Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [0]
A classic story for all time.
A major motion
picture that
captured the hearts
of millions.
THE ELEPHANT MAN
A Ballantine Book
Published by The Random House Publishing Group
Copyright © 1980 by Brooksfilms Inc.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-307-80450-1
www.ballantinebooks.com
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Dedication
A BROOKSFILMS PRODUCTION FOR PARAMOUNT PICTURES CORPORATION
Chapter 1
“A wicked birth … monstrous … evil …”
The elderly man had come out of the shadows so suddenly that Dr. Frederick Treves had not been aware of him until he heard the shaking voice. He turned abruptly, trying to see the man by the poor light of the smoking oil lamps. He could just make out a ravaged face, the lips trembling, the eyes glazed with horror.
“I beg your pardon?” said Treves politely. “Did you speak to me?”
“Wicked,” the stranger whispered again. “For God’s sake leave this place.” He was sweating, and even in this gloom Treves’ professional eye told him that the man was on the verge of vomiting.
Treves looked back toward the little stage that had previously held his attention. In a large bell jar hung a “baby” that closer inspection revealed to be a china doll, with a large snake growing out of its neck. Labeled “The Deadly Fruit of Original Sin” it was the clumsiest of fakes, and Treves could see nothing in it to have so disturbed his companion. He wondered if he’d underestimated the effect of a few obvious tricks and a bit of dim lighting.
“I assure you it’s nothing but a fake,” he informed the elderly man kindly. “If you look closer you can see …”
“That,” the man interrupted him scornfully. “I can see through that! But down there …” His lips began to shake again so violently that he was forced to clamp them firmly together. From somewhere in the long canvas corridor behind him a commotion was growing.
“Get out of here,” he said. “For pity’s sake get out. Don’t go near that evil thing.”
Abruptly he burst into tears and pushed past Treves into another corridor that led to the exit. Without waiting any longer Treves plunged ahead in the direction from which the man had appeared. An excitement had taken possession of him. For the first time in this dull afternoon he had picked up a sniff of what he had come to the fun-fair to find. He could not have described what he was searching for. He only knew that he would know it when he found it.
That summer of 1889 was a good one for fun-fairs. Show after show had settled on London’s Hampstead Heath, and Treves had allowed his two young daughters to nag him into taking them to every one. Sometimes he would catch his wife’s accusing eye on him, for Anne knew only too well that his daughters’ pleasure was not his main motive. As soon as he decently could, he would dispatch the rest of his family to the swings and merry-go-rounds, while he made directly for the freak tent.
The freak tent today had been just like so many others he had entered that summer, a mass of black canvas corridors, poorly lit by oil lamps, occasionally opening into wider areas where exhibits lined the walls. The lighting on these exhibits was also kept low, the better to disguise their obvious trickery. Treves had seen it all so many times before, and he was bored to tears with fakes. He had begun to despair of ever making that one unique discovery that he was sure was waiting for him somewhere.
Until today … until this minute. Now hope and anticipation drew him forward like a magnet. That old man had been genuinely appalled