30
Charlie’s Chocolate Factory
The great glass lift was now hovering high over the town. Inside the lift stood Mr Wonka, Grandpa Joe, and little Charlie.
‘How I love my chocolate factory,’ said Mr Wonka, gazing down. Then he paused, and he turned around and looked at Charlie with a most serious expression on his face. ‘Do you love it too, Charlie?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ cried Charlie, ‘I think it’s the most wonderful place in the whole world!’
‘I am very pleased to hear you say that,’ said Mr Wonka, looking more serious than ever. He went on staring at Charlie. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I am very pleased indeed to hear you say that. And now I shall tell you why.’ Mr Wonka cocked his head to one side and all at once the tiny twinkling wrinkles of a smile appeared around the corners of his eyes, and he said, ‘You see, my dear boy, I have decided to make you a present of the whole place. As soon as you are old enough to run it, the entire factory will become yours.’
Charlie stared at Mr Wonka. Grandpa Joe opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
‘It’s quite true,’ Mr Wonka said, smiling broadly now. ‘I really am giving it to you. That’s all right, isn’t it?’
‘Giving it to him?’ gasped Grandpa Joe. ‘You must be joking.’
‘I’m not joking, sir. I’m deadly serious.’
‘But . . . but . . . why should you want to give your factory to little Charlie?’
‘Listen,’ Mr Wonka said, ‘I’m an old man. I’m much older than you think. I can’t go on for ever. I’ve got no children of my own, no family at all. So who is going to run the factory when I get too old to do it myself? Someone’s got to keep it going — if only for the sake of the Oompa-Loompas. Mind you, there are thousands of clever men who would give anything for the chance to come in and take over from me, but I don’t want that sort of person. I don’t want a grown-up person at all. A grown-up won’t listen to me; he won’t learn. He will try to do things his own way and not mine. So I have to have a child. I want a good sensible loving child, one to whom I can tell all my most precious sweet-making secrets — while I am still alive.’
‘So that is why you sent out the Golden Tickets!’ cried Charlie.
‘Exactly!’ said Mr Wonka. ‘I decided to invite five children to the factory, and the one I liked best at the end of the day would be the winner!’
‘But Mr Wonka,’ stammered Grandpa Joe, ‘do you really and truly mean that you are giving the whole of this enormous factory to little Charlie? After all . . .’
‘There’s no time for arguments!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘We must go at once and fetch the rest of the family — Charlie’s father and his mother and anyone else that’s around! They can all live in the factory from now on! They can all help to run it until Charlie is old enough to do it by himself! Where do you live, Charlie?’
Charlie peered down through the glass floor at the snow-covered houses that lay below. ‘It’s over there,’ he said, pointing. ‘It’s that little cottage right on the edge of the town, the tiny little one . . .’
‘I see it!’ cried Mr Wonka, and he pressed some more buttons and the lift shot down towards Charlie’s house.
‘I’m afraid my mother won’t come with us,’ Charlie said sadly.
‘Why ever not?’
‘Because she won’t leave Grandma Josephine and Grandma Georgina and Grandpa George.’
‘But they must come too.’
‘They can’t,’ Charlie said. ‘They’re very old and they haven’t been out of bed for twenty years.’
‘Then we’ll take the bed along as well, with them in it,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘There’s plenty of room in this lift for a bed.’
‘You couldn’t get the bed out of the house,’ said Grandpa Joe. ‘It won’t go through the door.’
‘You mustn’t despair!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘Nothing is impossible! You watch!’