Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [11]
One was a man of middle age dressed in outdoor clothes and heavily muffled against the chilly day. Mrs. Mothershead recognized him as a cabman who had several times brought patients to the hospital. It was what was walking behind him that drew her astonished eyes.
She could not tell whether it was male or female, as the left hand was the only part visible. This and the fact that it was walking upright were all that identified it as human. The figure was enveloped in a black cloak so long that it swept the floor. In the left side a slit had been cut, and the hand that protruded from this clutched a crude walking stick, with which the creature helped itself to make slow, painful progress.
On its head was a very large black hat with a wide brim, and sewn round the edge of this brim was a grey flannel curtain that dropped down into the collar of the cloak. A small hole had been cut into this about where the left eye would be. As the creature approached it carrried with it the most appalling smell. All Mrs. Mothershead’s years of training had to rise up and do battle to prevent her from retreating.
The cabman reached her first and handed her a card that bore the name of Treves.
“I’m looking for Mr. Frederick Treves, please, ma’am.”
Mrs. Mothershead stared at the approaching swathed figure, then toward the cabman, her eyebrows raised in a demand for an explanation. But he only shrugged.
“Very well,” she said. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll send for him.”
From further down the room a young male voice called, “Cor, what a stink!” and other voices were immediately raised in agreement and protest. The figure in the black cloak gave no sign of having heard.
To Mrs. Mothershead’s relief Treves himself appeared at that moment. He looked a little startled, though whether it was his visitor or his visitor’s weird clothes that surprised him she couldn’t tell.
“Mr. Treves,” said Mrs. Mothershead quickly, “I was just going to send for you, sir. This man wants to see you.” She handed him the card the cabman had given her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Mothershead. I was expecting him.” Treves looked at the cabman. “Is there no one else with you?”
“No, sir. Just this—er—gentleman.” The man waved a vague, anxious hand in the direction of the creature, who stood silent and immobile. Only one eye could be seen through the slit on the left side of his face, and that was so deep in shadow that the effect was of a blind statue. To Treves this was momentarily more disconcerting than the reality that he knew to be hidden underneath. He pulled himself together and thrust some money into the cabman’s hand.
“Very well. Thank you for your trouble.”
“Not at all, sir. My—pleasure.” The cabman’s voice was filled with relief as he departed.
Still the creature made no move, no sound, gave no sign that he was aware of anything happening around him. Remembering how it had obeyed Bytes’ shouted orders the day before, Treves thought that something, no matter how little, must be getting through. But perhaps it was like giving orders to an animal. Only the tone of voice was understood.
He became aware of Mrs. Mothershead staring at him.
“I’ll be in my rooms, Mothershead,” he told her. “I’m not to be disturbed.”
She nodded silently and shifted her stare to the silent figure between them. Treves forced himself to address it.
“Come with me, please.” He turned on his heel and made to leave. At the door he looked back and found that the creature had not moved. The head was turned in his direction, and from a short distance away the impression of blind incomprehension was even more marked. A silence lay over the entire room. Everyone in it was now watching the little scene. At last Mothershead said, “You heard the doctor. Go on.”
Her voice held a firm note of command, and after a moment the creature began to shuffle very slowly to the door. His feet, which he could not lift properly, were encased in old bits of canvas sacking, clumsily sewn together in the rough shape of shoes, and as he walked they made a horrible, scratchy, dragging sound. Treves