Chapter Ten

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Chapter Ten

And indeed, Amber was never the same again. The sickness had left her, never to return. At last, she was cured. She became a normal girl with normal reactions. She vomited only when she had eaten something that disagreed with her or because of a tummy bug. Back at school she blended in. She was no longer special. People stopped avoiding her. She even found a boyfriend in the course of time.

There was a brief mention of her recovery in the newspaper, down at the bottom of the back page. The cult she had inspired soon disbanded, though a few dedicated disciples took to the hills to practice their religion. Before long all the blue effluent had been destroyed—flushed down the toilet or left for bacteria to feed upon.

And so, Amber became a happy healthy girl, at least as happy as you and me. If you met her, you would like her. Her ambition was to become a doctor, specializing in the elderly. Her intelligence was high but not too high. She took her place as a regular member of the human race.

But the moon never blinked and the wind never stopped its gossiping.

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Chapter Nine

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Chapter Nine

Things didn’t quite work out the way she expected. As she slept the night before she was due to return home, a sinister plot unfolded. A group of highly trained Yellow Caps scaled the hotel wall and entered her room silently and kidnapped her. They slipped a specially designed kidnapping bag over her head, equipped with its own oxygen supply, and scaled back down with her. Of course, she had a stomach upsurge on the instant, which wasn’t at all pleasant, despite the inoffensive nature of the substance produced. The kidnappers had been sent by country A, which wasn’t thrilled with the result of the contest. Her struggles and screams did no good, as the bag was sound-proofed. She was whisked away to country A under the noses of UFIS security people, who were preoccupied with a football match on the TV. Needless to say, this was all very frightening to Amber and she suffered a good deal of travel sickness on the journey.

Over in A-land she was not mistreated; they needed to keep her happy and healthy. The guards seemed embarrassed to have her there, if anything. The main problem was that she was being filmed continuously, which made her feel very self-conscious. Officials from the government explained why they had kidnapped her, or “re-located her for reasons of state”: it was to induce her to reverse the verdict that had gone against them. This was to be done by asserting that she had been collaborating with elements of the B-land government to rig the whole thing—the puke farce, as they called it. They wanted her to make a statement to this effect to be broadcast world-wide and to commit to their side. She tried to explain to them that this wasn’t so, though she thought the whole procedure as silly as a kangaroo in shorts. In her opinion there was nothing to choose between the two sides. But truth was clearly not their concern—“perceptions” were. How things could be made to look.

She refused to do as they asked. She refused to lie. She might make herself sick. This did not make her kidnappers happy—far from it. Her chief interrogator, a pale red-headed man with oily eyes, assured her that they were going to start the war again anyway. Her cooperation was a necessary condition of the “peace process” reaching a satisfactory conclusion. Still, she refused. As you can imagine, all this was not good for Amber’s stomach situation; it rumbled audibly and spat out whatever went into it. The blue became speckled with crimson and black, and it hurt more when it came out. Her captors filmed her while being interrogated, displaying the new color scheme. They insisted she could control her vomiting at will. Meanwhile she vomited uncontrollably. The result was predictable: she lost more and more weight, became thinner and thinner. She grew pale and her hair started to fall out. Things were not looking good for Amber, not at all good. The world watched helplessly as she faded away.

Towards the end of the third week, she felt herself to be close to death. The war had started up again and many people throughout the world wanted her to capitulate to her captors. If she did, she would be released immediately and in one piece. All she had to do was tell a lie that everyone knows is a lie—and is that really a lie? The delirium of starvation added to her confusion. She knew that escaping this place, with these people, was her only hope of survival (UFIS was helpless to help her, they said). So, she gave in. She would utter the words they wanted her to utter and she would be free. Everyone would know it was a sham. With her eyes half-closed and her speech slurry, she said: “I accept what they say. It was all a plot to take what belongs to them. I was part of it. I’m sorry.”  As she uttered these words, she felt a new sensation in her gut—a sort of cold emptiness. She could feel no pain in that space, only numbness. It was as if something living had been replaced by something dead. She felt like a different person.

The kidnappers released her, as promised, and resumed their conflict with neighbors. She returned home.

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Chapter Eight

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Chapter Eight

Amber was nearing the end of her twelfth year on planet Earth when word came from the United Federation of Independent States (UFIS—pronounced You fizz). They had a top-level mission for her to perform, if she would be so kind. This was not a word you could ignore, since UFIS represented all the great powers of the world, bigger even than the Western Allied Republics (WAR) and the Association of Sovereign States (this was always pronounced in full). UFIS called the shots on the international stage, or that was the idea anyway (really it was United Banks). And what was the mission they wanted Amber to help them with? They wanted her to help end the war between two nations over a thin strip of land between them. Already there had been thousands of casualties and diplomacy had failed to achieve a peace deal. Even group saunas had failed to break the ice. Each side was convinced of the rightness of its cause. Nuclear war had not been ruled out. Could Amber step in to settle the matter? There would be a slap-up tea for her afterwards, not to mention the gratitude of the entire world.

Both parties were agreed that Amber’s visceral verdict would be final, so convinced were they of their own virtue. Her belly ruled the world. She was an infallible judge, or part of her was. The procedure would be simple: the contested piece of land would go to whoever could make her the least nauseous, as judged by quantity of output. It was going to take a few days to ensure that justice was done and everyone’s rights recognized. Only then would we see where the moral advantage lay. True, it would be rather rough on Amber, but world peace was at stake, and they were desperate (their jobs were at stake). And so, a series of hearings was arranged, during which Amber would listen and respond; the abdominal oracle would speak. Foolproof, no? There were worse ways to end a war. Was she willing to let thousands more die, possibly millions? Naturally, she agreed.

At least she would be put up in a magnificent hotel with the finest cuisine known to man. If she was going to be vomiting for a week, she should at least eat the best food available. The hearings were held in a vast auditorium in which all the major countries of the world were represented. Delegations from each of the warring countries were placed on the opposite sides of the room and there was computer translation and satellite hook-up across the globe. The world’s eyes were on this twelve-year-old girl. More people watched than for that year’s World Games. We need not trouble ourselves with the details of each side’s case; suffice it to report that they were convoluted, obscure, and often nonsensical. What is important is that over the course of seven days Amber threw up enough food to feed the crew of decent-sized boat sailing across one of our larger oceans. No sooner had she swallowed down a plate of food than it jetted up again. She had trouble keeping herself adequately nourished so rapid was the turnover. And there really was a lot to churl about—speech after speech had her retching and heaving, depositing the results in a series of large plastic containers that were taken away to be weighed (it was all very scientific, you understand). She was like a volcano erupting with bright blue lava. The spectacle was irresistible: every spasm and gurgle was carefully recorded and lovingly scrutinized. Never had so many people borne witness to the gastric antics of a single child. But then, world peace was at stake. Elections loomed.

The weighing was carried out with much fanfare. It turned out that country A had 2.65 more ounces of vomit to its credit than country B, so that B emerged the victor. After a re-weigh and some argy-bargy about water loss it was confirmed that B would get the strip of land under dispute. The war came to a sudden end. Amber was hailed as a savior and became even more celebrated than before, especially in country B. Her own feeling was that, however bizarre the proceedings, at least the war was over. Her digestive disability had its uses.

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Chapter Seven

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Chapter Seven

One day the Minister for Justice paid her a visit. He said he needed her help in a matter of great importance. He had a careful way of speaking, as if each word could be a lasso to trip him up. He seldom uttered a sentence without saying it over in his mind first. Amber felt no threat of nausea from him; in fact, he looked quite poorly himself. He told her about four people, three men and a woman, who were tried and convicted of conspiring to assassinate the President, and were now languishing in jail. He had presided over their sentencing and had been convinced of their guilt, but now new evidence had emerged that pointed to their innocence. This evidence had been suppressed by the police at the time at the behest of the government. It was all very disturbing, quite nauseating in fact. It made him sick to his stomach. Could she help with his investigations? All she had to do was listen to their testimony and let her stomach do the talking. Justice had to be done. How could she refuse? She was so highly respected and trusted now that her verdict would be taken as definitive (you just had to look at her track record). Of course, heads would roll if her stomach remained calm, but that was the price of justice. Someone would have to pay the piper (or churler).

Three weeks later the day of the acid test came, after much publicity and media speculation. The four defendants, looking pale and nervous, and oddly young, stood in the dock, awaiting their fate. The police had renewed their earlier testimony against the four. The four stated their innocence and repeated that that they were more interested in lepidoptery than politics. Amber was escorted into the hushed chamber, a little girl in a big place. But there was no lack of confidence in her demeanor. She felt happy that her special skill could be put to good use, though she dreaded being sick if that was what happened (she never knew). She faced the prisoners. The judge instructed them to state their names. In turn they did so. Everyone waited and watched. The cameras focused on Amber’s throat for the first sign of upchuck. The seconds ticked by. Nothing happened. She coughed, and people sat forward in their seats for the upcoming convulsion. But nothing happened. Nothing. Amber turned to the judge and said, “I don’t feel sick at all”. A commotion broke out in the court, cinematic in its intensity. The judge said to Amber, “You may step down”. The four were grinning wildly and high-fiving. As she walked by the stone-faced police, she buckled slightly, as if in pain. Reporters noticed this and began scribbling. She went home happy.

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Chapter Six

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Chapter Six

Predictably, a cult formed around her name—the “Amberists”. Their agenda? To root out evil wherever it was found. They were fanatically anti-evil, and Amber was their tool. They tried to imitate her: they would consume heaps of bad food and then go out to confront evil in all its forms. This never worked very well, because it was hard to get the food down to begin with and it would come up before the evil was confronted. Still, their heart was in the right place. Amberist demonstrations could be messy occasions, requiring a change of clothes and a large supply of air-freshener. But the cause was good and Amber was telegenic.

The members of the cult sought out samples of Amber’s effluent; there was a lively trade in counterfeit substances. Even a small amount of the precious liquid was deemed a great prize. It would be frozen and kept in special containers, to be gazed at, danced around, and otherwise worshipped. On Amber’s birthday, there was a giant celebration complete with theatrical recreations. A good time was had by all. This was a strictly non-violent cult, though scuffles were inevitable, sadly. Some people objected to being labelled morally bad. Lawsuits were filed. Amber herself kept her distance from the cult, leaving its day-to-day management to others. She was more of a reclusive figurehead. But her picture was everywhere, online and off. Money was made from Amber merch, but it all went to good causes, such as training camps for the soldiers of evil-detection. Nothing to be worried about.

All this attention led to questions. What did the girl herself have to tell her disciples? How did the religion of Amber relate to other religions? What was her message to humanity? They needed to know, to have it spelled out to them. But Amber had little to say: she felt that her stomach was more eloquent than her tongue. Her voice sounded tinny to her, but her gut spoke volumes. Films of her throwing up (churling, as it was called) were doted over. Sometimes she spoke of the Big and the Small. The world is big, but we are small. We must see the large, but not ignore the small. The small is good, and so is the large. That kind of thing. Then she would talk of the seeds. Inside everyone there was a seed. The seed could grow healthy or it could wither and die. We each had to care for the seeds of others (she included animals). Tiny as the seeds were, they were what really mattered. But then she would run out of things to say and lapse into silence. Some people questioned her religious convictions, which never failed to give her an upset stomach. The cult itself was mildly dyspeptic.

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Chapter Five

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Chapter Five

You might not have thought that Amber and Tang Wurlitzer had a lot in common, but Tang didn’t see it that way. She had all these problems with people and things: advertisements, supermarket chickens, news programs, history, politics, prisons. But Tang never had a problem with anyone: it was his job not to have a problem with people. He was a talk-show host, one of the best in his estimation. You might have seen him: well-dressed, creamy, full of laughs, a thoroughly nice guy. Networks compete for his talk-show services. TW was always on the look-out for new guests, and novelty guests were his specialty. Anything unusual, preferably polarizing. His ratings were consistently high. Well, his producers had come across this weird girl with a funny tummy, name of Amber. Tang felt this was a concept he could work with. He arranged to speak with her personally by phone. He assured her and her parents that nausea control was his number one priority; she was safe with him. “This is an opportunity to use your gift for good,” he explained, relishing the last three words. “Folks should see that someone feels deeply about right and wrong in today’s world. And I can offer you a substantial reward for your participation, which I’m sure will help with your medical bills and other necessities.” Oh, he could be persuasive, Tang Wurlitzer, most persuasive. He had once persuaded a man with two left feet to take his shoes and socks off on public television (a high point in the history of the show). It was a matter of pride, he argued, to show that two left feet were nothing to be ashamed of—and he was nothing if not shameless. At first, they were against it, but as Tang talked on, they softened and eventually came round (those medical bills and other necessities). Why not monetize Amber’s gift? And wouldn’t it be a good thing to inspire people? Perhaps she had been put on Earth to fulfill a divine purpose—sort of a freaky bilious Jesus. Mr. Wurlitzer seemed like a nice sincere man with a good reputation—what harm could it do? So, they agreed to the proposal, then and there.

And so, she found herself, at age ten, ready to go out in front of 16 million people to talk about her queasy belly, her allergy to evil. As a precaution, she had taken a modest lunch and avoided anything triggering. Mr. Wurlitzer had been very upbeat about the whole thing, telling her that being on television was much easier than it looks. You just had to smile at a camera and act like you were in your own living room. At the appointed time she was ushered onto the stage to spread the good word (his phrase). “This is Amber,” he began, “a very special child. She is here today to tell us about a very special gift she has, or some would say problem—aren’t you, Amber?” “Yes,” said Amber warily. “And what is that gift, or problem, you have, Amber?” “I feel sick when people do certain things.” “And what kind of things are we talking about?” “Lots of things—I don’t like saying what they are”. “I hear you once barfed when you saw one boy bullying another—is that correct?” “Yes, that did happen.” “And I’ve heard that your own father can make you queasy sometimes. Hey, my old man could be a pain at times”. He smiled good-naturedly, showing TV-ready teeth. She replied, “It’s just a feeling I get, I don’t think anything. It just happens. I suppose it’s like smelling something bad.” Cocking his head, Tang said, “And are you ever wrong?” “Not that I know of,” she replied. “Well, isn’t that something, ladies and gentlemen? This girl can spot a bad apple infallibly. She can see into your soul. When we come back, we’ll delve into this further. It sounds spooky, even miraculous.” They went to commercial break. Tang said in his quiet concerned voice: “This is going great, Amber, but we need something less wordy, more real. How about we put on a show of you throwing up? Seeing is believing. How about I pretend to be bad and you do your thing? It would make great television.” “It won’t work if you pretend. I can’t do it at will.” Amber felt a pulse of nausea as she said these words. Tang looked thoughtful. They resumed the on-air conversation. “You know, some people might be skeptical of what you’re saying—it does seem a tad farfetched. How do we know you are telling the truth? People say a lot weird things to make a buck. What do you say to the unbelievers?” Amber sat very still as the waves of nausea came over her. What to do? She leaned forward and buried her face in Tang Wurlitzer’s expensive suit and released a fountain of blue bile. When she looked up, she could see him smiling broadly—great television! It was for real and he’d got the scoop. It would easy to get the suit dry-cleaned. “I was only kidding,” he said. “I didn’t really think you were lying, but it was the only way to get the proof our audience deserves.” Amber felt ambushed and confused—she was only ten, remember. “When we come back a man who would rather go on vacation with his dog than his wife. Thank you, Amber, for coming on the show. Now we know you are the real deal.”

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Chapter Four

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Chapter Four

Several years went by, relatively uneventfully. Amber grew accustomed to her affliction, her special talent. She learned how to manage it, as best she could. She even returned to school. She was permitted to keep mainly to herself. The playground was decreed off-limits. Fortunately, people tended to steer clear of her, for obvious reasons. She was deemed a freak, though not clinically insane. Parents didn’t want their children to associate with her—what if it were contagious?

One day, at school, the teacher, Ms. Westerly, was talking about God. “And so, God cares for all his children,” she said, “even when they don’t deserve it.” She smiled benignly, showing a neat row of teeth, her eyes sparkling like drops of morning dew. “But he wants us to be good, you and me, so that the world will be a happier place”. Amber was listening intently: “Does he ever sleep?” she asked. “No, he never sleeps,” Ms. Westerly replied. “He is always awake and always will be”. Amber persisted: “Does he ever get drowsy?” “No, he is always wide awake”. “Does he have any eyelids?” “That’s a funny question,” was the answer. “He isn’t human, so he has no eyes.” “What kind of person is he, then? What does he look like? What does he do all day? How does he spend his nights, if he has nights?” Ms. Westerly was growing impatient, her own eyes narrowing: “Amber, you are taking it too literally and your question is really not appropriate”. “I just want to understand what God is really like. Why does he let bad things happen?” At this her stomach tightened. “I would never let those things happen and I am just a girl.” The reply came: “I don’t think God wants to hear that kind of talk from you.” She wasn’t smiling now. “Why not? It just seems wrong. It makes me want to…” Ms. W. answered: “That will be quite enough from you. Don’t blame your own problems on God”. At this point Amber excused herself to go to the bathroom because she could feel an attack coming on. Her eyes were watering from holding it back. She jumped up and sprinted down the hall, just making it in time.

Back in the classroom the sniggering had subsided and the teacher looked a little shame-faced (she was quite a nice person really). The children had been warned about the strange little girl with the eating disorder. It might be catching. Best not to go too near her. She was obviously not quite all there in the head. Being sick at sin—they had never heard of such a thing. And who was she to say what sin is and isn’t? What gave her the right?

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Chapter Three

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Chapter Three

And so it was established to the highest scientific standards: Amber was suffering from ETS. She had a badness-detector inside her rigged to her esophagus. The news spread quickly, as all medical news will: it was initially reported in a medical magazine by none other than Dr. Denise Evelyn Daniloff. The article caused quite a stir in medical circles, and a degree of skepticism. Some spoke of the limits of Western medicine; others alleged a conspiracy. Dr. Daniloff achieved the notoriety she craved: she was constantly interviewed and televised, and her practice flourished. And she came up with the cure: keep the girl away from all bad behavior and evil motives. Easier said than done. The newspapers were onto it quickly: Toddler Throws Up on Today’s Vice, Magic Girl Spills the Beans, and so on. Opinion writers intoned: “This little girl is a judge and jury unto herself. You had better watch your p’s and q’s around her.” Was she a gift from God or the Devil’s work? There was much discussion of her case throughout the land. She became a minor celebrity, with paparazzi eager to take pictures of her vomiting at the sight of criminals. She hardly knew what was happening, being only five. The Princess of Puke. Amber had hit a nerve, struck a chord, grazed a shin. She was the latest It girl.

Still, the illness did not go away. She had to live with it. And it wasn’t fun. It seemed to get worse with all the attention. Even when alone, she would feel a rumble in her tummy. Her parents had to keep her indoors—no school, no friends. Too risky. In the end they put out a false announcement saying she had ben cured by church music and Bible study. The hubbub died down. She returned to her normal life, though now homeschooled, but still suffering from her allergy. Not that her isolation cured the symptoms; there was still the odd spurt or trickle when someone in the house caused her antenna to quiver. In fact, her family become just a little afraid of her; it’s not easy to be around someone that detects every hint of moral failing.

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