Chapter 10 chapter Ten

Atticus was a little frail—he was in his late fifties.Jem and I asked him why he was so old, and he said he started late, which made us feel less capable and manly in every way.He was older than the parents of the kids our age at school, and Jem and I couldn't think of Atticus having anything to say when the kids in his class said "what about my daddy." Jem is a football fan.Atticus was never tired of tackling the ball with Jem, but whenever Jem wanted to practice tackling with him, he'd say, "Son, I'm too old for this." Our father can do nothing.When he gets to work, he spends all day in the office, not at the grocery store.He doesn't drive a loading and unloading truck for the county, he's not the sheriff, he doesn't farm, he doesn't repair cars, and he has nothing to do with anything that might make people envious and admired.

In addition, he also wears a pair of glasses.He could barely see in his left eye—the bane of the Finch family, he said.Whenever he wants to see clearly, he turns his head to use his right eye. Most of the things the fathers in my class liked to do he didn't even touch: he never hunted, played poker, fished, drank, or smoked.He just loves sitting in the living room reading and reading newspapers. Still, he didn't keep a low profile as we'd like: there were murmurs all over the school that year about his defense of Tom Robinson, not a word of praise.Since that one bout with Cecil, I've adopted the willing chicken strategy, and word got around that Scooter Finch wasn't fighting anymore because her dad wouldn't let it.That's not entirely true: I don't get into fights outside about Atticus, but privately inside the family it's a different story.From the fourth cousin up, no matter who it is, I can beat him all over the place.For example, Francis knew it all too well.

After Atticus gave us two air guns, he wouldn't teach us how to shoot them.It was Uncle Jack who gave us the basics, and said Atticus wasn't interested in guns at all.One day Atticus said to Jem, "I'd rather have you shooting cans in the back yard, but I know you're going to shoot birds. It doesn't matter how many bluejays you shoot as long as you can get them, but you're going to shoot them." Remember, it is a crime to kill a mockingbird." That was the first time I heard Atticus say that certain behavior was a crime, so I asked Miss Maudie. "Your father is right," she said. "Mockingbirds do nothing but sing beautiful music for people to enjoy. They don't eat the flowers and vegetables that grow in people's yards, and they don't build trees in barns." nest and just sing for us. That's why it's a crime to kill a mockingbird."

"Miss Maudie, we're an old neighborhood, aren't we?" "Older than Maycomb." "I didn't ask that. I mean, everybody on our street is old. Jem and I are the only kids around here. Mrs. Dubose is going to be a hundred, Rachel." Miss, and you and Atticus, too, are old." "I don't think fifty is old," said Miss Maudie sharply. "I haven't been pushed around in a wheelchair, have I? Neither has your father. I must Say, thank goodness for setting fire to my old grave, I'm too old to clean it up--maybe you're right, Jean Louise, it's an old block that never changes. You don't run into any young men at all, do you?"

"No, there are in school." "I'm talking about young adults. You've got a lot of luck, you know. You and Jem have benefited a lot from your father's age. If your father was thirty now, you'd find that life has a lot to offer. different." "Of course. The thing is, Atticus can't do anything..." "You underestimate him, then," said Miss Maudie. "He's still quite alive." "What will he do?" "How should I put it? He can help people write their wills in a watertight manner, and no one can take advantage of them."

"anything else……" "Well—did you know he was the best chess player in town? Ah—at Finch Manor, when we were all young, Atticus Finch was the best chess player on both sides of the river. " "My God, Miss Maudie, Jem and I beat him every time." "Now you see, that's because he's letting you guys go? Did you know he can play the clarinet?" This insignificant talent made me feel even more ashamed of him. "Hmm..." She pondered for a moment. "Well, what else, Miss Maudie?" "Oh, it's nothing. It's nothing—I've seen enough to make you proud of him. Not just anyone can play the clarinet. Hey, stay away from the carpenter. You better go home , I'm going to take care of the rhododendrons, and I can't take care of you. The board may fall and hit you."

I went back to my backyard and found Jem shooting a soda can with so many blue jays lying around, which seemed stupid to me.I went around to the front yard again and toiled for two hours, building a complex bunker in the corner of the front porch out of a tire, a box of oranges, laundry baskets, wicker chairs and a small American flag It was all put together, and the flag Jem had ripped off a popcorn box and given it to me. Atticus came home for lunch and found me crouched aiming across the street. "What are you going to shoot?" "Miss Maudie's ass." Atticus turned and saw my big bulging target—Miss Maudie bending over her plants.He pushed his hat back on his head and walked across the street. "Modi," he cried, "I think it best to remind you that you are in a very dangerous position."

Miss Maudie straightened up and looked in my direction. "Atticus, you're the devil from hell," she said. As soon as Atticus got back he ordered me to camp."Don't let me see you pointing a gun at anyone again," he said. I wish my father was a demon from hell.I sought Calpurnia's opinion again on this subject. "Mr. Finch? Well, he does a lot." "For example?" I continued to ask. Calpurnia scratched her head. "I'm not sure about this," she said. Jem asked Atticus if he was going to represent the Methodists at the football game, and he made it so emphatic that Atticus said he would break his neck if he did because he was too old for this kind of game. sports.The Methodists in town organized this touch football game against the Baptists in order to pay off the church mortgage, and we later found out that all the fathers of the town's children except Atticus were in it.Jem said he wasn't in the mood to go to the game, but he couldn't resist football, so he sat on the touchline with Atticus and me, sullen, and watched Cecil's dad play for the Baptist team. touchdown.

One Saturday, Jem and I decided to go exploring with our air guns and see if we could find a hare or a squirrel or something.When we had gone about five hundred yards from the Radley house, I caught Jem squinting at something in the street.He turned his head to the side and looked out of the corner of his eye. "What are you looking at?" "That old dog over there," he said. "Isn't that old Tim Johnson?" "That's right." Tim Johnson was Mr. Harry Johnson's dog.Mr. Johnson lived on the southern edge of town and drove a bus between Maycomb and Mobile all year round.Tim, a liver-coloured hound, was everyone's pet in Maycomb.

"What is it doing?" "I don't know, Scout. We'd better go home." "Why, Jem, it's February." "I don't care, I'm going to talk to Calpurnia." We both ran home and rushed into the kitchen. "Calpurnia," said Jem, "would you come out on the sidewalk." "What are you going to do, Jem? I can't run out on the sidewalk every time you call me?" "There's an old dog over there that doesn't seem quite right." Calpurnia sighed. "I can't bandage the dog's injured leg right now. There is gauze in the bathroom, take it and bandage the dog yourself."

Jem shook his head. "He's sick, Calpurnia. There's something wrong with him." "What's wrong with it? It's running around and chasing its own tail?" "No, it's doing that." Jem imitated the appearance of a goldfish, opening and closing his mouth, shrugging his shoulders, and twitching his body. "It does this all the time, but it doesn't look like it was on purpose." "Jem Finch, are you making something up with me?" Calpurnia's voice hardened. "Absolutely not, Calpurnia, I swear to God." "Is it running?" "No, it's just lumbering along that road, you can hardly see it's moving. It's coming our way." Calpurnia rinsed her hands and followed Jem out into the yard. "I don't see any dogs," she said. She followed us to the Radley house again, looking in the direction Jem pointed.At this distance, Tim Johnson looks like a small dot, but it is getting closer to us.It walked shaky, and its right leg seemed to be shorter than the left, reminding me of a car stuck in the sand. "It's on its side," said Jem. Calpurnia stared at us for a moment, grabbed us by the shoulders, and trotted us all the way home, closing the wooden door behind us as soon as we entered the house, then ran to pick up the phone, and said loudly, "Get me Finch Mr.'s office." "Mr. Finch," she cried at the top of her voice, "I'm Calpurnia. I swear to God, there's a mad dog down the street—coming our way, yes, sir, it's— Mr. Finch, I'm sure it's—Old Tim Johnson. Yes, sir... yes, sir... yes..." We were about to ask her what Atticus had said when she hung up, shook her head, then rattled the phone again, and said into the receiver: "Miss Ola May—listen I said, I'm done with Mr. Finch, please don't put me through—listen to me, Miss Ola May, can you call Miss Rachel, Miss Stephanie, and the All the people on the street with phones say there's a mad dog coming. Please!" Calpurnia listened for a moment and then said, "I know it's February, Miss Ola May, but I know a mad dog when I see it. Please, please call." Calpurnia asked Jem, "Does the Radleys have a phone?" Jem checked the phone book and said no. "They ain't going out anyway, Calpurnia." "I can't control that much anymore, I'll notify them." Calpurnia ran out to the front porch, Jem and I close behind. "You two stay inside," she yelled. Neighbors in the neighborhood seem to have gotten the news, and within our sight range, the wooden doors of every house are tightly closed.No trace of Tim Johnson.We watched Calpurnia run to the Radleys, her skirt and apron pulled up above her knees.She ran up the front steps, banging on the door hard.Seeing no one answered, she simply shouted: "Mr. Nathan, Mr. Arthur, the mad dog is coming! The mad dog is coming!" "She should try around the back door," I said. Jem shook his head and said, "It's useless now." Calpurnia knocked on the door again in vain.No one responded to her, no one seemed to hear at all. Just as Calpurnia was sprinting back onto my back porch, a black Ford swerved into the driveway, and Atticus and Mr. Heck Tate got out of the car. Mr. Heck Tate is the Sheriff of Maycomb County.He was about the same height as Atticus, only thinner.He had a long nose, wore riding boots with shiny metal eyelets, wore breeches and a bomber jacket, had a battery of bullets in his belt, and carried a heavy rifle in his hand.He walked out on the front porch with Atticus and Jem opened the door for them. "Stay inside, son," Atticus said. "Calpurnia, where is it?" "It should be coming soon," Calpurnia said, pointing to the other side of the street. "Isn't it running?" asked Mr. Tate. "No, sir, it's in the convulsion stage." "Heck, shouldn't we go look for it?" Atticus asked. "We'd better wait for him to come, Mr. Finch. A mad dog usually goes in a straight line, but he can't tell, he might follow a curve - I hope so, or he'll go straight into the Radley's backyard." .Let's wait for a while." "I don't think he can get into the Radley yard," Atticus said. "The fence will keep it out. It might go down the street..." I thought that mad dogs would foam at the mouth, jump up and down, and pounce on people and bite their throats, and I thought that only in August would mad dogs attack.If Tim Johnson was like that, I might not be so scared. In the empty streets, people wait in fear to come—there's nothing worse than that.The trees stood still, the robins were silent, and the carpenters who had built Miss Maudie's house were scattered.I heard Mr. Tate sniff and blow his nose.I saw him change the position of the gun and tuck it in the crook of his arm.I saw Miss Stephanie press her face against the glass of her front door, and Miss Maudie popped up beside her.Atticus put one foot on the rung of the chair, put his hand on the outside of his thigh, and rubbed it slowly down. "Here we come." He said softly. Tim Johnson came into our view.It walked dazedly on the inside of the curve parallel to the Radley house. "Look at him like that," said Jem, "Mr. Heck says a mad dog walks in a straight line, but he can't quite keep up the road." "It looks very sick," I said. "No matter what's in front of it, it's going to hit straight into it." Mr. Tate put his hand on his forehead and leaned forward. "Mr. Finch, what a mad dog." Tim Johnson moved forward like a snail, but he was neither playing nor sniffing among the green leaves; he seemed to find a direction, pulled towards us by an invisible force Walking slowly.We saw it quivering like a horse chasing flies; its jaws opened and closed, its body swayed, but it was still drawn towards us step by step. "He's looking for a place to die," said Jem. Mr. Tate turned and said: "It's far from dead, Jem. It hasn't started yet." When Tim Johnson came up to the path in front of the Radley house, what little wit the poor fellow had left made him pause, as if considering which way to go.It took a few steps forward hesitantly, and stopped in front of the Radley house gate, and then it tried to turn around, but it was very difficult. Atticus said, "He's in range, heck. You'd better kill him now before he goes down the side road--God knows who's coming around the corner. Calpurnia, get in the house." Calpurnia pushed open the screen door and walked in, then bolted it, then unbolted it again, clutching the hook.She tried to keep Jem and me back, but we both peeped out from under her arms. "Get it done, Mr. Finch." Mr. Tate handed Atticus the rifle.Jem and I almost fainted. "Stop dawdling, Heck," Atticus said, "shoot." "Mr. Finch, this is a one-shot job." Atticus shook his head furiously. "Don't just stand around here, heck! Mad Dog won't wait for you all day..." "For God's sake, Mr. Finch, look where it's at! If it misses, the bullet goes straight to the Radleys! I can't shoot that well, you know!" "I haven't fired a gun in thirty years..." Mr. Tate almost threw the gun at Atticus. "It would be easier for me now if you were shooting the gun," he said. Jem and I watched in a daze as Father took the gun and walked into the middle of the street.His pace was fast, but it seemed to me that he was swimming under water: time slowed down, as if he were squirming forward, and it was disgusting. Atticus pushed up his glasses, and Calpurnia put her hands to her cheeks and murmured, "For God, help him." Atticus pushed his glasses up to his forehead, then they slipped off again, and he simply dropped them on the floor.In the silence, I heard the shattering of glasses.Atticus rubs his eyes and chin, and we see him blinking hard. In front of the Radley house gate, Tim Johnson gathered what little wit he had, finally made up his mind, turned and walked towards our street along the original route.It stopped after taking two steps forward, and raised its head.We found that its body froze. Atticus slung the gun over his shoulder and pulled the trigger, a series of movements that seemed to happen all at once. There was a snap of the gun, and Tim Johnson jumped up and slammed down again, in a brown and white heap on the sidewalk.It didn't even know what it had been hit with. Mr. Tate jumped off the front porch and ran toward the Radley house.He stopped in front of the dead dog, squatted down to look at it, turned around again, tapped his finger on his forehead above his left eye, and called out, "Mr. Finch, you are a little to the right." "Always," Atticus replied, "if I had a choice, I'd use a shotgun." He stooped to pick up his glasses, smashed the cracked lenses with the heel of his shoe, and walked over to Mr. Tate, looking down at Tim Johnson. The doors of the neighbors opened one after another, and the street slowly came alive.Miss Maudie and Miss Stephanie came down the steps together. Jem was dumbfounded.I pinched him to wake him up.But as soon as Atticus saw us going, he yelled at us, "Stay there and don't come." Mr. Tate returned to the yard with Atticus, smiling. "I got Zeb to get the dead dog out," he said. "Mr. Finch, you've got the same shot. They say you can never lose this one." Atticus said nothing. "Atticus?" Jem called. "What's wrong?" "nothing." "I've seen it all, Mr. Finch, who can't miss a beat." Atticus turned and was meeting Miss Maudie.They looked at each other, said nothing, and Atticus got into the sheriff's car. "Come here," he said to Jem, "don't come near that dog, see? Don't come near, a mad dog is as dangerous dead as alive." "Got it, sir," said Jem, "Atticus..." "What's the matter with you, son?" "nothing." "What's the matter? Boy, can't you talk?" Mr. Tate grinned at Jem. "You don't know your father is-" "Come on, Heck," Atticus interrupted, "let's go back to town." They drove off, and Jem and I went to Miss Stephanie's front steps and waited for Zeb to bring the garbage truck. Jem sat there, still bewildered, when Miss Stephanie said: "Tut tsk tsk, who would have thought of a mad dog in February? Maybe he ain't got rabies, he's just mad. Wait Harry. I couldn't see the look on Johnson's face when he came back from his drive in Mobile to find Atticus Finch shot his dog. Maybe the dog just got lice from somewhere..." Miss Maudie said that Miss Stephanie wouldn't speak like that if Tim Johnson was walking down the street at this moment, and that people would soon know if it was a rule or not. Mad dog, they'll send the head to Montgomery for examination. At last Jem could slur his words coherently: "Scout, do you see him? Do you see him standing there? . . . Then all of a sudden he relaxed and looked like The gun was one with him... he moved so fast it seemed... I had to aim for ten minutes to shoot something..." Miss Maudie smiled slyly. "What's the matter, Miss Jean Louise?" she asked. "Your father still thinks nothing? Are you ashamed of him?" "No." I said obediently. "Forgot to tell you the other day that Atticus Finch not only played the clarinet, but he was also a sharpshooter in Maycomb County back in the day." "Sharpshooter..." Jem repeated. "It's my name, Jem Finch. I reckon you're going to change your tone too. That's odd, don't you know he had a nickname when he was a kid, and he was called 'No Shot' How should I put it, when he was young, at Finch Manor, if he shot down only fourteen pigeons with fifteen shots, he would sigh and say that bullets were wasted." "He never mentioned it," murmured Jem. "Never mentioned it, really?" "No." "I don't understand why he doesn't hunt now," I said. "Perhaps I can tell you why," said Miss Maudie. "If there was anything unusual about your father, it was that he had a noble heart. Good marksmanship is a gift, a talent— Oh sure, you have to practice hard to perfect your craft. But shooting is not the same as playing the piano or anything. I think maybe he realizes that the God-given talent is important to life on earth. It wasn't fair to most of the other lives, so he put the gun down. I guess he decided long ago not to shoot unless it was a last resort, and today was a last resort." "Looks like he'd be proud of it," I said. "No one in their right mind is arrogant about their talents." We saw Zeb driving up.He took a long-handled fork from the back of the garbage truck, carefully picked Tim Johnson up, threw it into the truck, then took out a large can and sprinkled it in and around where Tim Johnson had fallen. something. "Don't come here for a while." He shouted. On the way home I said to Jem we'd have something to talk about when we went to school on Monday. "Scout, don't make it public," he demurred. "What? Of course I'm going to say that in Maycomb County, not everyone's dad is a sharpshooter." Jem said: "I think if he wanted us to know, he would have told us. If he was proud of it, he would have told us." "Maybe he just didn't remember." "No, Scout. You don't understand that. Atticus is old, but I don't care if he can't do anything--I don't care if he can't do anything." Jem picked up a rock and threw it toward the garage, looking very pleased.He danced after him, then turned back and yelled at me, "Atticus is a gentleman, as much as I am!"