(Part ii)

"Grampa Joe?"

Joe Bucket gave a start as he awoke from his involuntary nap, eyes wide and confused. He finally regained his bearings and his eyes came into focus on a very sheepish and frazzled looking Willy

Wonka.

"I'm sorry about that, I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to wake you up. I thought about pinching your arm or holding your nose but then I thought that maybe a gentle shake would be best . . . ah . . . was I wrong?" Wonka had taken off both his frock coat and hat while Joe had been sleeping, the latter of which he was now nervously turning in his hands.

"No, no Mr. Wonka. That's quite alright, happens . . . happens all the time." Joe had felt himself getting weaker and weaker over the last few weeks and now felt that he really didn't have much time left. Before today, and the memories that had returned, he had felt just fine with the idea that he was dying but now . . . well now he couldn't help but feel some regret, no matter how guilty it made him feel. Maybe, just maybe if he had been younger . . .

"Er, Grampa Joe sir? Ya sorta "zoned out" on me again there."

Grampa Joe. It was what Willy Wonka insisted on calling him, perhaps (and truly perhaps) out of a sign of affection, but right now, Joe couldn't help but resent the title as it made the rift between this beautiful man and himself all the more obvious.

In any case Joe knew that he was near the end of his life and he decided then to clarify at least this small matter. "Please, Mr. Wonka . . . please just. . . call me Joe."

Wonka's brows raised in slight surprise but then he smiled. "Alright then, . . . Joe. Do ya think that you're up for a rather serious conversation, regarding a rather serious matter?"

It was Joe's turn to look surprised. "Well I don't know. What ever do you mean by 'serious?'"

Willy's eyes shifted away from the elder man and he began to fidget in his spot. "Well um . . . ah, it's . . . it's about . . . about your err, current um, 'state' and what's going to . . . going to . . . 'happen'. . ."

"You want to talk about me dying?"

Wonka blanched, "W-well yes . . . I suppose I do. And yet I don't . . . well hopefully not anyway . . ."

Joe watched curiously as Mr. Wonka shuffled closer to him on the edge of the bed. The candymaker still refused to look at him, staring instead at his polished shoes as he spoke once again. "Do you, . . . do you want to die, Joe?"

Joe was stunned. It just was not a question that he had expected to hear from Willy Wonka, especially in such a serious tone. But how could he answer such a question? Did he want to die? Was there anything really left living for?

"I . . . I don't know if I can answer that question, Mr. Wonka. But let's just say that to carry on as I am now would not be the brightest of futures."

Wonka nodded. "That's what I thought." He was silent for a moment before he finally turned to glance at Joe. "Charlie . . . He . . . he cares for you very much."

Charlie? Just where was Mr. Wonka going with this?

Willy looked away from Joe again. "And I, . . . Well I care for him very much." He did not look at Joe at all as he continued. "You . . . -choke- 'dying' is really going to upset him. And I, well I don't want Charlie to ever have to feel upset. I'd . . . I'd do anything to make him happy . . ."

Mr. Wonka was worried about Charlie . . . of course he was worried about Charlie, but he still couldn't quite hold back the bitterness he felt at his own welfare not being Wonka's main concern.

"Yes . . . I suppose it will be hard on Charlie, but, . . . he's a strong boy and in any case there is nothing that can be done to stop it."

Wonka's eyes suddenly brightened at this and he spoke with enthusiasm. "But, that's not true, there is something that can be done to stop it!"

The chocolatier then reached inside of his vest to pull forth a tiny bottle. A tiny bottle that vibrated ever so slightly . . .

The eagerness was obvious in Wonka's eyes as he held the bottle for Joe to see. But Joe didn't need to read the scrawling name on the bottle to know what it was. . .

"WonkaVite?"

"Yes indeed, it most certainly is!" Wonka pressed on as Joe went to protest. "Please Joe, I know what your feelings were regarding these things before but surely you'd like to consider it now? Think of Charlie and how much it would mean to him for you to be here! You could be up skipping about the factory rather being stuck in bed, you don't have to die, Joe . . ."

WonkaVite. He had refused it once already, having felt alarmed at the eagerness he had suddenly experienced as his eyes had rested on Mr. Wonka. He had known better then, and should know better now. But then again, this "now" had certainly changed from the previous now hadn't it? For one, his dear Josie had departed from this world and two, well two he was about to die with quite a lingering regret . . .

He stared hard at the bottle and all that it represented. This little bottle had the potential to save his life, to make him as young as Mr. Wonka, to give him a chance to ease his regret of simply never knowing. 'If only I had been younger" is what he had always said, and now, well now he could be . . .

Joe almost made to take the bottle but then he remembered Wonka's reasoning for this and the man's voice as he had spoken of his grandson, so full of joy; and the way his violet eyes had shimmered at the mentioning of the boy . . . it was the same as . . . the same as himself when he spoke or thought of Willy Wonka.

And suddenly, he understood.

He withdrew from the bottle, flopping back in his pillow. If he could not cure his own regrets, than he would not allow Willy Wonka to be doomed to the same fate.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry Mr. Wonka. But I cannot accept."

Wonka's eyes turned downcast and he slowly let his hand holding the bottle drop. "B-but . . . but why-"

"Mr. Wonka . . ." It was becoming quite difficult to breathe now, "save them for . . . for yourself. It's not me that Charlie needs now, Mr. Wonka." And then he looked directly into Wonka's eyes and with as much meaning as he could possibly imply whispered, "It's you."

Wonka's eyes widened in surprise but then deepened with emotion as the meaning became clear. "If you think . . . if you think that's best . . ."

"I do."

A flurry of emotions flashed across Willy's face before he finally gave a shaky, yet genuine smile. A silence fell then for a moment before Wonka finally stood, making his way over to Charlie's bureau to retrieve his coat and cane.

Wonka shrugged into his coat and after carefully placing his top hat in its rightful place, he slowly turned around to face Joe once again.

"You've made a lot of sacrifices in your life, haven't you, Joe." It was not a question.

Joe merely smiled gently, "No more than what any other decent person would have done, I suppose . . ."
Wonka's eyes shifted away from Joe. "You have made sacrifices, and sacrifices often lead to regrets. Tell me, Joe . . ." his eyes slid back to Joe, "do you have regrets? . . ."

Joe now was surprised that his heart was still beating, it had always unnerved him how Willy Wonka always seemed to be aware of one's secret thoughts, no matter how deeply they had been buried and now, . . . well now Wonka's accuracy on the situation was uncanny to say the very least. Did he have regrets? . . . Yes, he did, and he was about to tell the truth when his heart failed him. He would not be that selfish . . . even if it meant telling an outright lie to Willy Wonka.

"No, I don't." He could not face Wonka as he continued. "I have no regrets."

Wonka's brows creased into a frown as Joe finally found the courage to look back to the chocolatier. Willy searched Joe's eyes for a moment before he let out a long sigh.

"No regrets huh? How fortunate you are to have none, not many of us will be able to say the same." He sighed again. "Well, I guess I'd better be on my way then seeing how you've made your decision. I'll send Charlie back up." He turned then to leave but stopped once more, his back to Joe. "It may not be something that you regret, but just in case you had ever wondered, Joe . . . I would have."

Joe stared after Wonka's retreating form as the man's words echoed through his mind. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his soul and Joe smiled happily. In that moment, simply knowing was all he needed, and so he settled down once more as sleep overcame him and a dream began . . . and it promised to be pleasant.

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