Harper lee

To Kill a Mockingbird*

The town of Maycomb where the events take place is a typical little town of a Southern state.

The lawyer, Atticus Finch, left by the death of his wife in charge of a son Jem and a daughter Jean Louise (nicknamed Scout) allows them to grow free and unrestrained teaching them to decide most things for themselves. But he himself sets a good example to the children, for he is not only tolerant but humane and extremely decent. And their loyalty to Atticus is rooted in respect for his character as much as in affection for him as a father.

The crisis comes when Atticus makes up his mind to defend in court a Negro, who had been unjustly accused of raping and beating up a white woman. On the eve of the trial the Negro is brought to the Maycomb jail, and Atticus being aware of the mood of some of the whites and of possible violence sits on guard at the door of the jail, blocking the door with his body.

... Atticus said that they'd moved Tom Robinson to the Maycomb jail.

After our meal Jem and I were settling down to a routine evening, when Atticus did something that interested us: he came into the living-room carrying a long electrical extension cord. There was a light bulb on the end.

«I’m going out for a while», he said. «You folks'll be in bed when I come back, so I'll say good night now».

With that, he put his hat on and went out of the back door.

«He's takin' the car», said Jem.

Later on, I bade my aunt and brother good night and was well into a book when I heard Jem rattling around in his room. His go-to-bed noises were so familiar to me that I knocked on his door: «Why ain’t you going to bed?»

«I’m goin’ downtown for a while». He was changing his pants.

«Why? It's almost ten o'clock, Jem».

He knew it, but he was going anyway.

«Then I'm goin' with you. If you say no you're not, I'm goin' anyway, hear?»

Jem saw that he would have to fight me to keep me home, so he gave in with little grace.

I dressed quickly. We waited until Aunty's light went out, and we walked quietly down the back steps. There was no moon tonight.

«Dill’ll wanta come,» I whispered.

«So he will», said Jem gloomily.

We went to Dill's window. Jem whistled. Dill's face appeared, disappeared, and five minutes later he crawled out. An old campaigner, he did not speak until we were on the sidewalk. «What's up?»

«I've just got this feeling,» Jem said, «just this feeling»…

Atticus's office was in the Maycomb Bank building. When we rounded the corner of the square, we saw the car parked in front of the bank.

«He's in there,» said Jem.

But he wasn't. Jem peered in the bank door to make sure. He turned the knob. The door was locked. «Let's go up the street»…

As we walked up the sidewalk, we saw a solitary light burning in the distance. «That's funny,» said Jem, «jail doesn't have an outside light.»

«Looks like it's over the door,» said Dill.

A long extension cord ran between the bars of a second-floor window and down the side of the building. In the light from its bare bulb, Atticus was sitting propped against the front door. He was sitting in one of his office chairs, and he was reading, oblivious of the nightbugs dancing over his head.

I made to run, but Jem caught me. «Don’t go to him,» he said, «he might not like it. He's all right, let's go home. I just wanted to see where he was.»

We were taking a short cut across the square when four dusty cars came in from the Meridian highway, moving slowly in a line. They went around the square, passed the bank building, and stopped in front of the jail.

Nobody got out. We saw Atticus look up from his newspaper. He closed it, folded it deliberately, dropped it in his lap, and pushed his hat to the back of his head. He seemed to be expecting them.

«Come on,» whispered Jem, «we can get closer.»

In ones and twos, men got out of the cars. Shadows became substance as light revealed shapes moving towards the jail door. Atticus remained where he was. The men hid him from view.

«He is there, Mr. Finch?» a man said.

«He is,» we heard Atticus answer, «and he's asleep. Don't wake him up.»

In obedience to my father, there followed what I later realized was a sickeningly comic aspect of an unfunny situation: the men talked in near-whispers.

«You know what we want,» another man said. «Get aside from the door, Mr. Finch.»

This was too good to miss. I broke away from Jem and ran as fast as I could to Atticus.

Jem shrieked and tried to catch me, but I pushed my way through dark smelly bodies and burst into the circle of light.

«H-ey, Atticus!»

I thought he would have a fine surprise, but his face killed my joy. A flash of plain fear was going out of his eyes, but returned when Dill and Jem wriggled into the light.

There was a smell of stale whisky and pigpen about, and when I glanced around I discovered that these men were strangers. Hot embarrassment shot through me: I had leaped triumphantly into a ring of people I had never seen before.

Atticus got up from his chair, but he was moving slowly, like an old man. He put the newspaper down very carefully, adjusting its creases with lingering fingers. They were trembling a little.

«Go home, Jem,» he said. «Take Scout and Dill home.»

We were accustomed to prompt, if not always cheerful acquiescence to Atticus's instructions, but from the way he stood Jem was not thinking of budging.

«Go home,» I said.

Jem shook his head. As Atticus's fists went to his hips, so did Jem's, and as they faced each other I could see little resemblance between them, but they were somehow alike. Mutual defiance made them alike.

«Son, I said go home.»

Jem shook his head.

«I'll send him home,» a burly man said, and grabbed Jem roughly by the collar.

«Don't you touch him!» I kicked the man swiftly. Barefooted, I was surprised to see him fall back in real pain.

«That'll do, Scout.» Atticus put his hand on my shoulder. «Don't kick folks.»

«All right, Mr. Finch, get'em outa here,» someone growled. «You got fifteen seconds to get'em outa here.»

In the midst of this strange assembly, Atticus stood trying to make Jem mind him. «I ain't' going,» was his steady answer to Atticus's threats, requests, and finally, «Please Jem, take them home.»

I was getting a bit tired of that, but felt Jem had his own reasons for doing as he did, in view of his prospects once Atticus did get him home. I looked around the crowd. It was a summer's night, but the men were dressed, most of them, in overalls and denim shirts buttoned up to the collars. Some wore hats pulled firmly down over their ears. They were sullen-looking, sleepy-eyed men who seemed unused to late hours. I sought once more for a familiar face, and at the centre of the semi-circle I found one.

«Hey, Mr. Cunningham.»

The man did not hear me, it seemed.

«Hey, Mr. Cunningham.» The big man blinked. He seemed uncomfortable; he cleared his throat and looked away. My friendly overture had fallen flat.

«Don't you remember me, Mr. Cunningham? I’m Jean Louise Finch. You brought us some hickory nuts one time, remember?» I began to sense the futility one feels when unacknowledged by a chance acquaintance.

«I go to school with Walter,» I began again. «He's your boy, ain't he? Ain't he, sir?»

Mr. Cunningham was moved to a faint nod. He did know me, after all.

«He's in my grade,» I said, «and he does right well. He's a good boy,» I added, «a real nice boy. We brought him home for dinner one time. Maybe he told you about me, I beat him up one time but he was real nice about it Tell him hey for me, won’t you?»... I slowly awoke to the fact that I was addressing the entire aggregation. The men were all looking at me, some had their mouths half-open...

I began to feel sweat gathering at the edges of my hair; I could stand anything but a bunch of people looking at me. They were quite still.

«What's the matter?» I asked.

Atticus said nothing. I looked around and up at Mr. Cunningham, whose face was equally impassive. Then he did a peculiar thing. He squatted down and took me by both shoulders.

«I’ll tell him you said hey, little lady,» he said.

Then he straightened up and waved a big paw. «Let’s clear out,» he called. «Let’s get going, boys.»

As they had come, in ones and twos the men shuffled back to their ramshackle cars. Doors slammed, engines coughed, and they were gone.

I turned to Atticus, but Atticus had gone to the jail and was leaning against it with his face to the wall. 1 went to him and pulled his sleeve. «Can we go home now?» He nodded, produced his handkerchief, gave his face a going-over and blew his nose violently.

«Mr. Finch?»

A soft husky voice came from the darkness above: «They gone?» Atticus stepped back and looked up. «They've gone,» he said. «Get some sleep, Tom. They won't bother you any more.»

* Levina. English for Advanced Students. Moscow, 1968, pp. 60-63.

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