Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [99]
They traveled all night on the train, and in the morning the air had a fresher smell and there was the sound of birds calling wildly. On the quay Merrick just caught a glimpse of a sign that said “Dover,” and a vast expanse of water, before closing his eyes and settling back into the darkness within his mask. He could no longer bear to look out onto the world. To retreat within himself, his consciousness bounded by the walls of grey flannel about his head, was the only solace left.
Tony guarded him while Bytes disappeared on some business of his own. When he returned a conversation pierced Merrick’s darkness.
“I’ve got the tickets. They’ll take us as far as Ostende.” That was Bytes’ voice.
“Where the ’ell’s that?”
“Belgium. There’s a better market for our kind of merchandise in foreign parts, Tony. They ain’t so squeamish over there.”
“Is it far?”
“It’s a good bit in a boat.”
“Howd’you get them tickets? Thought you’d run outa money, Mr. Bytes.”
“Didn’t say anything about buyin’ ’em, did I? Gentleman over there was very careless coming out of the booking office, barged right into me. He was going to rush on without apologizing—even tried to say I’d run into him. I was forced to detain him and put the matter right. He got so flustered he never noticed he’d dropped his wallet. It just happens to contain three tickets to Ostende and enough money to take us by train to Brussels.”
“Why Brussels, Mr. Bytes?”
“The bloke I bought that thing from was planning to join up with a circus that was leaving for Brussels. He made it sound like a good place to do a bit of honest business.”
The two of them assisted Merrick’s clumsy footsteps up the narrow gangplank with many a loudly voiced comment about “our poor friend—sea air—quick recovery.” Once aboard they took him hurriedly to the most inconspicuous place they could find and sat him down. Merrick shivered. It was a long time since he had been outdoors for any length of time and the air was chilly.
He had thought that his despair was complete, but when he felt the boat begin to move he knew that he had not experienced total desolation till this moment. While on land he had somehow clung to the dream that something might happen to enable him to escape and make his way back to London and Treves. He knew that his crippled hip made escape practically impossible, but he had held on to the illusion with a tenacity that he only understood now, when its last shreds were torn from him. With that strip of water between himself and England widening every second, all possibility of rescue was gone. He did not even comprehend where he was being taken.
Through the small window in his flannel mask he peered out at the only thing he could see—a seagull perched cockily on a large funnel. It seemed totally at home. In the air above, other members of its kind wheeled and screamed as they followed the boat out to sea. A small boy came into sight and reached out to make a grab at the seagull. But it was too swift for him. It eluded the hand that would have captured it and swooped into the air. The little boy grabbed upward, but the seagull avoided him easily and rose high, shrieking abuse. Merrick raised his head cautiously to watch the bird’s progress. As he stared the seagull wheeled freely in the air and headed back toward the land.
Merrick leaned his head forward on his knees and cried wearily.
The journey was terrible. A violent wind blew up, making the boat toss. Merrick was sick and terrified, but even his prayer that the danger might claim him and his life be ended, was denied. When they reached Ostende he was half-unconscious, but alive.
At Ostende there was another train, on which he fell asleep, and there his perception of days ended. When he woke up, the train had stopped and he was being hauled out. He did not see the name of the station, but he gathered from the talk that they were somewhere near Brussels—wherever that was: the words meant nothing to him.
Bytes fell in with a circus and joined his lot to theirs. He had been right