Elephant Man (6 page)

He moved on to the desk and began touching things. He ran his hand slowly over the calipers. Then he paused as though something had struck him. He was staring at the blotter. Tucked into one corner was the calling card that Treves had given to Bytes. He recognized the little square. He had seen it first in Bytes’ hand then in the cabman’s as he studied it to check his destination. The Elephant Man’s hand flickered out for a moment, then the card had disappeared into the folds of his cloak.

The sound of footsteps approaching down the corridor made him shiver. When Treves re-entered he was crouched back in the corner behind the glass case. This time the doctor knew where to look for him without hesitation.

“Come with me,” he enjoined.

He took the Elephant Man down to the front door and pointed out the cab waiting for him at the gate across the square. The creature had just begun his
slow, painful movement over to the cab as Treves turned back into the hospital. He wondered if perhaps he should escort him to the cab, but there seemed no need by now. He had done so the first couple of times, but since then the man seemed to understand what was required of him. And Treves was tired. He began slowly to climb the stairs.

At a small landing on the first floor he stopped and looked out at the square. He could see the Elephant Man, who had almost reached the waiting cab. He became aware of Fox standing behind him.

“Congratulations, Freddie. You were very impressive.”

“Since when were you a member of the Pathological Society?” Treves demanded with a grin.

“I slipped in at the back. I wasn’t going to miss your moment of glory. Besides, I had to find out just what ‘nothing of any importance’ was.”

Dusk was falling. Lights gleamed from the windows of the hospital. Still Treves stood there, watching.

“You never mentioned his mental state,” said Fox.

“He’s imbecile, no doubt from birth. He speaks but—it’s all gibberish. No, the man’s a hopeless idiot.” Treves spoke almost to himself. “I pray to God he’s an idiot.”

Footsteps sounded in the hall behind them. Hill had arrived with two older colleagues from the hospital, both of them members of the Society.

“Quite a coup, Freddie,” said one. “You’ll look splendid in the journal.”

“Wherever did you find that creature?” The other was clapping Treves on the back and the three other men followed suit. Treves hardly noticed. His eyes were fixed on the Elephant Man, who had reached the cab and was about to climb in.

And then the man did something that spoiled everything. He turned and looked back at the hospital, his head lifted, the black hole in his mask seeming to scan the facade of the building for somethinag
he was searching for. It was nonsense, Treves told himself, to be so fanciful, but he could almost have sworn that the man’s eye had come to rest on the sight of himself standing there in the window, surrounded by colleagues, all cheerfully congratulating him. Dr. Frederick Treves’ finest moment.

He tried to shake the fantasy off. It was too far and the light was failing. The Elephant Man could never have picked him out so clearly. But why did he stand like that, immobile beside the impatient cabman, his head turned remorselessly in this direction? Treves froze inside, for he had a feeling as if the man had screamed at him across a great distance.

Then the feeling died, the shadows cleared from his brain. Merrick had turned and was climbing clumsily into the cab. In another moment the door had slammed, the wheels were turning, and the square was empty.

He got away quickly from the hospital. He wanted no more congratulations that night. He wanted his home, his wife, and his comfortable, untroubled atmosphere.

Anne came to meet him as soon as she heard the door.

“Did it go well, darling?” She kissed him and helped him off with his overcoat.

“Yes, very well, I think.” They were standing in front of the hall mirror. He turned her suddenly so that their faces were reflected side-by-side, his own worn out, Anne’s fresh and smiling, but both blessedly normal.

“What is it, Freddie?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking how pretty you are.” He kissed her. He had a sudden longing to see his children, to reassure himself. “Are the girls in bed?”

“Yes, and they send their kisses.”

“I’ll go and say ‘goodnight’ to them anyway.”

“Freddie, they should be asleep by now.”

He had already started up the stairs. “Well it won’t hurt them to wake up to see their father.”

“I’ll have your sherry ready when you come down.”

“No, I think I’d prefer a whisky.”

He could feel her surprise, for he seldom drank spirits, keeping them mainly for guests. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that what he wanted wasn’t really a whisky. It was a bath. He felt unclean.

Bytes knocked back a mouthful of gin from a mug and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. The light from the Bunsen burner cast a flickering glow over his sweaty face.

“Are you sure you got it right?” he demanded.

Tony sighed. They had been over this so many times and Bytes couldn’t take it in because he didn’t want to.

“I told you Bytes—” A cuff from the back of a hairy hand knocked him flying before he could say more.

“
Mr. Bytes
to you.”

Tony picked himself up from where he had fallen against the cellar wall and went to sit exactly where he had been before. He and Bytes were in the “desert” alcove that had been set up for the Elephant Man, cooking breakfast over the hot brick. Bytes had taken the little stool for himself, leaving Tony to sit on the floor. The Elephant Man was nowhere to be seen, but snuffling sounds from the darkness enveloping the main body of the cellar announced that he too was partaking of his daily nourishment.

Bytes examined a sausage he was attempting to cook. “Tell me again,” he ordered. “And try and get it right.”

“I took
’im
—” Tony cocked his head toward the darkness. “—in the cab, to get the shillin’ from that doctor feller. Only this time he gave me two shillin’s
and said it was ’cos ’e’d be sendin’ ’im back later than usual. I said when did ’e want ’im next, and ’
e
said ’e didn’t know, but it wouldn’t be for a bit.”

“That’s the first time he hadn’t asked for him back,” said Bytes grimly. “You know what that means?”

“No more shillin’s,” Tony confirmed at once. “Not unless you can find somethin’ else just as good.”

“Where am I going to find anything else like that?” Bytes demanded bitterly. “This last two weeks he’s been like a gold mine—shillings every other day. And now, suddenly, just like that—finish. Don’t send him anymore, thank you very much, Mr. Bytes. I’ll let you know when I have further use for you.” Bytes’ voice had become a winning caricature of cultured speech. “This year, next year, sometime—
bloody never!
And who cares if I starve? That creature doesn’t. Listen to him.” He cocked a head toward the slurping noises coming out of the darkness. “Eating. Never stops. He’ll eat me into my grave.”

“Not on potatoes and water,” said Tony cheekily.

“Hold your lip. Potatoes and water is all he needs. He stays alive on it, doesn’t he? What more do you want?” He studied the sausage and decided it needed a little more doing. “Listen to him?” he said again. “Why can’t he eat without making that noise?”

“ ’E can’t close ’is mouth,” said Tony.

The gusty animal sounds became noticeably worse, indicating that the Elephant Man was now trying to drink. Bytes threw him a venomous look that contained all his disappointment over the sudden loss of business. When the slurping came again his temper snapped. Snatching up his riding crop he jabbed it in the rough direction of the noise and poked about till he found his target.

“Belt up, you misbegotten garbage.” His voice sank to a self-pitying mumble. “How can I eat with that?”

He took a mouthful of gin and mockingly slurped it in imitation of the Elephant Man.

“
How can I eat with that?
”

He went back to the sausage, which now seemed to be done to his satisfaction. When Bytes’ whole attention was given over to eating, the Elephant Man tried another drink. But fear constricted his throat and he began to spit and cough the water out onto the floor, gasping and wheezing for breath. Instantly Bytes was on his feet, smashing him across the shoulders with his riding crop.

“
Out of my sight!
”

The creature’s ponderous feet seemed to catch in each other as he struggled to move. With his left hand he grabbed the plate of potatoes but this left him nothing with which to lever himself up off the ground. All the time Bytes stood over him, panting with fury at his slowness.

“
Now!
” Bytes jabbed his victim with the end of the whip, spilling the potatoes and water over the floor.

“You clumsy sod!” Bytes said viciously.

His temper was feeding on itself. He jabbed the poor creature again and enjoyed doing it, releasing his sour resentment that the easy living of the past fortnight was over. Then again, harder, lurching forward to get a better aim. Without warning his foot, which had trod on a potato, slithered from under him. He came down hard, crying out with shock as he hit the stone floor. He stared for a moment at the Elephant Man, who had staggered to his feet and was backing away, whimpering with fear.

“
You
 …” he breathed.

He did not remember rising and crossing the floor. It just seemed that the next thing he was doing was lashing at the thing savagely with the riding crop. Drink and venom drove every blow forward ever harder. The man backed, fruitlessly attempting to shield himself with his arms. Choking whimpers came from him as the whip rose and fell.

It was beyond the Elephant Man’s power to stand upright under this barrage. His clumsy feet struck an
unevenness on the floor and he fell backward. The great weight of his monstrous head seemed to be pulling him further and further down forcing his neck to bend, constricting his windpipe. He began to gasp for air, his wheezing becoming more panic-stricken as he felt himself choking. He had not the strength to lift his head, and anyway Bytes was slashing his face in a frenzy.

“Bytes—don’t …”

Tony had watched the mounting scene as though paralyzed. At first he had cared little. Bytes was always beating the creature. But now it dawned on him that if the man didn’t stop there’d be a murder charge in the end—for them both.

“
Bytes
—
Bytes
—” he screamed, his hands uselessly pulling at the big man.

But Bytes was beyond hearing. His frenzy of hate and disgust had blotted out all else. Through drawn back teeth he was muttering mindlessly.

“This won’t do, my lad. This just won’t do.”

At last his fury spent itself and the rhythm of his flailing arms slowed. The blows became mechanical, the winding down of a machine that has gone on too long. He gave one final slash and stepped backward. He was breathing heavily and his face streamed with sweat. Tony stared, wide-eyed. Ugly, shuddering gasps shook the Elephant Man as he lay on the floor, unable to help himself up.

“We better get ’im up, Bytes.”

“Who cares about him? Let him lie there.”

“S’pose ’e dies. You’ll ’ave to buy somethin’ else.”

Bytes swore and threw the riding whip away. Together they raised the Elephant Man till he was sitting upright, and propped him against the wall, where his head immediately dropped forward against his knees. The agonized gasps continued unabated.

“Get that doctor,” said Bytes curtly.

“ ’E’ll charge yer.”

“Oh no he won’t.” Bytes’ piggy eyes gleamed.
“How can he, when he sent my property back to me in this condition? I’ve a right to protect my investment. Get on with you.”

Tony turned and fled the cellar. It took him six minutes to cover the half mile between Turners Road and the London Hospital, and when he arrived he hurled himself straight into the Receiving Room without stopping to speak to anyone. He knew whom he had come for, and by good fortune he found him at once.

“Our man is sick,” he told Treves without preamble. “Come right away.”

“What is it?” Treves demanded.

“Like this.” Tony made painful heaving movements in imitation of the Elephant Man.

“I’ll get my bag.”

“I’ve gotta get back.” Tony was out of the door before Treves could tell him to wait. He didn’t want to face any awkward questions on the journey. Let Bytes do the explaining.

Treves arrived about ten minutes after the boy, and to Tony’s admiration Bytes went immediately into the attack, pointing to his property and demanding furiously,

“What did you do to him? He’s been like this all night?”

Treves hoped he didn’t show the sinking of his heart as he looked over to the figure covered with a blanket and gurgling wretchedly against the wall. Was it possible that he had compounded the creature’s misfortune by overtiring him the day before and bringing on some kind of attack?

“What do you mean?” he said mechanically.

“He was fine when he left here, and now look at him!” Bytes yelled.

“I intend to.”

He knelt down beside the man and pulled the blanket away. Then he froze. This was no hysterical attack brought on by strain. The Elephant Man’s body
was covered with bruises and bleeding cuts that looked as if they had been inflicted only a few minutes before. He gave a sharp look up at Bytes.

“What happened?” he said quietly.

“He fell.” Bytes’ tone became guarded. Something had gone wrong. “He—falls.”

Treves’ eyes found, as if drawn by a magnet, the riding whip lying where it had landed on the floor, then the clearly marked welts across the man’s back.

“He must have taken quite a fall,” he said, still in the same quiet, grim tone.

Bytes began to bluster uneasily. “He’s a clumsy sod. Never watches where he’s going.”

“Why is he sitting up like this? He needs rest.”

“That’s the way he sleeps. If he lays down, He’ll die.” Bytes dropped his own head back to a neck-breaking angle, and brought it upright again. “Head’s too heavy.”

Treves returned to the figure, who still sat hunched and trembling. Gently he took the massive head in his hands and drew it backward. It came easily, as if it had no will of its own, and Treves was forced to hold it steady while he examined his eyes. He saw the shock of recognition in them. For a moment the Elephant Man’s eyes were all he saw. They were human eyes, agonized, appealing to him, and suddenly Merrick’s good left hand was clutching timidly at his arm.