Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [68]
She was upstairs when they arrived. From behind the lace curtains she was able to see the shrouded figure descend from the cab with Treves’ help, and walk clumsily across the pavement to the front door. Her first thought was that he looked small and pathetic. For some reason she had pictured him as huge.
She moved to the top of the stairs and stood where she had a good view of the hall below, but knew she was unlikely to be seen. She tensed as Treves helped Merrick off with the disguise, revealing the great head, then let out her breath slowly. It was bad, but she had got over the first moment alone. She believed she could control herself now.
She heard Treves’ voice saying, “Make yourself comfortable, John,” as he showed Merrick into the sitting room. Then she could delay the moment no longer, and she began to descend the stairs. Treves was standing at the bottom, looking up at her with a reassuring smile.
“Come and meet our guest, my love,” he said, in a voice designed to reach Merrick in the sitting room.
He gave her hand a squeeze as she reached the bottom step. The door of the sitting room stood wide open, and through it she could see Merrick clearly. He had his back to them and was looking round the room with an air of wonder and delight that was unmistakble. Nothing escaped his attention. The furniture, the ornaments, the pictures on the mantelpiece, he touched them all gently and reverently with his left hand. The pictures seemed to hold his attention the most.
Anne, watching him, thought again, “He’s so small.” Then she squeezed Treves’ hand back and together they went in. Merrick turned as he heard them coming and immediately lowered his eyes. With her nerves sharpened to a fine edge Anne saw at once the way his eyelids dropped, and instinctively she understood it.
“He is afraid of me,” she thought. “He is afraid he will see horror and revulsion in my face, so he protects himself by looking away first. He fears me more than I fear him.”
“John Merrick, I’d like you to meet my wife, Anne Treves,” her husband was saying.
Without further hesitation Anne walked boldly forward and extended her left hand to Merrick. Her smile was charming and without any hint of strain.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Merrick.”
He took her hand and raised his eyes slowly to meet hers. Her smile held.
“I’m very …” Merrick’s voice wavered, “I’m very …”
The next moment, to the horror of both his hosts, he had burst into violent sobs. He drew his hand out of Anne’s and covered his eyes, turning away from them and weeping piteously. Anne watched him, helpless. Instinct told her that she was watching the crying of a lonely child, but she could not bring herself to enfold that shaking figure in her arms as she would have done with any other child. It was Treves who put his hand on Merrick’s shoulder and spoke gently to him.
“John, what’s the matter? Why are you upset?”
Through his sobs Merrick managed to say huskily, “I’m not used to such kindness—from a beautiful woman—”
Then Anne did look away from him, lest he read the sudden shame in her eyes at this mention of her “kindness.” For the first time she saw how this meeting must look to him, what it must mean to him after the whole world had rejected him—“As I did,” she thought.
“Would you like a nice cup of tea, Mr. Merrick?” she offered.
“Yes—thank you,” he said huskily.
“Yes,” Treves said, relieved, “a cup of tea would go nicely.” While Anne escaped to see to the making of tea he went on talking in a hearty voice to cover the fact that Merrick’s sobs were not yet under control. From the kitchen Anne heard him suggest a look round the house, and then the two men moved off slowly up the stairs.