John Doe

His only memory was of an old house, a brick Cape built by unreliable and unskilled volunteers. Just how he knew this detail of its construction, along with everything else, was a mystery. 

They found him in a ditch on a back road near Waynesboro, Virginia. He was unconscious and naked, his body covered with scratches and bruises. He had no identification. The State Police rushed him to the hospital in Charlottesville where he was treated day and night for two weeks before finally regaining consciousness. It was then that the doctors and nurses discovered that he had no memory of anything except a vivid description of the old house. They dubbed him John Doe, and every nurse on his floor soon fell in love with him, not the romantic kind but the kind of tender hearted love that rises up in the hearts of nurses for their most pitiful patients. And there was no one in the University of Virginia hospital more pitiful than John Doe.

When he first opened his eyes there was a moment of delirium, loud screams and fruitless attempts to get out of bed. When the nurses arrived in his room he seemed terrified, looking them over from head to toe, his face filled with bewilderment. He was quickly sedated and surrounded by the several doctors who had been in charge of his care, some of whom were surprised that he had woken up at all, the rest fascinated by the novelty of his case. When he slowly came out from under the sedation he was restrained and talked to gently by Carol, the night nurse who had cared for him each evening for two weeks straight and had grown fond of him.

Hello there. So glad to have you back among the living. You’ve had quite a nap, young man.

Carol had no idea whether or not John Doe was young. He had been so battered and bruised when he arrived it was hard to tell one way or the other. And since there was no identification his age was anyone’s guess. But she had noticed that he had no grey in his hair and his hands were free of callouses. So she held his smooth right hand in hers and gave it a soft squeeze and referred to him as a young man. This time he didn’t scream, didn’t try to get out of his bed, but the bewildered expression was still on his face.

Where am I? He asked just over a whisper.

The doctors leaned in as Carol answered, You are in the hospital. You’ve been here for a couple weeks now and this is the first time you’ve been awake. Can you tell me your name, honey?

John Doe looked around, noticing the team of doctors and nurses surrounding him and the leather straps securing him to the bed. Fear returned to his eyes. He looked back at Carol who was still smiling and holding his hand. She said, It’s alright. I’ve got you. What’s your name?

She saw the tears quickly forming in the corners of his eyes then stream down his cheeks…I don’t know…he said. She had been a nurse for nearly 20 years but had never been as moved by any patient as she had been when John Doe woke up all alone in the Universe.

They gave him a couple days to rest and start eating again. He had lost fifteen pounds in two weeks and was weak as water. The nurses began taking him for walks around their duty station. Each time he would stare at everything like he had never once been inside a hospital, like it was all brand new, but he never spoke a word. Just did what they asked him to do without complaint.

The nurses picked out pajamas for him to wear from the clothes closet for the indigent found on every floor. He ate everything they gave him slowly with perfect manners. He smiled at each courtesy and nodded his head in appreciation, but never spoke.

It was on the third night after he woke that he began to talk about the old house. Carol had brought him a glass of juice and he had surprised her by taking hold of her hand.

I remember an old house. I keep seeing it in my dreams. Its all I have from…before.

Carol smiled down at him, overjoyed that he had finally said something, knowing that it represented some kind of breakthrough. What kind of house?

Nothing special. Just an old brick cape. Small. Run down. There’s a porch off of one side with a hole ripped in the screen and another porch off the back. There’s a small kitchen, a bedroom and small bathroom downstairs, with two bedrooms and a big bathroom upstairs. But its in bad shape. Poor workmanship all around, like it was built by a group of building trade trainees, like apprentices maybe. 

Carol pulled up a chair and sat close to his bed, not letting go of his hand as he went on and on.

There’s a road close to the front yard. Across the street there’s a church, an old white clapboard building with a steeple. There’s a stop sign on the road by the church. I can see myself walking through the house. Its messy, dirty clothes piled up, dishes in the sink, trashcan overflowing. But nobody is home. Its just me walking through the house.

Carol picked up the notepad and pencil that was on his nightstand and began writing  down everything he said. I don’t want to miss anything, John. I’ll need to let the doctors know about this before I leave in the morning…but this is wonderful news, don’t you agree? This is the first of many memories to come. I’m sure of it!

John didn’t seem to share her optimism but wanting to be agreeable he said, Well, its something, at least. He had grown fond of her. She was especially kind. Maybe it was because she came at night and there wasn’t as much going on. Some nights he had been her only patient, or so it seemed. She paid special attention to him and his spirits always were lifted by her appearance at the door. 

Then he called her by name for the first time.

Carol, I need to ask you a question.

You can ask me anything, John.

John sat up straighter in the bed and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper…What year is this?

She was startled for a moment, raising her eyebrows trying to comprehend the extent of the man’s isolation to have to ask such a thing.

Why, its 1939 of course…September 1, as a matter of fact. You were brought in on August 14th I think. What year did you think it was?

John had leaned back down onto his pillow at her answer and turned his head towards the window. I didn’t know…that’s why I asked.

You looked surprised, that’s all.

She watched him pull up his covers and curl into a ball on his side. He was finished talking for the night. She turned out the light in his room then immediately set about fleshing out the notes she had furiously scribbled into complete sentences while it was fresh in her mind. The Doctors would want to know every detail of what was said. As she did she thought of the sound of his voice, the unfamiliar cadence, the odd lilt of his accent, one she couldn’t quite place. It figured that he wouldn’t know what year it was. He didn’t even know who he was or his name so naturally he wouldn’t know what year it was. But there was something about the way he asked the question, with so much apprehension in his manner, and then his abrupt change in mood upon receiving the answer. She thought back to the look on his face as she had taken him on his first walk down the hall and around the nurses station, the way he stared at everyone and everything with such confusion. He seemed enthralled with the most mundane things, reaching out to touch the most rudimentary items like pictures on the wall, light fixtures and the door knob to the supply closet. When he would encounter a visitor or a nurse walk by he would stop and stare them down from top to bottom, not like a drunken lecher but more like someone who hadn’t seen another human being in a long time and wanted to take it all in from hat to shoes. His behavior only served to endear him further to everyone who had contact with him. To the doctors and nurses on the fourth floor he was a lost soul who was lucky to be alive and about whom very soon a decision would have to be made. They couldn’t just keep him there indefinitely waiting on him to regain his memory or wait for someone to show out of the clear blue to claim him. But he had nothing. No money, no clothes, and no name. Where would he go?

The police had been no help. There were no missing persons claims filed that matched his physical description within 250 miles of Virginia. They had taken his fingerprints to see if they were a match for anyone in their records. Although it was a long process, so far no matches had been found. There wasn’t anything else they could do. They could send him out to Western State for evaluation, but it was basically an insane asylum and John Doe was not insane by any measurement. But as he got stronger, eventually…and very soon, they would have to release him and the thought of this kind and gentle man alone and penniless on the streets was Carol’s worse fear. 

The next day, John Doe asked the morning nurse if she could bring him a newspaper. She sent for a copy of the Daily Progress and delivered it to him with his breakfast. John unfolded it and saw the large block headline about Germany invading Poland and the outbreak of war in Europe, proof that the previous night’s conversation with Carol had not been a dream. He sat the paper aside and devoured the grits, eggs and bacon.

With each passing day his appetite improved and his body got stronger. As he adjusted to his new reality, he seemed less afraid, less hesitant to engage with those trying to help him. Each night when things slowed down Carol would pull up a chair beside his bed to share a glass of juice with him and try to get him to talk. He was always polite and appreciative of her company, but each conversation always came back around to the old house across the street from the white clapboard church. Carol would lean in and ask clarifying questions…Do you think you once lived there John?

I don’t know. Maybe? Maybe not. Its the only thing I remember. I know I must sound like a broken record.

Not at all. I don’t mind. One day soon other memories will start coming back to you, I’m sure of it.

I’m glad somebody is sure of something.

Carol came in one night and asked him if he would like to venture outside for the first time. She told him that it would be good for him to stretch his legs and it was lovely outside, the fresh air would do him good.

She led him to a courtyard behind the hospital which featured a Parisian water fountain that sent streams of water out of the mouths of lion heads into a pond filled with giant goldfish. She led him to a bench to let him rest. His eyes were alive with wonder at every detail of the garden, fascinated beyond understanding. Carol watched him carefully as his eyes scanned the horizon.

They never told me where they found me, as he ran his fingers gently over the iron work handle of the bench.

They didn’t? Its no secret. Did you ask them?

I’m asking you…

Carol hesitated, worrying that she might be violating some protocol of his care by answering the question. But his eyes were so filled with pleading she decided on telling him the truth.

They found you in a ditch on a backroad near Waynesboro. Its about a half hour, forty-five minutes from here. You were in pretty bad shape and you didn’t have any clothes on. You were unconscious and had lots of bruises and scratches all over your body.

His facial expressions registered no surprise. He said nothing but kept his eyes focused clearly on her.

Does anything I just said ring any bells at all?

I’m sorry…no.

She reached out for his hand. You have nothing to be sorry for. You are lucky to be alive. Obviously you suffered some incredible trauma, but these doctors are some of the best in the country and you are making wonderful progress. In no time at all your memories will come back to you and you’re going to be as good as new.

If I was found naked in a ditch, why would regaining my memories be a good thing? Can we go back now? 

Carol walked slowly by his side through the hospital doors and down the hallway until they reached the door to the chapel. It opened slowly. An old man came out holding a handkerchief to his eyes. John looked through the door and saw a stained glass window, then the bright white keys of a small spinet piano. He took a step towards the door and stood still in the doorway.

This is the chapel, John. Would you like to see it?

John walked inside without taking his gaze off the piano. The chapel was empty and dimly lit. There was a crucifix with Jesus hanging forlornly. Carol followed along quietly, tentatively. When John reached the piano he stopped and once again ran his slender fingers across the keys as if for him touching would bring knowing. Then he sat down on the padded bench, placed his hands on the keys and began to play. The sounds which he brought forth from the instrument were full of longing and beauty and Carol touched her fingers to her lips as he played, tears filling her eyes. She saw that his eyes were closed. The music continued its magical flow. The tune was familiar in a vague sort of way. She knew she had heard it before but could not remember when or recognize the name. She instantly knew that this old piano in this old prayer chapel had never been played this way with this much feeling, this much palpable anguish.

She saw the door open in the back of the chapel and recognized one of the doctors who had been brought in on John’s case. He took a few steps then stopped to listen. He stood still as a statue until the music stopped. John folded his hands in his lap, his eyes still closed and bowed his head. The doctor approached carefully, barely making a sound walking across the carpet. He stood at Carol’s side and looked down at John who seemed to be in another place.

That was Chopin, the doctor whispered. One of the Nocturnes, I can’t remember which one but by God I don’t think I’ve heard it played any better. I’m thinking that the odds are pretty good that there was a piano somewhere in that old house he keeps talking about.