Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [34]
His first thought on opening the door of the Isolation Ward was that his worst fears had been realized and that Merrick had either been kidnapped or managed to escape. The Elephant Man was nowhere to be seen. A horrible thought struck Treves. Suppose his patient had died in the night? Suppose the blame were his own for failing to care for him properly—?
Then his eye was caught by a slight movement in the corner by the bed, and he breathed again. Merrick was crouched down, half hidden under the bed, his eyes still full of the terror that had filled them when he first heard the approaching footsteps. That much Treves could reconstruct for himself. He supposed it was only natural that approaching sounds should still frighten Merrick until he grew to know who was likely to be coming. What puzzled Treves somewhat was the gas lamp overhead, which was still burning brightly. He supposed Mothershead must have left it on when she paid her final visit the night before, although it seemed strangely unlike her economical soul. Perhaps Merrick himself had been groping around and had accidentally put it on.
Treves made his voice as kind and gentle as he could manage, hoping that the Elephant Man would understand his tone.
“Good morning—John. I’ve brought your breakfast.”
This did not have the desired effect. Merrick began to babble miserably, making no effort to emerge from his hiding place. Treves placed the bowl of porridge on the table and went closer.
“What are you doing down there?” he said, still speaking quietly. “Come up, John, come up on the bed. The cold floor is bad for you. I won’t hurt you. Come on now …”
He put out his hand and grasped Merrick’s left, pulling as he did so. The Elephant Man slid out unresisting and allowed himself to be helped up onto the edge of the bed where he sat shivering. Treves continued talking as he turned away for the bowl, giving the frightened creature a chance to absorb the soothing murmur of his voice.
“You must eat. We must keep up your strength—”
He stopped, baffled. He had looked back to the bed, to find it empty again. Merrick had slipped back to the floor and was determinedly trying to crawl into the corner again.
“What on earth is the matter with you?” Treves demanded, trying to keep a faint note of irritation out of his voice. He replaced the bowl on the table and knelt down to look into Merrick’s face. He felt exceedingly foolish.
“Now please, John, you must do as I say. Come up from there.”
Again he clasped Merrick’s left hand and tried to draw him forward, but this time Merrick resisted, pulling himself away further into the corner and babbling frantically.
The sound of two sharp raps took him to the door. There he found Mothershead wearing her briskest, most efficient air.
“Good morning, Mr. Treves. It’ll be his bath time soon. Has he eaten?”
“Not quite yet, Mrs. Mothershead. There seems to be some difficulty this morning.”
He stood back from the door to give her a view into the room and they both looked at the bed. Merrick was disappearing under it as fast as his clumsy limbs would allow.
Mothershead’s face set in no-nonsense lines. “Won’t come out, eh?”
“No, he’s very upset about something.”
“Just being obstinate, sir. I’ll handle it.” She strode across to Merrick and took hold of his left wrist. “All right, my son, none of this fuss. Come up from there, this instant.” Her grip tightened as she tried to yank him out from under the bed, her lips pursed with concentration. At once his muffled sounds became deep moans. He struggled ineffectually to escape and hide himself further.
“No! Don’t pull at him like that,” Treves urged her. “We don’t want to frighten him more than he already is.”
But she continued to struggle until she had got Merrick seated unhappily on the side of the bed. She stood back and regarded him dispassionately.
“Honestly, sir, you must be very firm with this sort. Otherwise they’d lay about on the floor gibbering