Reaching the alley, Willy wiped away his tears. Tears would never do: not in alleys, not on streets … not off streets. Stopping to cry over every little thing stopped one from doing anything else, and stopping, or being stopped, wasn't for him. It was past time he was getting back to his Factory, and back to his life: the life Dede had so adamantly insisted Willy never start. The life Dede had so adamantly insisted he would fail at. Ha! He wasn't the disruption! In the fabric of the cosmos, Dede was.
Speaking of disruptions, what about these folders, with their fraught with peril facts? The pea coat had not pockets large enough to accommodate them, and that was ditto for the overalls Willy was wearing. Toting their revelations in plain sight to the Factory environs—outer and inner—was not his first choice, and for the longish walk back, down his back would be uncomfortable.
Hmm… Problem-solving: always a useful distraction. Pondering his options, Willy hooked his index finger over his chin. Oh, yeah! Almost forgot! I brought it! The flick-knife! Aha! So handy for what-not around the Factory, and so handy here for what-not not around the Factory! Neat-o! Willy grinned to himself, as fingers off chin, he reached into the pea coat's inner pocket, and finding its mother-of-pearl handle, retrieved the tool. The ground being damp, he clamped the folders between his knees, and shedding his coat, pressed the button that flicked out the stiletto blade. Turning the coat and holding it to face him, Willy carefully poked at the threads of the lining at the collar, slitting the seam. It was easy, wonderful, and voilà! An instant pocket, plenty large!
Retracting the blade, Willy stowed the folders in their temporary home. All except for his mother's photo. That he wanted handy. He'd spent a long time not knowing what his mother looked like. Now that he did know—he tossed his head smugly, savoring the fact—Willy saw no harm with refreshing his memory by looking at it on the walk home, did he feel so inclined.
With a gentle pat, the photo went into the pea coat's inner pocket, an outer pocket stowed the stiletto, and the coat went back on. Which was fine, because without the coat on, it was darn cold. In a delayed reaction, Willy shivered, as he turned towards home. Hunching his shoulders, he pulled a Terence, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, letting his fingers fidget to their heart's content in the warmth they found there. Bad enough to be without his top hat, but without his walking-stick, Willy felt naked.
His mother's hand dropped to Charlie's shoulder the moment the Chocolate Room door swished shut.
"Charlie, is Terence in the hospital?"
"Wh-haatt?"
It was the last question Charlie had thought to hear, and looking into his mother's intent, beady stare, Charlie was eerily reminded of the crossing guard incident yesterday afternoon…
'Char-lee!'
As he hurried to pass, the crossing guard's wrinkled, age-spotted hand descended onto Charlie's shoulder, stopping his progress. As old as the hills, Mrs. Stemple, with her plastic stop-sign-on-a-stick, was a street-crossing fixture. Everyone knew her, and she knew everyone. Now she was crouching beside him, her sign a clumsy shield between herself, Charlie, and the man a little way up on the far side of the street.
'Who is that? I saw you with him this morning. He's not your father. I know your father, and that's not him. Who is he?'
Caught unawares, Charlie colored, stammering, as he wished not to lie. 'He's, um, uh…' It occurred to Charlie that whoever he was, it was none of her business. '…the person meeting me. He's going to walk me home.'
'But who is he?'
'I told you. Now let me go.'
Traffic was beginning to pile up. The conversation was occurring in a crosswalk, the stop sign held drunkenly aloft just enough, the two people talking occupying the middle of the road. Charlie's demand he be let go only hardened her resolve. A car honked, followed by another. 'Hey, lady,' yelled one of the drivers, hanging out of his lowered window. 'Move it!'
Having advanced to the corner when he'd seen the claw descend, Willy shook his head. Approaching wasn't cutting it. He rolled his eyes, tapping his walking-stick determinedly on the concrete. This was going downhill fast.
The horns and shouting making her see she'd have to move this interrogation, Mrs. Stemple, the demand for her services having waned, marched Charlie to the far curb and the closing predator.
'Charlie says you're here to walk him home, but I don't think I can allow that until I know who you are. Who are you?'
'I can't imagine that I need to tell you,' drawled Willy, looking down his nose with hooded eyes. 'Who are you? You sound like Mrs. Stemple, and ya look like Mrs. Stemple, except waaay older than Mrs. Stemple, but if ya are Mrs. Stemple, is it up to you to allow it? Did Mr. and Mrs. Bucket die, and put you in charge? Do the Buckets know you're interfering with their son? Shall I tell them? No? Then were I you, I'd take my talons off Charlie's shoulder, tout suite.'
'Oh! How rude!' But she snatched her hand off Charlie's shoulder, and snatched it to her throat. 'I'm just looking out for the boy!'
'I'm sure you are," said Willy with that same drawl. 'Nothing nosy going on here, no siree, I'm sure.' Charlie had scooted over to Willy's side, and Willy nudged him into a position that put him further out of reach. 'I assure you Charlie is in safe hands, and that's all you need to know.'
Her head was cocked like a bird's as she listened. 'Oh, yes,' Mrs. Stemple said, suddenly breathless. 'I see that now. You're right.'
Gifting her one of his most smug smiles, Willy dismissed her, and turned to leave. 'Shall we?' he said to Charlie.
Charlie nodded, and they started off.
The smile had its effect. Mrs. Stemple recovered herself. 'If I've told you once, young man, I've told you a hundred times, it's not 'ya', it's 'you'!' she called after them.
Willy giggled, but didn't turn back. 'It is me. That was Mrs. Stemple,' he said, a fact Charlie already knew. 'She taught Home Ec, and she was the best. I was forever trying to get into her class, and she was forever keeping me out of it. In those days, boys didn't take Home Ec. She won, and I discovered Shop, much to my delight.'
'They don't teach Home Ec anymore.'
'There's that problem solved. And that altercation was today's problem solved, as well. The hospital wins! I would, in fact, classify that as a disruption.'
'Not really,' said Charlie, dismayed to think that Willy would never again do this.
'Are you kidding, kid? Traffic trapped, horns honking, drivers yelling, you in a vise-grip, me being interrogated? Really? And that's just for openers; she knows who I am.'
Charlie made a quick half-pirouette. Mrs. Stemple had gone back to her fiefdom, and was packing up the folding chair and umbrella she used to make herself comfortable in the off moments, preparing to go home. Charlie had waited until the other kids had left before he left, to ease the crowd for Willy.
'If she does, she's not doing anything about it.'
Willy made a similar pirouette.
'That's nice, but it doesn't matter,' he said, keeping his pirouette going. 'The word will be out.'
Charlie thought about the word being out, and the same word that had almost been out on the walk to school this morning.
'Did you say, 'hospital'? The hospital wins? Are you in a contest with the hospital?'
'Not exactly … Dede—'
'Dede?' The corner of Willy's mouth had turned down, and Charlie guessed. 'You mean your father?'
'Yeah, him … He's demented, and he's in hospital, and the hospital bosses think if I go and see him, I'll be a disruption. Today, I think they are right.'
'You were going to go and SEE him?'
The high squeak of incredulity coming from Charlie was as surprising as it was comical. With a giggle, Willy turned to look at him, deciding again he'd found a gem. 'You don't think I should? You sound like Eshle. It's you and him, all alone. Everyone else thinks I should go. The rumor is he's sick, sick, sick.'
Willy had looked into the distance, and Charlie thought about how that might translate.
'You mean he's dying?'
'Yeah… that.'
"Is he in the hospital, Charlie? Is Terence ill? Did something happen to him? Was he in a terrible accident? Is that why Willy says Terence isn't coming back?
His mother's impatient follow-up brought Charlie back from his reverie. He wondered if flashbacks were catching. He might have just had one.
"Uh, no, at least, I don't think so."
"Then who is?"
Charlie gazed into his mother's eyes. They had softened, and Charlie saw only concern, but torn, his teeth found his lower lip, as if biting it would keep him silent. His mother sighed, and dropped her hand from his shoulder.
"Willy started to say the word 'hospital' yesterday, and don't tell me he didn't, I heard him. I'd forgotten about it until you said he said Terence wasn't coming back. That made me remember, and I thought it might be Terence he was talking about. If it isn't Terence, who is it?" Looking away, concentrating, her eyes on the red carpet flowing under their feet, Nora pursed her lips. "It's someone Willy knows well, or it wouldn't have slipped out like that. Not Dr. Grant!" Her eyes fastened on Charlie again. "Do you know, Charlie? We're all in this together now, you know, and Willy might need our help. Did he say anything to you?"
Charlie colored, wondering again if he should tell. Willy hadn't said not to, and he might need their help. Charlie, wanting no secrets from his family, and certainly not from his mother or father, told.
Almost to school, and no sign of Willy. Charlie could taste his disappointment, not realizing until now how much he had hoped Willy would join him somewhere along the way. His mother must have thought that that was what was going to happen. She'd ushered him to the Factory door as promised, and sent him on his way, though Charlie could sense her misgivings. Disheartened, Charlie kicked at the sidewalk as he walked, scuffing the bottoms of his boots. The noise it made gave expression to his feelings.
"Little boy."
Charlie almost hadn't heard it. His foot froze in mid-scuff. No one near him looked anything like Willy. Charlie pivoted on the foot still on the ground, and saw the laborer-looking person who had passed him retracing his steps, grinning broadly.
"Didn't think I'd run into you, really. Running late, are we? Sharp is what keeps you sharp." But I hoped I would, cuz ya never know, the time was right, and it's why I took this route home.
"You don't look like you."
Willy giggled. "Thanks." Charlie was such a friendly face. "I do look like me, looking like this. You look like you."
"What is 'this'?"
Charlie was giggling, too. Willy dug into the overlap of his pea coat, dragging out the ID. He handed it to Charlie as he hustled himself towards the school. Charlie caught up, and Willy, mission accomplished, slowed to a more leisurely pace.
"'Mobbed by Mops'?"
"Maybe it should have been 'Mobs of Mops'. Yeah, that would have been better."
"A cleaning service?"
"Yeah, and that was the winning name, but it was all kinda hasty. One of the others was 'Buckets of Suds', but that sounded too liquidy for a hospital, messy, don'tcha know, and I didn't know if I might not be stepping on yer toes with that one."
Charlie laughed at Willy's angst. "It beats 'Buckets of Crud'."
Willy laughed, hands in pockets. "That it does."
The conversation seemed to be over, but Charlie's curiosity was like acid eating his flesh: unbearable. A few paces later, taking a breath, he took a risk.
"So you went?"
Willy, not unaware, admired the boy's pluck. "I did. I'm on my way back. Visiting hours were over when it was convenient for me to go, so I went as a janitor."
"Why?"
"Why go as a janitor, or why go?"
"Why go?"
"Sticking to that view, are you? I wonder myself, but your comment had a hand in it. I went to see if I would discover things I didn't know I didn't know, but mostly I went to see if I could repay a debt."
"A debt?"
Willy frowned, and Charlie wondered if he shouldn't have asked. But Willy seemed only thoughtful, and not upset. After a minute, Willy answered.
"Dede gave me something once, the more valuable than which I cannot imagine, and though he's done little to deserve it since, I thought I'd see if I couldn't return the favor. It would make us even as far as I'm concerned, and that would suit me, as I don't want to think I owe him anything."
Wow. Charlie had no idea what that might be. He studied the sidewalk, until he realized Willy wasn't going to say any more. With a sideways glance, Charlie asked.
"What did he give you?"
Willy matched Charlie's sideways look.
"Life."
Charlie swallowed. 'Life' must have been the one word, not many letters, that Charlie had not been able to read on the two-columned list Willy had made: the word all by itself, in the lefthand column; the column next to the completely filled, righthand column. Charlie swallowed again, his brow creased. It didn't seem possible that Willy could give his father life. But lots about Willy didn't seem possible. Charlie licked his lip, wanting to know more, but Willy spoke first.
"Some other time."
Charlie nodded, thinking about how much better his grandparents all felt. It wasn't just the food they were getting now. It was more than that. Being Willy's apprentice might be an astounding adventure, beyond Charlie's wildest imagination. Charlie began to feel giddy, and hoped the feeling would lessen. They walked on, in companionable silence, or so Charlie thought. Willy was worried by the boy's widened eyes, and faraway stare.
"You okay?"
"Sure, Wi— ah, Mr. Grant. I think I am."
Willy smiled.
"Good."
Utterly unconvinced by Charlie's performance, Willy smiled brightly.
"Wanna see a picture of my mother?"
Charlie's giddiness washed away like sweat dashed away by the deluge of a bucket of frigid water, Willy's plan, and seeing the hand Charlie was using to steady his backpack clench in consternation, his knuckles white, Willy laughed at its success. He'd already shown Charlie a picture of his mother: a chilling picture.
"I'm sorry," said Willy, bursting with joy and bonhomie. "This one isn't like that one, I never should have shown you that one, it's not a nice picture, but it was the best I had at the time, and I apologize for doing it, but you were a good sport about it, and you showed me you have mettle—as if I didn't already know you did—and now I have I better one, because I did find out things I didn't know I didn't know—though I didn't think I would—and how wrong was that assumption!" Willy stopped, breathless. "Would you like to see it?"
Were Willy any more exuberant, without any help from fizzy-lifting drinks he'd float off the sidewalk, and the energy flowing off him made Charlie ecstatic.
"Sure!"
Reaching into the inner sanctum, Willy handed it over, hovering like a hen, looking over Charlie's shoulder, so he could see it too. Charlie stared, carefully holding the curled edges.
"She's so pretty!"
"And vivacious! You can see that, can't you?"
Charlie looked up at Willy, seeing so much of the mother in the son.
"I can."
Willy wasn't listening.
"So am I."
Willy's hand lifted to primp his hair, and only when he didn't feel any did he realize his mistake. His hair was tucked up under the surgeon's cap. With an embarrassed 'heh', and a chagrined pout, he lowered his hand and plucked the photo from Charlie's hand. Charlie watched it go, and Willy look at it lovingly, before Willy returned it to his pocket.
"School here! Dead ahead! Dead-end for me!"
And Willy was right, and Charlie knew the day was shot. There was nothing they could tell him in school that would rival any of this. Smiling, Charlie shook his head, happy to see Willy so happy, and thanking his lucky stars that he'd felt all his life, about all his family, the way he could see Willy felt about his mother. It was sad and happy, and wonderful and awful, and if there were any consolation in it at all, it was that school would be the perfect place to come back to earth. What about Willy? It was Charlie's turn to ask.
"You okay, Mr. Grant?"
"Yup! Nope! Heh! Maybe," and rather than toss his walking-stick in the air, the thing he longed to do, Willy shoved his hands back into the pea coat's pockets at the lack, grinning sheepishly. That quickly fell away. "Not maybe, I'll see you after school. Same chocolate-time, same chocolate-channel, which to you means I'm paraphrasing Batman, unimaginatively, but I'm tired, and I'll meet you here. Give my regards to Mrs. Stemple."
Extracting a hand, with a cheery wave to both, Willy turned on his heel. Charlie started on his way to the crossing, and had to smile. It must have been the proximity to Charlie that tipped her off, but Mrs. Stemple was waving back.
Waving back… Ice filled his veins, and Charlie panicked. His mother! He ran back to Willy, rounding in front of him, panting. Willy was wary, and Charlie could see the weariness he hadn't noticed before.
"Problem? School is not this way."
"I know," said Charlie, still fighting a choking feeling, "but you need to know. I told my mother it's your father in the hospital. She thought it was Terence."
"Terence? Not likely; run along now."
And Willy took a step to the side and then forwards. Charlie hopped a step backwards, stopping him.
"But I told."
"Is that why you're breathing that way? You sound like a snoring cat. You didn't. I did, when I made the slip," said Willy, peeved at himself for making it. "Now catch your breath and run along."
"It's okay?"
"It's better than okay. I told you, you told her, now I don't need to tell her. It was only a matter of time before she cornered me and asked what I meant. I've been expecting it. Any chance you're going to go to school now?" Willy rustled up some lightheartedness. "If you don't, I'll tell."
Satisfied, Charlie grinned and headed for school. Dissatisfied, Willy headed for the Factory. It was a matter of timing, but the three of them were in a game of telephone at the moment, and Willy hated that game. He'd blame it on the paren, but he knew the blame was his.
I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended. Likewise, the Batman referenced is the television show, and that is not mine, either. Thanks for reading, and thanks, if you feel so inclined, for sharing your thoughts.
Squirrela: Thank you for your review, and for appreciating the feelings that Willy must be going through as a result of these events. Linkwonka88: Thank you! For the answers to these and other questions, stay tuned! Spacetea: Thanks for your review. I hope this chapter gave you a respite from your on edge feeling, but I suspect that feeling will return. Dionne Dance: It has always seemed to me, that if Willy hadn't identified at least a little with the brats, he'd never have let them set foot in his Factory. At this stage of his life, he's not really that altruistic of a guy. And isn't it true, no matter how old you get, in the presence of your parents, it's as if you haven't aged at all? Thanks for your reviews, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story. And oh yes, I agree with you about the nurse and the candy.
Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!
