Chapter 16 Chapter Sixteen

Jem heard my cry.His head popped out from behind the middle partition.He was walking towards my bed when the light in Atticus' room came on.We didn't move, and we waited until the lights went out, and then we heard him tossing and turning in bed, and we waited until he was quiet. Jem took me into his room and laid me down beside him. "Try to sleep," he said, "after tomorrow it may be over." Just now we entered the house quietly so as not to wake up my aunt.Atticus shut down the engine in the driveway, let the car coast into the garage, and we entered the house through the back door and went back to our rooms without saying a word.I was so exhausted, but just as I was dozing off, my memory of Atticus calmly folding the newspaper and pushing back his hat suddenly became Atticus standing in the middle of the empty street, The atmosphere was tense, and he pushed up his glasses.I suddenly understood what happened tonight and I started sobbing.Jem was very considerate this time, and for the first time he didn't remind me that people who are approaching nine shouldn't cry anymore.

This morning, everyone's appetite was not very good, except for Jem, who actually ate three eggs in a row.Atticus gave him a look of unabashed admiration.Aunt Alexandra sipped her coffee, dissatisfaction pouring out of her body like shock waves.In her eyes, a child who sneaks out of the house in the middle of the night is a disgrace to the family.Atticus said he was very relieved, thanks to the disgrace of the family who came to the rescue, but his aunt said, "What nonsense, Mr. Underwood has been there." "Braxton Underwood's a funny guy, you know," said Atticus. "He's got a lot of contempt for the Negroes, and he never stays away."

In the eyes of the locals, Mr. Underwood is a little man who does not believe in God and is a little nervous.His father had named him Braxton Bragg on a whim at birth, and Mr. Underwood spent his life trying to wash away the stigma it brought him.Atticus said that the Confederates who would receive the same name slowly turned into habitual alcoholics. Calpurnia refills Aunt Alexandra's coffee, and she shakes her head at me in what I think is an endearing plea. "You're still too young," she said, "and I'll tell you when you're old enough." I said coffee might whet my appetite. "Okay," she said, taking a mug from the sideboard, pouring a tablespoon of coffee into it, and filling the mug with milk.I stuck out my tongue and licked it to express my gratitude, but when I looked up, I found that my aunt was frowning, as if to give a warning.She was frowning at Atticus, though.

When Calpurnia was in the kitchen, she said, "Don't say things like that in front of them." "In front of whose face, what did you say?" He expressed puzzlement. "Say something like that in front of Calpurnia. Just now, in front of her, you said Braxton Underwood looked down on black people." "Oh, I think Calpurnia knew it. In Maycomb, it's known." I began to notice a subtle change in my father's demeanor in recent days when he spoke to Aunt Alexandra.He took every step of the way quietly and never had a direct confrontation.At this time, there was a trace of rigidity in his words: "Anything that is suitable to be said at the dinner table is suitable to be said in front of Calpurnia. She knows how people in this family think of her."

"Atticus, I don't think it's a bad habit. It'll turn their noses up. You know what they say behind their backs. In this town, no matter what happens, it doesn't stop until the sun goes down." Can spread to the black district." Father put down the knife in his hand. "I don't know of any law that says they can't talk. Maybe if we don't give them so much to talk about, they'll keep silent. Scout, why don't you drink your coffee?" I used a spoon to stir back and forth in the cup. "I thought Mr. Cunningham was our friend. You told me long ago that he was."

"So is he now." "But last night he wanted to hurt you." Atticus put his fork next to his knife, pushed away the plate in front of him, and said, "Mr. Cunningham is a good man at heart. He just has his blind spots, like all of us." Jem said, "That's not a blind spot at all. When he first arrived on the scene last night, he might have killed you." "He might have done me a little bit of damage," Atticus admitted. "But, son, when you get older, you'll understand people better. Anyway, a mob is made up of people." Yes. Last night Mr. Cunningham was part of a gang of thugs, but he was still a man on his own. In any small town in the South, you know every gang of thugs—which makes They don't look like much, do they?"

"I don't think they're a big deal," said Jem. "So an eight-year-old can turn them around, right?" Atticus said. "That just goes to show—a gang of vile gangsters can be subdued, just because they're still human. Oh, maybe we It takes a police force of kids ... last night you kids put Walter Cunningham in my shoes for a minute, and that was enough." Well, I hope when Jem grows up he understands people better, but I don't. "I'm going to make Walter's first day back at school his last," I swore. "You don't touch him," said Atticus, flatly denying my plan. "Whatever happens, I don't want either of you holding grudges."

"As you can see," said Aunt Alexandra, "it's come to such an extent, don't blame me for not warning you." Atticus said he would never say a word of reproach, and pushed back his chair and stood up. "I'm off now. I've got all day to do. Jem, I don't want you and Scout in town today." As soon as Atticus was out the door, Dill hopped across the corridor and into the dining room. "This morning, the news spread all over the town," he announced loudly. "Everyone is talking about how powerful we are. We beat back hundreds of people with bare hands..."

Aunt Alexandra gave him a look that scared him into silence. "There wasn't a hundred of them," she said, "and no one fought anyone off. It was just the Cunninghams getting drunk and messing around." "Oh, Auntie, that's the way Dill talks," said Jem, motioning for us to follow him. We walked towards the front porch, and my aunt told me behind us: "You all stay in the yard today, don't go anywhere." This day feels like Saturday.Many people came from the southernmost part of the county, and they passed by my house slowly, it can be said that there was an endless stream.

Mr. Dolphus Raymond rode crookedly past on his thoroughbred. "Don't know how he can stay in the saddle without falling off," said Jem to himself. "How can he bear to be drunk before eight o'clock in the morning?" A creaking carriage, full of women, passed us.They all wore cotton sun hats and long-sleeved dresses.The driver was a bearded man wearing a felt hat. "Those are the Mennonites," Jem said to Dill, "they never use buttons on their clothes." The Mennonites lived in the woods and bought and sold mostly across the river and rarely in May. Combe Town.Dilton suddenly became interested. "They've got blue eyes," Jem went on telling him, "and men aren't allowed to shave when they're married. Their wives like to let them tickle their beards."

Mr. X. Billups came up on a mule and waved to us. "He's a funny guy," said Jem. "His name is X, and X isn't his initial. He was in court one time, and they asked him what his name was, and he said it was X. Billups." The clerk asked him how he spelled it, and he replied that it was an X. Asked again, and it was still an X. They asked again and again, and finally X. Mr. Billups had to write an 'X on a piece of paper ’, and showed it to everyone. They asked him again why he chose such a name, and he said that when he was born, his family registered him with this name.” As the stream of people passed us, Jem told Dill the history of each notable figure and the general opinion of them: Mr. Tansor Jones was a staunch supporter of the Prohibition Party; Miss Davis snuffs in private; Mr. Byron Waller plays the violin; Mr. Jack Slade is undergoing a second tooth loss. At this time, what appeared in front of our eyes was a large cart full of citizens with extremely stern expressions.They pointed to Miss Maudie's yard where the summer flowers were in full bloom and Miss Maudie herself had just come onto the front porch.There is something strange about Miss Maudie—although she stands far away on the front porch of her house, we can't see her face clearly, but we can always capture her mood from her standing posture.At this time, she had her hands on her hips, her shoulders drooped slightly, her head was tilted to one side, and her glasses were shining in the sun.We knew right away that she was wearing an extremely evil smile. The driver slowed the mule, and a woman with a high-pitched voice called out: "'Come in the void, go in the dark'." Miss Maudie replied calmly: "'Happy in heart, smiling'!" I guess these foot-washing Christians must have thought that the devil was quoting passages from the Bible for his own purposes at this moment, because the coachman drove his mules away quickly.Why they were hostile to Miss Maudie's garden has always been a mystery to me.What puzzled me even more was how Miss Maudie, who stayed outdoors all day, could memorize the "Bible" by heart, which is simply awe-inspiring. "Did you go to court this morning?" Jem asked as we walked across the street. "I'm not going," she said. "I have nothing to do in court this morning." "Aren't you going to see it?" Dill asked. "No. It's sick to go out and see a poor ghost stand trial. Look at those people. It's like going to a carnival in Rome." "Miss Maudie, they must open his case," I said, "and it would be wrong not to." "I'm well aware of that," she said, "but just because it's a public hearing doesn't mean I have to go, does it?" Miss Stephanie came, still wearing her hat and gloves. "Tut, tut, tut," she said, "look at these people—those who don't know think it's William Jennings Bryan coming to town to speak." "Where are you going, Stephanie?" asked Miss Maudie. "Go to Jitney Jungle." Miss Maudie said she had never seen Miss Stephanie wearing a hat to the supermarket in her life. "Well," said Miss Stephanie, "I reckon I might go to court and see what Atticus wants to do." "Beware he gives you a subpoena." We asked Miss Maudie to clarify, and she said that Miss Stephanie seemed to know a great deal about the case and was likely to be called to testify. We waited till noon when Atticus came back for lunch and said they had spent all morning picking the jury.After dinner we called Dill and we walked toward town. It was like a festival.The public hitch stalls were packed to the brim, with mules and carts hitched under every tree.The square where the county government building is located is full of people sitting and eating with newspapers.Some were devouring treacle pies with warm milk in cans, others were munching on cold chicken and pork cutlets.Those with more money bought Coca-Cola in pot-bellied bottles from the grocery store and ate and drank it.Greasy-faced children scurry through the crowd, playing whiplash, and babies eat their lunches in their mothers' arms. In a far corner of the square, black people sat quietly in the sun, chewing sardines and biscuits, and drinking the stronger "Nihai" Coke.Mr. Dolphus Raymond sat with them. "Jem," said Dill, "he's drinking out of a paper bag." It was true, and Mr. Dolphus Raymond had two yellow straws from a grocery store in his mouth, the other end of which was inserted deep into a brown paper bag. "I've never seen anyone do that before," grunted Dill. "How can the contents not leak out?" Jem giggled. "He had a coke bottle full of whiskey in a paper bag so the ladies wouldn't look at him. You'd find him smoking all afternoon and then going out for a while to refill the bottle .” "Why is he sitting with niggers?" "He's always been like that. He likes niggers more than us, I think. He lives by himself near the county line, has a black person woman, and has a lot of mulatto kids. I'll show you when I see him." .” "He doesn't look like a rogue," Dill said. "Of course he isn't. All the land on the other side of the river belongs to him. I want to tell you one more thing. He comes from a real family." "Then why does he live like that?" "That's what he is," said Jem. "He's been told he hasn't shaken off the tragedy of his wedding. He was going to marry—a Spender daughter, I think. They There was a big wedding planned, but it turned out to be nothing - right after the wedding rehearsal, the bride went upstairs and blew her own head off. It was a shotgun. She pulled the trigger with her toe." "Did they figure out why?" "No," said Jem, "nobody knows except Mr. Dolphus. Some say it's because the bride found out he had a nigger, and he thought he could keep up with that nigger and marry another." .He's been drunk all the time since. You know, he's been really nice to those kids..." "Jem," I asked, "what's a half-breed?" "Half white, half black. Scout, you've seen 'em. You know the kid who delivered the grocery, the one with the curly red hair. He's half white. It's actually very pitiful." "Poor? How come?" “They don’t count on either side. Black people don’t take them because they’re half white; white people don’t take them because they’re black, so they’re in the middle and neither side counts. Still, some say, Dole Mr. Furth sent his two boys up north, where people don't care what color they are. Look, there's one over there." A little boy came toward us clutching the hand of a black woman.To me, he was a straight black kid, with dark chocolate skin, flared nostrils, and fine teeth.From time to time he would have a romp, and the black woman would grab his hand to make him stop. Jem waited until they had passed before saying, "That's a little mulatto." "How do you know that?" Dill asked. "I think he's just a black person." "Sometimes you can't tell, unless you know them. He's half Raymond anyway, sure." "But how on earth did you see that?" I asked. "I told you, Scout, you gotta know who they were." "Okay, so how do you know we're not black?" "Uncle Jack said, we really don't know. He said that from his own tracing, the Finch family has no black blood, but, as far as he knows, our ancestors may have come out of Ethiopia during the Old Testament .” "How should I put it, if our ancestors came out in the period of the Old Testament, so long ago, it wouldn't be a big deal at all." "I think so, too," said Jem, "but around here an' if you got a drop of black person's blood in you they take you for a black person. Why, look--" The people having lunch in the square seemed to have received an invisible instruction. They stood up one after another and scattered the fragments of newspapers, cellophane and wrapping paper everywhere.The children ran back to their mothers, the little ones were wrapped around their waists, and the men with sweat-stained hats gathered their families together and drove them through the gate of the county hall.In the far corner of the square the negroes and Mr. Dolphus Raymond also stood up and dusted their trousers.There were no women or children among them, which seemed to take away from the festive atmosphere in the square.They waited patiently at the door for the white family to advance. "Let's go in," Dill said. "No, we'd better wait till they're all in. Atticus might be upset if he sees us," said Jem. The county government building in Maycomb always reminds people of Arlington National Cemetery: the concrete pillars on the south side are too heavy, and the roof supported by them seems to be light.Those columns are the only part of the original county hall that survived a fire in 1856.The new county government building was built around these columns, or rather, without them.However, as far as the south corridor is concerned, the Maycomb County Government Building presents a school of early Victorian style, and it is a passable street view from the north.But viewed from the other side, those Greek Revival-style columns are at odds with the nineteenth-century bell tower, which houses a rusty, out-of-time clock. It's like a nation determined to Keep every fragment of the past. To get to the courtroom on the second floor, one had to pass through a series of darkened cubicles that housed the various departments of the county government—assessor, tax collector, county clerk, county sheriff, circuit clerk, and probate Officials and the like stayed in these cold and dark cubicles, and there was a musty smell of files mixed with the smell of old damp cement and urine.Here, lights had to be turned on in broad daylight, and the rough floors were always covered with dust.The office workers have been conditioned to become an endemic species: small, pale, and never seem to have been exposed to the weather. We had expected that it would be crowded, but we didn't expect that the corridor on the first floor was also full of people.We were scattered by the crowd, Jem and Dill were gone, and I fought my way to the wall of the stairwell, knowing Jem would come for me sooner or later.It turned out that I found myself among the members of the Idlers' Club, and I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible.This group of old men in white shirts and khaki trousers with suspenders had nothing to do all their lives, and their twilight years were also spent in idleness-they spent all day in the square and sat on pine benches under oak trees to pass the time.Atticus said they were extremely ardent commentators on legal matters, who had, through years of observation, become as proficient in the law as the Chief Justice.Normally, they were the only audience in the courtroom, and they seemed annoyed that so many people had come and disrupted their routine of enjoying themselves.When they spoke, it was in a casual tone, but with seriousness.It was my father they were talking about. "...Surely he knows what he's doing," said one of them. "Well, I don't know what to say about that," said another, "Atticus Finch has read a lot. You can't count it." "He's good at reading, that's all he is." The group of people snickered. "I'm telling you, Billy," one of them began, "you know, the court appointed him to defend the nigger." "Yes, but Atticus is determined to defend him. That's what turns me off." It was the first time I'd heard it said, and it made a difference: Atticus had to take the case, whether he wanted to or not.I'm surprised he didn't say a word about it - we could have defended him, and ourselves, on so many occasions.He had no choice but to do it—to use this sentence to resist, how many quarrels and fists can be saved.But does that explain the bad attitude of the townspeople?The court appointed Atticus to defend him, and Atticus was determined to defend him.This is what makes them unhappy.It's really confusing. After the whites went upstairs, the blacks began to crowd in. "Oh, wait a minute," yelled a club member, holding up his walking stick. "Don't let them go up the stairs yet." The clubbers started to climb upstairs on stiff legs, just as Dill and Jem came down to find me.Jem yelled, "Come on, Scout, there's no room left. We've got to stand." "Look," he said impatiently.At this time, the black people also flocked.The group of old men walking in front is estimated to take up most of the standing positions.Jem told me it looked like we were screwed, and it was all my fault.We stood miserably by the wall. "Can't you get in?" Reverend Sykes looked down at us, holding a black hat. "Hey, Reverend," said Jem, "can't get in, it's Scout's fault." "Oh, let's see if there's anything we can do." Reverend Sykes squeezed sideways up the stairs, and was back in a few minutes. "There isn't a single room downstairs. Would you like to come with me to the stands?" "Wow, of course I would," Jem answered.We ran happily into the courtroom ahead of Reverend Sykes, up another flight of back stairs, and stopped at the door to wait.Reverend Sykes came up panting and guided us carefully through the black spectators in the stands.Four black men stood up and offered us their front seats. The stands full of blacks stretched along the three walls of the court, like a terrace on the second floor, from which you can have a panoramic view of everything in the court. The jury sits under a long window on the left.They were all tanned and lanky and looked like peasants, but that was a natural thing: few people in the town served as jurors, and they were either expelled or excused from the duty.There were one or two members of the jury who looked like well-dressed Cunninghams.At this moment, they were all sitting upright. The D.A. and a guy sat behind one table and Atticus and Tom Robinson sat at another, all with their backs to us.A brown book and several yellow notebooks lay on the table in front of the D.A.; Atticus's desk was empty. In the fence that separates the audience, the witnesses sit on leather-covered chairs, which also happen to have their backs to us. Judge Taylor sat on the bench, looking like a sleepy old shark, and his "pilot fish" sat in front of the lower bench, writing something quickly.Judge Taylor was like most judges I've ever met: affable, gray-haired, slightly rosy-cheeked.He was startlingly informal in his court sessions—sometimes with his feet raised up, and often with a pocketknife to clean his nails.During lengthy equity hearings, especially after lunch, he always gave the impression of being lethargic.But this impression was later dispelled forever, because once a lawyer deliberately overturned a stack of books on the ground in a hurry to wake him up. Judge Taylor didn't even open his eyes, but murmured in a low voice: "Hui! Next time, Mr. Turley, fine you a hundred dollars." He seems to be careless in his work, but he is actually a person who is proficient in the law, and in fact, he firmly controls every legal process he handles.Only once, in open court, in full view, did Judge Taylor come to an impasse—and it was the Cunninghams who stumped him.In Old Sarum, where they often operate, two completely unrelated branches of the family lived from the beginning, but it happened that they shared the same surname.The Cunninghams and the Corninghams continued to marry and marry until eventually even the spelling of the name became a matter of theory—until one of the Cunninghams went to court over land ownership disputes with a Corningham.During the debate between the two, Jims Cunningham testified that his mother had written Cunningham on deeds and the like, when in fact her last name was Cunningham; I read less, and sometimes I would sit on the front porch in the evening and stare into the distance in a daze.After nine hours of hearing about the erratic behavior of the residents of Old Salem, Judge Taylor decisively threw the case out of court.Someone asked him what basis he had for doing so, and he said two words, "support the lawsuit," and announced that since both parties had made a public statement, he hoped they would all be satisfied.They did get what they wanted, because that's what they wanted. Judge Taylor has an intriguing habit of allowing people to smoke in his courtroom, but never indulging himself in it.You may be lucky enough to see him put a long cigar in his mouth and chew it slowly and with great relish.The cigar slowly became shorter and shorter, and when it reappeared after a few hours, it turned into a slippery flat piece-the essence had been extracted and mixed into Judge Taylor's digestive juice .I asked Atticus once how he could take it when Mrs. Taylor kissed him, and Atticus said they probably didn't kiss much. The witness stand was to Judge Taylor's right, and Mr. Heck Tate had stepped up by the time we were seated.