Elephant Man (32 page)

“Mister—mister,” they called after him.

“Why don’t you answer me?” wailed Tom.

One of them reached down and managed to seize the hem of the cloak. He lifted it, trying to catch a glimpse of the mysterious stranger. Merrick pulled away and tried frantically to go faster. Relishing the hunt now the boys followed him, taunting him all the
way. As they approached the arch Tom began to see where their quarry was going. Fearful that he would escape the boy dashed in front, and stood there, cutting him off.

“Now I’ll see you …” he said.

His arm shot forward and grabbed the flannel hood before Merrick could back away. One yank and it was out of the cloak, another and Tom was able to lift the front and get a glimpse of what was beneath. At once he dropped it and staggered back, emitting a shrill scream of fear. Merrick turned wildly away, seeking another escape.

Tom’s mother, deep in her conversation, heard the distant shriek that held the note of her son’s voice. She looked up just in time to see Tom collapse to the floor, screaming, and the huge figure in the cloak, whirling round.

She began to cry out. “My son, my son, help!”

Her voice reached Merrick, who turned and tried to run in the opposite direction, toward another archway exit. He stumbled as he went. People stared but did not try to stop him. In his panic he knocked down a little girl, but did not dare to stop. Behind him he heard her screams added to the bedlam that was growing. He saw the archway ahead of him filled with the solid figure of a blue-dressed policeman as Tom’s mother, nearer now, cried, “Stop that man! Stop that man!”

Merrick pulled himself up short to avoid the policeman, but it was too late. He had been seen by the law. The policeman, who wore a sergeant’s stripes, made purposeful steps toward him. He changed course again, but now a group of men, alerted by the woman’s screams, had closed in to cut off his path. They yelled at him and one of them darted forward and seized his hood. As Merrick turned frantically away the hood came off and a roar went up from the crowd.

He had no way of escape now but to move back past Tom and his mother. As he did so they screamed and shielded themselves from his approach. Another
group had come up on his other side; he could only retreat.

He backed, and backed, and gradually he became aware that he was nearing the door of the urinal. He went through it, hoping for safety, but some of the men in the crowd followed him in. They were angry now, uttering deep braying noises that echoed fearfully inside the tiled walls. They hemmed him in, shouting with fear, blocking off all hope of escape.

Cornered at last Merrick faced them, his head nakedly exposed. He was breathing heavily with strain and nervous exhaustion, but something was happening to him. A wave of feeling was growing inside, coming from a place deep down, so deep that he had never explored it or known of its existence. It was a feeling of anger that grew out of the self-confidence and knowledge of himself that Treves had studied so hard to give him. It was a realization that now if ever he must assert himself in the face of the world, or pass away without ever having really existed.

It seemed to give him strength, shaking his body uncontrollably as if it were a volcano about to erupt, and suddenly a cry burst from his lips, powerful and assured, such as he had never uttered before.

“No!
” he screamed. “
I am not an elephant! I am not an animal! I am a human being! I—am—a—man. I AM A MAN!
”

He clutched the wall for support, feeling the last of his strength drain out of him. He saw the police sergeant press forward to the front of the crowd before he collapsed on the floor. The last thing he was conscious of was the sergeant’s face bending over him, shocked and kind.

When he regained consciousness a few moments later the crowd had gone. He was alone except for the sergeant, a large, moustached individual who was supporting his head. He seemed not to have noticed that Merrick was any different from other men.

“My pocket,” Merrick said feebly. “Left pocket.”

The policeman fumbled in the left-hand pocket of
the cloak and came out with a small, very dirty visiting card. He looked at it for a moment, then rose and advanced on a young constable who was standing at the door of the urinal, keeping intruders out.

“Jones,” said the sergeant in a low voice, “I want you to take this card to the London Hospital, and ask for Dr. Frederick Treves. If he isn’t there, find out where he is, but whatever you do, don’t come back without him.”

In less than an hour the constable returned with Treves, who came running into the urinal like a madman. The sergeant rose to meet him, but Treves passed on as though he hadn’t seen him and went straight to the figure that was still collapsed on the floor by the wall. He pulled Merrick up and stood staring into his face. His eyes were brimming with tears.

“Mr. Treves,” Merrick sobbed, “Mr. Treves.”

The sergeant coughed discreetly. “You know this man, sir?”

“Yes,” said Treves through his tears. “He’s—my friend.”

“I would not have believed such a change could come over any man in a mere two months,” said Carr-Gomm. “But I suppose in his case …”

“Yes,” said Treves heavily.

They were sitting in the Chairman’s office. It was a fortnight since the London Hospital had been startled by the sight of a cab drawing up outside and Treves assisting the laborious figure of Merrick down onto the pavement and in the front door. Merrick had been weeping uncontrollably, clinging to Treves as though terrified of being snatched away again. He had released him only when Mothershead’s cry of “John!” had reached him from the other end of the Receiving Room, and he had stumbled a few hasty steps forward to fall into her arms.

Within moments he had been whisked back to his old rooms, which were still waiting for him, for Treves had refused to give up hope, and Mothershead had obstinately backed him in this. A message was dispatched to Carr-Gomm, who turned out to have left for the night. Treves debated whether to send a note round to his house but decided against it. Merrick needed all his attention. He was suffering from exhaustion and malnutrition, besides being covered with small cuts. Worst of all, his head had grown noticeably larger, and he seemed to have aged twenty years.

Mothershead insisted on helping Treves minister to Merrick’s needs, washing off layers of accumulated dirt, as she had done once before, and tending to the multitude of monkey bites. Merrick accepted her attentions
easily now. His nervousness with her had quite disappeared, and Treves put this down to the new gentleness in Mothershead’s manner.

Together they listened to the story Merrick had to tell. They both blamed themselves for his failure to confide in them about Renshaw’s visits, but Mothershead perhaps more so. She felt that she had failed as a woman and a nurse in not teaching Merrick to trust her. Her early irritation against him came back to torment her now. She became doubly kind, doubly sensitive to his needs, and had the reward of seeing him relax in her presence. She knew that in his own way he was offering her his tentative, wistful friendship. But she also knew, as did Treves, that it was too late.

Carr-Gomm came to see the Elephant Man on the morning after his return. Shocked by what he saw, he had gone away muttering about the benefits of rest and good food. Now, a fortnight later, two more visits had shown him that his hopes were vain.

“It cannot be gone back on,” Treves said to him now. “The ground he has lost this last two months will never be regained.”

“Does he know?”

“I don’t believe so. I’ve said nothing about it. He’s so happy, I don’t want to spoil it for him. Now that he’s strong enough to get up, he spends all day working at his cathedral. Nurse Ireland got him a pile of fresh cardboard from somewhere, and since I don’t permit any visitors he has nothing to do but work on it.”

“No visitors?” said Carr-Gomm with a faint smile.

“I had to make the two exceptions you know about. Anne flatly refused to be kept away. When I told her the glass on his mother’s picture was smashed she brought him another frame and insisted on coming and giving it to him herself.”

“And Her Royal Highness, of course, also ‘flatly refused to be kept away,’ ” Carr-Gomm mused.

Princess Alexandra had arrived the previous afternoon.
At her own request she had been informed the moment the Elephant Man had been restored to the hospital, and as soon as she was assured he was well enough to see her she had come for a short, quiet visit. It had ended with her own signed photograph joining Merrick’s collection. It stood now, sharing the place of honor with Merrick’s mother and Mrs. Kendal, on the table, separate from the others on the mantelpiece.

“John cried over it when she’d gone,” said Treves. “When he’d recovered, he said he wanted to write and thank her. I’ve got the result here. I thought you might like to see it before it goes …”

He took out a sheet of paper and gave it to the Chairman. Carr-Gomm regarded it with a frown.

“I know it’s a little difficult to read,” said Treves apologetically. “But he has to write with his left hand …”

“It isn’t that,” said Carr-Gomm. “It’s just that I don’t think Her Royal Highness is used to being addressed as ‘My Dear Princess.’ But in the circumstances I cannot believe she will object. And I am sure she’d prefer to receive Mr. Merrick’s own letter than some colorless official ‘version’ edited by ourselves.”

“I agree, sir. I shall send it just as it is.”

Carr-Gomm leaned back in his chair. “What do you plan to do in the future, Treves? I need hardly say that you will have my full support.”

“My only ‘plan,’ sir, is to make what is left of his life as happy as possible. Whatever he wants, I shall try to see to it that he has. He has a great longing to go to the theater. I’ve written to Mrs. Kendal asking what she advises. I received a letter back this morning saying that she will visit him this week to discuss the matter.”

“Another exception?” said Carr-Gomm pleasantly.

“When I said no visitors, I meant of the kind he had before. John’s true friends will always be admitted.”

Mrs. Kendal duly arrived and proved herself to have been hard at work. With an actress’s flair for the right props and scenery she had arranged not merely that John should be taken to a performance at Drury Lane Theatre, but that he should do so against a background that fulfilled his dreams, and that the supporting cast should also be perfect. What ladies’ man wanted to attend the theater except in the company of elegantly dressed ladies?

“It’s all arranged,” she told Treves as they walked along the corridor toward Merrick’s rooms. “I’ll send over some evening gowns for the nurses you select to accompany Mr. Merrick. You’ll be using the royal entrance and Princess Alexandra herself will be there to welcome him to her private box.”

“I’m very grateful to you, Mrs. Kendal. This is just the thing to help him forget his ordeal. John will be very excited.”

“Does he know anything yet?”

“No. I’ve left it for you to tell him. He’ll enjoy that more.”

She smiled. “It’s a miracle he ever got back. And I’m sure Mr. Treves, under your expert care, he’ll have many happy years ahead.”

“I fear not, Mrs. Kendal. Even in the short time he was gone the size of his head has increased rapidly … as has his pain.”

She stopped walking. “How awful for John.”

“And yet, not once have any of us heard him complain.”

She faced him. “Is he—dying then?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “There is nothing more frustrating, nothing that makes a physician feel more useless than standing by, watching his patient deteriorate. And when that patient is a friend …” With these last words he seemed to have been addressing himself almost more than her. Now he added abruptly, “No, there’s nothing I can do.”

He thought she was going to say something else, but she only walked on in silence until they had almost
reached the door. Then she stopped again and spoke quietly, “How much does John know?”

“I’ve told him nothing, and I honestly think he suspects nothing. How should he? He’s grown stronger since he returned and he thinks he’s recovering. He thinks he’s going to spend a long, happy life here. I want him to go on believing that. I appreciate this will make it difficult for you to talk to him …”

“I’m an actress, Mr. Treves. If you can keep the secret, I can.”

The choice of the two nurses to accompany him on his expedition to the theater was left up to Merrick. As Treves had expected, he asked for Nora at once. The other choice, Treves had half believed would fall on Nurse Kathleen, who was a pretty girl and much easier in Merrick’s presence these days. But to the doctor’s pleasure Merrick unhesitatingly picked Mothershead.

“She is my friend,” he said with shining eyes. “And besides, Mrs. Mothershead is always so busy—I don’t suppose she ever gets an evening out.”

Since it hadn’t even occurred to Treves to wonder if Mothershead ever got an evening out, this effectively silenced him.

With unerring instinct, Mrs. Kendal had selected the pantomime “Puss in Boots.” Intelligent as Merrick was, his uneducated emotions were frequently those of a child. Apart from the thinnest veneer, which his contact with society had given him, he lacked sophistication, and Treves felt entirely satisfied that the dazzling lights, bright colors and simple plot of the fairy tale were calculated to bring him the most pleasure.

Now no trouble was spared that might increase Merrick’s enjoyment. He was to have his outing dressed in elegant evening clothes, provided out of hospital funds, specially authorized by Carr-Gomm. On the evening of the performance Treves went early to Merrick’s rooms to help him with the finer points
of dressing. He was himself clad in evening rig and arrived just as Merrick was holding up a black bow tie, a puzzled look in his eyes.

“Let me fix that for you,” said Treves.

When he finished he stood back to admire his handiwork.

“How do I look?” said Merrick.

The shapeless clothes, necessarily ill-fitting, hung ludicrously on him, seeming the more outlandish for their new, freshly tailored appearance. But Treves saw none of this. He had long ago forgotten how to look.