Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [116]
He met Merrick’s silent gaze, hoping his own eyes did not betray him.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Merrick said at last. He rose and for the three yards to the door performed his duties as host admirably.
“Good night, John. Sleep well.”
“You too, my friend. Good night.”
He waited until Treves was halfway down the hall before he closed the door. He could still hear the sound of his friend’s retreating footsteps as he went back to the table and studied his cathedral from different angles. He picked up a fine brush and made a few final delicate strokes, then stood back to look.
“It is finished,” he said softly.
He had one final touch to add. With infinite care he used the brush to sign his name at the base of the spire.
“John—Merrick.” He repeated the words to himself incredulously. He had the oddest sensation that the man John Merrick had only come into being at this very moment, when he had completed one thing of perfect goodness and beauty. Out of the ugliness that covered him he had brought forth something that was lovely.
“John Merrick—” he repeated, as though introducing himself to this man who had created such a little masterpiece of detail and shading.
Now, tonight, he could savor fully the feeling that had been growing in him ever since he returned, and he knew it to be a feeling of triumph. As the anguish of those weeks in Belgium faded only one thing remained, and that was the realization that he had made a long journey, over land and sea—alone. True, he had started with the assistance of some of the best friends a man ever had. But for their courage, and their generosity, he could never have even begun the journey. But having once begun it he had completed it alone. Alone he had left the train at Ostende and bought his ticket for the boat, alone he had boarded and endured the journey, alone he had disembarked on the other side and found the right train for London. He had done all this, just as any other man would. He was a traveler, a man with the experience of journeying on land and sea. He savored the thought. It was sweet.
He sat down where he could look through the window and see the moonlight on the spire of St. Philip’s, and his mind went back over everything that had happened since his return, starting with Mothershead’s heartfelt welcome, which had made him leave the safety of Treves’ arms and fall into hers.
How different it had all been from his first arrival in the hospital. Then there had been suspicion, hostility, attempts to drive him out. Now he was welcomed as a long-lost friend returned from a dangerous journey. Carr-Gomm had come to see him and rejoice in his return, Anne Treves had visited him, Nora had arrived bearing a fresh pile of materials for his cathedral.
Treves and Mothershead had spent long hours with him. From them he had heard of Renshaw’s dismissal, and the story of how Mothershead had knocked him to the ground with a single blow would have made him laugh, if he had been able to.
His ladies were all waiting for him on the mantelpiece, their laughing eyes seeming to welcome him back. The picture of his mother was soon replaced in a new frame, brought by Anne Treves. It gazed on him now and he inclined his head toward it.
The movement brought pain, and a renewed sense of how his pain had been growing recently. Mostly he managed to put it out of his mind. He tried to now, choosing instead to remember the day Mrs. Kendal had come in and welcomed him home, bringing with her the incredible news that he was to go to the theater. The scene slid easily into that very night—his first visit to the theater—the kindness of the Princess—an evening of glittering color for him who had once known only drabness and squalor.
There would be other visits, he knew that. Tonight was only the start of the new life that opened to him. He knew now that the difference between himself and others was not so very great. People had been frightened before, but they grew used to him. His skills were growing; he became more like other men every day.
The thought reminded