Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [6]
The boy, whose name was Tony, kept up with him only with difficulty until they reached the corner of Turners Road. There Bytes stopped so suddenly that his companion cannoned into him and received a cuff. The two of them peered round the building to where Treves could be seen studying the poster.
“He’s not a peeler…,” said Bytes after a moment.
“No, I don’t think so…,” Tony agreed.
“No … I don’t think so …”
Together, and cautiously, they began to advance till their footsteps caused Treves to turn and face them. At once he recognized the man in the twisted stovepipe hat that he had seen quarreling with the alderman in the tent.
“Are you the proprietor?” he demanded.
Bytes stood back and regarded him with suspicion but no recognition. “And who might you be, sir?”
“Just one of the curious,” said Treves, who had no intention of disclosing his true motives. He had discovered that it had the unfortunate effect of raising the price. “I’d like to see it.”
Bytes shook his head with every appearance of sadness. “I don’t think so, sir. No sir, we’re closed.”
Treves wasted no words. He pulled a purse from his coat, extracted a shilling, and held it out.
“I’d pay handsomely for a private showing. Are you the proprietor?”
“Handsomely?” Bytes’ eyes gleamed on the shilling, and into his face came the first hint of recognition. He stared at Treves, who was beginning to fall into place as the busybody in the tent. “Who sent you?”
“Pardon me?” said Treves.
Bytes threw caution to the wind and snatched the shilling.
“Never mind. I’m the owner.”
From a capacious pocket on the inside of his coat, he produced a key and fumbled at the padlock on the door. It took him some time to unlock it, as drink had seriously impaired his aim. Treves tried not to show his impatience.
At last the padlock clicked open, and the three of them entered the shop. It was almost totally dark inside because of the huge canvas poster that obscured all the windows. Bytes scrambled around in the darkness and managed to light an oil lamp, which cast little light owing to the poor state of the wick and the fact that the glass was thick with dust. When Tony shut the outer door, Treves had to peer hard to make out anything in the gloom.
The shop was empty and gray with dust. Some old tins and a few shriveled potatoes occupied a shelf, and some vague vegetable refuse was piled up against one of the windows. The stench of the place was appalling, and its cold dank atmosphere added to the general air of gloom.
“This way,” said Bytes, leading him to a door at the back of the shop.
By keeping the oil lamp in view, Treves managed to follow Bytes down a flight of rickety steps to a lower floor that he took to be the cellar. From what he could see, it looked as if it might have been used as a coal hole. His eyes were now growing more used to the gloom, and he could make out the way the end of the cellar was blocked off by a curtain suspended from a cord by a few rings. As he approached it, Treves became convinced that this was the true source of the smell that had been growing stronger as he descended, and which was now almost overpowering.
Bytes led the way to the curtain.
“Here we are, sir. My treasure.” He began to recite as though sleepwalking. “Life is full of surprises. Ladies and gentlemen, consider the fate of this creature’s poor mother. In the fourth month of her maternal condition, she was struck down by a wild elephant.” Bytes leered. “Struck down, if you take my meaning, on an uncharted African isle. The result is plain to see, ladies and gentlemen—the terrible Elephant Man.”
With a flourish he rattled back the curtain to reveal a bent figure erouching on a stool, its body almost entirely covered by a dirty brown blanket. It seemed to be trying to draw warmth from a large brick that stood on a tripod in front of it, heated from below by a Bunsen burner. The head was turned away toward the