Chocolate Fever (3 page)

“I’m frightened,” said Henry.

“I’m Dr. Fargo,” said the doctor, “that much I know. Now what I’d like to do is get to know more about those brown spots of yours.” He wet the tip of a cotton swab and brushed it gently against one of the big brown spots on Henry’s right arm.

“Ouch,” said Henry.

“Did that hurt?”

“ No.”

“Then why did you say ‘ouch’?”

“Because,” said Henry, “I
thought
it was going to hurt.”

“I see,” said Dr. Fargo. Shaking his head, he put the cotton swab into a glass jar. “Take this to the laboratory at once,” he said to one of his assistants, and the man rushed out of the room.

“In a few minutes we’ll know more about those big brown spots of yours,” the doctor said. Hands behind his back, he began to pace the room. Suddenly he stopped, his nose in the air. “Who has been eating a candy bar in my office?” he demanded.

No one answered.

Dr. Fargo’s nose twitched from side to side as he sniffed the air. “I smell candy,” he said. “Someone’s been eating a candy bar.”

Just then the telephone rang, and Dr. Fargo bounded across the room to answer it. “What—what?” he said into the phone. “Are you sure?” His white mustache bounced up and down as Dr. Fargo sank slowly into a chair. He put the telephone down, a look of amazement on his face. “Chocolate,” he said. “Those big brown spots . . . are pure chocolate. . . .”

“Chocolate?” gasped Nurse Farthing.

“Chocolate?” exclaimed Henry Green.

“Chocolate?” echoed Dr. Fargo’s two assistants.

“Exactly,” said Dr. Fargo. “The boy, it seems, is nothing more than a walking candy bar!”

THERE WAS MORE EXCITEMENT than Henry had ever seen. All kinds of doctors were examining him now, poking and prodding as if he were not a boy, but a pincushion. And Dr. Fargo was bounding about the room, talking about “Chocolate Fever” . . . “a new disease” . . . “making medical history” . . . and things like that.

Henry was tired. And afraid.

He wanted to be left alone. He wanted all the doctors to go away. He wanted to be home. He wanted, in fact, to be just about any place in the world except this hospital.

So he did something very simple. Something his heart told him he had to do to survive.

He jumped off the examining table and began to run.

In a flash he had bolted through the doorway and was running down the long corridor. Behind him he heard shouts of “Stop!” and “Catch that boy!”

Two nurses at the end of the corridor tried to catch him, but Henry was simply too quick. He dodged past them and darted down the stairway. Down, down, down he went, down three whole flights of stairs and out into the main lobby of the hospital. Ahead of him a guard at the door held out an arm. Running as hard as he could, Henry crashed through his grasp and into the street.

Without pausing to think where he was headed, Henry ran. As he was about to turn the corner, he looked back. There was a whole army of people pursuing him. Doctors in white coats, nurses, guards blowing whistles, policemen waving their arms. And behind them he could see Dr. Fargo.

Henry didn’t wait to see any more. “Legs,” he said, “don’t fail me now.” And with that he turned the corner and took off down the street.

He ran and ran until he had no breath left. And then he ran some more.

His legs flashing in the afternoon sun, Henry darted down one street and up another. He had no idea of where he was. He had no idea of where he was going. But still he kept running.

People stared at him as he whizzed by. A few even raised their hands, as if to stop him or say something, but Henry kept right on running.

After a long while he couldn’t see or hear any of the people running after him.
I must be far ahead of them by now,
Henry thought. But suddenly, up ahead at the corner, a police car flashed by with its siren screaming.
They must be after me,
he thought with alarm.
I’m a wanted man!

Sick at heart, Henry pushed himself to run faster. His head hurt. His side hurt. His legs hurt. But he kept running.

His lungs hurt. His eyes hurt. Even his hair began to hurt. But Henry kept running.

At last he could run no more. He was finished. Done. He had to rest, and to rest he had to hide. Without thinking about it, Henry ran down a large grassy alley that lay between two white houses. At the end of the alley was a large garage with one door partly open. Henry sneaked in and looked around. There was an automobile parked inside, but not a person in sight. With his last bit of strength he flopped down on the floor beside the automobile.

The more he thought about his predicament, the sadder Henry became. A lump rose in his throat. A tear ran down his cheek. A sob escaped from his lips. And he was crying, sobbing out loud, really crying.

He cried for a few moments because he was so sad. He cried some more because he was lost. And then he cried for a long, long time because everything had become so hopeless.

At last, when he could cry no more, Henry dried his eyes and tried to think out his situation. He would not go back to Dr. Fargo and the hospital, of that he was certain. Nothing on earth, or any other planet, could make him do that.

But what if he went home? What would his mother and father do?

They would take him back to Dr. Fargo and the hospital. They would have to.

“Never,” Henry said aloud, “never, never, never!”

In the dim light of the garage, Henry looked at the big brown spots on his arm and began to hate them.
Stupid spots,
he thought,
why did you have to happen to me?
Feeling angry, he stood up and began to pace the half-empty garage.

I can’t go home,
he thought,
and I won’t go back to the hospital. All right then, I’m on my own. Somewhere there must be a place for me. A place to go until these stupid big brown spots disappear. A place far away, where no one has ever heard of me or the hospital or Dr. Fargo or my parents.

Feeling much braver now, with things somehow settled in his mind, Henry lay down to rest for a while before setting off on his journey.

IT WAS ALMOST TWO HOURS later now, and the sun was somewhat lower in the sky. Henry looked cautiously out of the garage, saw no one, and started on his way.

He walked for a long time, trying to stay on side streets and being careful to avoid attention. It was not easy. People kept staring at him. Henry ignored them and kept on walking.

In the middle of the street down which he was walking stood a school. Henry could see lots of boys playing in the schoolyard. He decided to walk through the yard to get to the next street. As he started through, all the boys stopped playing basketball and pitching-in and roller-skate hockey to look at him. It was as if all the noise and action had become frozen, like a movie or a TV show that stops suddenly.

Henry kept going. As he was about halfway through, just about in the middle of the yard, the kids seemed to come to life again. In less time than it takes to tell about it, he was surrounded.

Henry looked around him. All the boys stared back. They had formed a tight circle around him. Henry didn’t like it.

One of the tallest boys, who looked a good deal older than Henry, spoke up. “Boy, are you ugly!” he said.

“Yeah,” said another boy in the crowd, “really ugly.”

“Ugg-
ly!
” echoed another boy.

I’d better be polite,
Henry thought. “Excuse me,” he said in a quiet voice, “could I get through, please?”

The boys didn’t move.

The big boy, who seemed to be a leader, spoke again. “I’ve seen pimples before, but those are ridiculous.”

“They’re not pimples,” another boy said, “they’re warts.”

“Yeah, warts,” said another, “they gotta be warts.”

Now all the boys were speaking up.

“Ugliest warts in the whole world.”

“In the world? Man, they are the ugliest warts in the universe!”

“I thought I seen ugly kids before, but this one is out of sight!”

“Horrible!”

“Disgusting!”

“Revolting!”

“And he smells, too,” a fat boy with glasses said. “Yuch! Like a stupid candy factory.”

“Nauseating!”

The more the boys called him names, the worse Henry felt. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

The big boy in the crowd held up his hands to silence the others. “Quiet down, you guys,” he said. “I want to talk to Mr. Ugly here.”

In a few moments the crowd was silent.

“Now then,” the big one said, “you—Mr. Ugly —what’s your name, kid?”

Before Henry answered, he thought carefully. He was ashamed of himself and the way he looked. But he was even more ashamed of the gang around him. How dare they act so mean? He hadn’t harmed them. And now, when he could certainly use a friend, they had clearly marked him as an enemy.

Henry got angry, but he kept his anger firmly under control.

“My name is my own business,” he said. “It’s no concern of yours.”

The gang hooted and shouted at Henry’s reply. A few even whistled.

“Don’t be fresh, kid,” the big boy said. “We don’t like fresh kids here.”

A few of the larger boys edged closer to Henry, closing the ring around him tighter.

“Let me hit him, Frankie,” a voice said.

“Let me get him,” another boy said.

Henry thought quickly. “Touch me and you die,” he said. “I have a rare and mysterious disease. Whoever touches me will catch it and die a horrible death!”