Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [106]
“I told them that I was going to help my friend to board the train,” he said as they went down the platform.
He got Merrick down the platform as fast as he could, holding him tightly with one arm while the other hand never let go of the ark that trailed behind him. They headed for the far end where the third-class carriages were. As they passed the first class Merrick caught a brief glimpse inside, just enough to register the ornate interior with its thick, plush seats and glass lamps. In one carriage he saw a youngish handsome couple who looked as sleek and contented as a well-fed pair of seals. He wondered if they were as happy as he was at that moment, his spirits borne aloft by hope and friendship. He knew the difficulties that still faced him, but the simple, childlike religious faith instilled into him by Donner told him that if God had sent him this incredible means of escape, then God intended him to get home—to find Mr. Treves …
Marcus searched in vain for an empty third-class compartment. At last he sighed and indicated the last one, which was crowded.
“This will have to do,” he said.
Merrick climbed laboriously aboard. At once the four other occupants edged as far away from him as was possible. Marcus sniffed in open contempt.
“I’m sorry I could only get you a third-class carriage,” he said. “But it’s all we could afford if you’re to have enough for the rest of your journey. The money I’ve given you should be enough to take you to London if you’re careful. When you get to Ostende, go into the ticket office and just say “Dover.” You won’t need to say any more than that. They’ll just assume that you’re another Englishman who can’t speak French. They’re perfectly used to them. When you get to Dover, do the same thing again, and ask for ‘Liverpool Street.’ ”
“Oh—my friend—” Merrick wept.
“Say hello to London for me,” Marcus went on, patting his hand, which lay on the windowsill. “I miss her.”
“Oh—yes.”
“You know, I saw you once there, in London. You’re a great attraction.”
Marcus gave a broad grin that transformed his ugly face. The whistle blew, the train jerked, and began to move slowly away. Marcus began to walk down the platform, keeping pace and still talking to Merrick through the open window.
“Luck, my friend,” he shouted against the noise. “Who needs it more than we?”
Merrick nodded and held out his hand, beyond speech. The train picked up speed. Marcus grabbed his hand and they shook. Then the train jerked ahead even faster and their hands were parted. Merrick leaned out as far as he dared to keep Marcus in his sights as long as possible. The dwarf was standing still now, waving violently, his plume nodding back and forth in the early morning sunlight. Then Merrick’s eyes were blinded with tears and Marcus vanished from sight.
He followed the dwarf’s instructions to the letter. At Ostende he said “Dover” and received a ticket from a man who knew without question that he was dealing with a third-class passenger.
The boat was already in. Merrick waited till the last moment before boarding, the memories of his previous voyage swirling in his head. But no fear could be greater than his determination to get back to London, and Treves. Finally he stumped up the gangplank and onto the deck. He searched for, and found, a dark corner beneath a stairway. There he sat crouched and prayed that no one would disturb him. No one did, and when a sharp lurch announced that the boat had cast off, he felt a soaring sense of triumph. He was away. He had left Belgium. When he moved from this place, it would be to step on English soil.
He slept the sleep of exhaustion. No storm came to trouble this voyage, and the gentle rocking of the boat soon lulled him off. He woke at the first touch of a few drops of rain, and scrambled up to find himself looking at the white cliffs of Dover.
In England