Chapter 13 Chapter Thirteen

"Calpurnia, put my bag in the front bedroom," were Aunt Alexandra's first words. "Jean Louise, stop scratching your head," was the second thing she said. Calpurnia picked up her aunt's heavy suitcase and opened the door. "I'll get it," said Jem, taking the box.I heard the suitcase thud on the bedroom floor, the sound was dull and there was a long aftertaste. "Auntie, are you here to see us?" I asked.Aunt Alexandra rarely left Finch to visit us, but whenever she went out to see friends and family she had to put on a show.She had a boxy bright green Buick with a black driver who was sickly neat and tidy, but I didn't even see them today.

"Didn't your father tell you?" she asked rhetorically. Jem and I shook our heads. "Perhaps he forgot. He hasn't come back yet, has he?" "Not yet, he doesn't usually come back until evening," said Jem. "Well, listen to me, your father and I have made a decision that I have to come and live with you for a while." In Maycomb, "for a while" can refer to any length of time from three days to thirty years.Jem and I exchanged glances. "Jem's almost grown up, and so are you," she said to me, "so we thought it would be nice to have some female influence on you. In a few years, Jean Louise, you'll be Interested in clothes and boys..."

I could have refuted her with a bunch of reasons: Calpurnia is a girl too; I'm afraid I'll have to wait until the monkey year to be interested in boys; I'll never be interested in clothes. "Where's Uncle Jimmy?" asked Jem. "Is he coming too?" "Oh, he's not coming, he's staying at Finch Manor to take care of things." "Don't you miss him?" As soon as I said that, I knew I was asking a stupid question.It made no difference whether Uncle Jimmy was there or not, and he never spoke anyway.Aunt Alexandra ignored my question.

I could think of no other subject for conversation with her.To be honest, I never found anything to talk to her about, so I just sat and thought about our excruciating conversations: how are you, Jean Louise?Very well, thank you ma'am, how are you doing?Very good, thank you, what have you been up to?Nothing.Don't you do anything?No.You must have some friends, right?Yes, I have.So what do you guys do?did nothing. Aunty obviously thought I was stupid, because I heard her tell Atticus once that I was slow. There was a story behind all this, but I didn't have the heart to ask her about it at the time: it was Sunday, and Aunt Alexandra was easily offended on a Sunday, presumably because of the corset she was wearing.She's not fat, but she's strong, and she always likes to wear shapewear that pushes her breasts to dizzying heights, cinches her waist tightly, accentuates her wide, full buttocks, and manages to show people that she, too, has had Hourglass figure.No matter which angle you look at her, her posture is shocking.

The presence of relatives tends to bring about a faint gloom, and that was how we passed the rest of the afternoon, which was dispelled at once when we heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.It was Atticus back from Montgomery.Jem threw aside his dignity too, and rushed out with me to meet him.Jem snatched his briefcase and duffel bag, and I jumped into his arms, letting him press a soft kiss on my cheek as I asked, "Did you bring me a book? You know Is aunt here?" Atticus answered both questions in the affirmative and added, "Do you like her living with us?"

I said I was very happy, which is actually a lie, but under certain circumstances, and when there is nothing you can do, one has to lie. "We figured it was about time, when you boys needed--well, it happened, Scout," said Atticus, "and Auntie came to help me and help you as well. I can't be at home all day, by your side, this summer is going to be a scorching heat." "Yes." I agreed, but I didn't even understand a single word he said.However, I also have my own thoughts: Aunt Alexandra's presence is probably not Atticus's idea, but her own.My aunt was always saying "it's in the best interest of the whole family" and I guess her coming to live with us would fall into that category.

Warmths of Maycomb greeted her.Miss Maudie baked a layer cake with so much wine in it that I was a little drunk; , Miss Stephanie shook her head and said "um, um, um" most of the time.Miss Rachel next door invited my aunt over for coffee in the afternoon, and even Mr. Nathan Radley went out of his way to come to my front yard to say how glad it was to see her. After she settled in our home, her daily routine resumed her normal rhythm.Aunt Alexandra looked as if she had lived with us the whole time.Her teas for the Missionary Society earned her reputation as a hostess, but she kept Calpurnia from making those delicious treats whenever the Missionary Society began a tirade denouncing the "Christians who lived for nothing." Everyone.She also joined the Maycomb Clerical Club and served as its secretary.Aunt Alexandra was at all the parties and threw herself into the life of Maycomb County with a passion that is rare in her class: she had riverboat and boarding-school airs; She was unequivocal; she was born to dictate and was an incurable gossip.When Aunt Alexandra was in school, "self-doubt" wasn't mentioned in any of the textbooks, so she had no idea what it was.She was never dull, but at the slightest opportunity she exercised her regal prerogatives: to arrange, to advise, to exhort, to warn.

She never misses an opportunity to point out the faults of other families, so as to show the honor of ours, and Jem finds this revealing habit more amused than disgusted: "Aunty better be careful what she says—" —she doesn't like half the people in Maycomb, and they're all our relatives." Aunt Alexandra once went out of her way to emphasize to us the lesson of Sam Merriweather's suicide, which she said was due to the pathological traits in the family.If she saw a sixteen-year-old girl giggling in the choir, she would comment: "See, that shows that the Penfield women are all flirtatious." In her eyes, Mako Everyone in Tom seems to have a certain quality: drinking, gambling, miserliness, eccentricity, you can all fit the bill.

Once, Aunt Alexandra told us quite positively that Miss Stephanie's meddling was hereditary too.Atticus said: "Sister, think about it, the Finch family has stopped marrying close relatives since our generation. Would you say that the Finch family has incest?" My aunt replied that no, it was just because our family had small hands and feet. I don't understand why she is so obsessed with genetics.I don't know where I got the impression that "excellent people" are those who do their best with their own minds, and my aunt has expressed her point of view half-heartedly, that is—— a family guards The longer the time on a piece of land, the better the family.

"The Ewells are good folks, by the way," said Jem.The family of Barris Ewell and his brothers had always occupied the land behind the Maycomb dump, thriving for three generations on county handouts. However, Aunt Alexandra's theory had some truth to it.Maycomb is an old town, twenty miles east of Finch Hall.For such an old town, it is a bit embarrassing to be inland.In fact, Maycomb would have been nearer the river had it not been for the cleverness of a Mr. Sinkfield.At some remote age, this Mr. Sinkfield kept an inn, the only hotel in the land, at a fork of two narrow lanes.Mr. Sinkfield is not a patriot, he not only entertains Indians and settlers, he supplies them with ammunition, and he doesn't know if he's in Alabama or Creek territory, and he doesn't care It's okay, as long as the business is good.While his business was booming, then-Governor William Wyatt Bibb, in order to promote peace and tranquility in the new county, sent a surveying party to determine the very center of the county as the site for the future establishment of the county government.The survey team lodged at Mr. Sinkfield's hotel, and as tenants they told the owner that his hotel was within the Maycomb County boundaries and showed him where the future county government might be located.Had it not been for this Mr. Sinkfield's bold attack to protect his own vested interests, Maycomb would probably have been built in the middle of Winston Swamp, which was not profitable at all.The result was very different: Maycomb sprawls and sprawls around Mr. Sinkfield's hotel, the result of the night Mr. Sinkfield got his guests drunk and induced them to bring out their maps and charts. Subtract a little here, add a little there, and adjust the county center to a position that meets his requirements in a few strokes.The next day the surveying party set off for home with their charts in their saddlebags and five bottles of good wine--two apiece, with the remaining bottle being presented to the Governor.

Maycomb was originally established primarily as the seat of government, so it's not as squalid as most small towns of its size in Alabama.From the beginning, the town's buildings were solidly built, the county hall was stately, and the streets were exceptionally spacious.Maycomb has a fairly high proportion of professionals: people go to town to pull teeth, go to town to fix cars, go to town to see a doctor to listen to their heart, go to town to save money, go to town to seek salvation of their souls, go to town to Find a veterinarian to treat the mule.Although Sinkfield's trick was extremely clever, it also exposed a problem: His positioning made this new town far away from the only public transportation at the time-river boat transportation, and people who lived at the north end of the county came to Meco It would take two days on the road to buy things from the shops in Muhammad.As a result, the town remained its original size after more than a hundred years, a small isolated island in a sea of ​​interlaced cotton fields and woodlands. Although the town of Maycomb was neglected during the Civil War, Reconstruction laws and economic collapse would force it to grow, but internally.There are very few foreigners who come to settle here, so there are always marriages between the few families, so that the people in the whole community look somewhat alike.Occasionally someone would return from Montgomery or Mobile with an out-of-towner, but this stirred only a small ripple in the calm stream of family assimilation.It was pretty much the same when I was a kid. There is indeed a caste line in Maycomb, but it seems to me that it works like this: the old residents, and the current generation, have lived next to each other for many years, and can hardly tell each other apart. Poorly predict the behavior of the other party - attitudes, nuances of character, even gestures and movements, they can take it for granted that it is all indistinguishable, because it has been repeated in every generation, and after The honing of the years.Hence the assertions: "The Crawfords don't mind their own business" "There must be a lunatic out of three Merriweathers" "The Delafields don't have the truth in their mouths" "The Browns" All the Fords walk in that way."These conclusions have become people's daily guides, such as: Always call the bank before taking a check from the Delafields; It was no surprise that Mrs. Seth drank Lydia E. Pinkham herbal extracts a lot—as did her mother. Aunt Alexandra settled into life in Maycomb with ease, as if putting her hand in a glove, but she never entered Jem's and mine's world.I've often wondered how she could be Atticus and Uncle Jack's sister?I'd forgotten about half of that story that Jem had made up long ago about the switchboy and the datura root, and now it's coming back to life in my head. These were the general impressions I had of her the first month of her stay, for she had little to say to me and Jem, and we only saw her at mealtimes and at night before going to bed—now It's summer vacation, and the two of us are always outside.Of course, I sometimes run into the house for a drink in the afternoon and always find the living room full of Maycomb ladies sipping drinks and fanning and talking in low Called: "Jean Louise, come and say hello." But as soon as I showed up at the door, the expression on my aunt's face seemed to be that she regretted calling me in—usually, I was either splashed with mud or sand. "Say hello to Cousin Lily," she said as she blocked me in the hall one afternoon. "Who?" I asked. "Your cousin Lily Brooke," said Aunt Alexandra. "Is she my cousin? I never knew." Aunt Alexandra forced a smile that served two purposes, a gentle apology to Cousin Lily and a stern reprimand for me.After Cousin Lily left, I knew I was going to be in trouble. It's pathetic that our father was so careless that he didn't tell me about the Finch family history or instill a sense of family honor in the kids.She called Jem again, and Jem sat down alertly on the sofa next to me.Aunt Alexandra turned away from the living room and showed us a book bound in purple, stamped in gold letters, "Meditations of Joshua S. St. Clair." "This book was written by your cousin," said Aunt Alexandra. "He was a very fine man." Jem looked carefully at the pamphlet. "Is that Uncle Joshua who was imprisoned for a long time?" Aunt Alexandra asked, "How do you know?" "Oh, Atticus told me he went out of his mind in college and tried to shoot the headmaster. Uncle Joshua supposedly claimed the headmaster was just a plumber with an old flintlock To shoot the principal and the gun blew up in his own hand. Atticus says Cousin Joshua's spent five hundred dollars to get him out..." Aunt Alexandra stood there stiff as a stork. "That's it," she spit out, "I'll talk about it later." I was in Jem's room trying to borrow a book before going to bed that night when Atticus knocked on the door and came in.He sat on the edge of Jem's bed, looked at us solemnly, and then grinned. "Oh-ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh'" he started with a hoarse slur that made me think he must be finally starting to age, but he still looked the same. "I really don't know how to tell you about this," he began. "Oh, to put it bluntly," said Jem, "are we in trouble?" Our father was really on pins and needles this time around. "No, I just wanted to explain to you—your aunt wanted me to... son, you know you're from the Finch family, don't you?" "That's what I was told." Jem, squinting at his father out of the corner of his eye, raised his voice involuntarily. "Atticus, what's the matter?" Atticus crossed his legs and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm trying to tell you the truth about life." Jem's disgust and contempt deepened. "I know all about that stuff," he said. Atticus suddenly became serious.He said calmly, in the tone of a lawyer: "Your aunt asked me to come and talk to you, so that you and Jean Louise can remember that you are not from ordinary people, but from generations of noble blood. family..." Atticus paused, watching me search my leg for a ladybug lurking around. "Noble blood," he went on, seeing that I had finally locked onto the target and captured the ladybug, "you should always be worthy of your last name..." Atticus didn't even look at the reaction of the two of us, just kept going The child went on: "She wanted me to tell you that you have to act like little ladies and gentlemen, that's who you are. She wanted me to tell you about our family history, and how we have lived through the years. The status of the family in Maycomb County, so that you will clearly understand who you are, and you may be moved by it, so that you can behave according to this identity." He finished the sentence in one breath. Jem and I were dazed, looking at me and I at you, and then we looked at Atticus together.His collar seemed to make him uncomfortable.Neither of us took his word for it. I took a comb from Jem's nightstand and ran the teeth along the edge of it. "Don't make any noise," Atticus said. His harsh words hurt me.The comb in my hand was halfway through, and I fell to the ground with a snap.I can't tell why, but I can't help crying, and I can't stop it.This is not my father.My father would never have thought those things, and my father would never have said them.Who knows what Aunt Alexandra used to make him like this.Through blinded, tearful eyes I saw Jem standing there, as helpless as I was, with his head turned to one side. With nowhere to go, I turned to go and bumped into the front of Atticus's vest.I buried my head in it and listened to the small sounds behind the pale blue fabric: the ticking of the pocket watch, the rustling of the starched shirt, his soft breathing. "Your stomach is growling," I said. "I know," he replied. "You better have some baking soda." "I'll eat it," he said. "Atticus, do the rules and stuff you just said work? I mean do you..." I feel his hands stroking the back of my head. "You don't have to worry about anything," he said, "it's not time to worry yet." After hearing this, I knew he was back with us.I felt the blood in my legs start to flow again, and I looked up. "Do you really want us to do that? I can't remember all the rules a Finch is supposed to obey..." "I don't want you to remember either. Then forget it." He walked to the door, walked out of the room, and closed the door behind him.He nearly fell hard, but managed himself at the last moment and closed the door softly.Before Jem and I knew it, the door opened again, and Atticus glanced around the room, eyebrows raised, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. "Am I becoming more and more like Uncle Joshua every day? Do you think I will have to be redeemed by my family for five hundred dollars in the end?" I understand his intentions now, but Atticus was only a man.That kind of thing needs a woman to do.