Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, mild gore, human trafficking, death, and the unbecoming pinching of an idea by a movie you may recognize.
"Willy."
"Terence."
"If no one ever called her that, how do you know your mother's name is Araminta?"
Having reached the doors of the Buckets' suite, Willy stood eyeing them as if they were a problem in applied physics. Interrupted, he took a step back into the hall, and taking another two steps back, he turned to face Terence, flipping his walking-stick up to press against his ribs, held tight there by his crooked arm.
"So you noticed that."
"I did. If no one ever called her that, how do you know?"
Tightening a corner of his mouth, Willy threw a quick glance at the doors. Flipping his walking-stick back down to his side, he focused half-closed, amethyst eyes on a close study of Terence.
"Do you have any idea, my dear chap, how many wonderful places in this Factory there are? All of which are preferable to this place, and these people, and these questions, and in any one of which, were I not here, I could refreshingly be, right now?"
Considering, Terence shifted his gaze to a point behind Willy. Lifting his voice, he likewise lifted his arm in a cheery wave, his smile broad.
"Oh, hey! Charlie! Where'd you come from?"
Willy went ramrod straight. 'These people'… any of those words, were nothing he wanted Charlie to hear. Rigid, he pivoted slowly on his toes, his brain racing, figuring a way to salvage this disaster. The hall was empty. There was no disaster to salvage. Breathing again, Willy turned back.
"That wasn't very nice."
"I agree," said Terence. "Tit for tat. If you haven't changed your mind, I wouldn't refer to them as 'these people', and go on about preferring to be anywhere but with them. Find some other way to say you'd rather not answer the question. You might try, 'I'd rather not say'. I asked just now, because you looked as if you might like a diversion. I would've asked you in your office, but you were on a roll. I didn't want to mess that up. But I am curious, and loose ends drive me crazy. So you can choose not to tell me, and drive me crazy. How's that strike you?"
The hall grew quiet, but a minute after that, Willy smiled. "Between the one and three pins? The one and two, if you're a lefty? I did set it up. I'll answer. I know, because of your bad influence."
Terence laughed at the absurdity.
"Then you don't know. I'm not a bad influence."
It was Willy's turn to laugh, and the laughter was soothing.
"That's what you say, but according to…" 'The Dentist' was out, "Dr.—"
"Wonka," Terence supplied.
"Yeah, that guy," agreed Willy mildly, only to suddenly become cross. "I didn't need that. There's nothing wrong with 'doctor', and 'Wonka' is certainly no problem, I can use both of those…" Relishing what he was about to say next, because he disagreed with it so completely, Willy relaxed. "According to him, you're the worst."
After the riff of giggles, Willy shifted his stance, and Terence could see he was off somewhere. A murmur confirmed it.
"Dede… I can call him Dede… like in DDS. Yeah… Dede. He'd hate that, because it's a girl's name, and he's not a girl. One meaning it has is sorrowful, and another is broken-hearted, like he makes people fe—" Willy began the word, but glassy-eyed, he swallowed it, "so—"
"Like I said, you don't have to answer."
"So." Willy was back. "So like I said, I will. After you skipped town, I snooped around, and found her passport. It was a French passport. Her name was in that."
"Ah," nodded Terence, preoccupied by the word 'after'. "It would be."
"It was." Willy rocked back on one foot, wondering if Terence were gonna make an issue of the timing. It would be okay, he'd brought it up himself… twice. Willy knew Terence noticed these things. He'd just proved it. And Willy had an answer. Before Terence came to town, Willy had heard the name Mina mentioned, by a few of Dede's guests, and Mrs. Wonka, the name Dede always used, couldn't be refuted. So he'd known his mother's name all along. Just like other people. But it looked like Terence was gonna leave those thorns alone, and with a quiet sigh of appreciation, Willy used the extra emotional energy to continue. Finding the passport had been a thrill.
"Ya know what else? Passports have pictures." Willy turned his head, breaking eye contact. "I didn't get to keep it. My…"
Simmering, Terence was right on it.
"Crap-for-brains father." Damn that asshole for labeling him a bad influence, and double-damn the degenerate for making his son snoop to discover what should have been told to him as a matter of course.
"…Ya, that guy…" Willy took a gulp of air. He felt good and bad hearing that… Whether right or wrong, long before his brain cells were his to rule, he'd had it beaten out of him to even think stuff like that, much less say it. Trust good ol' bad influence Terence to stretch the envelope. And not break it. And 'crap' was technically not swearing. "He caught me with it, and took it away. I never saw it again." Chilled by the memory of the descending paternal claw, its talons tangling with the wires of his braces, before digging into the flesh of his shoulder, while the other claw plucked the passport from his fingers, Willy cleared his throat. "Charlie is waiting."
He's not though, thought Terence, noting the shudder the throat clearing did little to hide. Charlie doesn't know we're coming. But by all means, change the subject… probably a good idea. It'd make me first Dede meaning to lose a picture of my mother, if I didn't have many—or any—and having the only one I'd found snatched away, would make me second Dede meaning.
"After you, my good man," Terence said, his tone lightening the mood. His hand circled in a mock gesture that made Willy smile. Making it even easier, Terence stepped further back.
Still smiling, Willy strode up to the door.
"Charlie!"
At the unmistakable voice, Charlie looked up from his homework, his face aglow.
"Mr. Wonka!"
Willy breezed into the room, Terence trailing, closing the door Willy had flung open after making only a cursory rap he hadn't waited to have answered.
"Oh dear! I am in trouble!"
"You surely are, sir. You're supposed to wait until someone says, 'come in'," affirmed a frowning Grandma Josephine.
Willy shot her a look of incomprehension, and started again.
"Charlie!"
"Willy!" Charlie chimed back, closing his book.
"Oh good, I'm forgiven."
"Prince Valiant!"
It was Grandma Georgina, her face split by a smile that stretched ear-to-ear, with her arms held up and out, in a welcoming stretch as wide as her smile. But the pose was a vulture like 'V', her downward pointing fingers reminiscent of claws, and she looked for all the world to Willy like a turkey buzzard, perching on a bed. It had him thinking roadkill: a mashed up meal in a blood-smeared, maroon velvet frock coat, and that would be him. Eyes wide open, the image he'd conjured in his head froze him in mid-stride.
"Erp…"
Sensing anxiety, Georgina dropped her arms onto her lap, her smile still beaming.
"Prince Valiant," she began again. "What's become of my King George?"
The buzzard gone, Willy unlocked his stare and looked around the room at the faces. One was reproving, four were smiling—one of those was Ahlia's; he believed that one—Terence was behind him, coming up beside him, and three were missing.
"King George?"
"Grandpa George," said Terence, sotto voce.
As if it would fix everything, Willy grinned a rictus grin at all of them, his words audible only to Terence.
"He's not back yet?"
"Still at my shop."
"Umm."
Seeing no problem whatsoever with that location, with a shake of his hair, and a jut of his chin, Willy was back in motion. He reconnoitered his way to the dining table, taking the chair next to Charlie.
"What cha doin'?"
"Homework."
"You closed your book. Does that mean you're done?"
Willy could feel Georgina's rheumy eyes upon him, but what with Josephine's sourpuss vibes their own tsunami, the better part of valor was for this Valiant to keep his distance. On the other hand, Willy was loathe to disappoint Georgina's genuine kindheartedness.
"Cuz if ya are, there's a damsel-in-distress over yonder, who'd like a knight-in-shining-armor, that's you, Charlie, to rescue her…"
Here, brow furrowed, Willy faltered. He was the king of this castle. Stating otherwise set a bad precedence. But Georgina had said, 'my', and Charlie was looking at him expectantly… throwing caution under the fudge cutting knives, Willy sliced ahead.
"…King, and if you choose to accept this noble quest, I've got just the trusty steed to tackle it."
Fondly remembered, this talk of quests took Terence back to a certain, halcyon Fall; a Fall he'd recently been accused of skipping out on. That wasn't the way he'd have characterized the event… not even close. As for Charlie, the stories of the Knights of the Round Table only took second place to the stories of the Chocolate Factory, because the Chocolate Factory was real, and stood in this very town.
"I am! And I do!" Charlie hastened to respond, eyes bright. "But you must come with me, as my squire, regal sir."
Regal… That was a good word, and coming with was the plan. Willy rose to his feet, but overcoming his anticipatory anxiety as soon as he got there, he sat back down. If he were going out again, there was more to do. And Charlie's face was beaming, but he was speaking in that whispery voice that meant that hearing his wishes, Charlie didn't trust the universe not to disappoint him. That cut. That voice, had all but disappeared.
"Mais, bien sûr, Sir Knight… I'll take charge of the trusty steed that will squire you about. Ahlia?"
Ahlia ran around the table. When she could see them, Willy, his gloved hands dancing, went through a lengthy, complicated series of motions. When, crossing his arms against his chest, Willy finished, Ahlia nodded happily. She made a short motion back, and ran from the room.
Rising from the ritual bow Ahlia had forgotten to return, Willy chuckled. "We gotta give Ahlia a head-start," he said, looking after her. "I left my coat in my office, and I guess I'm gonna need it again. I told her to meet us at the stable." Left unsaid, Willy also needed Eshle to know his plans, and possibly find something out for him. Ahlia was just the person to get that done, and report back the result. "So let's all count from one hundred, backwards."
Grandma Josephine shook her head at the nonsense, but Grandma Georgina jumped right to it, launching into Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall. She lifted her arms, the better to conduct the rest of them. Following along, Grandpa Joe's cracked tenor joined in her screeching, in a different key.
"On second thought," croaked Willy, "I'll bet we'll be back before you've finished that song. Etslay amscray, allshay eway?"
Poised to bolt, Willy looked to Charlie and Terence. With their agreement, they'd be his saviors, and nodding, the two looked equally gratefully back.
In seconds, as if shot from canons, all three were through the doors.
"We're walking?"
Puffing a little, Charlie was jogging to keep up, and Willy, noticing, slowed down.
"We are. I told Ahlia to take the Elevator."
Terence lifted a brow.
"All that sign language translates out to 'Take the Elevator and get my coat'?"
"Yes… No," Willy pouted. "…Maybe." His voice was getting silky. "I had to tell her it was in my office."
"Don't you have two Elevators for this Factory? Don't I remember you saying that? Don't you remember Mr. Wonka saying he had two Elevators in the Factory, Charlie? Yada, yada, yada, two Elevators, one track, different directions, same time, CRASH! Remember that?"
To hide his smile, Charlie put a hand over his mouth. He did remember Willy going over that crash scenario, but that was probably only because he liked its dramatic effect on his listeners. Charlie didn't believe a word of it—mostly because Willy Wonka would never knowingly let anything happen to one of his Elevators—but Charlie could tell Terence was up to something, and whatever that might be, Charlie was staying out of it.
Terence didn't mind the lack of help from Charlie. Charlie was an intuitive boy. But Terence had more on this topic he was sure Willy would appreciate.
"That story reminds me of Gomez. You know… Gomez? Of The Addams Family fame? Ring a bell? Or should I say, whistle?" Terence looked around for the consensus he knew he wasn't going to get. "Anyone agree? Anyone?"
Either Charlie still wasn't playing, or he had no idea about The Addams Family. His face was a blank. No matter. Willy's face wasn't. He was following right along.
"You remember Gomez, old friend… Playing with his trains? Playing with his diesel trains? Two diesel engines? One track? Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Wonka? About the trains? About the Elevators?"
Willy smiled through his annoyance. Willy wasn't fond of television, but he was fond of that show. He'd seen every episode, more than once: more than more than once. It was a silly show, but great fun, and a guilty secret. Having been there, Willy totally understood Mike Teavee's obsession with the offerings offered by screens. Come to think of it, Augustus Gloop, if he were thinner, might stand in for Pugsley. Willy had toyed with ripping off the Thing idea—using disembodied hands as coat or what-not holders—but had never gone through with it. For one thing—haha—the idea was too not originally his. It made him restless even thinking about using it. As if a bucket—haha—of itching powder were sprinkled like salt—haha—on his skin, and about to kick in. Willy's shoulders scrunched in a mini shiver. For another thing—haha—Thing's elegant hand, and gestures, would be hard to duplicate, and knowing the source as Willy did, anything less would be disturbing in its inability to match its inspiration. That not-meeting-the-standard would make even beautiful hands not beautiful, and that would make the whole endeavor not worth the effort. Willy thanked his lucky stars he'd known better than to go there.
Charlie nudged Terence. With a little smile on his face, Willy was moving in a trance, his eyes vacant.
"Where does he go?" Charlie mouthed. Willy might be like a sleepwalker you shouldn't wake up.
"Not far," Terence whispered, tapping the side of his head, and then Charlie's. "Further in here. Don't worry. He's always done it. His teachers hated it. They couldn't complain about it, he aced everything. He'll be back. Just wait." Terence watched for the return.
Willy mused on, oblivious. It was enough he'd been caught out ripping off the train joke, but that joke was generic enough that Willy was only mildly peeved that Terence had sussed out his source. Collisions happened all the time, everywhere, and for the very reasons he gave. Just ask any electron. Or any insurance company. Or… Enough! And what was that nattering?
"I do, Smarty-pants, but the other one is down for routine maintenance, and even if it weren't, I already said, Ahlia needs a head-start."
"She can reach the buttons?"
There was no snippy answer this time: it was Charlie asking.
"She can reach the buttons she'll need to reach."
"Isn't that lucky."
Eyes narrowed, Willy shot Terence a look.
"Lucky by design."
Willy trotted on ahead, and Charlie wondered if he should worry more. Catching the concern, Terence put a reassuring hand on Charlie's shoulder.
"Between you and me," Terence whispered, "I'm bugging him because I'm leaving town for a few days, and he'll enjoy that more if he wishes I were out of his hair."
"Leaving? Why? Where? Don't," Charlie whispered back.
Terence put a finger to his lips.
"I can't say, but I have to go. I promise, it won't be for long."
Charlie nodded.
"Is it spy stuff?"
"Might be," Terence agreed.
Hearing a conversation he couldn't make out, Willy slowed again. He raised a brow, but Terence only raised one back. Willy gave in.
"Care to share?"
"Charlie was telling me about his homework."
"Do we care about Charlie's homework?" came Willy's dubious response.
"I do, if it was learning Oompa-Loompan sign language," said Terence.
Charlie laughed.
"It wasn't, but I care about it," said Charlie.
"Why?"
"I was reading about the Underground Railroad."
"I have an underground railroad," Willy smirked. "In my rock-candy mine. How can your school know about that? It's ten-thousand feet down. I'll take you sometime." It was nice to be back in control.
"It's not that kind of railroad. The one I was reading about was for people… People in the War Between the States. It was a way for slaves to get away."
Charlie paused. Ever since the news reports of the first tour, the kids at school had been saying things. They were saying them still. Some thought Willy Wonka was breaking the law. Some thought he was doing worse than that.
Charlie's sudden reticence wasn't lost on Willy. He'd read what the tabloids splashed across their banners. He could guess why Charlie was suddenly reluctant to continue. Willy kept his voice soft.
"Question?"
Charlie thought about it. He wasn't leaving for a few days, and bugging his host wasn't on his agenda. But he did want to know if he could ask Mr. Wonka the things he wanted to ask about the Factory, and this was a doozy of an opportunity to find out. He hesitated just another minute.
"Are… are the Oompa-Loompas… slaves?"
Willy's voice was as soft as the velvet he wore, but the silky quality it had held earlier was absent.
"No."
The swish of clothing and the tapping of Willy's walking-stick as they moved along, filled the ensuing quiet. Willy had fallen back next to Charlie, and after they'd taken a few more steps, Willy tilted his head, to catch Charlie's eye.
Charlie, wondering if he should ask for more, or if one word could answer that question, looked up.
"Of course," said Willy, "you can't take my word for it. There isn't anyone alive who doesn't know the right answer to that question is 'no', and being alive, of course that's what I'll say. If you really want to know, you'll have to ask them."
Preparing to speak, Charlie took a breath. Willy held up his walking-stick.
"But not when I'm around. You can't ask them then. You'll have to ask them when I'm nowhere near. If I'm nearby, they'll say what they think I want to hear."
"You hope," cracked Terence.
The overcast that had formed broke a little. Willy didn't laugh, but he did smile.
"Yeah… yeah, I hope. Or they'll say the opposite… to cook my goose. They are mischievous. But I am still the boss. Slaves or not, they've a certain interest in keeping me happy. Or at least, harmlessly occupied."
That was a start. Charlie took another breath, but Willy wasn't finished.
"You can't ask the ones who work with me closely, either. Well, you can, but you can't believe a word they say, either. That takes Ahlia out of the running. And Eshle. And Doris. To name a few. You'll have to ask the others… the others other than them. The more Oompa-Loompas you ask, the better the picture you'll get. The ones who work with me closely are biased."
"You hope in your favor," Terence cracked, again.
This time Willy did laugh.
"Yeah… I hope… In my favor."
Satisfied the overcast was satisfactorily clearing, Terence decided it was time to shift the slant on the subject. Changing it entirely would look fishy.
"So, Charlie," Terence began. "What exciting thing did you learn about the Underground Railroad?"
"Yes," echoed Willy, his eyes soft, his interest genuine. "What did you learn?"
"I learned one of the most important conductors was named Harriet Tubman."
"Rub-a-dub-dub," said Willy, scooting ahead to lead the turn into yet another corridor. That wasn't that interesting.
Charlie jogged to catch up. Turning the corner, he found Willy fiddling with the spring latch on an inconspicuous door, flush with the wall.
"A short cut," Willy said, as Charlie caught up. "Ahlia's had enough start."
"Tubman was her married name," Charlie said. "Her name before that was Ross."
"Heavens to Betsy," Willy answered, leading them into the dimly lit utility tunnel. Still not that interesting.
Terence caught up, doing his best to catalogue this amazing maze. How did Willy keep it all straight? Google maps, eat yer heart out.
"Is that exciting?"
Widening the lead again, with half an ear, Willy listened for the answer to Terence's question.
"I think so," said Charlie. "She had a name I've never heard before."
"Harriet, or Tubman?"
"Not those names. Harriet was her middle name. I mean her first name. No one ever called her that."
A little shaken by the similarity in Charlie's choice of words, Willy dropped back.
Terence was hearing it, too.
"What…" Terence began, only to hesitate. He glanced over at Willy. Given the earlier conversation, what Charlie was saying was eerie. He found Willy walking slowly, as they all were, waiting for him to finish the question. "…was Harriet's first name?"
"Araminta. Isn't that a neat-o name? Until she got married, her friends called her Minty. Like the flavor of the Swudge. I bet she'd like it, if she tried it. It's too bad she's dead, and she can't have any." Charlie looked from one to the other. Like Araminta, they were stopped in their tracks. "I just hadn't heard that name before. Have you?"
"I have," said Willy, without a pause. "Once upon a time, long, long ago, although NOT in a galaxy, far, far away. I read it. In this galaxy." Willy was staring straight ahead, into the gloom, his widened eyes round. "Araminta is my mother's name. She can't try any Swudge, either."
dionne dance: Thank you. As you've read, your linking of Minty with Swudge proved very useful here. Ifwecansparkle: Your stories as well as your reviews inspire. You'll recognize the paralysis you mention in Hot Chocolate Evenings on Cherry Street echoed in the roadkill imaginings. Squirrela: Thanks for the marathon! It was lovely to read. Where I can, I'm going with something you tactfully put almost between the lines: less cutting from scene to scene. It may work in a film, but maybe not so much here. Linkwonka88: Thanks for always giving something back, with every chapter you read. I know I'm not alone in my appreciation of your generosity.
I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended. That goes for The Addams Family as well.
