a look of sorrow that Charlie would never, never, forget: "He has crossed into the River of Death on his own accord. His disease was a broken heart, . . . and you and your forgiveness, Charlie Bucket, was the only cure."