Christine Sparks - Elephant Man

THE ELEPHANT MAN

A classic story for all time.
A major motion
picture that
captured the hearts
of millions.

THE ELEPHANT MAN

A Ballantine Book
Published by The Random House Publishing Group

Copyright 1980 by Brooksfilms Inc.

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

eISBN: 978-0-307-80450-1

www.ballantinebooks.com

v3.1

A wicked birth monstrous evil

The elderly man had come out of the shadows so suddenly that Dr. Frederick Treves had not been aware of him until he heard the shaking voice. He turned abruptly, trying to see the man by the poor light of the smoking oil lamps. He could just make out a ravaged face, the lips trembling, the eyes glazed with horror.

I beg your pardon? said Treves politely. Did you speak to me?

Wicked, the stranger whispered again. For Gods sake leave this place. He was sweating, and even in this gloom Treves professional eye told him that the man was on the verge of vomiting.

Treves looked back toward the little stage that had previously held his attention. In a large bell jar hung a baby that closer inspection revealed to be a china doll, with a large snake growing out of its neck. Labeled The Deadly Fruit of Original Sin it was the clumsiest of fakes, and Treves could see nothing in it to have so disturbed his companion. He wondered if hed underestimated the effect of a few obvious tricks and a bit of dim lighting.

I assure you its nothing but a fake, he informed the elderly man kindly. If you look closer you can see

That, the man interrupted him scornfully. I can see through that! But down there His lips began to shake again so violently that he was forced to clamp them firmly together. From somewhere in the long canvas corridor behind him a commotion was growing.

Get out of here, he said. For pitys sake get out. Dont go near that evil thing.

Abruptly he burst into tears and pushed past Treves into another corridor that led to the exit. Without waiting any longer Treves plunged ahead in the direction from which the man had appeared. An excitement had taken possession of him. For the first time in this dull afternoon he had picked up a sniff of what he had come to the fun-fair to find. He could not have described what he was searching for. He only knew that he would know it when he found it.

That summer of 1889 was a good one for fun-fairs. Show after show had settled on Londons Hampstead Heath, and Treves had allowed his two young daughters to nag him into taking them to every one. Sometimes he would catch his wifes accusing eye on him, for Anne knew only too well that his daughters pleasure was not his main motive. As soon as he decently could, he would dispatch the rest of his family to the swings and merry-go-rounds, while he made directly for the freak tent.

The freak tent today had been just like so many others he had entered that summer, a mass of black canvas corridors, poorly lit by oil lamps, occasionally opening into wider areas where exhibits lined the walls. The lighting on these exhibits was also kept low, the better to disguise their obvious trickery. Treves had seen it all so many times before, and he was bored to tears with fakes. He had begun to despair of ever making that one unique discovery that he was sure was waiting for him somewhere.

Until today until this minute. Now hope and anticipation drew him forward like a magnet. That old man had been genuinely appalled by whatever he had seen. There had been none of the cheerful bravado that audiences at these shows reserved for the freaks that in their hearts they knew were false.

As Treves pushed ahead he could hear a growing noise behind him, and without warning he was shoved aside by two policemen who swept down the corridor with a purposeful air. Up ahead they apparently encountered some difficulty, for they were shouting Make way, Make way!an injunction to which nobody seemed to be paying heed.

Treves almost collided with a man coming back down the corridor holding a small boy in his arms. The child was clutching his fathers neck in terror, while the man muttered to no one in particular.

This is too much. They should not allow itthey should not allow it.

Treves excitement quickened. He felt like a hound that has scented the prey, and he realized that he had somehow become the leader of a little crowd all bent on the same ghoulish errand.

At the far end the passage widened to accommodate a stage that was sideways, so that he could not see what it contained. A woman brushed past him, pulling a little girl with a frightened face. Getting closer to the commotion Treves could see four policemen and a well-dressed, official-looking man, whom he guessed was an alderman, arguing with a disreputable individual who wore shabby clothes, four days growth of beard, and a stove-pipe hat that looked as if someone might once have taken a punch at it. He was paying little heed to the aldermans attempts to remonstrate with him, as his attention was taken by a hysterical woman who was pummeling him about the head and shoulders, crying, Beast beast

Apart from his presumed occupation as freak exhibitor, there seemed nothing particularly beastly about the man. The horror therefore lay on the stage. But as Treves moved sideways to see if he could get a good view, he found his way blocked by one of the policemen.

No, thats right out. Sorry sir, no more viewing, the policeman turned and yelled over his shoulder. Drop that curtain.

As the curtain fell Treves darting eyes managed to catch a glimpse of baggy trouser cuffs, out of which projected two horribly deformed feetso knotted with veins and lumps, and so covered with scaly skin that at first he took them to be roots. He felt a sense of shock, for even that quick sight had been enough to convince him that this exhibit bore no relation to the frauds he had seen earlier that afternoon. Whatever was behind that curtain was genuinely monstrous.

For an irritated moment he contemplated arguing with the policeman who was barring his way, then he abandoned the idea. There would be no getting past that implacably solid face.

The woman who had been attacking the owner had now been pulled away and was sobbing on the shoulder of an embarrassed policeman. The owner brushed himself down and yelled at the alderman. Though husky, his voice had an oddly cultivated accent at variance with his appearance and method of earning a living.

You cant do that! he was protesting. Ive got my rights!

I have the authority to close you down, the alderman said firmly, and Im doing just that.

Treves edged away from the policeman to where he could get a good view of the front of the stage, now covered by the curtain. His sharp eyes had spotted a boy of about ten staring at the curtain with the same ghoulish glee most people reserved for the actual exhibits. When he got closer Treves could see why.

The creature depicted there could have been possible only in a nightmare. It was a crudely painted, life-size portrait of a man turning into an elephant. Palm trees in the background suggested the jungle habitat in which this perverted creature might once have roamed. To Treves the most horrible aspect, as he suspected it was intended to be, was that the transformation was less than half complete. There was still more man than elephant. Through the crude garish strokes the artist had somehow managed to depict the agony of a man undergoing a hideous transformation that he had no power to stop.