Chapter 30 Chapter Thirty

"My dear, it should be Mr. Arthur," Atticus corrected me gently. "Jean Louise, this is Mr. Arthur Radley. I think he already knows you." How can Atticus introduce me to the weirdo so suavely at a time like this—this is Atticus. When the weirdo saw me instinctively running to Jem's bed, a shy smile appeared on his face.My face burned with embarrassment, and I pretended to tuck Jem in to hide my embarrassment. "Ah—don't touch him." Atticus stopped me. Mr. Heck Tate sat impassively, peering at the weirdo from behind his horn-rimmed glasses.He was about to speak when Dr. Reynolds came down the aisle.

"Get out, everybody," he said, as he went through the door. "Good evening, Arthur, I didn't notice you when I first came here." Dr. Reynolds' tone of voice was as light as his steps, as if he greeted him every night, and this understatement surprised me more than being in the same room as Boo Radley.Of course...Even Boo Radley gets sick sometimes, I thought, but I'm not sure about it the other way around. Dr. Reynolds brought a large parcel wrapped in newspaper, put it on Jem's desk, and took off his coat. "He's alive, don't worry now. I'll tell you how I knew. He kicked me when I was going to examine him. I had to put him into a drowsy sleep, or he wouldn't be at all. Don't touch him. You guys get out," he said to me.

"Oh—" Atticus mused, glancing at the Boo. "Heck, let's all go out on the front porch. There's plenty of chairs, and it's still warm outside." It made me wonder: Why didn't Atticus invite everyone to sit in the living room instead of going to the front porch?But I knew right away—the lights in the living room were too bright. We went out one by one, Mr. Tate at the head, and Atticus stood in the doorway, trying to make the Boo go ahead of him, but changed his mind and went out after Mr. Tate. Even in the most unusual situations, people practice everyday decorum because habit dictates it.I am no exception. "Come, Mr. Arthur," I said naturally, "you don't know our house very well. I'll show you out on the front porch, sir."

He looked down at me, nodding slightly. I led him down the hall and through the living room. "Sit down, Mr. Arthur. This rocker is very comfortable." My little hidden fantasy about him came alive again: him sitting on the front porch . Yes, the weather is really nice.As if in a dream, I led him to the chair farthest from Atticus and Mr. Tate, which was in the shadows of the darkness, and I guessed he would feel more at home in the dark. Atticus sat on the swing, and Mr. Tate sat in a chair beside him.Bright lights from the living room windows shone on them.I sat down next to the weirdo.

"Oh, heck," Atticus said, "I guess the first thing to do is...Jesus, my memory is getting worse..." Atticus pushed his glasses back on and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. "Jem isn't thirteen yet... No, he's thirteen—I don't even remember that. Anyway, the case's going to be heard in the county court..." "What case is going to court, Mr. Finch?" Mr. Tate put his legs down and leaned over Atticus. "Of course, this is obviously a legitimate defense, but I still have to go to the office to check the information..." "Mr. Finch, do you think Jem killed Bob Ewell? Is that what you think?"

"You heard what Scout said, no doubt about it. She said Jem got up off the ground and jerked Bob Ewell off of her—maybe he was in the dark Took the knife from Ewell's hand... we'll figure that out tomorrow." "Wait a minute, Mr. Finch," said Mr. Tate, "Jem never stabbed Ewell." Atticus was silent for a moment.He looked at Mr. Tate and seemed grateful for what he had said.Still, Atticus shook his head. "Heck, I know you did this out of good intentions, and I appreciate it, but this kind of thing must not start." Mr. Tate stood up, went to the edge of the front porch, spat into the bushes, and put his hands in his back pockets, facing Atticus. "What's the start?" he asked.

"Don't blame me for being straight, Huck," Atticus said straight, "but no one's trying to hide it. That's not my style." "No one has anything to hide, Mr. Finch." Mr. Tate's voice was calm, and his boots planted firmly on the floor, as if rooted.What kind of a strange confrontation arose between my father and the sheriff, I can't fathom. Now it was Atticus' turn to get up and walk out onto the front porch.He cleared his throat and spat dryly into the yard.He, too, put his hands in his hip pockets, and faced Mr. Tate. "Heck, I know what you're thinking, even though you didn't get it right. Thank you for your kindness. Jean Louise..." He turned to me and said, "You just said that Jem took Mr. Ewell Ripped off of you, right?"

"Yes, I think so...I..." "Heck, did you hear that? I appreciate you from the bottom of my heart, but I don't want my son to start his life under such a cloud of shadow. The best way to dispel the shadow is to put everything in the light Come on. Let the whole county bring sandwiches to the trial. I don't want him to grow up with people whispering, I don't want to hear anyone say, 'Jem Finch . . . It took a lot of money to get him out of the relationship.' The sooner this article is turned over, the better." "Mr. Finch," said Mr. Tate flatly, "Bob Ewell fell on his own knife. He killed himself."

Atticus walked to the corner of the front porch and stared at the wisteria.I think that both of them are very stubborn, although they are stubborn in their own way.I really don't know who will give in first.Atticus's stubbornness was calm and almost invisible, but in its stubbornness it was somewhat like the Cunninghams.Mr. Tate's stubbornness was blunt and brash, but he was my father's equal. "Heck," Atticus said, turning away, "if we're covering things up, it's going to be a total violation of what I've been teaching Jem about. Failed, useless, but I was all they had. In this world, the first person Jem looked at was me, and then he looked at others. I have always tried to live upright and be able to look him in the eyes …If I acquiesce in this, and frankly, I will never be able to look him in the eye again, and if that's the case, I know I've lost him forever. I don't want to lose him and Scooter , because they are everything to me."

"Mr. Finch," said Mr. Tate, still firmly rooted in the floor, "Bob Ewell fell on the knife's edge himself. I can prove it." Atticus turned around.His hands were deep in his pockets. "Heck, can't you think about it from my point of view? You have kids too, but I'm older than you. When my kids grow up, I'll be an old guy if I'm alive, but now I—if they don't trust me, they don't trust anyone. Jem and Scout know what happened. If they hear me tell another story in town—heck, then I'll Will lose them forever. I definitely can't have one at home and another outside."

Mr. Tate walked up and down the floor with his heels, and said patiently: "After he threw Jem on the ground, he tripped over a tree root and fell under a tree--you see, I can show you .” Mr. Tate reached into the side pocket of his trousers and produced a long switchblade knife.At that moment Dr. Reynolds came to the door. "Doctor, that bitch — died under that tree on campus. Do you have a flashlight? Better take this." "I can work my way around and turn on the lights," said Dr. Reynolds, though he took Mr. Tate's flashlight. "Jem's all right. I don't think he'll wake up tonight, so use the Don't worry. Did Bob Ewell get killed by the knife, heck?" "No, the knife's still in him. Judging by the handle it's a kitchen knife. Ken should have taken the coffin over. Good night, doctor." Mr. Tate snapped the switchblade open. "Like this," he said.Holding the handle of the knife, he pretended to stumble, and as he leaned forward, he stretched his left arm under his front. "See? He just pierced his own weakness. His whole weight fell on the blade, and the knife went in." Mr. Tate closed the switchblade and put it back in his pocket. "Scout was eight years old," he said. "She was terrified. She had no idea what was going on." "You'll be amazed," said Atticus coldly. "I'm not saying she's making it up, I'm saying she's too panicked to know what's going on. Besides, it was dark as hell. It was pitch black. Unless someone's too used to the dark to be a witness... ..." "I can't accept your explanation," said Atticus softly. "Damn it, I'm not thinking of Jem!" Mr. Tate's boots stamped on the floor surprisingly loudly, and a light came on in Miss Maudie's bedroom.The lights at Miss Stephanie's were also on.Atticus and Mr. Tate looked across the street and at each other again.They waited quietly for everything to calm down. When Mr. Tate spoke again, it was almost inaudible. "Mr. Finch, I don't want to argue with you at a time like this. You've been under too much pressure tonight and no one should have to go through that. I don't know why you're able to handle it and you're not on the bed ...but it's clear to me now that you're not reasoning with the facts this time, and we've got to settle this tonight because it's too late tomorrow. Bob Ewell has a knife in his stomach .” Mr. Tate asked Atticus again if he was going to stand in court and insist that a boy of Jem's size could drag a broken arm in pitch darkness with a grown man Wrestled and killed him in the end? "Heck," Atticus asked suddenly, "where did you get that switchblade you were swinging?" "Confiscated from a drunk," replied Mr. Tate flatly. I try to recall the scene.Mr. Ewell strangled me... and then he fell... Jem must have gotten up.At least, that's what I think…… "Huck?" "As I said, I confiscated it from a drunk in town tonight. Bob Ewell probably found that kitchen knife somewhere in the dump, sharpened it really fast, and Just wait for the time...wait for the time to strike." Atticus trudged over to the swing and sat down.His hands hung limply between his knees, his eyes fixed on the floor.His movements were unnaturally slow, like the night in front of the prison when I watched him fold the newspaper and throw it on the chair, and it seemed like the slow motion would never stop. Mr. Tate walked up and down the front porch as quietly as possible. "This is not up to you, Mr. Finch, everything depends on me. This is my decision and my responsibility. At least this time, you have to look at the problem from my point of view, otherwise you will be powerless to refute ...and if you try, I'll confront you and tell you you're lying and that your son didn't stab Bob Ewell at all." He said slowly, "There's no such thing as You can't get involved with him, and you understand it very well now. He just wants himself and his sister to get home safely. " Mr. Tate stopped and stood in front of Atticus, with his back to us. "I'm not a very good man, sir, but I'm the sheriff of Maycomb County. I've lived in this town all my life, and I'm turning forty-three. I know everything that happened here, from the I don't know anything that happened before I was born and now. A black boy died for no reason, and the guy who was responsible for it died too. Let the dead bury the dead this time, Mr. Finch. Let the dead bury the dead." Mr. Tate went to the swing, picked up the hat he had placed beside Atticus, then pushed back his hair and put the hat on his head. "I've never heard that it's against the law for a citizen to go to great lengths to prevent crime - which is exactly what he did. Maybe you're going to say it's my duty to tell everyone in town the truth, no Should have kept it under wraps. But do you know what it's going to do? All the women in Maycomb, including my wife, knock on his door with angel cakes. Mr. Finch, it seems to me that this Man has done a great thing for you and for the whole town, and if people ignore his reclusive habits and insist on pulling him into the spotlight - I think that is a crime. I don't want to add such a crime to myself Come on. It'd be a different story with anyone else. But he's different, Mr. Finch." Mr. Tate seemed to be poking a hole in the floor with the toe of his boot.He pinched his nose, then rubbed his left arm a few more times. "Mr. Finch, I may not be much of a character, but I'm still the Sheriff of Maycomb County. As I said, Bob Ewell fell on the knife's edge himself. Good night, sir." Mr. Tate thumped down the front porch and strode across the front yard.He slammed the door shut and drove away. Atticus sat there, staring at the floor, in silence for a long time.Finally he looked up. "Scout," he said, "Mr. Ewell fell on the knife edge himself. Can you hear that?" Atticus looked like he needed someone to cheer him up.I ran over and hugged him hard and kissed him. "Yes, I understand," I reassured him. "Mr. Tate is right." Atticus broke free and looked at me seriously. "What do you mean by that?" "Well, it's like killing a mockingbird, isn't it?" Atticus buried his face in my hair and rubbed gently for a moment.He resumed his usual brisk step as he got up and walked across the front porch into the shadows.He paused before Boo Radley before entering the room. "Thank you, Arthur, for saving my boy," he said.