Chocolate Fever Read Online Free Page A

milk.
    There was chocolate cake, too, but Henry declined it. Somehow, it didn’t appeal to him.
    When they had finished eating, Mac settled back and lighted a cigar.
    “Mac,” Henry said, “isn’t there something you want to ask me?”
    “Sure, but I figure you’re about to tell me what I want to know.”
    “Well,” Henry began, “I have this disease called Chocolate Fever. That’s what these big brown spots are all over me—chocolate. And nobody, especially a doctor named Fargo, knows what to do about it. So I’ll probably have these spots on me for the rest of my life and—”
    “And that’s why you’re running away,” Mac said.
    “I have to run away,” Henry said. “I look so terrible and ugly.”
    “I wouldn’t say ugly,” Mac said. “Unique, maybe.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Sort of special.”
    “But how can I live this way? I’m a freak, a chocolate freak!”
    “Easy now,” Mac said, “calm down.”
    “People will be looking . . . staring at me. How can I live with people staring at me?”
    Mac chuckled softly. He looked away from Henry.
    “How would you like it, Mac, if people stared at you?”
    “You know, kid, I’ve had some experience in that line myself,” the big man said quietly.
    “You mean people stare at you?”
    “Uh-huh,” Mac said. “When you’re black, and most of the other people are white, that’s bound to happen.”
    “Gee, Mac,” Henry said, “I’m sorry.”
    “Oh, it’s nothing personal, kid. Besides, by the time I was your age I’d gotten over it. But you know, getting stared at—and some other things—got me thinking: If there’s so many white people, and so few black people, why that kind of makes me unique.”
    “You mean special?”
    “Exactly right. So all that staring and stuff, what it did was make me proud. You know, black is beautiful.”
    “That’s okay for you,” said Henry, “but white with big brown spots all over is ugly.”
    Mac put his hand to his mouth and coughed. For a moment, Henry thought he might be laughing.
    “Okay, youngster,” he said, “have it your own way. Just tell me, where are you going? What you figure on doing?”
    “I’m just running away, Mac. And I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
    Mac thought about that for about a second and a half. “Just flat out running away, huh? Things get too much for you, so you cut out? Brilliant.”
    “I won’t go back,” Henry said. “I just won’t.”
    “Okay, then, you won’t go back. But let me ask you something: You got a mother?”
    “Yes.”
    “Father?”
    “Yes.”
    “They been good to you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Don’t beat up on you?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Don’t make your life miserable?”
    “No.”
    “So they’re pretty good parents, right?”
    “Right.”
    “And you love ’em cause they’re so kind and good, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, how do you think they feel right now? Wondering where you could be, are you all right? Are you dead, maybe? Yes, sir, you sure are treating them mean. Why, it wouldn’t surprise me if your mother was crying her heart out right now. Just sick to death with worrying about you.”
    “But, Mac—”
    “Now you hush till I’m finished with what I got to say. A good child respects his parents, yes, sir! A good child don’t cause his parents heartache or grief or worry. No, sir!”
    Henry didn’t try to say anything, but he was listening very carefully.
    “Now here’s my plan, kid. First thing we do is drive down this road till we get to a telephone. Then we call your folks so they can stop worrying.”
    “I’m not going back to that hospital,” Henry said firmly.
    “We’ll tell that to your folks, too. Maybe there’s someplace else you can go . . . some other doctor who can take care of you.”
    “I like that idea,” Henry said.
    “Who knows?” Mac continued. “Maybe this chocolate fever of yours will go away. Maybe you’ll just wake up tomorrow and it’ll all be cured.”
    “I