Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [91]
“Mr. Treves—” he said huskily. “Thank you, my—friends.”
Treves raised his eyebrows to Carr-Gomm in a silent question. The Chairman understood at once and signaled to Mrs. Mothershead to leave. He followed her, stopping briefly at the door to say, “Once again Mr. Merrick—welcome to the London Hospital as our permanent guest.”
Then he was gone, leaving Treves alone with Merrick.
“It’s getting late,” said Treves in a deceptively casual voice, to cover the fact that he knew Merrick was weeping quietly. “I keep forgetting that winter is so far advanced until the light starts to fade so early in the day. Look at it, dark already.”
He kept up this small talk until Merrick had recovered his composure. Then he smiled at him.
“I hope you like your present, John. Anne chose it.”
“Please thank Mrs. Treves for me. I hope she didn’t go to any trouble.”
“She did, because she wanted to—because it was for you.”
He was momentarily afraid this might set Merrick off again. The Elephant Man had had as much as he could bear.
“Mr. Treves—thank you for what you’ve done for me. I know it was you who made them keep me here …”
“It wasn’t me at all, John. It was—a very kind lady who I’ll tell you all about tomorrow. Not tonight. You’ve had enough excitement for one day. Goodnight.”
Chapter 16
There was a good crowd in the Peacock that night. Jim Renshaw’s “parties” were getting known in the district and the demand was growing. So far the porter had confined his sightseeing trips to Bedstead Square to five or six persons. It was easier for him to keep control that way. But confidence and greed had combined to make him think a larger expedition practicable, and this evening he was planning on twelve.
He stood in the center of the barroom, jingling the night’s takings in his pocket, and trying to see through the smoke that hung, foglike, over the customers. A sheaf of raised arms stabbed the air to catch his attention and Renshaw surveyed them with lazy pleasure, enjoying the feeling of power their supplications gave him. A good number of the drinkers were ladies of the town who did the rounds of the pubs last thing to drum up trade. Renshaw knew most of them by now. His “parties of pleasure” always included at least one whore who paid her entrance fee in kind. Renshaw found these occasions more rewarding even than he had hoped. He had discovered that the horror and revulsion that a sight of the Elephant Man always induced did something to a woman, shook her with a physical frenzy that she had to work off with a man afterward.
Secretly this rather shocked Renshaw. Buried deep down amid his brutality and sentimentality he kept a half-recognized strain of puritanism where female behavior was concerned. It wasn’t “nice” that a woman who’d had a nasty shock should be sexually excited by it. But he profited by the fact just the same.
He passed over tonight’s collection of whores, searching for a new face. At last he found what he was looking for—two new faces, sitting at a table with a raffish-looking young man who seemed to be coping well with both of them—for the moment. The boy had an air of tawdry prosperity.
“Here now,” he called to Renshaw, “these lovely ladies ain’t never seen it.” Renshaw gave the two girls the briefest glance—enough to assure him that either (or both) of them would do. The fair-haired one was a choice piece.
“You’re on, mate,” he said. Turning back to the other customers he raised his voice. “All right, all right. That’s enough for this performance.” Amid a chorus of disappointed moans he yelled, “Hang on, hang on. There’s always tomorrow night. Not to worry.”
He began to round up his little flock, shooing away a couple of hangers-on who tried to slip in at the back.
“Not tonight, ladies,” he told them genially. “Sally, you oughta be ashamed of yourself.