Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [65]
Merrick had begun to inspect everything in more detail, running his fingers along the mantlepiece, the backs of the chairs, the tablecloth. Two small prints on the walls, which showed a little boy sleeping in one and praying in the other, caught his attention for a long time, but he turned away without saying anything.
It was the window that seemed to give him the most pleasure. Tall and wide, it was sufficiently near the ground for him to sit and look at the outside world—or at least that part of it that was comprehended by Bedstead Square and the men who were working in it. Beyond the houses to be seen on the far side of the Square rose the tall, noble spire of St. Philip’s Cathedral. Merrick stood at the window for a long time gazing up at it, his whole attitude one of awe and disbelief. Coming to stand behind him Treves saw how resplendently the early morning sun touched the spire, drenching the weather vane at its peak with gold, and heard the quick intake of Merrick’s breath.
“When I’m next moved,” said Merrick softly, “may I go to a lighthouse? Or a blind asylum?”
Treves longed to say, “You will not be moved. Despite them all I will find a way of keeping you safe here.” But the burden of the Elephant Man’s growing trust in him was becoming oppressive, and he left as soon as he could.
He went straight to Carr-Gomm and waylaid him at the door of his office.
“Has the response picked up?” he demanded.
“Frankly, Treves, it’s not what I expected. A few small cheques, well-wishers. Don’t worry. These things undoubtedly take time.”
“But he’s so afraid he’s going to be carted off to the workhouse.” Treves gave Carr-Gomm a level look. “I once promised him he’d never have to go back there again.”
Carr-Gomm fell silent for a moment. He seemed to be experiencing some awkwardness.
“Well—” he said at last, “I’ll let you know if there’s something in the afternoon post.”
“Please do.”
But when the afternoon came there was nothing.
Chapter 12
“Frederick, no! Please understand, once and for all that I absolutely refuse.”
“It would only be for one afternoon—for a few hours—”
“I refuse to have that—creature—in my house. That is final.”
Treves ran a hand distractedly through his hair. He had anticipated Anne’s objections to his plan, but not their violence. She had never opposed him with such persistence before. And since he had always allowed her to be the final authority in matters concerning their domestic life he found it hard to insist on having his own way now. He was reduced to pleading.
“Anne, he is not a creature, he is a man, a human being like you and me. He just happens to look different, but that isn’t his fault, it’s his misfortune …”
“Freddie, listen to me—I’ve had the problems of John Merrick brought into this house morning, night, and noon. I’ve heard about his deformity, his wonderful mind, his wicked owner … I’ve heard about Broadneck and the Committee and Mr. Carr-Gomm till I’m tired of all of them. And now you actually ask me to let him come here for a visit—what does he want to pay us a visit for? What good can it do him?”
“I told you, he wants to visit ‘a real house.’ That’s what he calls it. He’s never been in one in his life. He’s never known anything but workhouses, the hospital, and showmen’s carts. His only impression of the way people live is gained from the books I’ve been taking him—”
“I was going to ask where all my Alexandre Dumas books had gone, but I suppose I have the answer.”
“He likes lurid adventures,” Treves said apologetically. “The more romantic the better—beautiful heroines, dashing escapes—he lives them all as he reads them. We take it all for granted but it’s a new world to him. He actually cried over the ending of The Three Musketeers.”
“Good heavens, why?”
“I’m not sure, I’ve never read it. But he said something about the heroine dying. John prefers them