Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [2]
“This exhibit degrades all who see it, as well as the poor creature himself,” insisted the alderman.
“He’s a freak!” the other bellowed. “How else is he to live?”
“Freaks are one thing. No one objects to freaks, but this is entirely different. This is monstrous and ought not to be allowed. These officers will see to it that you are on your way as soon as possible. Good day!”
He turned sharply and left the tent, leaving the other man to shake his head in disgust and mutter, “Moving again. My treasure.”
Treves had reached the canvas by now. His hand stretched out Another moment and he would lift the edge of that curtain and see …
“Have a care my friend.”
Treves jumped as a large meaty hand came down on his own. Beer fumes were blown into his face, and he found himself looking directly into the piggy eyes of the exhibitor.
“Forgive me…,” he murmured, and moved away.
He wasted no more time where obviously nothing further could be learned today. Moving ahead of him toward the exit, he could just see the urchin who had been staring at the painted canvas. Treves quickened his step, anxious not to lose him in the crowd, and caught up with the boy at the exit. A short conversation ensued, businesslike on both sides. A shilling changed hands. By the time Treves went off to find his wife and children, he was sure he and the boy understood each other perfectly.
As soon as he emerged into the cool dusk air, he could see his wife, with their daughters, just coming out of another tent. Kate, his younger child, was talking a mile a minute. Treves gave an unconscious smile. It was always Kate who was talking.
He fixed his eyes on his wife. At this distance she looked barely more than the girl of twenty he had married fourteen years before. The beauty that had taken his breath away then was settling now into domestic plumpness, but she was still an extraordinarily pretty woman.
He knew he had worn less well. Long hours and a fanatical absorption in his work had worn premature lines on his face and given his skin an unhealthy pallor. And the neatly trimmed beard that covered the lower part of his face only partly obscured the fact that he looked older than his thirty-eight years.
Treves combined the ardent soul of an adventurer with the settled ways of a man who liked neatness and order. Having once fallen in love with Anne, he found it more convenient to continue loving her. To have ceased to do so would have caused disharmony, annoyance, and inconvenience that might have interfered with the exciting part of his life, which was his work as a doctor. It was true that his love for her had also, in its turn, acquired a certain domestic plumpness but, as befitted a man of common sense, he kept it in prosperous condition.
She did not see him now. She was absorbed in the effort of staying calm in the shattering din. She was a small woman, and the waves of shrill music seemed to beat on her, but her face was resolutely set as she put a protective arm round each of her little girls’ shoulders.
Treves noted with amusement that neither child seemed to notice, or need, the gesture. They were enchanted by their surroundings, giving up themselves happily to the lights, the violent atmosphere. Their childish callousness contrasted sharply with their mother’s flinching vulnerability.
It was Jenny, at ten years old the elder, who saw her father first and ran forward excitedly, calling him. He wished he’d had time to get away from the freak tent before his wife noticed him, but it was too late now.
Treves looked down at his daughters’ chocolate-covered faces and smiled. Anne, after one glance at the tent, became absorbed in cleaning the chocolate from Jenny’s mouth. Six-year-old Kate bounced excitedly.
“Father, may we go in there?” She swept an arm toward the tent, and Anne’s attention swerved sharply to her.
“All right, your turn,” she said, adroitly swiveling Kate