Jem grabbed my pajama collar and wrenched it tight. "Then I'm
goin' with you-" I choked.
"No you ain't, you'll just make noise."
It was no use. I unlatched the back door and held it while he
crept down the steps. It must have been two o'clock. The moon was
setting and the lattice-work shadows were fading into fuzzy
nothingness. Jem's white shirt-tail dipped and bobbed like a small
ghost dancing away to escape the coming morning. A faint breeze
stirred and cooled the sweat running down my sides.
He went the back way, through Deer's Pasture, across the
schoolyard and around to the fence, I thought- at least that was the
way he was headed. It would take longer, so it was not time to worry
yet. I waited until it was time to worry and listened for Mr. Radley's
shotgun. Then I thought I heard the back fence squeak. It was
wishful thinking.
Then I heard Atticus cough. I held my breath. Sometimes when we made
a midnight pilgrimage to the bathroom we would find him reading. He
said he often woke up during the night, checked on us, and read
himself back to sleep. I waited for his light to go on, straining my
eyes to see it flood the hall. It stayed off, and I breathed again.
The night-crawlers had retired, but ripe chinaberries drummed on the
roof when the wind stirred, and the darkness was desolate with the
barking of distant dogs.
There he was, returning to me. His white shirt bobbed over the
back fence and slowly grew larger. He came up the back steps,
latched the door behind him, and sat on his cot. Wordlessly, he held
up his pants. He lay down, and for a while I heard his cot
trembling. Soon he was still. I did not hear him stir again.
7
Jem stayed moody and silent for a week. As Atticus had once
advised me to do, I tried to climb into Jem's skin and walk around
in it: if I had gone alone to the Radley Place at two in the
morning, my funeral would have been held the next afternoon. So I left
Jem alone and tried not to bother him.
School started. The second grade was as bad as the first, only
worse- they still flashed cards at you and wouldn't let you read or
write. Miss Caroline's progress next door could be estimated by the
frequency of laughter; however, the usual crew had flunked the first
grade again, and were helpful in keeping order. The only thing good
about the second grade was that this year I had to stay as late as
Jem, and we usually walked home together at three o'clock.
One afternoon when we were crossing the schoolyard toward home,
Jem suddenly said: "There's something I didn't tell you."
As this was his first complete sentence in several days, I
encouraged him: "About what?"
"About that night."
"You've never told me anything about that night," I said.
Jem waved my words away as if fanning gnats. He was silent for a
while, then he said, "When I went back for my breeches- they were
all in a tangle when I was gettin' out of 'em, I couldn't get 'em
loose. When I went back-" Jem took a deep breath. "When I went back,
they were folded across the fence... like they were expectin' me."
"Across-"
"And something else-" Jem's voice was flat. "Show you when we get
home. They'd been sewed up. Not like a lady sewed 'em, like
somethin' I'd try to do. All crooked. It's almost like-"
"-somebody knew you were comin' back for 'em."
Jem shuddered. "Like somebody was readin' my mind... like somebody
could tell what I was gonna do. Can't anybody tell what I'm gonna do
lest they know me, can they, Scout?"
Jem's question was an appeal. I reassured him: "Can't anybody tell
what you're gonna do lest they live in the house with you, and even
I can't tell sometimes."
We were walking past our tree. In its knot-hole rested a ball of
gray twine.
"Don't take it, Jem," I said. "This is somebody's hidin' place."
"I don't think so, Scout."
"Yes it is. Somebody like Walter Cunningham comes down here every
recess and hides his things- and we come along and take 'em away
from him. Listen, let's leave it and wait a couple of days. If it
ain't gone then, we'll take it, okay?"
"Okay, you might be right," said Jem. "It must be some little
kid's place- hides his things from the bigger folks. You know it's
only when school's in that we've found things."
"Yeah," I said, "but we never go by here in the summertime."
We went home. Next morning the twine was where we had left it.
When it was still there on the third day, Jem pocketed it. From then
on, we considered everything we found in the knot-hole our property.
-
The second grade was grim, but Jem assured me that the older I got
the better school would be, that he started off the same way, and it
was not until one reached the sixth grade that one learned anything of
value. The sixth grade seemed to please him from the beginning: he
went through a brief Egyptian Period that baffled me- he tried to walk
flat a great deal, sticking one arm in front of him and one in back of
him, putting one foot behind the other. He declared Egyptians walked
that way; I said if they did I didn't see how they got anything
done, but Jem said they accomplished more than the Americans ever did,
they invented toilet paper and perpetual embalming, and asked where
would we be today if they hadn't? Atticus told me to delete the
adjectives and I'd have the facts.
There are no clearly defined seasons in South Alabama; summer drifts
into autumn, and autumn is sometimes never followed by winter, but
turns to a days-old spring that melts into summer again. That fall was
a long one, hardly cool enough for a light jacket. Jem and I were
trotting in our orbit one mild October afternoon when our knot-hole
stopped us again. Something white was inside this time.
Jem let me do the honors: I pulled out two small images carved in
soap. One was the figure of a boy, the other wore a crude dress.
Before I remembered that there was no such thing as hoo-dooing, I
shrieked and threw them down.
Jem snatched them up. "What's the matter with you?" he yelled. He
rubbed the figures free of red dust. "These are good," he said.
"I've never seen any these good."
He held them down to me. They were almost perfect miniatures of
two children. The boy had on shorts, and a shock of soapy hair fell to
his eyebrows. I looked up at Jem. A point of straight brown hair
kicked downwards from his part. I had never noticed it before.
Jem looked from the girl-doll to me. The girl-doll wore bangs. So
did I.
"These are us," he said.
"Who did 'em, you reckon?"
"Who do we know around here who whittles?" he asked.
"Mr. Avery."
"Mr. Avery just does like this. I mean carves."
Mr. Avery averaged a stick of stovewood per week; he honed it down
to a toothpick and chewed it.
"There's old Miss Stephanie Crawford's sweetheart," I said.
"He carves all right, but he lives down the country. When would he
ever pay any attention to us?"
"Maybe he sits on the porch and looks at us instead of Miss
Stephanie. If I was him, I would."
Jem stared at me so long I asked what was the matter, but got
Nothing, Scout for an answer. When we went home, Jem put the dolls
in his trunk.
Less than two weeks later we found a whole package of chewing gum,
which we enjoyed, the fact that everything on the Radley Place was
poison having slipped Jem's memory.
The following week the knot-hole yielded a tarnished medal. Jem
showed it to Atticus, who said it was a spelling medal, that before we
were born the Maycomb County schools had spelling contests and awarded
medals to the winners. Atticus said someone must have lost it, and had
we asked around? Jem camel-kicked me when I tried to say where we
had found it. Jem asked Atticus if he remembered anybody who ever
won one, and Atticus said no.
Our biggest prize appeared four days later. It was a pocket watch
that wouldn't run, on a chain with an aluminum knife.
"You reckon it's white gold, Jem?"
"Don't know. I'll show it to Atticus."
Atticus said it would probably be worth ten dollars, knife, chain
and all, if it were new. "Did you swap with somebody at school?" he
asked.
"Oh, no sir!" Jem pulled out his grandfather's watch that Atticus
let him carry once a week if Jem were careful with it. On the days
he carried the watch, Jem walked on eggs. "Atticus, if it's all
right with you, I'd rather have this one instead. Maybe I can fix it."
When the new wore off his grandfather's watch, and carrying it
became a day's burdensome task, Jem no longer felt the necessity of
ascertaining the hour every five minutes.
He did a fair job, only one spring and two tiny pieces left over,
but the watch would not run. "Oh-h," he sighed, "it'll never go.
Scout-?"
"Huh?"
"You reckon we oughta write a letter to whoever's leaving us these
things?"
"That'd be right nice, Jem, we can thank 'em- what's wrong?"
Jem was holding his ears, shaking his head from side to side. "I
don't get it, I just don't get it- I don't know why, Scout..." He
looked toward the livingroom. "I've gotta good mind to tell Atticus-
no, I reckon not."
"I'll tell him for you."
"No, don't do that, Scout. Scout?"
"Wha-t?"
He had been on the verge of telling me something all evening; his
face would brighten and he would lean toward me, then he would
change his mind. He changed it again. "Oh, nothin'."
"Here, let's write a letter." I pushed a tablet and pencil under his
nose.
"Okay. Dear Mister..."
"How do you know it's a man? I bet it's Miss Maudie- been bettin'
that for a long time."
"Ar-r, Miss Maudie can't chew gum-" Jem broke into a grin. "You
know, she can talk real pretty sometimes. One time I asked her to have
a chew and she said no thanks, that- chewing gum cleaved to her palate
