Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [115]
As she finished she turned toward the royal box, but as very little could be seen in it the applause was modest at first. The crowd craned their necks to get a glimpse, and one or two who caught sight of him whispered hurriedly to their companions. A muted buzz began to run over the audience.
“Stand up, John,” said Treves. “Let them see you.”
Merrick turned apprehensive eyes on him. “Oh no—I couldn’t.”
“It’s for you, John. It’s all for you. Go ahead, let them see you.”
He held out his hand and Merrick took it trustingly, allowing himself to be drawn forward to the front of the box. The ladies all drew back to allow him to pass, and when he had reached the edge of the box Princess Alexandra came and stood beside him, smiling at him. Her gesture left the audience in no doubt that he was under her special protection, and their shock at the first sight of Merrick quickly passed into cheering.
Merrick stood rigid at the front of the box, overcome by what was happening to him, tears pouring down his face, his hand tightly grasping Treves’ hand. When he spoke it was almost to himself, and the words only just reached Treves standing beside him.
“I feel as if I’ve traveled my whole life just to stand here.”
Treves put Merrick to bed himself that night. It would have damaged the illusion if either Nora or Mothershead had helped. But both women saw him to his door and thanked him for their night out, before rustling away, their elegant taffeta gowns looking strangely fine in the severely prosaic hospital corridor.
Merrick spoke very little as Treves helped him on with his nightshirt, but the doctor could sense a difference in him, as though a light were sinning outward from within. He had wondered if Merrick would want to talk about the night, the new sights he had seen, his treatment as an honored guest. But the Elephant Man seemed to want to hold it all within himself, as though it would all escape him and vanish if it were put into words.
“You’d better go straight to bed now,” Treves said. “You’ve had a long night.”
Once Merrick would have taken this as a command to be obeyed, but now he sat down at the table where his new cardboard cathedral looked, to Treves’ eyes, complete.
“No,” he said. “I’ve just a little more I want to do here. I’d like to work a bit tonight.” He began to add minute dots with a pencil while Treves gathered up his things ready to go. “I wonder if that poor man will ever get out of the dungeon.”
Treves was about to ask, What man? when he realized that Merrick was still pondering the fate of the “people” he had seen that night. To him the ogre was still confined in that dungeon.
He laid down his pencil and leaned forward to examine something more closely. The movement tilted his head forward heavily, and he had to jerk it back, struggling to control it. Even in the few weeks he had been back, his head had grown again. Treves watched him.
“Will the cathedral be finished soon, John?” he said quietly.
“Yes, very soon.”
“Splendid. It’s truly a masterpiece. Well, I suppose I’ll be on my way now. I hope you enjoyed yourself this evening.”
“Oh yes! It was a wonderful evening.”
“I’m glad, John. Good night.”
“Mr. Treves …” Merrick’s voice stopped him.
“Yes, John?” Treves returned to the table.
“Mr. Treves, tell me … tell me truly. Is it all right? Did I make any mistakes that you can see?”
Treves bent and studied the cathedral. It was better than the last one, although no more perfect that would be expected from a man with only one good hand. But it had been made with care and love by someone who could only express his sense of beauty in this one way.
“No, John,” said Treves. “No mistakes that I can see.”
“Then I shouldn’t change anything?”
“No, no.