Elephant Man (20 page)

“Freddie, I said no.”

The argument ended there for a moment while they had dinner. Treves was wondering how he could bring up the subject again when Anne said, as she poured his coffee, “If John Merrick has formed his impressions of the way people live from reading Alexandre Dumas and the like, what sort of idea does he have of this house?”

“Rather unrealistic, I’m afraid. He dreams of a grand residence with huge rooms and easy chairs into which the hero can ‘fling himself.’ Heroes always seem to be flinging themselves into chairs in the books he reads. They never just sit, apparently. Not heroic enough.”

Her lips gave an involuntary twitch, but she controlled
it before he could see. Against her will she was softening to him, but she was determined not to give in.

“I’ve tried to explain to him that No. 6 Wimpole Street isn’t Versailles,” Treves went on. “I’ve told him we don’t have the armies of menials and powdered footmen that he’s read about …”

“I should think not, indeed. Cook would give her notice if anyone called her a menial.”

“Nor do we have the white marble staircase, or the gilded mirrors and the brocaded divans …”

She gave a small choke, but refused to meet his eye.

“I think I managed to convince him that we lived in a more modest way, something along the Jane Austen style. He’s read
Emma
so I believe he understands.”

She still had not given in when she went to take a last look at her daughters. She stood regarding them for a long time, seeing them with the new eyes that her husband had forced on her. There was Kate, a happy uncomplicated child, with a mind that seldom looked below the surface of things. “Trivial,” her mother had sometimes said with disapproval; but Kate already showed promise of that beauty which in adult life would make people forgive her almost any amount of triviality.

Jenny would have more trouble. She would never be a beauty, and her sharp, clever brain would probably cause her more problems than benefit. But she had a lively, witty personality, which would draw people to her despite the ordinariness of her face.

Both her daughters, Anne realized, had something that the world would call attractive, and the world would be accordingly kind to them.

She returned to her own room to find her husband already in bed, looking at her anxiously. She went across and kissed him.

“When does the Elephant Man want to come?” she said.

The day of Merrick’s visit to Wimpole Street was also the day Nurse Kathleen Darrell was conscripted for “Bedstead Square duties.” She was informed she’d volunteered, but as she privately told Nurse Nora Ireland, it was the kind of volunteering where everyone else steps back quickly and leaves you standing there. Nora felt a certain sympathy, but only said, “You’ll get used to it.”

She and Mothershead between them bathed Merrick for the visit, with Nurse Kathleen looking on. When they finally left the bathroom Nora noticed that her new helper was looking a bit queasy.

Mothershead followed them out, turning to say a few last words to Merrick who was still in the bathroom.

“There now, you’re all dry,” she told him kindly. “Now get into those things.” She closed the door and smiled at the two girls. Nora wondered cynically if Mothershead’s benign aspect was induced by the prospect of having less to do with the Elephant Man in the future.

“Well, I think I can safely hand the duties over to you girls now,” said Mothershead. “Mr. Merrick will require a bath every day; that way he won’t pong quite so much. Nora, you can instruct Kathleen on the finer points of Mr. Merrick’s bath. You two will be on your own tomorrow.”

They tried to look bright and failed.

“Don’t look so glum, girls,” Mothershead told them. “Such enthusiastic volunteers should be more cheerful.” At the door she turned. “And don’t forget, either of you. Under no circumstances are any mirrors to be brought into this room—even if he asks. If he does ask, I want you to let me know.” She departed.

“He’s so—ugly,” said Kathleen after a silence.

“Ugly or not, you’re going to help me,” said Nora firmly.

The door of the bathroom opened and Merrick came slowly into the room. He was dressed in clothes that for him would have to pass as “Sunday best.”
The billowy white shirt and baggy black pants had once belonged to a very large man who had died recently in the hospital. His family had not known what to do with his clothes, and had jumped at the bargain Treves offered them. Mothershead had got to work shortening the trousers and generally making the clothes fit Merrick’s unusual shape, and the Elephant Man now had something that could be called a wardrobe. Strange as his present garb looked, it was at least clean and freshly pressed.

Both girls offered him forced smiles, but he was unable to look at them.

“Feeling better now, Mr. Merrick?” queried Nora politely.

“Yes.”

Kathleen’s eyes went wide at the sound. Merrick had not said a word during his bath, and she had come to believe that the story of his conversational powers was a myth.

“You look very nice in your new clothes,” Nora persisted.

Merrick looked down at himself. “Thank you very much,” he said in a pleased voice.

“Well, if there’s nothing more—” Nora began to edge toward the door, “I suppose we’ll be leaving you now.”

She and Kathleen departed hastily. Merrick began to walk round the room, moving this way and that to get the feel of his new clothes. He liked the sense of them against his skin. They felt finer than anything he had ever worn before.

A knock on the door announced Treves, dressed for departure.

“You look splendid, John,” he said in a hearty voice.

“Thank you very much.”

“When one is invited to tea, one must look one’s best.”

But there was still the enveloping disguise, which even on this day must protect the world from the
sight of him. Treves helped him on with it (it was a good deal cleaner now, thanks again to Mothershead’s efforts) and the two of them went out to the waiting cab.

Anne, alone in her house, waiting for the arrival of her husband and their guest, was near to screaming. She could not take her eyes off the clock, and each faint movement of its hand toward four heightened the tension within her.

She had done everything Frederick asked. She had made sure that the house looked its best and most welcoming. She had put on her prettiest dress. She had spent hours studying the photographs so that the Elephant Man’s appearance should not come as a shock to her, and now she began to wonder if she had been wise to do so. She had stared at those nightmare pictures till they seethed in her brain with a horror that grew every minute. The thought of that “thing” coming into her house, polluting it was the way she thought of it, drove her hands to clench and her throat to constrict, and she wondered how she could bear it.

She began to walk about touching small objects, while her mind went round like a mouse in a treadmill. The children were safely dispatched to friends, the pictures of Merrick were safely cleared away so that he would not know how she had studied to become accustomed to him, every mirror in the house had been removed, the tea was all ready, and it was a splendid tea, such as would be prepared for an honored guest. She wondered if she might even have overdone it. It was possible, she was so anxious to please Freddie.

To please her husband had been the only motive in this, because he cared so desperately about what happened to Merrick, and had asked her to help him. She felt a small stab of resentment somewhere within her—that he should care so much about this, should talk about Merrick constantly, bring his problems, and even himself, into their home. Treves’ work at the hospital involved him so deeply that Anne always felt she
had to fight for that part of him that was hers. And now she wearily admitted to herself (for she was an honest woman) that some part of her feeling about Merrick was jealousy, and she wondered how much longer it would be before she hated him totally.

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. By the time the three of them met up again in the sitting room both she and Merrick were in better command of themselves.

She could look at him more easily now, with eyes that pity was blinding to his ugliness. She noticed that, though shy, he was not tongue-tied, and though he slurped his tea a little he was not, as she had feared, disgusting.

“How is your tea, John?” Treves asked, to keep conversation going.

“It’s very good. I’m enjoying my visit with you very much,” he said politely. “It’s so very kind of you to have me as a guest in your home. I’m sorry I made a spectacle of myself.”

“Not at all, John.” As he spoke Treves looked intently at his wife, urging her to help keep the balloon of small talk in the air. But she was struck dumb. Merrick did not appall her quite as much as he had done, but she was still unable to think what to say to him.

“I love the way you’ve arranged your pictures on the mantelpiece. Is that the way it’s done in most houses?”

“Oh yes,” said Treves heartily.

“Who are they of?”

“Oh, our relatives—the children.”

“The children? May I see?”

“Of course.” Treves took some of the pictures down from the mantlepiece, hoping Merrick would not notice the faintly discolored outline where the mirror had once been. He handed a picture of his daughters to Merrick, who took it with reverent hands, and regarded it as if it were an icon.

“The children—” he said slowly. “Where are your children?”

“Oh, they’re gone for the day—” Treves said hastily. “With friends.”

He wondered unhappily if Merrick would understand and resent such an obvious ploy to keep the little girls out of his way, but Merrick only repeated, “Friends, ah yes, friends. How nice,” as though the word gave him the greatest pleasure.

Anne found her tongue and pushed another of the pictures toward Merrick. “And here is one of Frederick’s mother.”

“How lovely.”

“Yes,” said Treves lamely.

“And here—” Anne found another picture, “are my mother and father.”

He looked at the couple in the frame for a long moment before saying, “They have noble faces.”

Anne stared at him. “I’ve always thought that myself,” she said.

“Oh yes,” he repeated gravely, and set down the picture under Anne’s startled eyes. When next he spoke it was in a timid voice, and his words astonished both his listeners.

“Would you—would you like to see my mother?”

“Your mother?” said Treves. He had known about the dream figure of his mother that Merrick had built up, but never for a moment had he suspected that it might be backed up by a picture.