Chapter 15 Chapter fifteen

We made multiple phone calls, begged on behalf of the "defendant," and Dill's mother wrote a long letter, forgiving him for leaving without saying goodbye, and finally confirming that he could stay.We spent a peaceful week together.However, the good times don't last long, and our nightmare seems to be coming at once. It started after dinner one day.Dill slipped by and Aunt Alexandra sat in her chair in the corner of the living room, Atticus sat down in his own chair, and Jem and I sat on the floor reading.For a week, the house was peaceful: I was obedient in front of my aunt; Jem, who was no longer interested in tree houses, was grown up, but he helped Dill and me assemble a new rope ladder; Dill came up with a foolproof plan , can lure the weirdo Radley out without risking our lives.His idea was to scatter lemon drops from the back door to the front yard, and Boo Radley would follow like an ant.It was after supper that day that we heard a knock at the door, and Jem went and came back and said it was Mr. Tate.

"Oh, let him in," said Atticus. "I've asked him to come in. There's a group of people in the yard outside the door, and they want you out." In Maycomb, there are only two reasons for a group of grown-ups to stand in a front yard: if someone dies, or a political event.I can't think of anyone who died.Jem and I went for the door, but Atticus called out to us, "Go back to the house." Jem turned off the light in the living room and pressed his nose to the screen.Aunt Alexandra wanted to stop him, but he said quickly, "Just a little while, Aunt. Let's see who's there."

Dill and I occupy the other window.I saw a group of men surrounding Atticus, seeming to be chatting about something. "...to move him to the county jail tomorrow," said Mr. Tate. "I don't want to get in trouble, but I can't guarantee it won't happen..." "Don't be silly, Heck," Atticus interrupted, "this is Maycomb." "...I just want to say that I am not at ease." "Heck, we're adjourning this case just to make sure there's nothing to worry about. It's Saturday," Atticus said. Not easy to do, and I don't think anyone in Maycomb will begrudge me a client."

There was a murmur of laughter from the crowd, and it stopped abruptly, as Mr. Link Deass began to speak: "We don't have any troublemakers here, and it's the old Salem gang that I'm worried about... …Could I apply for one—what's that called, heck?" "Transferring the place of trial," said Mr. Tate, "doesn't make much sense now, do you see?" Atticus said something but couldn't make out.I turned to Jem, and he waved me to silence. "...Besides," continued Atticus, "you're not afraid of those people, are you?" "...I don't know what outrageous things they would do when they were drunk."

"They generally don't drink on Sundays and spend most of their time in church..." Atticus said. "However, this time the situation is very special..." Someone reminded. There was a buzzing buzz in the crowd.The aunt couldn't help it, and said that if Jem didn't turn on the light in the living room, it would disgrace the family.But Jem didn't hear at all. "... I don't see why you took this case in the first place," said Mr. Link Deass. "Atticus, you're going to lose everything. I mean everything." "Do you really think so?"

This is a very lethal question. "Scout, do you really want to go there?" Papapapapapapapa, my entire team on the chessboard was eaten up in a few strokes. "Son, do you really think so? Come and read this." Jem spent the rest of the evening digging into Henry W. Grady's speeches. "Link, that kid might end up in the electric chair, but he can't until the truth comes out." Atticus' voice was very calm. "And you know what the truth is." There was another humming in the crowd, and Atticus retreated to the edge of the steps, and the crowd closed in on him, looking bad.

Suddenly Jem called out at the top of his voice, "Atticus, the phone's ringing!" Those gathered outside startled and scattered back.These were the kinds of people we met almost every day: shopkeepers, farmers in town, Dr. Reynolds among them, and Mr. Avery. "Oh, son, you pick it up," Atticus called. People laughed and scattered away.Atticus turned on the overhead light in the living room and found Jem sprawled on the window sill, pale, save for the vivid print of the screen window on his nose. "Why are you sitting in the dark?" Jem watched silently as he went back to his chair and picked up the evening paper.I can't help thinking sometimes that when Atticus was in a crisis, he could sit quietly behind the Mobile Chronicle, the Birmingham News, and the Montgomery Gazette.

"They're coming for you, aren't they?" Jem moved up to him. "They're trying to get you down, aren't they?" Atticus put down his newspaper and watched Jem. "What books and newspapers have you been reading recently?" he asked.Then he replied mildly: "No, son, they are our friends." "Aren't they... a gang?" Jem squinted at his father out of the corner of his eye. Atticus tried not to laugh, but he couldn't. "No, we don't have mobs in Maycomb, none of that nonsense. I've never heard of a gang in Maycomb."

"The Ku Klux Klan went after Catholics once." "I never heard of Catholics in Maycomb," Atticus said. "You're confusing Catholics with something. A long time ago, about 1920, there was a The Ku Klux Klan, but they're only a political organization. And they don't scare anybody. They were demonstrating in front of Mr. Sam Levy's house one night, and Sam stood on the front porch and said , Now the world is really down, and people’s hearts are not old. Speaking of which, he even sold the sheets they wore. What Sam said made them feel ashamed and scattered. "

The Levys met all the criteria of a "good class": they did the best they could in everything, and their entire family had lived on the same land in Maycomb for five generations. "The Ku Klux Klan is long gone," Atticus said, "and it won't be coming back." I took Dill home and came back just in time to hear Atticus say to his aunt, "...as much for Southern women as everyone else, but I don't approve of hypocritical decorum at the cost of human life." Listen After his declaration, I suspect that they had another dispute. I went to find Jem, and found him in his room, lying in bed brooding. "Are they fighting again?" I asked.

"I guess. She's got the Tom Robinson case all the time. She's on the verge of saying Atticus' disgrace to the family. Scout . . . I'm a little scared." "What are you afraid of?" "I'm afraid something will happen to Atticus. I'm afraid somebody might kill him." Jem was always secretive, and if I got to the bottom of it he told me to go away and leave him alone. The next day is Sunday.During the break between Sunday classes and services, believers come out to stretch their legs.I saw Atticus standing in the yard with the other gang.Mr. Heck Tate was there too, and I wondered if he had seen a "light" from God, for he had never been to church before.Even Mr. Underwood was in the crowd.Mr. Underwood never joined any organizing group, but devoted himself to his Maycomb Tribune.He is the only owner of the newspaper and editor and printer.He watched over his whole row typesetting machine all day long, taking a sip of kirsch to refresh himself now and then.The gallon-capacity magnum was always with him.He hardly had to gather news; people offered it to him.It is said that each issue of the "Maycomb Tribune" was first conceived in his head, and then written directly with a typesetting machine.This statement is credible.This time something must have happened to drag Mr. Underwood out of his studio. I stopped Atticus as he came in, and he said Tom Robinson was in the county jail.He also said that if he had been locked there in the first place, there would have been less of this fuss—a line that was more like a soliloquy.I saw him take his seat in the third row from the front, and I heard his muffled chants of "May my Lord be nearer to you"—he was a few beats behind us all.He never sat with his aunt and Jem and me in church, he liked to be alone by himself. There was an unreal peace prevailing on Sundays, and my aunt's presence made one feel uncomfortable.Atticus usually slipped off straight after lunch and fled to the office.Sometimes we stopped by to see him, and we always found him reclining in the swivel chair, reading.Aunt Alexandra was taking a two-hour nap to unwind, and she warned us not to make a fuss in the yard because the neighbors were resting too.Jem wasn't a kid anymore, he was huddled in his room, flipping through piles of football magazines.Dill and I had to pass the time by wandering silently up and down the deer field. Sunday was hunting day, and Dill and I played Jem's football on the grass for a while, and it wasn't fun at all.Dill asked me if I wanted to spy on Boo Radley.I said I didn't think it would be good to bother him, and I told him what had happened last winter until evening.He listened with gusto. When it was time for dinner, we went back to our respective homes.After dinner, Jem and I were about to start our evening routine when Atticus piqued our interest: He came into the living room with an extension cord with a light bulb attached to it. "I'll be out for a while," he said, "and you'll probably be in bed when I get back, so I'll say good night to you now." After speaking, he put on his hat and went out through the back door. "He's going to drive," said Jem. Our father had several eccentricities, one of which was that he never ate dessert, and another was that he liked to walk.For as long as I can remember, our family has had a Chevrolet in the garage, perfectly maintained.Atticus did a lot of business in this car, but he walked to and from get off work four times a day, a total of about two miles.He says walking is his only exercise.In Maycomb, if a man walked aimlessly on the road, it was a safe bet that the man's mind was not very clear. That night, I was saying goodnight to my aunt and brother, and I was fascinated by a book when I heard Jem creaking in his room.The sound of him going to bed was all too familiar to me, and it wasn't normal, so I knocked on his door: "Why aren't you sleeping?" "I'm going to town for a while." From the sound, he was changing his pants. "Why? Jem, it's almost ten o'clock now." He said he knew, but he had to go anyway. "Then I will go with you. Even if you say no, I must go, do you hear me?" Jem knew that to keep me at home he would have to have a fight with me, and he knew that a fight would annoy Auntie, so he gave in with great reluctance. I dressed quickly.After my aunt turned off the lights, the two of us slipped out quietly through the back door and down the steps.There was no moon that night. "I guess Dill wants to go too." I whispered. "Of course he wants to," said Jem sullenly. We climbed over the parapet of the driveway and cut across Miss Rachel's side yard to Dill's window.Jem imitated a quail cry, and Dill's face immediately appeared behind the screen window, and then disappeared in a blink of an eye. Five minutes later, he opened the screen window and crawled out.He was an old hand, and he waited until we were on the sidewalk before asking, "What's going on?" "Jem wants to go out for a walk." In Calpurnia's words, all boys do this annoying thing at this age. "I just have a hunch," said Jem, "just a hunch." We walked past Mrs. Dubose's house.The doors and windows of the house were closed, and it stood there empty. In the yard, camellias, johnson grass and other weeds of various colors were intertwined and overgrown.There were eight more houses from here to the post office around the corner. The south side of the town center square is empty.In the two corners grows a kind of Chilean araucaria commonly known as "Monkey Difficult to Climb", which is full of needles.Between them was a row of iron stakes, gleaming in the light of the street lamps.Lights were on in the toilets of the county government building, otherwise the county government side would be pitch black.The shops around the square are arranged in a huge phalanx, and there are dim lights in the depths of the shops. When Atticus started his practice as a lawyer, his office was in the county hall, and a few years later he moved to the quieter Maycomb Bank building.As soon as we turned the corner of the square over there, we saw a car parked in front of the bank building. "He's in there," said Jem. But he is not in the office.We went down a long corridor to get to his office, and if there were lights in it we should have seen some solemn small print: Atticus Finch, Attorney.At this time, the lights in the house were dark. Jem peered in through the door of the bank to see what was going on.He turned the doorknob—the door was locked. "Let's look north. He may have gone to Mr. Underwood." Mr. Underwood not only ran the Maycomb Tribune, but he lived on the paper, or rather, above it.All he had to do was poke his head out of an upstairs window to gather news from the county government and the jail.The newspaper office is in the northwest corner of the square. To get there, we must pass through the prison. The Maycomb Jail was the most stately and ugliest building in the county.Atticus said the eccentric design seemed to be the work of Uncle Joshua St. Clair.It's definitely the product of someone's whimsy.Lined with square storefronts and pointed residences, Maycomb Jail is an utter anomaly.One bay wide and two bays high, with its little battlements and flying buttresses, the prison looked like a miniature Gothic building, and it looked like a big joke.The red brick façade and thick iron bars on the cathedral windows add to the absurd effect.It stood not on a lonely hill, but squeezed between Tyndall's Hardware and the Maycomb Tribune office.In Maycomb, the jail was the only thing that kept people arguing: detractors said it was like a Victorian toilet; supporters said it made the town look dignified and that outsiders wouldn't suspect it It's all niggers in there. We walked north along the sidewalk and saw a lone light in the distance. "It's strange," said Jem, "there's no light outside the prison." "Looks like it's hanging over the gate," Dill said. It turned out that an extension cord had passed through the iron grille of the second-floor window and was hanging down the outer wall. There was a bare light bulb attached to the end of the wire. Atticus was sitting under the light with his back to the door.He sat reading the newspaper in a chair he had brought from an office, oblivious to the swarms of bugs flying and circling overhead. I was about to run when Jem grabbed me. "Don't look for him," he said, "he might be upset. If he's all right, let's go home. I just want to know where he is." We were taking a short cut across the square when suddenly we saw four dusty cars coming off the highway to Meridian and coming slowly in a single file.The car rounded the square, passed the bank building, and stopped in front of the jail. No one got out of the car.We saw Atticus lift his head from the paper, close the paper, fold it without haste, put it on his lap, and push back his hat.He seemed to be waiting for someone to come. "Come with me," whispered Jem.We ran across the square, across the street, and ran to the eaves of the Jitney Jungle supermarket chain.Jem looked down the sidewalk towards the jail. "We can get a little closer," he said.We made it to the door of Tyndall's Hardware again in a short swipe--it was close enough and not easy to see. Several men came out of the car one after another.The light reflected their figures very clearly, and I saw a few sturdy figures approaching the prison door step by step.Atticus, who remained where he was, was overshadowed by their shadows. "Is he in there, Mr. Finch?" one of them asked. "Here," we heard Atticus answer, "he's sleeping. Don't wake him." They obeyed my father and began to discuss in whispers, almost whispers.I realized only later what a disgustingly comical scene this was in the midst of such a non-comedy affair. "You know what we're up to," said the other, "Mr. Finch, get the door out of the way." "You'd better turn around and go home, Walter," said Atticus pleasantly. "Mr. Heck Tate's around here." "Don't believe his bullshit," someone interjected. "Huck's gone deep into the woods with a party, and they won't be able to get out until tomorrow morning." "Really? How come?" "Played a trick with them," someone gave a succinct answer, "Mr. Finch, you didn't expect that, did you?" "I thought about it, but I still don't believe you can do it." Atticus' voice didn't change a bit. "That makes a difference, doesn't it?" "That's right." A deep voice replied.It was a dark shadow who spoke. "You really think so?" It was the second time in two days I heard Atticus throw that question.It seems that someone is going to be unlucky again.This good show can't be missed.I let go of Jem and sprinted toward Atticus. Jem screamed and tried to grab me, but I was one step ahead of him and Dill.I stretched out my hand to push away those black bodies that smelled of sweat, and broke into the middle light circle. "Hey, Atticus!" I thought he would be very pleasantly surprised, but the expression on his face made my mood drop to the bottom all of a sudden.There was a flicker of panic in his eyes, and when he saw Dill and Jem squeezed in, the frightened eyes flashed again. The surrounding area smelled of alcohol and smelled like a pigsty.I glanced around and saw that they were all unfamiliar faces, not the ones I had met the night before.I was so hot with embarrassment: I actually jumped into the middle of a group of people I had never met before. Atticus stood up from his chair, very slowly, like an old man.He carefully put down the newspaper in his hand and smoothed out the creases with his fingers. This action was somewhat hesitant, and his fingers trembled a little. "Jem, go home," he said. "Take Scout and Dill home." We were used to obeying Atticus's orders, though not always willingly, but this time, from the way Jem stood, he seemed not about to flinch. "I said, go home." Jem shook his head.Atticus put his fists on his back, and Jem did the same.And so they faced each other, and at the moment I couldn't see anything alike between them: Jem's soft brown hair, brown eyes, and his oval face and ears set close together , both inherited their mother's looks, in stark contrast to Atticus's black hair, which was beginning to grey, and his angular, square face, yet they seemed to share vague resemblances.Competing with each other makes them look alike. "Son, I told you to go home." Jem shook his head. "I'll let him go home," said a stout man, grabbing Jem roughly by the collar, and nearly lifting him up. "Don't touch him!" I flew up and kicked that person.I was surprised to see him back away in pain, but I had no shoes on.I was going to kick him in the shin, but it was too high. "Okay, Scout." Atticus grabbed my shoulders. "Don't kick. Don't…" I was about to defend myself when he said. "Nobody's gonna do that to Jem," I yelled. "Okay, Mr. Finch, get 'em out of here," someone yelled gruffly, "you've got fifteen seconds to get 'em out!" Atticus stood in the midst of this queer crowd, trying to persuade Jem to listen to him.He threatened first, then demanded, and finally even said something like "Please, Jem, please take them home with you."Jem was unwavering, and always answered in one sentence: "I'm not going." I was a little tired of what they were talking to each other, but I figured Jem must have his reasons for doing it, because he knew what Atticus was going to do to him when he got home.I looked around at the people around me—it was a summer night, but they were all fully dressed, most of them in overalls and denim shirts buttoned up to their collars.I guess they are probably more afraid of the cold, because they have not rolled up their sleeves, and the cuff buttons are also buttoned.Some even wore hats pulled low and pressed tightly over their ears.They all looked gloomy and sleepy, and they looked very unaccustomed to staying up late.I scanned around again, trying to find a familiar face, and finally found it right in the middle of the semicircle. "Hey, Mr. Cunningham." The man didn't seem to hear my greeting. "Hey, Mr. Cunningham. How's your 'Limited Succession' going?" I was well acquainted with Mr. Walter Cunningham's legal affairs, for Atticus had been at pains to tell me of his troubles.The big man blinked and hooked his thumbs to the suspenders of his trousers.He seemed a little embarrassed, cleared his throat, and avoided my eyes.I wanted to show my friendliness, but my nose turned gray. Mr. Cunningham was hatless, and the white upper part of his brow contrasted so sharply with his sunburnt face that I surmised that he also wore a hat most of the day.He moved his feet, and I noticed he was wearing a pair of heavy work boots. "Mr. Cunningham, don't you remember me? I'm Jean Louise Finch. You gave us a bunch of hickory nuts once, remember?" The embarrassment and helplessness that the other party ignored him. "I'm at school with Walter," I began to pursue again. "He's your son, isn't he? Isn't he, sir?" Mr. Cunningham, struck by my earnestness, nodded slightly.Anyway, he does remember me. "He's in my grade," I said, "and he's doing really well, a good student." I added, "He's a very good kid. We took him home for dinner one day." It's lunch time. Maybe he told you about me, and I beat him up, but he doesn't hold a grudge. Can you say hello to him for me?" Atticus said that the polite way to talk to people is to talk about the other person's interests, not to talk about your own interests.Mr. Cunningham didn't seem to be showing the slightest interest in his son, so I seized on the subject of "limited succession" again in a last effort to put him at ease. "'Limited succession' is terrible." I was speaking to Mr. Cunningham, but I slowly realized that I was addressing a whole crowd.They all stared at me blankly, some with their mouths half open.Atticus stopped urging Jem to go home, and the two of them stood beside Dill without knowing it.Everyone is so focused, it seems like a madman.What's more, even Atticus' mouth was half-open--I remember him telling me once that it was an ugly look.Our eyes met and he closed his mouth. "Oh, Atticus, I just said a bunch of things to Mr. Cunningham about 'restricted succession' being awful. But you said don't worry, sometimes it takes a long time. . . Work hard, and you will always overcome the difficulties..." As I spoke, my voice gradually disappeared.I thought to myself, I am really stupid.Talking about "limited succession" might seem like an appropriate topic in a living room, but not here. I feel my hairline starting to sweat - the thing that scares me the most is being stared at by a bunch of people.They were all silent. "What's the matter?" I asked. Atticus said nothing.I looked around and looked up at Mr. Cunningham, who was equally impassive.But then, he made a move that I didn't expect -- he squatted down and put his arms around my shoulders. "I'll convey your regards to him, little lady." Then he straightened up and waved his big hand. "Let's get out," he said. "Let's go, boys." Just as they had come, they shuffled back to the battered car in twos and threes.The doors slammed shut a few times, the engine groaned, and the car sped away in dust. I turned to look at Atticus, who had come up to the jail with his head against the wall.I went over and tugged on his sleeve. "Can we go home now?" He nodded, took out his handkerchief, wiped his face vigorously, and blew his nose hard. "Mr. Finch?" A vague and hoarse voice came from the dark upstairs: "Are they gone?" Atticus stepped back and looked up. "They're gone," he said. "Go to sleep, Tom. They won't bother you any more." There was also a voice from another direction, piercing the silence of the night neatly: "Just brag and say they won't come. Atticus, I've been watching over you all the time." Mr. Underwood was seen poking his head out of the upper window of the Maycomb Tribune with a double-barreled shotgun. It was long past my bedtime, and I was too sleepy to keep my eyes open, but Atticus and Mr. Underwood were talking, one leaning out of the window, the other downstairs with his head thrown up, It seems that we can talk until dawn.At last Atticus came back to us, turned off the light above the prison door, and picked up his chair. "Mr. Finch, can I get you a chair?" Dill asked.Just now he didn't say a word from the beginning to the end. "Oh, thank you, boy." Dill and I followed Atticus and Jem on the way to the office.Dill moved the chair, stumbled and slowed down.Atticus and Jem were drifting away in front of us, and I thought Atticus was going to give him a lesson for not coming home nicely, but I guessed wrong.As they passed under a street lamp, Atticus reached out and stroked Jem's hair--a gesture of endearment.