Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [105]
Instinctively he opened his mouth to call for Bytes, but no sound left his lips. Something stronger than instinct held him silent, and slowly his mouth closed again. He rose and picked his way over the grass to where Merrick’s things lay where Bytes had thrown them. He scooped up the stick, then the cloak and hood. Clutching them he began to run softly toward the slowly moving procession.
At the sound of his coming they stopped and eyed him warily. Merrick stiffened when he saw who it was, but Tony came on, walking straight up to him.
“Here—” he said in a quiet voice, holding the things out to him. “You’ll need these.”
He saw Merrick staring at him, saw the bewildered question in his eyes. But he returned his gaze levelly.
“Good of you,” said Marcus briefly, coming up behind them.
Tony never took his eyes from Merrick’s face. “Good luck,” he said.
“But—but—” Merrick hardly knew what he was trying to say, but Tony understood.
“I’ll be all right,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of Bytes’ wagon.
He began to back away, and at once the little band moved off, making slow but determined progress. Tony turned and wandered slowly back to the wagon. He moved indecisively, as though his feet would have taken him two ways at once.
At the wagon he stopped, and stood looking at the poster of the Elephant Man. From inside he could hear the sound of Bytes snoring as though it would take an earthquake to wake him.
It took Tony only a moment to gather up a blanket and some belongings from round the fire. Then he turned and began to walk quickly away, taking the opposite direction to the procession of freaks. After a while he increased his speed to a run, and in a few seconds the darkness had swallowed him up.
Chapter 18
The darkness was a blessed friend, shielding them from the eyes of those who would have asked dangerous questions. The little group followed the lead of Marcus, the plume of his hat bobbing as he walked, his ark trailing incongruously behind him.
The journey was long, for Merrick was exhausted. And yet he walked further that night than he would have believed possible. Buoyed up by new hope and courage, he felt strength flowing again into his limbs.
Once, when they stopped for a rest, Marcus said to him,
“If you can get back to England, have you somewhere to go?”
“Yes, I know where to go—if only I can get back …”
“It’s not much further now.”
Their journey ended at a railway station just as it was getting light. Merrick was coming to the last of his strength when they stopped again, still in the shelter of the trees. The station could be seen up ahead, with a train standing in it.
“Just a little further,” said Marcus, looking him up and down. “Once you’re on the train to Ostende you can get all the rest you like. You’d better put your cloak on now.”
The freaks helped him into his things. Top, who had carried his stick throughout the journey, handed it to him and squeezed his hand again. Merrick was weeping almost too much to speak, but he managed to say, “Thank you, my friends.”
Marcus relayed this message back to everyone, and there was a small commotion as they all responded in their different languages.
“They say, ‘It has been a pleasure. People like us have to stick together,’ ” Marcus told him.
People like us: it was the first time Merrick had ever heard the comradely expression. He savored it.
“I’ll go in with you,” Marcus continued. “You’ll need a ticket.”
There was more jabbering in various languages, and as if with one movement the entire contingent began to rifle through their pockets to produce coins, which they handed over to Marcus until a large pile lay in his hands. They beamed their goodwill on Merrick, but he could no longer see them. Tears of joy were running down his face behind the hood.
At the entrance to the station he turned and took a last look at his friends. They were smiling and waving at him, and he raised a hand and waved back.
Marcus bought the ticket, speaking in rapid, fluent French,