Chapter Two

Chapter Two

That business with the cards was only the beginning of Amber’s illness. She had it bad. Her illness was wicked. It could strike at any moment: in the car, in the playground, watching TV. It could even happen while she slept. She might wake up with a soiled pillow if she had a bad dream. She didn’t always disgorge, though, which was a mercy for all concerned, and the amount could vary. Sometimes it took the form of a queasy feeling in the stomach with no danger of ejection, but sometimes it was a fiercer feeling. Sometimes it was more like a burp. She developed the ability to hold it back—but this didn’t always work. Nausea was always lying in wait for her.

It had nothing to do with what she ate or whether she was sick with anything like measles or chicken pox. She was a healthy little girl generally, much given to running and jumping and playing with balls. She experienced no headache or fatigue. It was something of the mystery. She could be happily talking to a friend and it would start up, sometimes requiring a trip to the bathroom. It seemed like an allergy of some sort, but no one could put their finger on what it was an allergy to. Some people thought she was faking it to get attention, but this only made the condition worse. She tried her best not to do it in public so as not to upset people.

Even more curious was the stuff itself, which actually wasn’t that bad, as vomit goes. It had a funny color, sky blue, and it glowed in the dark. It had no odor. It had the consistency of porridge. It didn’t produce nausea in others, though you wouldn’t want to carry it around in a plastic bag. Animals were puzzled by it, wrinkling their noses in perplexity. Amber’s cat hardly noticed it. Yet it seemed to be triggered by something nasty, and Amber herself wasn’t happy about the whole thing.

Naturally her parents were worried, so they took her to the family doctor, a pink man with silvery nostril hairs. The doctor examined her in all the ways he knew how, but declared himself baffled. Were they giving her the wrong type of food? Was she getting enough exercise? Did she suffer from indigestion? All negative. He summed up thus: “If there’s anything medically wrong with her, I’m a Dutchman, and I’ve never even been to Holland.” This made Amber smile, though she felt a twinge of unease. It was no common-or-garden eating disorder. When he examined the material itself, he was utterly baffled—what subtle substance could be responsible for that bluish glow? This wasn’t some kind of practical joke, was it? He was a busy man, you know. Amber stifled a burp at this point. A thorough chemical analysis must be undertaken, top scientists consulted. It could cost a pretty penny. The doctor didn’t like his expertise to be doubted but he admitted defeat.

The specialist who was called in, a Dr. Daniloff, a lady doctor, had a big office with many certificates on the wall. She was famous! She had a swivel chair that could zoom around the office and she wore prominent spectacles. You had to respect Dr. Daniloff, MD, BS, PhD. The doctor declared herself intrigued by the case, very intrigued indeed, and wondered aloud whether it might be christened Daniloff’s Syndrome. Or course, she was concerned by Amber’s suffering—who wouldn’t be—but also medically stimulated. It was unique. She could go down in the annals of medical history—her and Amber. There might even be a Knobble prize in it. This was no routine virus or genetic disorder; this was clearly a new disease entirely. Could it be contagious? Tests were necessary, scans were indicated. She was determined to get to the bottom of it. We must first isolate the cause of the problem, eliminating every possibility. Experiments must be performed, substances injected, brain waves recorded. Her reputation depended on it. Meanwhile Amber was feeling a touch queasy. The cause of the problem appeared to be Dr. Daniloff herself, despite all her good intentions. She was now exploring the possibility that the condition (she called it that) was purely psychological, perhaps reflecting parental failings. She asked the parents if there was any sign of what she called “domestic stress”. At this suggestion Amber felt a surge inside her and promptly ejected a pint of blue porridge. It fell at the doctor’s feet, whereupon she examined her shoes. She paused in silent thought, then said: “I think I have it—the girl is allergic to moral badness!” Not for nothing was she top of her class in medical school. “She reacts to the unethical”. She smiled broadly, anticipating headlines, TV appearances. “The little girl is a badness barometer, a litmus test of evil if you like. She can sense it and then respond appropriately. It’s like a sixth sense. She has ETS—Evil Toxicity Syndrome. Bad people make her sick”.

The family left Dr. Daniloff’s office feeling puzzled but satisfied. They always knew she was special. Now they knew what to say to people who inquired about their daughter’s condition.