A quarter of the way to school, and the thought, 'maybe I shouldn't go' was niggling, and so persistently, Nora thought she might consider re-considering. There'd been some problem with the gate this morning; it hadn't opened as Nora had expected it to, and with as smoothly as this Factory ran, that seemed fishy. They'd turned to go back and get help, but when they'd started across the courtyard, they'd heard the lock click. Turning around again, the gate was stuck again, and giving up again, they'd heard it click again. Charlie, striving for discretion, had put a hand over his mouth and done his best to stifle a laugh.
"There's nothing funny about this, young man," said Nora, stamping her foot. Scowling at the lock, she'd thrown a glance over her shoulder, up at the windows of the great Factory, seeing if she could see Mr. I-think-I'm-so-funny Wonka laughing at them, but she met with disappointment. The Factory stood as inscrutable as ever. "We'll be late, if this keeps up."
"Mum, did you ever think we'd have as much trouble getting out of Willy's Factory as we had getting into it, before?"
Seeing a glimmer of the humor, but only a glimmer, Nora tousled her son's hair. "No, I didn't. I never did try to get into Mr. Wonka's factory before, and I've had just about enough of this! We'd better not have trouble coming and going as we please, because I won't be a prisoner here, and neither will you, or any of us! The solution is simple. We'll leave. So there!"
With determined defiance, Nora crossed her arms, but she laughed to herself at the folly of her statement. But the ruse might work! Beginning a pivot to turn back and get to the bottom of this, she heard the lock click, and like a ballet dancer in mid pirouette, she pushed on the lower part of the gate with her outside foot. The door swung away. "Well!" She smiled. "That's more like it! Where's your hat?"
"I don't need a hat."
"It's chilly. You do need a hat."
Charlie, about to continue objecting, wondered that he was considering it. In the past he'd have wordlessly obeyed. Was it excess calories that gave one the energy to behave badly? Lack of calories sure gave going along its appeal. His grandma Josephine was right. He didn't want to become a whiner, merely because he had the calories for it now. Taking his woolen cap from his pocket where he'd stuffed it, Charlie tugged it on.
Grudging compliance was the extent of Nora's victory. As they walked along, Charlie dragging his feet, Nora thought about what she had said the day before, and about the fairness of going back on her word. Observing the passersby, not a one had any interest in Charlie, except perhaps the interest her presence lent him, by making him stand out: boys his age weren't walked to school by their mothers. Coming to the conclusion that the memory she was making by doing this was the kind of memory commiserated over later in life with friends, she gave it up.
"I think I left the iron on, Charlie. I better go back and check."
Charlie turned around. His mother had stopped, and was going on about an iron.
"We don't have an iron, mum."
She gave him a wan smile, as taking her right wrist with her left hand, she waved. "I know that, dear. I'm going back. Have a nice day at school."
Torn, Charlie looked after her. She looked sorta sad, the way you look when you've missed an opportunity, but he so wanted to walk to school by himself. "Thanks, mum," he whispered, careful that she not hear him, and maybe change her mind. She plodded away. The thrill of being free taking over, Charlie whirled on his way, redoubling his pace. Yay! On his own again! Maybe he'd run, all the way there! Calories were good for that, too!
The very next intersection foiled his plans. The light was wrong, and Charlie had to wait to cross. Darn! A stranger approached from the cross street. At first Charlie paid him no attention, he looked like any other well-dressed man, but he seemed intent as he approached, the rectangular, tinted glasses he wore focused only on Charlie, and the scrutiny was making Charlie nervous. His heart beat a little faster. Maybe his mum should have stayed. Too late now, but he could handle it, Charlie told himself. He took a deep breath, ready to run if he had to. The light changed, and the waiting others started off. His attention on the stalker, Charlie almost missed it, but then he saw his escape, and dashed for it.
"Little boy!"
Charlie hit a force field.
"Wouldn't you like some company while you walk?"
Charlie was back on the curb in one beat of his racing heart.
"Sure!" His grin was like to split his face.
"Wrong answer, little boy," was the stern retort. "Don't get near enough that I could grab you! Hasn't anyone taught you that it's a bad idea to accept the company of strangers, silly?"
"You're not a stranger, you're—"
"La, la, la, la, la…"
Willy clamped gloved hands over his ears, which until now, could be easily seen.
"Who you are," finished Charlie, laughing.
During this interchange, Willy had eased off to the side, and Charlie had followed. Pedestrians were stacking at the curb, but the space the two were in was less desired, and Willy's display had been wildly downplayed, for him.
"Stop laughing, it's not funny. I'm in deep disguise here. How'd ya know?"
Charlie considered, wondering if he should tell him, but Willy was waiting, and with a sideways glance, Charlie confessed. "There isn't anyone who's heard your voice, who wouldn't know it's you the second you talk."
It was Willy's turn to giggle. "Well, there is that." He held up a finger. "I can do accents! And impressions!" The finger lowered. "But I don't think I need to. Next to know one out here has heard me speak, for years. I thought your mater was with you."
"She went back."
"Goody! How sweet is that? And not goody … we missed the light. Come on," said Willy, with an eye on Charlie's backpack. "We can wait at the back of the pack."
Nora looked back. She couldn't resist. This was her boy, after all, and life was unsettled. What she saw unsettled her more, and the next thing she knew, she was sprinting down the street.
"Charlie," she called, closing fast, with ten feet remaining. "Get away! Get to me, right this minute!"
A few people turned to stare, but the light had changed, with the boy, this Charlie, looked nothing more than annoyed. The man next to the boy hadn't moved. With a metaphorical shrug of their shoulders, they started across the street, their thoughts returning to their day. She must be the boy's mother, and mothers were a law unto themselves.
By now, Nora's hands were on Charlie's shoulders, pulling him to her, and away from this strange man in the camel hair coat standing next to him. She had seen him talking to her son, and Charlie to him, giving every appearance that they were together; worse, that Charlie intended to go with him!
"Who are you, and what do you want?" she demanded, fierce and frightened churning inside her.
"Who I am is who I am, and what I want is what I want," said the menace, turning.
"Oh, my God!" gasped Nora, a hand flying to her mouth.
"Flattering, but not the right answer," came the giggly reply.
"You cut your hair!"
"I did not!"
"You did sa— Oh." Nora flushed a shade of crimson that would shame a tomato about to drop off the vine. The cause was as much for not recognizing him, as it was for finding herself about to argue with him like a five-year old. She'd known Willy Wonka had ears, but until now, she hadn't realized she'd never expected to see them. Yet there they were … hair behind, but not above them. A grey Trilby fedora adorned his head, there was no getting away from a hat apparently, or the walking-stick either, because he had one of those, but it wasn't the candy-cane: this one looked like something someone might like to steal: it was ebony, with a gold top. Her eyes darted to his hands: dove-grey, lamb-skin gloves. That hadn't changed either, but the rest of him! Stylish, grey tinted sunglasses; the camel hair coat, with a grey cashmere scarf at his throat; black trousers; black wingtip shoes… He looked… well, like everyone else. "What are you doing out here?" she stammered.
"I was gonna tell ya I was gonna do this, but you were already gone."
"So you slowed us down!"
"No! Maybe. If you mean the gate…" Willy brightened. "Did that work?"
Nora's affront wrestled with her shock. "I have no doubt that you will get a detailed report. You haven't answered my question. What are you doing out here?"
Under the onslaught, Willy stood tall. Parens!
"Seeing if I'm a disruption, but with the disruption you're making, it's hard for me to tell. The light's with us… Any chance we can move along, and maybe blend in?"
The cheery grin Willy flashed her as the finish to his request was as fake as they come. Nora could only nod. With the shock still shortening her breath, she fell into step beside Charlie, hunting for something to say that would normalize the situation for her.
"You won't have any problems blending in looking like that," she finally said, hoping he wouldn't view as a slur, what most would view as a compliment.
"I agree, but the powers that be at the hos—" Willy ducked his head, biting his tongue. "Er, that is, some people think I don't know how to blend in, and I think I do, so I'm checking." To hide his fluster, as lame as that sounded, Willy made a proud flourish to indicate his attire. "Ya like the look? I've got an entire armoire full of togs like these. Aren't they boring? Aren't they dull? Aren't they putting you to sleep? I keep 'em for when I want to play dress-up, or dress-drabby, or for when I get invited to a fancy dress ball. Ya never know when ya might need a costume."
"The people at the what?" Nora was all attention.
"The people at the I-Don't-Think-We-Need-Two-People-To-Walk-Charlie-To-School Association," snapped back Willy, irked at his slip-up, and that the invitation accepting implication hadn't sidetracked her. "The Association is relatively new," he added softly, "and if you're gonna do it, I'll turn back."
"Ma-uuum!" Charlie had grabbed her hand, his pleading eyes begging.
"You or me, Mrs. Bucket, take your pick," said Willy, declining to met her eyes.
The statement wasn't a challenge. It might be a plea. Nora knew Charlie would never forgive her if she stayed. There'd be time for questions later, and later, if she left, Charlie might have some answers. With an acquiescing nod to Willy, Nora made up her mind. She gave Charlie a quick hug, and with a backward glance or two, re-crossed the street. They watched her go, and on the third look-back, Charlie waved, and then turned away.
"If we don't get going, she'll keep doing that, and I really will be late."
"Can't have that," said Willy, turning with him.
They walked in silence, Charlie watching the faces of the people going by. No one was interested in the two of them. Without seeming to, Willy was watching too. Camouflage was a wonderful thing. No wonder Terence liked it.
"If you didn't cut your hair, where is it?"
Willy glanced at the boy beside him, remembering there was more to this mission than testing cammies.
"I could've cut it. I have Hair Toffee, ya know. I could've shaved my head, sucked down one of those little boogers, and been cutting hair off my noggin from now till a week from now." Gazing upwards, he sighed. "I gotta work on that formula more. But all that cutting seemed like too much work to me for the return, so I brushed it straight up, and it's pinned on the top of my head. Like it?"
Imagining the pinned up hair, Charlie laughed. Willy smiled.
"It does look a fright under this hat."
Silence descended again, but the question had seemed welcomed.
"When is Terence coming back? I thought he'd be back by now."
Willy twirled the walking-stick at his side in a circle, but the feat was drawing attention, so he stopped. "Terence isn't coming back, Charlie." Willy walked a few more steps, brows knit. "Terence is gone, like a comet."
"Like a comet?"
"Like a comet."
Charlie waited for more, sure it would come. Willy was more at ease.
"Comets have orbits. Some take years and years to return. Halley's Comet takes about seventy-six years to come round again." Willy was warming to his subject. "Did you know, that comets are said to augur momentous doings? Mark Twain was born with Halley's Comet in the sky, and he died with Halley's Comet in the sky. How 'bout that?" Willy paused. "Terence is like that."
"Like Mark Twain?" Charlie, perplexed, watching where he stepped on the gum spattered sidewalk, was wondering what 'augur' meant.
"Ha, ha, no, the subject is Terence and comets. Terence is like a comet; any comet. He shows up, momentous changes come to pass, and he goes away again … in my experience, anyway. Isn't gum repulsive?"
Charlie snuck a glance at Willy. It didn't seem likely that the good friend Charlie thought Terence to be to Willy, would do such a thing to his friend.
"Did he tell you he wouldn't be back?"
"No, but comets have their natures, and Terence has his. You can't hold it against them."
Charlie bit his lip to keep from telling Willy he was wrong. Terence would be back. Charlie knew it. If something were keeping him, it was something beyond his control, and as soon as Terence solved whatever it was, he'd return.
Willy could feel the consternation emanating from the boy beside him. "It's all fine, Charlie," he said, with a gentle laugh. "The last time he was here I discovered my life's calling, and this time, I discovered you. Terence makes a good comet."
The school grounds were looming into view, and it was just as well. Charlie had no idea what to say.
"Have they discovered you, yet?"
Surprised, not sure what Willy meant, Charlie looked up, to find Willy's eyes on the masonry pile that was his school. "You mean the other kids?"
"That's who I mean," sighed Willy. "It's been more than a week since we started this project, and I went to great lengths to make sure the town was aware of it; pretty successfully, I might add." Swapping his walking-stick to his other hand, with his right hand Willy gave himself a couple of pats on his left shoulder. He swapped the stick back. "About now, the termites oughta be crawling out of the woodwork, all set to be your friends."
Charlie lifted his shoulders, and then burrowed more deeply into his coat. He had become the focus of whispers. But with the uncertainty surrounding the move—no one could figure out why Mr. Wonka had done such a thing—no one had yet dared to ask him to his face what it was all about. But Willy was right. They would; and soon. Charlie slowed his pace. They were almost there. In only a block or two, they'd be mixing in with the other children walking to school, and Charlie didn't have to be told Willy wouldn't do that.
"Why did you move us into your Factory?"
"Why, because of your drawing, of course."
"No, I mean really. Why did you do it?"
Willy chuckled, and slowed further. "The drawing bit a 'no sale', is it? Humph. You Buckets don't sidetrack easily; you'll keep me on my toes. I moved you into the Factory so you can find out for yourself if you love it."
"I already love it. I thought you knew that."
Charlie looked hurt. For a moment, Willy dropped gentle fingertips to Charlie's shoulder.
"I know you know you already love the idea of it. But what you imagine it to be, and what it actually is, are not necessarily the same thing. How can you find out, unless you know it, inside and out?" Willy paused. "But your drawing was an inspiration: it inspired me to go with the immersion method, as being the least exhausting."
Charlie had halted. He wanted to be sure of what Willy was getting at, and moving was too distracting.
"Why is it important that I find out whether I love it more than the idea of it?"
Willy cocked his head, and Charlie, though he couldn't see them, knew Willy's eyes were narrowed slyly, with the smile lifting the corners of his mouth letting Charlie know it was because Willy was about to remind him of a secret they both already knew.
"And not to learn only how to design things? You know the answer to that, Charlie."
Charlie did. He nodded slowly. It was the offer again, for the Factory, requiring no response, as it was open-ended. He'd said he didn't feel up to it the first time he'd heard it, and that had been true, then. It is true now, too, but now, Charlie wanted to try. Inside that Factory he loved everything he saw; everything he heard; everything he smelled; everyone he met; everything he tasted. That it might be his! It was too big a dream take in, but maybe, one day at a time, one step at a time, the dream would become his reality; a reality he could manage. Willy did it. With Willy's help, maybe he could do it.
"What should I tell the kids? They're going to ask me."
Willy snorted and started walking again. "They'll ask you more than that! They'll ask if they can come over, like flocks of locusts bent on destruction, and the answer to that is of course they can't!"
The voice in Willy's head, when he heard the echo of the last words he'd spoken, was his father's. Standing as if he were turned to salt, behind the tinted grey lenses, Willy squeezed his eyes tight shut. The phrase was one of the landmines, planted in his childhood, and he'd stepped on it, but this wasn't the same! He had a reason for the prohibition! A good reason! It was a production room! He couldn't have hooligans contaminating the chocolate! His father hadn't had a reason! Not a valid one! But it was too close. Too close! He wasn't his father!
Willing himself to be calm—this was no place to lose it—with the impetus survival lent him, Willy slowed his breathing and turned to Charlie. "Allow me to re-phrase that. You are welcome to bring your friends to the Factory. You may entertain them in any room not associated with candy production. That ban includes the Chocolate Room. Especially the Chocolate Room. When you tell them that condition, see how many still want to come. As for the other, tell them anything you like. Surprise me with the story."
Charlie could see the level of Willy's anxiety had climbed, but he seemed to have it under control, and it was abating. In another half a block they'd be where the crossing guard patrolled: this was the end of this walk; the end of this talk.
"Willy?"
"Mr. Grant."
"Mr. Grant?"
"As close to these others as we are now, I'd rather have them overhear you talking to Mr. Grant."
Charlie could understand that. And he believed it interested Willy to see if he could blend in, but as well as Willy was doing that, he must have known he could.
"Why else did you want to do this today?"
"Do what?"
Charlie shook his head. "This! This walk."
Questions like that, and not giving up, were why Willy believed Charlie was going to succeed: because Charlie wasn't content with the pat answers; he turned over the next rock. It took courage to do that. You might find a scorpion, and it might sting you, but you might just as easily find a treasure. It was time to leave Charlie to his classes. Willy had no plans to go any further, but such astuteness and tenacity deserved an answer. Willy checked. There was no one near enough to hear.
"They keep us under lock and key."
"Who?"
"Your familia, and my sort-of-one. I'd be walking the bowels of the Factory with what I have to think over at present, but at present that's a luxury I can't afford. The Oompa-Loompas might misunderstand, and think I was shirking. I don't want that, for me or for them, so I am walking here instead, with you, where we can talk without your hovering, however well-meaning, relatives hanging on our every word." Frustrated at the annoyance, Willy looked away, but when he looked back, he skewed the subject in a direction he hadn't expected. "I quite liked this walk; more than I thought I would. I used to go to this school."
"You did?" The squeak in Charlie's voice was as high as Willy's.
Willy couldn't help a subtle laugh. "I did. Contrary to popular belief, I didn't fall from the heavens, though with… you know," some kids were passing by, so Willy made an erratic motion with his hand to denote the Great Glass Elevator, "I suppose now I could." He grinned, and with a brisk swing of his walking-stick, turned back the way he had come. "I'll tell you about it, when I walk you home this afternoon. TTFN!"
Letting the words sink in, Charlie barely saw the jaunty swing of the hem of the retreating camel hair coat. Turning his whoop of happiness into a pivoting jump in the air, he ran all the way to the school's worn stone steps, the ancient crossing-guard screeching a futile protest after him, for his recklessness.
I do not own "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended. Thanks for reading, and please do share your thoughts.
Squirrela: I agree with your thought: When you've arranged your life a certain way, and the way forward requires you to rethink all of it, how truly challenging that must be. I admire Willy's pluck to try. Thanks for reviewing. Linkwonka88: I'm glad to hear all is good with you. I have seen "Wicked", and enjoyed most the energy the actor brought to the role of the Wizard. A smallish part, but he played it well. Thank you. Sonny April: Thank you for the compliment, it's very welcome. :-) If you want my vote, "The Wizard of Oz", like "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" is always worth a screening. Dionne Dance: Thanks for reviewing! Willy does have an opinion on schooling, but we won't hear it till later. Stay tuned, and thanks again.
