‘Madam,’ said Mr Wonka, ‘let us do one thing at a time . . .’
‘I forbid you to give her that beastly Wonka-Vite!’ said Mrs Bucket. ‘You’ll turn her into a Minus again just as sure as I’m standing here!’
‘I don’t want to be a Minus!’ croaked Grandma Georgina. ‘If I ever have to go back to that beastly Minusland again, the Gnoolies will knickle me!’
‘Fear not!’ said Mr Wonka. ‘This time I myself will supervise the giving of the medicine. I shall personally see to it that you get the correct dosage. But listen very carefully now! I cannot work out how many pills to give you until I know exactly how old you are! That’s obvious, isn’t it?’
‘It is not obvious at all,’ said Mrs Bucket. ‘Why can’t you give her one pill at a time and play it safe?’
‘Impossible, madam. In very serious cases such as this one, Wonka-Vite doesn’t work at all when given in small doses. You’ve got to throw everything at her in one go. You’ve got to hit her with it hard. A single pill wouldn’t even begin to shift her. She’s too far gone for that. It’s all or nothing.’
‘No,’ said Mrs Bucket firmly.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘Dear lady, please listen to me. If you have a very severe headache and you need three aspirins to cure it, it’s no good taking only one at a time and waiting four hours between each. You’ll never cure yourself that way. You’ve got to gulp them all down in one go. It’s the same with Wonka-Vite. May I proceed?’
‘Oh, all right, I suppose you’ll have to,’ said Mrs Bucket.
‘Good,’ said Mr Wonka, giving a little jump and twirling his feet in the air. ‘Now then, how old are you, my dear Grandma Georgina?’
‘I don’t know,’ she croaked. ‘I lost count of that years and years ago.’
‘Don’t you have any idea?’ said Mr Wonka.
‘Of course I don’t,’ gibbered the old woman. ‘Nor would you if you were as old as I am.’
‘Think!’ said Mr Wonka. ‘You’ve got to think!’
The tiny old wrinkled brown walnut face wrinkled itself up more than ever. The others stood waiting. The Oompa-Loompas, enthralled by the sight of this ancient object, were all edging closer and closer to the bed. The two babies slept on.
‘Are you, for example, a hundred?’ said Mr Wonka. ‘Or a hundred and ten? Or a hundred and twenty?’
‘It’s no good,’ she croaked. ‘I never did have a head for numbers.’
‘This is a catastrophe!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘If you can’t tell me how old you are, I can’t help you! I dare not risk an overdose!’
Gloom settled upon the entire company, including for once Mr Wonka himself. ‘You’ve messed it up good and proper this time, haven’t you?’ said Mrs Bucket.
‘Grandma,’ Charlie said, moving forward to the bed. ‘Listen, Grandma. Don’t worry about exactly how old you might be. Try to think of a happening instead . . . think of something that happened to you . . . anything you like . . . as far back as you can . . . it may help us . . .’
‘Lots of things happened to me, Charlie . . . so many many things happened to me . . .’
‘But can you remember any of them, Grandma?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, my darling . . . I suppose I could remember one or two if I thought hard enough . . .’
‘Good, Grandma, good!’ said Charlie eagerly. ‘Now what is the very earliest thing you can remember in your whole life?’
‘Oh, my dear boy, that really would be going back a few years, wouldn’t it?’
‘When you were little, Grandma, like me. Can’t you remember anything you did when you were little?’
The tiny sunken black eyes glimmered faintly and a sort of smile touched the corners of the almost invisible little slit of a mouth. ‘There was a ship,’ she said. ‘I can remember a ship . . . I couldn’t ever forget that ship . . .’
‘Go on, Grandma! A ship! What sort of a ship? Did you sail on her?’