Elephant Man (14 page)

“Oh no,” he said at last. “Everyone has been very kind.”

“No,” persisted Carr-Gomm. “I meant in your former situation.”

A kind of blank despair seemed to settle over the grotesque figure as he felt the firm ground on which
he’d thought he was standing turn to quicksand under him.

“I’m feeling much better now,” he recited mechanically.

Carr-Gomm turned a level gaze on Treves, then looked back to Merrick.

“Tell me, how do you like Mr. Treves?” he asked quietly. “As a teacher?”

Treves ground his nails into his palm and cursed himself for an idiot. How could he have imagined for a moment that this child’s deception would fool a man as subtle as Carr-Gomm?

“I—everyone has been very kind to me …” Merrick floundered.

“Of course. How long did you and Mr. Treves prepare for this interview?”

Merrick looked frantically to Treves for guidance, but his mentor could no longer look him in the eye.

“—Everyone has been very kind—” His voice died away.

“Yes of course,” said Carr-Gomm smoothly. “Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Merrick. Good day.”

Treves recovered his wits sufficiently to say, “Thank you, John. You did very well.” He moved to the door to open it for the Chairman.

Merrick watched them go, conscious that his one chance was going with them. He began to talk loudly in a frantic effort to recapture their attention.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures …”

He continued, his voice growing in strength as the two other men left the room. On the small landing outside the Isolation Ward Carr-Gomm confronted Treves.

“It was a nice try, Treves, but the man is obviously mouthing your words.”

“He leadeth me beside still waters; he restoreth my soul.”

“Yes,” Treves said, too dispirited to attempt to fight back.

“I’m very sorry to have wasted your time, sir. I just felt I had to do anything I could to protect him.”

“He guideth me in the paths of righteousness, for his name’s sake.”

“I’m sorry, too. He simply doesn’t belong here. He’ll be much happier somewhere else, where he could be constantly looked after.” His voice became kinder. “Believe me, Frederick, it’s better that it worked out this way. Good day.”

Carr-Gomm began to descend the stairs. Treves watched him go. At the back of his mind he was still registering the sound of Merrick’s voice, uselessly reciting what he had been taught, to an empty room. And then something caught his ear, something very strange.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.” Merrick’s husky voice floated out to the landing. “Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me …”

Glancing back at Treves, Carr-Gomm was astonished and irritated to see him standing with his mouth open, gaping for all the world (Carr-Gomm thought) like an imbecile himself.

“What is it, Treves?”

“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies …”

Annoyed, Carr-Gomm returned up the stairs to attract Treves’ attention, but the younger man was oblivious to everything but the voice coming through the open door.

“Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”

“I didn’t teach him that part,” Treves whispered.

He dashed suddenly into the room, leaving Carr-Gomm with nothing to do but follow. In the cramped Isolation Ward they stood and listened as Merrick finished the psalm.

“Surely goodness and loving kindness shall follow
me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

The three men stared at each other. When Treves spoke his voice was almost violent.

“How did you know the rest? I never taught you the rest of it.”

“I don’t understand,” said Carr-Gomm plaintively.

Treves forced himself to speak more calmly. He had wrecked Merrick’s chances once today. If he frightened him now he would wreck his life for good.

“Tell me, John, how did you know the rest of the twenty-third psalm?”

Merrick spoke hesitantly, as though confessing to a crime.

“I—I used to read the Bible every day. I know it very well, the Bible and the Book of Common Prayer. The twenty-third psalm is very beautiful. It is my favorite.”

“It is mine also,” said Carr-Gomm in a quiet voice. “Who taught you to read, Mr. Merrick?”

“I was in a place—like this—many years ago. I was ill—here—” Merrick laid his hand on his left hip. “They put me—”

“In a hospital,” Carr-Gomm supplied for him. “And someone there taught you to read? A doctor, nurse—?”

“No. Someone else who was ill.” Merrick spoke slowly and with difficulty; it was so many years since anyone had required him to talk, and many of the words he needed seemed to elude him. “He taught me from the Bible—but he died. He said I could have his Bible and his prayer book. I’ve read from them ever since.”

“And that is all you’ve read?”

“Sometimes I’ve seen newspapers—if people leave them about.”

“Mr. Merrick—these things you’ve read in the Bible—do they mean anything to you?” Carr-Gomm was having some difficulty expressing himself. “I mean—when you speak of goodness and loving kindness following you all the days of your life—” He stopped,
too embarrassed to continue to this creature who had known little goodness or kindness since the day of his birth.

“Oh yes,” said Merrick simply. “Mr. Donner told me it was all true.”

“Who was Mr. Donner? The man who taught you?”

“Yes. He’d been a vicar once, but he didn’t want anyone but me to know. He used to say he’d ‘come low’ to be in a pauper hospital. But he said it was all true, and I should remember God loved me, even if—even if it didn’t seem as though he did.”

“And do you believe that?”

“Oh yes. Else how would Mr. Treves have found me?”

“Sir,” said Treves in a strained voice, “you have several other appointments this afternoon. Don’t you think …”

“Yes indeed. I mustn’t tire Mr. Merrick with too long a visit.” Carr-Gomm put out his left hand, which Merrick took without hesitation. The smile Carr-Gomm gave him was almost conspiratorial. “It was a great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Merrick,” he said for the second time that afternoon.

“I am very pleased to meet you.”

“I hope we can talk together again some time. Good day.”

“I’ll be right back,” said Treves hurriedly as he showed Carr-Gomm to the door. He closed it firmly behind him and faced the Chairman on the landing. Carr-Gomm’s face was pale and he looked shaken.

“My God, how awful!” he said. “I want to see you in my office as soon as you’re finished up here. We’ve a good deal to discuss.” He started down the stairs.

“Of course, sir. Thank you. Thank you very much, sir.”

Halfway down the stairs Carr-Gomm stopped and looked back.

“Treves—well done.”

“Not me, sir. Mr. Merrick. He succeeded in spite of me.”

Treves returned to the Isolation Ward slowly. He was unsure how he was going to face Merrick after the harm he had nearly done him.

“Pride and pomposity,” he thought bitterly. And for good measure he added an even worse sin. “And having a closed mind from the start.”

He found Merrick back on the bed, propped up against his pillows. He was clearly exhausted by what he had been through. He opened his eyes when the door opened, and the two men looked at each other for a long moment.

“Why did you let me go on like that?” said Treves at last. “Teaching you what you already knew? Why didn’t you tell me you could read?”

“You did not ask me,” said Merrick simply.

The first rule when making a diagnosis—ascertain all the facts. To have tripped over that easy hurdle after all this time!

“I never thought to ask. How can you ever forgive me?”

The young man became anxious. “Oh no, do not say that. I frightened you. You have been so kind to me. I was afraid to say too much. People always want me to be quiet. You wanted me to speak, but I was afraid, I—forgive me.”

Merrick spoke without rancor or blame. He had long ago lost the instinct to protest. He simply accepted what came, day by day. Treves felt that he had never been so ashamed of himself as he was at this moment.

“We do have a lot to talk about, don’t we?” he said. “I have to go and see Mr. Carr-Gomm now. I think you should get some rest.” At the door he stopped. “I’ll see you’re given plenty to read in future.”

“Could I—?”

“Yes, go on.”

“A newspaper. I would like to know about the world.”

“Of course. I’ll see you get one. Goodbye, John.”

He found Carr-Gomm seated in his leather chair beside one of the tall windows that backed his desk. He
had turned the chair so that he could see out of the window, and although he heard Treves’ entrance he never moved. He looked as if he had been stunned by an unexpected blow.

“Can you imagine what his life has been like?” he said.

“Yes, I think I can.”

Carr-Gomm swung round. “No, you can’t!” he said with quiet savagery. “You can’t begin to know. No one can.”

“No.”

Carr-Gomm rose and faced him. “You’re quite right, Treves. This is an exceptional case. And I agree that the Committee should see Mr. Merrick—no!” At once Carr-Gomm held up a hand to correct himself. “Not that way. Broadneck and the others don’t like to deal with patients directly. It makes them queasy. Do you have any photographs of Mr. Merrick?”

“Well, yes.”

“Excellent. We shall present them, along with the other particulars of the case to the Committee. I want them to see exactly how horribly his body has been deformed. You and I shall vouch for his inner qualities.”

“Do you think they’ll go along with us?”

“Of course they will. They’re reasonable men.”

Before leaving the hospital that evening Treves sought out Mrs. Mothershead and had private word with her. What he told her and what he requested of her afforded him enormous satisfaction. He would have felt slightly less complacent had he been able to see her after his departure.

Mothershead sat for a long time, her face marked by a frown which seemed to deepen the longer she thought. Finally she rose and began to climb the stairs to the top of the hospital.

Merrick, dozing gently off, his head against his knees, was startled into wakefulness by Mothershead’s abrupt entry. He looked at her apprehensively. She
had never been actively unkind to him, but he knew she disapproved of him.

She walked over to the bed and took up the Bible, allowing it to fall open where it would. She handed it to Merrick.

“Read it,” she said.

Slowly his eyes focused on one paragraph and he began to read.

“Thou heardest my voice; hide not thine ear at my breathing, at my cry.”

He realized that she was no longer there. She had begun to back toward the door, a disturbed, almost frightened, look on her face.

“Credit where credit is due,” she said at last. “You’ll have the paper every morning at breakfast.”

She departed quickly. Merrick waited a moment in case she should come back. When he had heard her footsteps fading down the stairs he looked back at the Bible in his hands. He had been reading from Lamentations.

He sat very still for a long time after she had gone, wondering if anyone else would burst in on him. He strained each nerve to catch the most distant noise. Now and then footsteps would approach the little flight of stairs that led up to the Isolation Ward, but always they passed on, and at last he began to relax.

Darkness was falling outside, and all around him he could hear the sounds of a large building closing down for the night. He listened, trying to place them, but his experience was too limited for him to put names to everything he heard. Footsteps he knew, and doors shutting heavily in the distance. All these were familiar from his days in the workhouse. But the voices puzzled him. There were male voices—sober sometimes with responsibility, but always with an undertow of cheerful confidence that held nothing brutal in it. Such voices were totally outside his experience.

Strangest of all was the ripple of chatter from the nurses going off duty. Their voices were young and lighthearted, dispersing sometimes into laughter. In the
whole of his life he had never heard such a thing before. He had encountered few young women—sluts in the workhouse, girls hired for an hour or two by Bytes or his other owners, goggling spectators who paid their twopence to see him and then flung themselves into the arms of their accompanying men when he was revealed—this was his experience of the female sex before he came into the hospital. Since then there had been Nora, who screamed when she saw him, and Mothershead with her stern, unyielding competence.

But this other atmosphere that reached him now, of decent, good-hearted young women, relaxed and cheerful as they ended their day’s work and went to their well-earned supper—such a thing had never entered his life before, and it called to him now with the appeal of the rare and exotic.

He felt a yearning to see them and cast hopeful eyes up at the barred window. It was not impossibly high and he felt his determination giving him strength. He edged slowly off the bed and, using his left hand, pulled the chair over to the window. Reaching up he was able to grasp one of the lower bars, and use it to haul himself upward. From this perch he had a good view of that part of the hospital that formed an L-shape to the building he was in.

Most of the corridors were well-lit, and along them trickled a thin stream of girls in uniforms, going off duty. Now and then slightly older women could be seen coming in the other direction. Their faces were serious and purposeful as they prepared to take up their duties for the night. Sometimes they’d stop and engage some of the departing girls in conversation. Merrick’s hand tightened on the bar he was holding as he fought to keep his perch as long as possible.

To his enchanted eyes every girl was pretty. Every normal, properly proportioned face gleamed with youth and health; every smile, however tired, was radiant. Now and then laughter floated up to him like music from another planet.

He longed to to stay there forever, watching, unseen. It was so rare that his view of the world could be unclouded by its own violent reaction to himself. He told himself that he must be seeing pretty girls as they appeared to other men, their faces serene and untroubled, not distorted by horror or hardened by the effort to control it.