A Stranger in the Garden

Joseph Merrick awoke in the light of Easter dawn, already excited. All through the dark days of Lent and Holy Week, he’d been looking forward to this day. While he loved Christmas most of all, nothing held more promise of eternal joy than Easter.

In his short twenty-seven years, Joseph had already suffered more than most had in an entire lifetime. Jeering derision and cruel mockery had dogged his steps all through childhood. Then there were the years of horror in the workhouse, and traveling in the sideshows, baring his twisted body to gawking audiences as the Elephant Man.

The work had been tolerable, as he had been paid well and hoped to buy his own little house someday. Then a cruel manager had taken Joseph to Belgium and robbed him, leaving him to struggle back to London on his own. His only hope was to find Dr. Frederick Treves, whose card he had kept after being exhibited to a group of anatomists two years before. Treves had rescued Joseph from a raging mob at Liverpool Street Station and had given him shelter at the London Hospital.

Though he lived in comfortable rooms, visited by royalty and loyal friends, Joseph yearned for his old life on the road with Tom Norman, the “Silver King.” Tom had watched over him like a father and treated him as a friend. Joseph missed that independence and wished he didn’t have to live on charity, but now he needed constant physical care and was growing weaker every day.

Some days he was tempted to go to his eternal rest. It would be so easy. If he lay down flat on his back, the weight of his head would most likely snap his neck and God would take him home.

But today was a day of celebration. Joseph turned back the covers and maneuvered his bulky feet onto the floor. He reached for his walking stick and stood up. His huge head lolled to the right and nearly threw him off balance. Lately it had felt so heavy he could barely walk straight. Everything was a struggle nowadays. Eating, dressing, and even walking in his beloved hospital garden took supreme effort.

The floorboards felt chilly as he hobbled to the washstand. Splashing cold water on his face made him gasp but thoroughly woke him up. He made little wheezing noises that passed for chuckles. For the thousandth time, he wished he could laugh and smile like normal people. It was so hard to show his pleasure because of his constricted jaw and mouth. He could only convey his feelings through his eyes and voice.

At seven a.m., a ward maid brought him a breakfast of grey sludgy porridge, and then two young nurses came to give him his daily bath. In his first days here, he had found the baths embarrassing beyond words, but his condition made it necessary. Soon he began to appreciate the baths. People came to see him more often now that he was clean and well-dressed.

After the nurses tidied his rooms, they wished him “Happy Easter!” and left. Joseph sat down in his special armchair and opened his Bible. In the pink light from the window, the words glowed like a medieval manuscript.

Memories of Eastertide in his mother’s humble church came back to him. Despite the stares, he had savored the hymns of celebration rising to the rafters. His favorite one was “Christ the Lord is Risen Today.”

“Lives again our glorious King…

Where, O death is now thy sting?

Made like Him, like Him we rise

Ours the cross, the grave, the skies.

Alleluia!”

A gentle knock at the door brought Joseph back to the present, and he called, “Come in.” A young man in a crisp tan porter’s uniform stepped into the small room. Joseph didn’t recognize this one, but that wasn’t unusual. They came and went more quickly than the nurses. Some were rogues and drunks, but most were decent.

“Good morning, ah…Mr. Merrick?” He spoke with a faint accent that Joseph couldn’t quite identify. “I’m to take you to Easter services this morning. Will that be all right?”

Joseph nodded. His visitor had dark gentle eyes and curly black hair. With steady hands he helped Joseph don the voluminous black cloak and mask he must always wear to protect the world from his disfigurement.

“Shall we?” The porter’s speech was surprisingly refined for someone of his station. He held out his arm.

They went outside and made their way up the steep steps to the courtyard known as Bedstead Square. Here the hospital stored its broken beds that needed cleaning and refurbishing. It was not the most direct route to the chapel but it kept Joseph from view of the other patients.

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” remarked the porter. “The rains let up just in time.”

Joseph felt too shy to speak, so he just nodded. They made their way towards the back wing of the hospital, but instead of going indoors, the porter paused.

“It’s early yet,” he said. “Would you like to walk in the garden?”

“In the daytime?”

Mr. Treves never allowed Joseph to go outside during the day for fear he would cause a riot similar to the one at Liverpool Street Station.

“Why not?” The stranger smiled. “I’m with you today.”

He steered Joseph onto the path towards the back garden. As they passed under the windows of the patients’ wards, Joseph shuddered, feeling as exposed as a crab on an empty shore. He could almost feel the horrified stares cutting into him like daggers.

They made it to the garden and Joseph allowed himself to savor the dewy air. A faint hint of green along the box hedges made his heart beat faster with joy. Every winter he wondered if he would ever see spring again, and here it was.

Along the path, the first crocuses poked up, but Joseph’s favorites were the bright yellow daffodils. They could be beaten down by a fierce storm but they always clung to life and bravely bloomed.

The porter followed his gaze. “Nice little flowers, daffodils. You can tell spring is really here when they come up.”

“Yes.”

“You know, I’ve heard good things about you, Mr. Merrick.”

“Oh?”

His companion smiled. “Folks say it cheers them up just to be around you.”

Joseph shook his head in disbelief. “How?”

“You have such interesting things to say. Must be all the books you read.”

Joseph sighed. “I have all the time in the world.”

The porter nodded, though Joseph couldn’t tell whether he had understood or was merely being polite.

Instead, he remarked, “There’s more to it than that. You’re a special person.”

Joseph thought, That’s one way of putting it. He’d had enough of being “special.” People screamed and ran away at the sight of him.

As if reading his thoughts, the porter went on. “Oh, I don’t mean because of your—well, your condition. It’s more like a light of goodness in you that touches people—“ he tapped his chest. “Right here.”

Joseph stammered, “I-I try my best.”

“Listen to me rambling on,” the stranger said. “Sometimes I don’t know when to stop.” He chuckled.

They walked on in silence. The tapestry of colors dazzled Joseph’s eyes. He felt like a newborn babe seeing the world for the first time.

As they reached the outer border of the garden, Joseph grew nervous. He’d never gone this far before. Weariness crept through his twisted limbs and he wasn’t sure he could walk much further. He turned to the porter.

“Please take me back.”

“Feeling tired, sir? Whatever you wish.”

They turned their steps towards the church. The porter offered his arm again and Joseph gratefully accepted it. Usually he treasured his independence, but something about this young man made him want to lean upon his strong arm for support and even comfort. How could it be? Most of the porters treated him with friendly boredom or bored friendliness, not tender concern.

The chapel bells rang out through the crystal-clear air as they drew closer to the hospital walls again. By now, the sun was high enough to bathe the flowers and grass in golden light. They could have been in Eden.

“Who are you?” Joseph blurted. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Oh no? I’ve been here all along.” The young man smiled.

As they approached the entrance to the hospital, Joseph’s cane slipped in a patch of mud and he lost his balance. He teetered and flailed. “Help me!”

The young porter caught him in a strong grip. “Easy, Mr. Merrick. I’m here for you.”

Joseph stammered, “Th-thank you.” As he drew deep sobbing breaths, it came to him that he wasn’t ready to die just yet. There was God’s blue sky above him, the promise of the flowers around him. There were all those loved him, and especially Mr. Treves.

They managed to get to the chapel without further incident, though Joseph’s knees shook and his steps were halting.

The porter said in a kind voice, “You take as long as you need, sir.”

Reverend Valentine stood at the door, resplendent in his white robes. “Good morning, Mr. Merrick. A very Happy Easter to you!”

“And to you, Reverend.”

“I’m delighted you’re here for our early service. But how did you get here alone?”

Puzzled, Joseph said, “I didn’t.”

His spiritual mentor’s brow furrowed. “I see no one with you, Joseph.”

Joseph turned to the young man who had guided him safely to God’s house.

He was gone.

All through the Easter service, Joseph sat unseen by the others in the vestry, trying to make sense of what had happened. Someone had brought him to the garden and caught him when he fell.

As the beloved Easter hymns filled the chapel and Reverend Valentine’s sonorous voice proclaimed the glory of Christ’s resurrection, Joseph puzzled over the stranger’s words.

“I’ve been here all along. I’m here for you.”

Perhaps he wasn’t such a stranger after all.