Chapter 17 Chapter Seventeen

"Jem," I asked, "is that the Ewells sitting downstairs over there?" "Hush, don't make a sound," said Jem, "Mr. Heck Tate's testifying." Mr Tate changed his attire specially for the court appearance.He was wearing a normal suit—without the high boots, bomber jacket, and bullet-studded belt, he looked like anyone else.From that moment on, my fear of him melted away.He sat on the witness stand, leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees, listening intently to the district attorney's questioning. The District Attorney acting as counsel for the prosecution was Mr. Gilmore, whom we do not know very well.He was from Abbotsville, and we only saw him when the courts were in session, and since Jem and I had no particular interest in court business, the chances of seeing him were few and far between.He was bald, smooth-cheeked, and his age could be anywhere from forty to sixty.Although his back is facing us at this time, we also know that he has a slight squint in one eye, but he turned this defect to his advantage: sometimes he seems to be staring at someone, but in fact he has no intention of it , just because of this, jurors and witnesses fear him three points.Jurors pay more attention, thinking they are under close surveillance; the same goes for witnesses, who share the same delusion.

"...Mr. Tate, please speak in your own words," said Mr. Gilmore. "Okay," Mr. Tate adjusted his glasses and said to his knees, "I was called to..." "Mr. Tate, can you speak to the jury? Thank you. Who called you?" Mr. Tate replied: "It was Bob who called me—Mr. Bob Ewell, it was one night..." "What night?" Mr. Tate said: "The night of November 21st. I was leaving the office to go home, and Bob... Mr. Ewell came in very emotionally, and told me to hurry to his house and say there was a The nigger raped his daughter."

"did you go?" "Of course I did. I got in my car and got to the scene as fast as I could." "What did you find there?" "I found her lying on the floor in the middle of the living room, the one to the right after entering the house. She was beaten all over, but after I helped her up, she washed her face in a bucket in the corner and said she It's all right. I asked who called and she said it was Tom Robinson..." Judge Taylor, who had been concentrating on his nails, looked up as if waiting for an objection, but Atticus remained silent. "...I asked her if Tom beat her like that, and she said he did. I asked her if Tom took advantage of her, and she said yes. So I went to Robinson's and took him Back to the scene. She testified that it was Tom who did it, and I caught him. That's the whole thing."

"Thank you," said Mr. Gilmore. Judge Taylor asked, "Atticus, do you have any questions?" "Yes." My father said.He sat behind the desk, the chair tilted to one side, with his legs crossed and one arm resting on the back of the chair. "Have you seen a doctor, Sheriff? Has anyone seen a doctor?" Atticus asked. "No, sir," said Mr. Tate. "Didn't you see a doctor at all?" "No." "Why not?" Atticus asked aggressively. "Oh, I can tell you why, Mr. Finch, because it wasn't necessary. She was badly hurt. Obviously something happened."

"But you didn't see a doctor? While you were there, did someone send someone else to look for it, or did you go to a doctor yourself? Or did someone take her to a doctor?" "No, sir..." Judge Taylor interjected: "Atticus, he's answered that question three times. He hasn't seen a doctor." Atticus said, "I just wanted to make sure, Judge." The Judge smiled. Jem's hand, which was first resting on the railing of the grandstand, was clenched tightly, and he took a deep breath.I glanced downstairs and saw that people weren't reacting in the same way as he did, so I suspected that Jem might be trying to attract attention.Dill had been a calm bystander, as had Reverend Sykes, who sat beside him. "What's the matter?" I whispered to Jem, who responded with a curt "Sh--".

"Sheriff," continued Atticus, "you say she's badly hurt. What's the matter?" "how to say……" "Just describe her injury, Heck." "Oh, she's got beating marks all over her head. She's got bruises on her arms. It happened thirty minutes ago..." "How did you know?" Mr. Tate smiled. "I'm sorry, that's what they told me. Anyway, when I got there, she was bruised and blue, and she had a dark circle around one eye." "Which eye?" Mr. Tate blinked and ran his fingers through his hair. "Let me think," he said softly, looking up at Atticus as if he thought the question was childish. "Can't you remember?" Atticus asked.

Mr. Tate pointed to an invisible figure five inches in front of him and said: "It's her left eye." "Wait a minute, Sheriff," said Atticus, "is she facing your left, or is she facing the same direction as your left?" Mr. Tate replied: "Oh, that must be her right side. It's her right eye, Mr. Finch. Now that I think about it, that side of her face is more badly hurt..." Mr. Tate blinked again, as if suddenly understanding something.He turned his head to look at Tom Robinson; and as if by sympathy, Tom Robinson looked up too. Atticus realized something too. He stood up and said, "Please repeat what you just said, Sheriff."

"I just said it was her right eye." "Just a second..." Atticus walked to the court clerk's desk and bent over the hand that was writing furiously.The hand stopped, turned back the shorthand book, and the court clerk read: "'Mr. Finch, now that I think of it, that side of her face was hurt more badly.'" Atticus looked up at Mr. Tate. "Which side is it again, please, Heck?" "It's the right side, Mr. Finch, but she's got other injuries—do you want to hear me?" Atticus seemed to be going on to the next question, but after a moment's pause he said: "Well, what's wrong with her?" While Mr. Tate was answering, he looked over at Tom Robinson as if In other words, this is what they didn't dare to expect.

"...she had bruises on both arms. She also showed me her neck, with the obvious fingerprints on her throat..." "All around the throat, or just the back of the neck?" "I think it's the whole circle, Mr. Finch." "you sure?" "Yes, sir. She has such a thin neck that anyone could grab it..." "Sergeant, please only answer 'yes' or 'no,'" Atticus said coldly.Mr. Tate fell silent. Atticus sat down and nodded to the D.A., who in turn shook his head at the judge, who nodded to Mr. Tate, and he rose stiffly and walked off the witness stand.

Downstairs the audience turned their heads around, their shoes screeching on the floor; babies sprawled on adults' shoulders; and several children skipped out of the courtroom.There were whispers from the Negro sitting behind us.Dill asked Pastor Sykes what was going on, and Pastor Sykes said he didn't know either.So far, everything has been so dull: no one throws a tantrum, there's no flak between lawyers on either side, and there's no drama that seems to disappoint everyone present.Atticus pleaded mildly, as if he were dealing with a property dispute.With his infinite power to calm a raging sea, he could make a rape case as dull as a sermon.All the horrible memories faded from my mind--the smell of alcohol mixed with the smell of the pigsty, the sullen faces of sleepy men, and the hoarse voice in the night: "Atticus, Are they gone?"—all this vanished without a trace.My nightmares will be gone with daylight and everything will be fine.

All the spectators were as relaxed as Judge Taylor except Jem.His mouth was slightly turned up, and his half-smile was thought-provoking, his eyes shone with pleasure, and he also mentioned words like "strengthening the evidence", which made me more convinced that he was showing off. "...Robert E. Lee Ewell!" Following the deep call of the messenger, a man with the appearance of a little fighting cock stood up in response, and swaggered towards the witness stand.As soon as he heard someone call his name, the back of his neck immediately turned red.When he turned to take the oath, we saw that his face was as red as his neck.We also found that he bears no resemblance to his namesake general.A tuft of wispy hair stood on his forehead that looked freshly washed, his pointed nose gleamed with oil, and he hardly had a chin—his chin merged with his wrinkled neck. "...May God help me." He finished his oath like a rooster crowing. Any town the size of Maycomb had families like the Ewells.No matter how the economy fluctuates, whether it is the boom or the trough of the Great Depression, their situation will not change at all, and they will always live on the handout of the county.No attendance officer could keep the Ewells' horde of kids in school; no sanitation officer could keep their family free from birth defects, parasites of every description, and the unavoidable need to live in a filthy environment. various diseases. The Ewell family of Maycomb lived behind the town's dump in what used to be a Negro log cabin.The house has corrugated iron added to the wood-paneled walls, and the roof tiles are hammered tin cans, so only its general shape reflects the original appearance: a square house with four small rooms opening onto a road leading from the front door. In the aisle at the back door, the whole wooden house sits awkwardly on four irregularly shaped lime piers.The windows can only be regarded as a few holes in the wall, and in summer they are covered with greasy gauze to keep out the swarms of flies that feast on the garbage. The flies were having a hard time, too, because the Ewells did a thorough sweep of the dump every day, and the fruits of their hard work (all inedible) were scattered around the cabin, looking Like a playground created by a mentally disturbed child: the fences are twigs, brooms and tool handles topped with rusty hammer heads, toothless rake heads, shovel heads, axes and digging picks , twisted together with bits and pieces of barbed wire.A fence encloses a dingy yard with the remains of an abandoned Model T Ford lying on the rubble, an abandoned dentist's chair, an old freezer, and some seventy The odds and ends: old shoes, a broken radio, picture frames and canning jars.Under the pile of rubbish, a few scrawny yellow-feathered chickens were pecking hopefully here and there. One corner of the yard, however, baffled the people of Maycomb—along the fence, lined a row of six enamel-peeling slop buckets, filled with bright red geraniums, evidently manicured. The result seems to be the work of Miss Maudie, but only if Miss Maudie is willing to condescend to plant geraniums in her own yard.They said it belonged to Mayella Ewell. No one can tell exactly how many children lived on the site—some say six, others nine, and people passing by his house can always see a few dirty little ones crowded in front of the window. Face.Except for Christmas, few people pass by here on weekdays, because during Christmas, the church will come to deliver charity baskets. In addition, the mayor of Maycomb Township also called on everyone to throw out Christmas trees and garbage by themselves, so as to reduce the burden on garbage workers. burden. Last Christmas, Atticus answered the mayor's call to throw the tree himself, and he took Jem and me with him.Coming off the highway is a dirt road that leads past a garbage dump to a small black village about 500 meters from Ewell's house.When we came back, we had to back the car back on the freeway, or drive all the way to the end and make a U-turn, and people mostly drove to the front yards of black people to get U-turns.In the cold December evening, the light blue smoke curls up from the chimneys of the small wooden houses, and the fires in the houses reflect the door openings in yellow, making the wooden houses look tidy and comfortable.The air is filled with tantalizing aromas: roast chicken and dry-fried bacon are as crisp as the evening air.Jem and I could smell stewed squirrel, but only a man who had lived in the country for years like Atticus could tell the difference between possum stew and rabbit.When we drove past Ewell's house again, the scents were gone. The little man on the witness stand had only one advantage over his immediate neighbours, that his skin, if scrubbed vigorously with soap and hot water, would turn white. "Mr. Robert Ewell?" asked Mr. Gilmore. "It is I, sir," replied the witness. Mr. Gilmore's back stiffened, and I felt sorry for him.Maybe I'd better explain first.I have heard of some lawyers' children who, seeing their fathers confronting each other in court, mistook the opposing lawyer for their father's enemy, and suffered inwardly; The children were even more surprised when they walked out of the court arm in arm with their opponents.Not so me and Jem.Whether Dad wins or loses, none of us were traumatized watching.I'm sorry, but I can't tell any drama in this regard, and if I did, it would have to be made up.We can feel it, though, when debates get too heated and out of the way a lawyer should be—and that's something we get from watching other lawyers, not our dads.I never saw Atticus raise his voice except when questioning deaf witnesses.At this point, Mr. Gilmore was doing his job, just as Atticus was.Besides, Mr. Ewell was Mr. Gilmore's witness, and he had no reason to be rude to his own witness. "Are you Mayella Ewell's father?" was Mr. Gilmore's second question. "Oh, if I wasn't her father, I'd have nothing to do with it. Her mother's dead." Judge Taylor couldn't sit still.He sat in the swivel chair, turned slowly, and looked at the witness with kind eyes. "Are you Mayella Ewell's father?" he asked, in a tone that cut short the laughter below us. "Yes, sir," replied Mr. Ewell humbly. Judge Taylor continued in a friendly tone, "Is this your first time in court? I don't remember seeing you here." The witness nodded in affirmation, and he added, "Okay then, let's take Clear things up. In this court, as long as I sit here, no one is allowed to make any obscene riffs on any subject. Do you understand?" Mr. Ewell nodded, but I doubt he understood at all.Judge Taylor sighed, and said: "That's all. Mr. Gilmore?" "Thank you, Mr. Judge. Mr. Ewell, would you please tell us in your own words what happened on the evening of November 21st?" Jem grinned and pushed his hair back. "Use your own words" is Mr. Gilmore's mantra.We have often wondered, whose words did Gilmour fear the witnesses would speak with? "Well, on the night of November 21st, I came back from the woods with a bundle of kindling, and just as I was at the edge of the fence, I heard Mayella screaming in the house like a hog..." At this, Judge Taylor cast a piercing glance at the witness, evidently assuming that his carelessness was not ill-intentioned, for he had returned to his sleepy-eyed appearance. "What time was it, Mr. Ewell?" "Just before the sun went down. Oh, I was just saying that Mayella's screaming blew the heavens..." Another glance from the bench scared Mr. Ewell into silence. "Really? She was screaming?" Mr Gilmore asked. Mr. Ewell looked at the judge in bewilderment. "Oh, Mayella screamed more and more fiercely. I dropped the firewood and ran over, and I hit the fence. When I broke free and ran to the window, I found..." Mr. Ewell's face was flushed. , he stood up and pointed to Tom Robinson and said, "...I saw that nigger copulating with my daughter Mayella!" The courtroom presided over by Judge Taylor was always quiet. He almost never used the gavel, but today he knocked for five full minutes.Atticus got up and went up to the bench and talked to him; Mr. Heck Tate, the County Chief Constable, stood in the middle aisle, trying to calm the noisy courtroom.The black people behind us were also excited and let out a deep growl. Reverend Sykes leaned over Dill and me, and tugged at Jem's elbow. "Mr. Jem," he said, "you'd better take Miss Jean Louise home. Do you hear me, Mr. Jem?" Jem turned to look at me. "Scout, you go home. Dill, you and Scout go home." "You've got to convince me." I remembered Atticus's wise words. Jem was very annoyed, and frowned at me, and then said to Reverend Sikes, "I don't think it's a problem, Reverend, she doesn't understand." This sentence hit me right. "Of course I can understand, as long as you can understand, I can understand." "Hello, keep quiet. Reverend, she doesn't understand. She's not nine years old." Reverend Sykes' dark eyes were full of concern. "Does Mr. Finch know you're all here? Jean Louise is not fit for the occasion, and neither are you boys." Jem shook his head. "He can't see us at this distance. Take it easy, Reverend." I decided Jem would win because I knew nothing could make him go right now.Dill and I are safe, but only temporarily: Atticus can see us from him, if he looks up here. judge taylor