Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [14]
Treves found himself at a loss. There was plainly no point in asking further questions of someone who seemed unable to understand or reply. With relief he decided to put that part of it off.
“I think I’ll examine you now,” he said. “I’ll save the questions for later. Will you take off your hat now please?” The Elephant Man did nothing, and Treves tried to make his voice more reassuring. “Don’t be frightened, I simply want to look at you. Do you understand?”
As he reached out his hand the man leaned his head back at what seemed a dangerous angle, considering its weight. He seemed to be looking at Treves, but as Treves could not make out the eye he had an odd sensation of being spied on. He put one hand on each side of the grey flannel curtain and began to lift it out of the cloak, all the while muttering words of reassurance just as he had done long ago to the horses he had ridden on his grandfather’s farm.
“That’s right, don’t be frightened, don’t be frightened.”
He had thought himself partly prepared for the shock of that head, but he was wrong. He wondered if any familiarity could subdue the initial impression of horror the face gave, or would it be ghastly all over again with each new viewing?
In the light thrown by the window he saw every piteous deformity with a clarity denied him in the cellar the afternoon before. The protrusions of bone seemed bigger now, the distortion of the mouth more marked, the cauliflower growths more loathsome. How could any human being be born imprisoned in this monster’s shape? If there was a merciful God in heaven, how could he permit it?
He managed to undress the Elephant Man without further trouble. The smell was appalling, the growths revolting to the touch, but he persevered and began to make notes as he saw more clearly the extent of the deformity.
When the creature stood naked before him he could see that one hip was noticeably higher than the other; the explanation of the limp. But what drew Treves’ horrified attention was the fact that the Elephant Man’s sexual organs were normal. It was as though Nature had tossed a cynical jeer at her distorted creation.
Treves worked for an hour before sending the man home. As he saw him into the cab he thrust a letter into his left hand. It was a note to Bytes telling him that the cab would call again for him in two days.
Promptly at 10 A.M. two mornings later, the Elephant Man reappeared in the Receiving Room. This time Tony was with him.
“For the shilling,” he said, extending a grubby hand.
This same performance was repeated seven times over the next fortnight. As the meeting of the Pathological Society neared, Treves’ excitement grew. He was well prepared. He had had a series of photographs taken showing the Elephant Man’s deformity from several different angles, and his notebook was now full.
It was hard to form theories with a patient who could tell you nothing of his past history, but within those limits Treves was confident of his diagnosis. The elephant charge theory he discounted completely. He was convinced the man’s condition could be accounted for by spontaneous mutation. The growths that covered him were the result of fibrous tumors that had developed under his skin and round his nerves. To Treves’ eyes they had the appearance of things that had grown with the years, meaning that the Elephant Man had become worse as he grew older, not that he could ever have been anything but hideous.
Everything Treves required of him he performed docilely and without response. Occasionally he made noises that were gibberish, but mostly he sat in silence broken only by the wheezing of his chest.
The meeting of the Society was to take place in the lecture hall of the College of Anatomy, which was immediately next door to the London Hospital, and attached to it. That morning Tony brought the Elephant Man as usual, and found Treves waiting for him by the Hospital entrance.