The room was so silent they could hear the ticking of Mr Wonka’s clock. At first nothing much happened to the ancient person lying on the bed. She closed her eyes and lay back. Now and again, the puckered skin of her face gave a twitch and her little hands jerked up and down, but that was all . . .
‘One minute gone!’ called Mr Wonka. ‘She’s sixty years younger.’
‘She looks just the same to me,’ said Mr Bucket.
‘Of course she does,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘What’s a mere sixty years when you’re over three hundred to start with!’
‘Are you all right, Mother?’ said Mrs Bucket anxiously. ‘Talk to me, Mother!’
‘Two minutes gone!’ called Mr Wonka. ‘She’s one hundred and twenty years younger!’
And now definite changes were beginning to show in the old woman’s face. The skin was quivering all over and some of the deepest wrinkles were becoming less and less deep, the mouth less sunken, the nose more prominent.
‘Mother!’ cried Mrs Bucket. ‘Are you all right? Speak to me, Mother, please!’
Suddenly, with a suddenness that made everyone jump, the old woman sat bolt upright in bed and shouted, ‘Did you hear the news! Admiral Nelson has beaten the French at Trafalgar!’
‘She’s going crazy!’ said Mr Bucket.
‘Not at all,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘She’s going through the nineteenth century.’
‘Three minutes gone!’ said Mr Wonka.
Every second now she was growing slightly less and less shrivelled, becoming more and more lively. It was a marvellous thing to watch.
‘Gettysburg!’ she cried. ‘General Lee is on the run!’
And a few seconds later she let out a great wail of anguish and said, ‘He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!’
‘Who’s dead?’ said Mr Bucket, craning forward.
‘Lincoln!’ she wailed. ‘There goes the train . . .’
‘She must have seen it!’ said Charlie. ‘She must have been there!’
‘She is there,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘At least she was a few seconds ago.’
‘Will someone please explain to me,’ said Mrs Bucket, ‘what on earth . . .’
‘Four minutes gone!’ said Mr Wonka. ‘Only forty seconds left! Only forty more years to lose!’
‘Grandma!’ cried Charlie, running forward. ‘You’re looking almost exactly like you used to! Oh, I’m so glad!’
‘Just as long as it all stops when it’s meant to,’ said Mrs Bucket.
‘I’ll bet it doesn’t,’ said Mr Bucket. ‘Something always goes wrong.’
‘Not when I’m in charge of it, sir,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘Time’s up! She is now seventy-eight years old! How do you feel, dear lady? Is everything all right?’
‘I feel tolerable,’ she said. ‘Just tolerable. But that’s no thanks to you, you meddling old mackerel!’
There she was again, the same cantankerous grumbling old Grandma Georgina that Charlie had known so well before it all started. Mrs Bucket flung her arms around her and began weeping with joy. The old woman pushed her aside and said, ‘What, may I ask, are those two silly babies doing at the other end of the bed?’
‘One of them’s your husband,’ said Mr Bucket.
‘Rubbish!’ she said. ‘Where is George?’
‘I’m afraid it’s true, Mother,’ said Mrs Bucket. ‘That’s him on the left. The other one’s Josephine . . .’
‘You . . . you chiselling old cheeseburger!’ she shouted, pointing a fierce finger at Mr Wonka. ‘What in the name of . . .’
‘Now now now now now!’ said Mr Wonka. ‘Let us not for mercy’s sake have another row so late in the day. If everyone will keep their hair on and leave this to Charlie and me, we shall have them exactly where they used to be in the flick of a fly’s wing!’
19
The Babies Grow Up
‘Bring on the Vita-Wonk!’ said Mr Wonka. ‘We’ll soon fix these two babies.’
An Oompa-Loompa ran forward with a small bottle and a couple of silver teaspoons.
‘Wait just one minute!’ snapped Grandma Georgina. ‘What sort of devilish dumpery are you up to now?’
‘It’s all right, Grandma,’ said Charlie. ‘I promise you it’s all right. Vita-Wonk does the opposite to Wonka-Vite. It makes you older. It’s what we gave you when you were a Minus. It saved you!’