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Sid Wonka and the Chocolate
Factory
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Maximus had been taken off guard by her sudden movement, lost his balance, and hung by his hands from the catwalk as it jerked back and forth. Looking down at him through the broken skylight, she called, "Only if I leave a trail you can follow, Maximus. Only then." And she was gone. Gritting his teeth, he managed to hoist himself back up onto the catwalk and lay there a while, watching the clouds float past above the jagged glass. ************ Strange noises from far below, gradually penetrated his reverie and he sat up, looking down. Studying the scene, he shook his head slightly and in spite of himself, could not help a small chuckle from rising up his throat. He had seen many things in his journeys through the world, and in the last 2 and 1/2 years had witnessed events that were indescribably... odd. But THIS! This was quite possibly the strangest sight his eyes had ever beheld. Every single one of his male counterparts were entirely brown except for 24 pairs of seagreen eyeballs and 24 slightly gaping mouths. He could tell by the expressions on the faces of the feminine side of the cast, that great and probably creative thought was being put into the situation. Jack was
roaring, his tall, um, brown boots beginning to congeal and attach
themselves to the large puddle of chocolate in which he stood,
half-crouched as though he expected to be boarded at any moment.
Hando looked down his own length at his tight brown pants, his eyes
narrowing into fierce slits. Egan, though, seemed ready to make the
best of it and lay back, stretching his arms above his head, letting
the chocolate flow around him in little, slurpy ripples. A small cloud passed between the factory and the sun, casting its shadow briefly over Maximus' face. In one of his famous, smooth morphs, the General lifted and turned his head, his half smile transmogrifying during the course of the movement into a thoughtful concentration and on into a steely determination. He stood, looking up through the broken glass of the skylight then moving with sure steps to the end of the catwalk and sliding down the long ladder. Thankfully, the chocolate flood had not washed over that part of the large room and so his leather boots remained free from encoatingness. He looked down the large room at the rest of the cast. Knowing it would take some time, probably a very, very long time, for them to be ready to continue their trek, he called loudly, "I am following Joimus. Meet me at the confluence of the rivers in Pittsburgh a week from Friday." There were several vague waves of various hands, but no one replied verbally. He half sighed, half smiled, and went to the door. Outside, he turned and looked up at the roof, noting the large drainpipe down which Joimus must have made her descent. He stood in an area of dusty earth and stooped, looking for tracks. What he found made his eyes sparkle and his teeth show in a wide grin. She had said to him, "Only if I leave a trail you can follow." And there, plain in the dirt, were the deep impressions of a passing ostrich!
Annsmac
removed her backpack, reaching in, letting her fingers estimate the
amount of pecan halves any respectable citizen of New Orleans was
never without, come hell or high chocolate. She smiled, walking
toward Terry where he sat, elbows on his knees, chocolate dripping
off his chin. "Would you like a roll?" she asked him,
trying to sound serious. "Darlin'," he replied, looking up
at her, "you know I always like a good roll with you." He
half-smiled, cracking the already hardening chocolate, "But it
might be a bit difficult right at present."
"Ah," she continued, "I meant...would you like to BE a roll?" "Be?" he repeated, frowning. She held out both hands, mounded with nuts. "A pecan roll," she said, making her voice low and full of promise. "I thought you might help me get this stuff...off," he retorted a bit grumpily. "Oh, I intend to," she said, "I intend to." She smiled at him provocatively. "But let's do it the Big Easy way, hmmmmm?" "You think me 'easy'?" he teased, beginning to get into the spirit of the thing at last. "One can only hope," she giggled, kneeling beside him. Lachlan looked at the approaching Wanda. "Is there, do you suppose, a bathtub in this joint?" he wondered aloud. Then his eyebrow cocked as he saw the large white towel tucked under one arm and the three cans of whipped cream spray under the other. She stared at him, licking her lips slightly as she began to shake one of the cans. "When whipped creaming is inevitable," she said huskily (well, as husky as she could manage to make her soft Mississippi voice), "lie back and enjoy it."
"Pecans? Whipped cream?" Ando cried. "Where were all these things when I was nibbling bark in the forest?" Arthur came up beside her, his limp bangs plopping chocolate splops onto his nose. "Yours not to wonder why," he quoted, his coating seeming to have loosened his hibits a bit, "yours but to lick and dry." She looked him up and down, then let her gaze travel over to Hando. She was feeling a strange mixture of hunger, altruism, and ...other ...things, and so she said, "I'll tend to you next, Arthur, but first I have a search and rescue mission to...to...um, perform." She lifted Hando's brown arm. "I believe there was a tattoo or two under here somewhere," she smiled, batting her lashes at him, "was there not?" Anna studied Andy's predicament. His chocolate had already hardened into a stiff shell, making it impossible for him to get up off the floor. She was not familiar with Canadian winters for nothing! No, indeed! Nobly she lay beside him, pressing herself closely to him. "Body heat," she whispered into his chocolated ear. "It's the only way, Andy. Trust me. I'll have you softened in no time." He was very young and with a large helping of Himself within him. If he could have moved his jaws, he might have made some remark about what she was doing not actually causing ALL of him to, um, soften. "OW!"
Berti cried, holding her tongue between her thumb and forefinger.
Bud stood before her, completely unchocolafied already after a mere
15 minutes. "I knew you'd sprain it, Berti," he said
solicitously. "I told you not to attempt to break the world
record." "I know...I know," she mumbled, wiggling her
tongue from side to side, "but...well...I just got going
and...and...." She stopped as he placed one hand on her hip,
pulling her to him. She was, truth be told, in quite good spirits.
Sure, she had gained 10 pounds from the White chocolate, but the
exertion involved had melted off 15 leaving her with a net of 5
pounds lost. There was just one tiny smear of chocolate in the
corner of her mouth and he leaned down, kissing it off. The thick, creamy mixture had quite soaked through Alex's suit coat, and the Countess was helping him out of it. She shook her head. "The shirt's gotta go, too," she said, carefully avoiding all mention of her curiosity about how chocolate-coated chest hairs might look...or taste. Ute was concentrating on her creative and delicate use of chopsticks. Small piles of chocolate curls soon lay all about Jeffrey's feet. He looked down at them, remarking, "Do you suppose some soy sauce...." "We could find out," she giggled. Eyes sparkling, he smiled at her. She knew so well what he liked...how to please him. Marti looked at Jeff. Phyllis looked at Himself. Both were mature, well- experienced women who knew such a project must not be entered into lightly, but with a well-thought efficiency a large part of the endeavor. Phyllis carefully removed Himself's bits of collar and cuff then led him around to the far side of the row of large vats. Alas, it being the far side and all, Juditha was already there with the good Captain, and so she located a nearby broom closet. "We need privacy," Phyllis murmured as she locked the door from the inside, "for what I have in mind." She looked him up and down, her lips curved into a large smile. "Mr. Goodbar," she chortled, moving toward him.
Jeff was slightly nervous. Marti was looking at him as though he were good enough to eat...and, indeed, he was. Perhaps it was the graham crackers and the bag of marshmallows...he wasn't sure...but when she began to sing, "'Smores than you'll ever know, my heart yearns to hold you so...." her intentions became clear. "You...you...will be gentle...won't you?" he stammered. Sid sat on the bottom step of the ladder. He was quite lumpy as he had already been covered in the crumb before falling into the vat. Yanking off his cardigan, he threw it angrily up onto the conveyor belt, wanting to see it pulverized by the steel rollers. "Why did you do that, Sid?" Bunny asked, looking up from licking his delicious kneecap. "Fred has caused me nothing but trouble!" he exclaimed. Then he looked down at her seriously. "It was easier just to hate Maximus than to try and make him accept me." "I know," she replied, running a finger down his shin then studying the mound of lumpy chocolate it gathered. "I am the villain even when I'm trying hard not to be the villain." "Yes," she agreed, "it seems to be your lot in epilife." He lifted her chin, looking into her eyes. "Will you love me and be my faithful companion even if I resort to being fully Sid again." Licking her finger, she swallowed carefully, then replied, "I will always love you, Sid, and be your companion...always." Perhaps he wouldn't notice she had left out the "faithful" part?  All the
rest of the afternoon and into the evening, Maximus followed the
ostrich tracks. The process was made somewhat easier by the paucity
of ostrich farming generally engaged in by the Pennsylvania Amish.
When night fell, quietly and gently now that the cicada singing was
done for the year, he built a small campfire and settled himself
upon a bed of leaves, glad for the warmth of his rust-colored cape.
He lay a long time, the flames dancing in patterns across his
features, then let his lids close. She was there. Just beyond the
wild raspberries. He could feel it. Deliberately he shallowed his
breathing, listening, trying not to smile when he heard crickets.
She was coming. He let his breaths come now regular and deep as when
he slept.
She made the slightest rustle as she sat near the campfire, setting her cricket box on the ground beside her. Ears straining, he could hear her soft breathing, but only barely for his own heart beats grew steadily louder within him. Would she leave as she had done that first night in the forest after they had left The Village? How hard it was not to tense his muscles, to ready them for sudden movement if necessary. But she sat quietly, studying him in the orangey-yellow light, and he knew she thought him asleep. She made a sudden little half-strangled sound and he nearly opened his eyes. After another small series of rustles, he was aware that she had lain near him and was so close now he could feel her warm breath on his cheek. He willed himself to maintain his relaxed stillness, but her nearness began to stir responses in him he could not control. He had thought her dead and then, when she had been restored to him, she was not his but had been removed in way after way that nearly crushed his great heart. He wanted, nay, he NEEDED to feel the curve of her under his hand. But he remained quiet, listening as her breathing gradually matched the rhythmn of his own. His yearning cells began to ache under the stern mastery of his mental willing. Opening his eyes the merest fraction, he looked at her face. Her eyes were closed. Had she inadvertantly fallen alseep? He had not expected that! Allowing his lids to open fully, he noted her Ninja face wrappings had loosened, letting one long strand of her hair escape, its paleness contrasting with the black cloth upon which it waved. He wanted so to touch it, to run it through his hand, curling it round and round his finger. His eyes followed lingeringly down the length of it and when they returned to her face, he gasped for her blue eyes were gazing straight at his. Neither of them moved nor spoke, but only lay, silently looking. She had been aware of him tracking her as she had left the chocolate factory, heading diagonally north and west back to the sheltering forests of the long ridge of the Blue Mountains. Filling her many pockets with corn, potatoes, a cucumber or two as she crossed the farmland, she sometimes almost stumbled with the strange dichotomy of her feelings. She both had simply to "go" and...yet...wanted him to follow. The ostrich footprints were, indeed, her open invitation to him. She wanted him...yet could not allow him to stop her from...from...WHAT? She was going...someplace. She HAD to get there. She just had to! But why? Needing to take a deep breath, she loosened the black cloth that covered her nose and mouth. She was standing in a large patch of blooming goldenrod and her gaze was filled with the sight of her own black-clad legs in the midst of the bright, glowing yellow. There was...something...about the combination of the two colors, something that had to do with her destination.
She shook her head, unable to pin down the thought, and continued up the slope into the shadows of the wooded hills. Pausing to wash a small potato in a little spring, she ate it raw.
Not having stopped to eat, he was close behind her now and she climbed into the thick, sheltering needles of a soft white pine and watched as he built his campfire and settled for the night. It was almost as though he had somehow known she had gone no further and so it was safe for him to stop. When he fell asleep, she drew close, sitting near him, glad for the campfire's warmth. She had not intended to nor did she have any real idea why she did so, but she lay close to him. For a long time her
muscles had remained tense, ready for flight should he awaken and
attempt to grab her. So often in the long wanderings over the years
had she lain beside him, that the very familiarity of his breathing
spoke to something deep in her and without even being aware of it,
her own began to match his, inhaling and exhaling in perfect sync.
Gradually her muscles relaxed and she let her lids close, not
sleeping but just resting in the close quietness of his presence.
Then she opened her eyes, finding his fixed on her face.
All her instincts to flee seemed to find some counter anchoring in the seagreen depths and so she just lay, silent, looking into his soul. More than most men, he wore his being plainly writ in his eyes. As she gazed into them, she saw Spain...and Germania. She saw Africa and Rome. She saw his command, his perseverence, his strength...his longing and his love. When he had been the Wa-wat and Father Ralph, all this had been gone, and probably more than anything, it was his eyes then that had caused her pain. But now, now it was all there...all of it and her chin trembled beneath its black wrappings with the depth of her feeling for him. He saw the sudden stinging in her eyes and the slow welling of tears. It was nearly more than he could bear and all he wanted was to pull her to him and kiss them away. Yet something else he saw in them stayed his movement. He remembered that late summer noon as he walked amongst his poppied wheat in Spain and a small yellow butterfly had lit upon the knuckles of his right hand. It was lovely, seeking a brief respite from its mission, and had settled there, its wings moving only slightly. She was like that, having come to him for respite, yet not...right now...touchable. That day in the wheat, he had stroked one wing ever so lightly with the forefinger of his left hand, unknowingly crippling the butterfly which had fallen to the ground. One of his farm cats had pounced on it, carrying it off clamped in its jaws. He was left there under the wide blue sky, looking regretfully at the dusting of yellow wing powder on his finger. It was a lesson he knew he would never forget and as he lay there in the firelight, wanting to hold Joimus, he somehow knew he would get yellow powder on his hands if he did.
He did not know what form the farm cat would take, but he felt it out there, waiting for her fall. He saw the knowledge of it in her eyes, mingled with her love. She was both Joimus and kenoishi and his anger flashed again that Sid had done this. Seeing the sudden spark of wrath in his eyes startled her, making her pull back from him. Too late he realized what he had done and wiped the remnants of it from his expression. He knew she was tensing now, ready to fly and so he did the only thing he could think of. "I...love you," he whispered, his voice soft yet very deep. Her tensing paused, reversed a little. Her head held a few inches above the leaf bed, she let her eyes travel his face, tracking down every line, every plane of it. There was no part of it that had not known the touch of her lips and she unconsciously ran a fingertip across her mouth. The black cloth lying over it was suddenly unbearable and she tugged it down below her chin, still gazing steadily at him. She saw a flash of something in his eyes as she did so, something that came out of them and, though intangible, yet wrapped itself warmly about her, connecting her to him. A longing, powerful and deep, rose in her chest like a gaping, pulsing wound that would never heal, was not even capable of being healed. Lowering her hand from her mouth, she pressed it to her breastbone, trying to ease the ache of it. His eyes flickered briefly from their lock on hers, down to her hand, then back up again. He knew. Turning just enough to pull his right hand out from under the cape, he pressed it to his own chest, blinking back tears.
Silently
she watched his motion, then closed her eyes, realizing only then
her cheeks were wet as the night breeze cooled them on her flesh.
Her mind whirled. Where was she going that was more "home"
than this...than him? When she opened her eyes again, she saw that
he had lifted his arm and was holding up the edge of his cape. Her
fingers curled, digging into the black cloth over her chest, trying
to hold the pieces of her heart together.
He knew...at last...she would not fly and so he moved his body closer to hers, pulling his cape over her like a warm cocoon, using his large hands to press her to him. Her tears soaked the front of his rust-colored tunic as he cupped one palm around the back of her head, pulling down the rest of the black cloth, freeing her long waves, then tangling his fingers through them, physically knitting her to himself. He inhaled so deeply, so fully that the air seemed to roll down through his legs to his feet, then he let it out, bit by little bit. The long warmth of his exhale flowed down over her hair like the benediction of anointing oil and she stilled at its peace and its blessing. Both arms wrapped securely about her, he kissed the top of her head. "Let us do this thing...together," he murmured. He felt her head nod under his lips and he squeezed his eyes tightly together in relief, his own chin trembling now.
Continues with . . ."A New Jeopardy"!
Next
On to Epi Index 3
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