Francis said it- tell you one thing right now, Uncle Jack, I'll be-
I swear before God if I'll sit there and let him say somethin' about
Atticus."
"He called Atticus that?"
"Yes sir, he did, an' a lot more. Said Atticus'd be the ruination of
the family an' he let Jem an me run wild...."
From the look on Uncle Jack's face, I thought I was in for it again.
When he said, "We'll see about this," I knew Francis was in for it.
"I've a good mind to go out there tonight."
"Please sir, just let it go. Please."
"I've no intention of letting it go," he said. "Alexandra should
know about this. The idea of- wait'll I get my hands on that boy...."
"Uncle Jack, please promise me somethin', please sir. Promise you
won't tell Atticus about this. He- he asked me one time not to let
anything I heard about him make me mad, an' I'd ruther him think we
were fightin' about somethin' else instead. Please promise..."
"But I don't like Francis getting away with something like that-"
"He didn't. You reckon you could tie up my hand? It's still bleedin'
some."
"Of course I will, baby. I know of no hand I would be more delighted
to tie up. Will you come this way?"
Uncle Jack gallantly bowed me to the bathroom. While he cleaned
and bandaged my knuckles, he entertained me with a tale about a
funny nearsighted old gentleman who had a cat named Hodge, and who
counted all the cracks in the sidewalk when he went to town. "There
now," he said. "You'll have a very unladylike scar on your
wedding-ring finger."
"Thank you sir. Uncle Jack?"
"Ma'am?"
"What's a whore-lady?"
Uncle Jack plunged into another long tale about an old Prime
Minister who sat in the House of Commons and blew feathers in the
air and tried to keep them there when all about him men were losing
their heads. I guess he was trying to answer my question, but he
made no sense whatsoever.
Later, when I was supposed to be in bed, I went down the hall for
a drink of water and heard Atticus and Uncle Jack in the livingroom:
"I shall never marry, Atticus."
"Why?"
"I might have children."
Atticus said, "You've a lot to learn, Jack."
"I know. Your daughter gave me my first lessons this afternoon.
She said I didn't understand children much and told me why. She was
quite right. Atticus, she told me how I should have treated her- oh
dear, I'm so sorry I romped on her."
Atticus chuckled. "She earned it, so don't feel too remorseful."
I waited, on tenterhooks, for Uncle Jack to tell Atticus my side
of it. But he didn't. He simply murmured, "Her use of bathroom
invective leaves nothing to the imagination. But she doesn't know
the meaning of half she says- she asked me what a whore-lady was..."
"Did you tell her?"
"No, I told her about Lord Melbourne."
"Jack! When a child asks you something, answer him, for goodness'
sake. But don't make a production of it. Children are children, but
they can spot an evasion quicker than adults, and evasion simply
muddles 'em. No," my father mused, "you had the right answer this
afternoon, but the wrong reasons. Bad language is a stage all children
go through, and it dies with time when they learn they're not
attracting attention with it. Hotheadedness isn't. Scout's got to
learn to keep her head and learn soon, with what's in store for her
these next few months. She's coming along, though. Jem's getting older
and she follows his example a good bit now. All she needs is
assistance sometimes."
"Atticus, you've never laid a hand on her."
"I admit that. So far I've been able to get by with threats. Jack,
she minds me as well as she can. Doesn't come up to scratch half the
time, but she tries."
"That's not the answer," said Uncle Jack.
"No, the answer is she knows I know she tries. That's what makes the
difference. What bothers me is that she and Jem will have to absorb
some ugly things pretty soon. I'm not worried about Jem keeping his
head, but Scout'd just as soon jump on someone as look at him if her
pride's at stake...."
I waited for Uncle Jack to break his promise. He still didn't.
"Atticus, how bad is this going to be? You haven't had too much
chance to discuss it."
"It couldn't be worse, Jack. The only thing we've got is a black
man's word against the Ewells'. The evidence boils down to you-did-
I-didn't. The jury couldn't possibly be expected to take Tom
Robinson's word against the Ewells'- are you acquainted with the
Ewells?"
Uncle Jack said yes, he remembered them. He described them to
Atticus, but Atticus said, "You're a generation off. The present
ones are the same, though."
"What are you going to do, then?"
"Before I'm through, I intend to jar the jury a bit- I think we'll
have a reasonable chance on appeal, though. I really can't tell at
this stage, Jack. You know, I'd hoped to get through life without a
case of this kind, but John Taylor pointed at me and said, 'You're
It.'"
"Let this cup pass from you, eh?"
"Right. But do you think I could face my children otherwise? You
know what's going to happen as well as I do, Jack, and I hope and pray
I can get Jem and Scout through it without bitterness, and most of
all, without catching Maycomb's usual disease. Why reasonable people
go stark raving mad when anything involving a Negro comes up, is
something I don't pretend to understand... I just hope that Jem and
Scout come to me for their answers instead of listening to the town. I
hope they trust me enough.... Jean Louise?"
My scalp jumped. I stuck my head around the corner. "Sir?"
"Go to bed."
I scurried to my room and went to bed. Uncle Jack was a prince of
a fellow not to let me down. But I never figured out how Atticus
knew I was listening, and it was not until many years later that I
realized he wanted me to hear every word he said.
10
Atticus was feeble: he was nearly fifty. When Jem and I asked him
why he was so old, he said he got started late, which we felt
reflected upon his abilities and manliness. He was much older than the
parents of our school contemporaries, and there was nothing Jem or I
could say about him when our classmates said, "My father-"
Jem was football crazy. Atticus was never too tired to play
keep-away, but when Jem wanted to tackle him Atticus would say, "I'm
too old for that, son."
Our father didn't do anything. He worked in an office, not in a
drugstore. Atticus did not drive a dump-truck for the county, he was
not the sheriff, he did not farm, work in a garage, or do anything
that could possibly arouse the admiration of anyone.
Besides that, he wore glasses. He was nearly blind in his left
eye, and said left eyes were the tribal curse of the Finches. Whenever
he wanted to see something well, he turned his head and looked from
his right eye.
He did not do the things our schoolmates' fathers did: he never went
hunting, he did not play poker or fish or drink or smoke. He sat in
the livingroom and read.
With these attributes, however, he would not remain as inconspicuous
as we wished him to: that year, the school buzzed with talk about
him defending Tom Robinson, none of which was complimentary. After
my bout with Cecil Jacobs when I committed myself to a policy of
cowardice, word got around that Scout Finch wouldn't fight any more,
her daddy wouldn't let her. This was not entirely correct: I
wouldn't fight publicly for Atticus, but the family was private
ground. I would fight anyone from a third cousin upwards tooth and
nail. Francis Hancock, for example, knew that.
When he gave us our air-rifles Atticus wouldn't teach us to shoot.
Uncle Jack instructed us in the rudiments thereof; he said Atticus
wasn't interested in guns. Atticus said to Jem one day, "I'd rather
you shot at tin cans in the back yard, but I know you'll go after
birds. Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but
remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."
That was the only time I ever heard Atticus say it was a sin to do
something, and I asked Miss Maudie about it.
"Your father's right," she said. "Mockingbirds don't do one thing
but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens,
don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts
out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."
"Miss Maudie, this is an old neighborhood, ain't it?"
"Been here longer than the town."
"Nome, I mean the folks on our street are all old. Jem and me's
the only children around here. Mrs. Dubose is close on to a hundred
and Miss Rachel's old and so are you and Atticus."
"I don't call fifty very old," said Miss Maudie tartly. "Not being
wheeled around yet, am I? Neither's your father. But I must say
Providence was kind enough to burn down that old mausoleum of mine,
I'm too old to keep it up- maybe you're right, Jean Louise, this is
a settled neighborhood. You've never been around young folks much,
have you?"
"Yessum, at school."
"I mean young grown-ups. You're lucky, you know. You and Jem have
the benefit of your father's age. If your father was thirty you'd find
life quite different."
"I sure would. Atticus can't do anything...."
"You'd be surprised," said Miss Maudie. "There's life in him yet."
"What can he do?"
"Well, he can make somebody's will so airtight can't anybody
meddle with it."
"Shoot..."
"Well, did you know he's the best checker-player in this town?
Why, down at the Landing when we were coming up, Atticus Finch could
beat everybody on both sides of the river."
"Good Lord, Miss Maudie, Jem and me beat him all the time."
"It's about time you found out it's because he lets you. Did you
