Elephant Man (19 page)

Then the cab jerked and was off. Renshaw immediately disappeared from Treves’ view and he tried to put the man out of his mind. The moment had made a disagreeable impression on him, but he put that down to the fact that he didn’t like Renshaw.

Renshaw’s usual crowd of cronies were waiting to welcome him in the Peacock. His sharp eyes took in one or two additions—girls whose highly colored, tatty finery proclaimed their profession. Normally Renshaw had little time for such. It would be a long time, he reckoned, before he had to pay for it. But right now he was in possession of a piece of good fortune that could purchase favors for him without the necessity of cash changing hands. The thought improved his mood, and when he had secured a pint of ale he beamed genially round.

“Here, listen to this!” Having gained their attention he pointed to the copy of the
Times
which he had brought in under his arm, and which was now lying on the bar. “This is a letter to the
London Times
from the guv’nor of the hospital.” A groan of boredom went up. His audience were not
Times
readers.

“
Listen
, will yer?” Renshaw picked up the paper and began to read from it. “There is now in a little room off one of our attic wards a man named John Merrick, so dreadful a sight that he is unable even to come out by daylight to the garden. He has been called the Elephant Man on account of his terrible deformity.”

Renshaw looked up, pleased to note that he now had the attention of the entire pub. Even the scarlet feather boa round the neck of an excessively blonde young woman in the corner never so much as fluttered. Renshaw continued, speaking slowly so that nobody should miss a word, “His appearance is so terrible that women and nervous persons fly in terror at the sight of him …” Squeals of pleasurable fear trilled from the ladies.

Renshaw grinned. “And guess who can get you tickets to see him? Your own Sunny Jim.”

“Let’s go see him, then,” cried a young male voice from the back of the crowd, and a chorus of noisy approval rose round him.

“Keep your shirts on,” Renshaw reproved them. “When the time is right. Just now he’s in the attic, but
tomorrow they’re movin’ ’im into Bedstead Square—right into my lap. Then—for the right price—” He allowed his eyes to linger on the scarlet feather boa. “—you’ll see something you’ll never see again in your life.”

He raised his glass to his lips, clutching it to hold it steady under the hail of approving thumps that landed on his shoulders. The atmosphere dissolved into laughter and excited talk. Amid the noise and movement Tony slipped unnoticed out of the door, and made his way hastily back to Turners Road to find Bytes.

Some instinct drove Treves into the hospital early the next morning to make a final inspection of the Bedstead Square apartment before Merrick was installed. He was eternally grateful that he had done so.

The rooms were small but pleasant, and to Merrick, Treves thought, used as he was to squalor or the cold impersonality of the Isolation Ward, they would seem palatial. The carpet on the floor was worn but cheerful. An equally bright cloth covered the small round table, and a patchwork quilt lay on the bed. The effect was lively and cosy.

Leading off from the main room was a smaller one fitted up as a bathroom. Treves looked round this, gave a grunt of satisfaction, and returned to look again at the bed, already piled high with the extra pillows Merrick needed. In this room Merrick could be happier than he’d ever been—if only he were allowed to stay.

Treves was about to go when something over the mantelpiece caught his eye and he drew in his breath sharply. He stood there for a moment, shocked. Only the day before he remembered he had been reflecting to himself how Merrick’s needs were coloring his whole view of life, and here was something so simple, so obvious, that he had lacked even the common sense to notice it. In another minute he had got to work.

Mrs. Mothershead, coming into the room a moment
later, stopped on the threshold, doubting the evidence of her own eyes.

“Mr. Treves—what on earth are you doing?”

“I’m taking this down.” With a nod of his head Treves indicated the mirror in his arms as he just managed to set it on the floor without dropping it. He was breathing hard. The mirror had been a lot heavier than it looked. “I never want there to be a mirror in this room—of any kind. Not even the smallest,” he said emphatically. “There’s no need to remind the poor creature of his tragedy every time he lifts his head.”

Mothershead looked grave. “I should have thought of it before,” she said abruptly. “I am extremely sorry.”

“
I
should have thought of it,” he told her. “Don’t blame yourself. After all, we’re none of us used to this situation. We must just try to think of these things before they occur.” He dusted himself off. “I’m going to get John now. Can you have a porter remove this before I get back?”

“It’ll be done.”

As soon as he reached the bottom of the small flight of stairs that led up to the Isolation Ward he knew there was something wrong. The noises coming from inside the ward were reaching him even here, and already he could hear that they were sounds of anguish and desperation. He stopped outside the door, knocked and called to Merrick. But the only answer he received was a tide of whimpering moans that reminded him of the day he had rescued Merrick from Bytes. Concerned, he entered without waiting any longer for an invitation.

Merrick was crouched on the bed, apparently asleep, his head drooped over his knees. He seemed to be in the grip of a nightmare. His good hand made feverish clutching motions at his bad hand and he was bathed in sweat. Only part of his mouth was visible, and from it came a series of gulps and coughs and half-formed words. His back was tensed with fear and
his whole body writhed as if in rebellion against some terror.

Treves approached him with caution, anxious to wake him gently. But as soon as he touched him Merrick uttered a great cry and jerked up with such violence that his head was thrown back. For a moment he fought uselessly for breath until Treves’ hands took hold of his head and eased it forward. Merrick supported it in his hands and set still, breathing heavily.

“What is it, John? A bad dream?”

“Yes,” Merrick gasped.

“
What
was it?”

Merrick fought for the word. “Wo-workhouse.” He made an effort to recover himself. “Now I’m awake—I shall be all right.”

“Good. Can you get up now? I’ve come to take you to your new home in Bedstead Square.”

He was aware of the other’s sudden flinch of alarm, and patted his arm encouragingly. It was natural that Merrick should be reluctant to leave a room where he had known some sort of security, even for a few days.

He helped him on with the long cloak, and adjusted the grey flannel curtain round his head. Merrick moved uneasily to the table and drew
Alice in Wonderland
toward him.

“I’ll carry that if you like,” Treves offered.

“And I should like to take this …” Merrick pointed to the
Illustrated London News
that he had been reading the day before. It was still open to the picture of the Eddystone Lighthouse.

“Take them all,” said Treves.

“No—just this.”

Treves picked up the
News
and added it to
Alice
. Then he handed Merrick his stick and offered him his arm. As soon as Merrick took it he could feel that he was shaking, but he decided to leave questions and explanations till later.

They moved slowly down stairs and along corridors, retracing the steps they had taken less than a month ago until they came down into the hall near the main
front entrance. Merrick’s hand tightened, he seemed to shrink back, but Treves guided him firmly to one side and into a corridor that led to the back of the hospital. Within sight of the rear entrance they turned aside again, and a few more steps brought them to the door of the little apartment.

“Wait here,” said Treves. A quick look inside reassured him that the mirror had been removed. “All right. Come in.”

He stood back as Merrick edged his way slowly into the room, looking around the walls in apparent confusion.

“This is your new home, John.”

Merrick pulled off his hood and stared at the room, which he could see better now. His eyes were bewildered.

“This—is my new home?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

Merrick turned incredulous eyes on him. “This hospital?”

“Of course. What did you think?”

Merrick’s answer was to turn back to the room and begin running his good hand over some of its objects in tentative wonder. And for the first time Treves realized what had been going on in his mind. Merrick’s own story, told to him in bursts of confidence over the last fortnight, could have given him the key if he had thought to look for it. A life without peace or rest, being shunted about from pillar to post, from workhouse to owner, and from owner back to workhouse. This was what “moving” meant to Merrick. And the man who called himself his friend had never given it a thought; had said glibly, “We’re moving you to a better place,” and assumed that Merrick would understand the word as he himself understood it.

Again he was made sharply aware of the wide gulf between Merrick’s experience and that of the rest of the world, and the need to cross the narrow line that stretched across it with the care of a tightrope walker.

Merrick was almost sobbing in his joy and relief. “How long will I stay here?” he stammered.

“I promise you,” said Treves slowly, “you will never see the inside of that horrible place again. You will never,
ever
go back to the workhouse—or that man.” Even as he spoke he felt mocked by his own helplessness. He had no positive plan for aiding Merrick if sufficient funds did not come in to keep him here. To cover his fears he forced himself to speak heartily. “It’s a splendid room, don’t you think?”

Merrick had begun to inspect everything in more detail, running his fingers along the mantlepiece, the backs of the chairs, the tablecloth. Two small prints on the walls, which showed a little boy sleeping in one and praying in the other, caught his attention for a long time, but he turned away without saying anything.

It was the window that seemed to give him the most pleasure. Tall and wide, it was sufficiently near the ground for him to sit and look at the outside world—or at least that part of it that was comprehended by Bedstead Square and the men who were working in it. Beyond the houses to be seen on the far side of the Square rose the tall, noble spire of St. Philip’s Cathedral. Merrick stood at the window for a long time gazing up at it, his whole attitude one of awe and disbelief. Coming to stand behind him Treves saw how resplendently the early morning sun touched the spire, drenching the weather vane at its peak with gold, and heard the quick intake of Merrick’s breath.

“When I’m next moved,” said Merrick softly, “may I go to a lighthouse? Or a blind asylum?”

Treves longed to say, “You will
not
be moved. Despite them all I will find a way of keeping you safe here.” But the burden of the Elephant Man’s growing trust in him was becoming oppressive, and he left as soon as he could.

He went straight to Carr-Gomm and waylaid him at the door of his office.

“Has the response picked up?” he demanded.

“Frankly, Treves, it’s not what I expected. A few small cheques, well-wishers. Don’t worry. These things undoubtedly take time.”

“But he’s so afraid he’s going to be carted off to the workhouse.” Treves gave Carr-Gomm a level look. “I once promised him he’d never have to go back there again.”

Carr-Gomm fell silent for a moment. He seemed to be experiencing some awkwardness.

“Well—” he said at last, “I’ll let you know if there’s something in the afternoon post.”

“Please do.”

But when the afternoon came there was nothing.

“Frederick,
no!
Please understand, once and for all that I absolutely refuse.”

“It would only be for one afternoon—for a few hours—”

“I refuse to have that—creature—in my house. That is final.”

Treves ran a hand distractedly through his hair. He had anticipated Anne’s objections to his plan, but not their violence. She had never opposed him with such persistence before. And since he had always allowed her to be the final authority in matters concerning their domestic life he found it hard to insist on having his own way now. He was reduced to pleading.

“Anne, he is not a creature, he is a man, a human being like you and me. He just happens to look different, but that isn’t his fault, it’s his misfortune …”

“Freddie, listen to me—I’ve had the problems of John Merrick brought into this house morning, night, and noon. I’ve heard about his deformity, his wonderful mind, his wicked owner … I’ve heard about Broadneck and the Committee and Mr. Carr-Gomm till I’m tired of all of them. And now you actually ask me to let him come here for a visit—what does he want to pay us a visit for? What good can it do him?”

“I told you, he wants to visit ‘a real house.’ That’s what he calls it. He’s never been in one in his life. He’s never known anything but workhouses, the hospital, and showmen’s carts. His only impression of
the way people live is gained from the books I’ve been taking him—”

“I was going to ask where all my Alexandre Dumas books had gone, but I suppose I have the answer.”

“He likes lurid adventures,” Treves said apologetically. “The more romantic the better—beautiful heroines, dashing escapes—he lives them all as he reads them. We take it all for granted but it’s a new world to him. He actually cried over the ending of
The Three Musketeers
.”

“Good heavens, why?”

“I’m not sure, I’ve never read it. But he said something about the heroine dying. John prefers them to get married and live happily ever after. He’s a great romantic. I was going to ask you if you could get him some love stories …”

“I’ll get him all the love stories you want, Freddie, but I will not have him in my house. Have you forgotten that we have children?”

“I wasn’t thinking of the girls meeting him. Though actually Jenny would love to. She’s said so. She isn’t as squeamish as you.” He said this because he couldn’t resist annoying his wife, though in truth he had no intention of letting his daughters see the Elephant Man.