The congregation murmured approval.
Reverend Sykes then said, "I want all of you with no children to
make a sacrifice and give one more dime apiece. Then we'll have it."
Slowly, painfully, the ten dollars was collected. The door was
opened, and the gust of warm air revived us. Zeebo lined On
Jordan's Stormy Banks, and church was over.
I wanted to stay and explore, but Calpurnia propelled me up the
aisle ahead of her. At the church door, while she paused to talk
with Zeebo and his family, Jem and I chatted with Reverend Sykes. I
was bursting with questions, but decided I would wait and let
Calpurnia answer them.
"We were 'specially glad to have you all here," said Reverend Sykes.
"This church has no better friend than your daddy."
My curiosity burst: "Why were you all takin' up collection for Tom
Robinson's wife?"
"Didn't you hear why?" asked Reverend Sykes. "Helen's got three
little'uns and she can't go out to work-"
"Why can't she take 'em with her, Reverend?" I asked. It was
customary for field Negroes with tiny children to deposit them in
whatever shade there was while their parents worked- usually the
babies sat in the shade between two rows of cotton. Those unable to
sit were strapped papoose-style on their mothers' backs, or resided in
extra cotton bags.
Reverend Sykes hesitated. "To tell you the truth, Miss Jean
Louise, Helen's finding it hard to get work these days... when it's
picking time, I think Mr. Link Deas'll take her."
"Why not, Reverend?"
Before he could answer, I felt Calpurnia's hand on my shoulder. At
its pressure I said, "We thank you for lettin' us come." Jem echoed
me, and we made our way homeward.
"Cal, I know Tom Robinson's in jail an' he's done somethin' awful,
but why won't folks hire Helen?" I asked.
Calpurnia, in her navy voile dress and tub of a hat, walked
between Jem and me. "It's because of what folks say Tom's done," she
said. "Folks aren't anxious to- to have anything to do with any of his
family."
"Just what did he do, Cal?"
Calpurnia sighed. "Old Mr. Bob Ewell accused him of rapin' his
girl an' had him arrested an' put in jail-"
"Mr. Ewell?" My memory stirred. "Does he have anything to do with
those Ewells that come every first day of school an' then go home?
Why, Atticus said they were absolute trash- I never heard Atticus talk
about folks the way he talked about the Ewells. He said-"
"Yeah, those are the ones."
"Well, if everybody in Maycomb knows what kind of folks the Ewells
are they'd be glad to hire Helen... what's rape, Cal?"
"It's somethin' you'll have to ask Mr. Finch about," she said. "He
can explain it better than I can. You all hungry? The Reverend took
a long time unwindin' this morning, he's not usually so tedious."
"He's just like our preacher," said Jem, "but why do you all sing
hymns that way?"
"Linin'?" she asked.
"Is that what it is?"
"Yeah, it's called linin'. They've done it that way as long as I can
remember."
Jem said it looked like they could save the collection money for a
year and get some hymn-books.
Calpurnia laughed. "Wouldn't do any good," she said. "They can't
read."
"Can't read?" I asked. "All those folks?"
"That's right," Calpurnia nodded. "Can't but about four folks in
First Purchase read... I'm one of 'em."
"Where'd you go to school, Cal?" asked Jem.
"Nowhere. Let's see now, who taught me my letters? It was Miss
Maudie Atkinson's aunt, old Miss Buford-"
"Are you that old?"
"I'm older than Mr. Finch, even." Calpurnia grinned. "Not sure how
much, though. We started rememberin' one time, trying to figure out
how old I was- I can remember back just a few years more'n he can,
so I'm not much older, when you take off the fact that men can't
remember as well as women."
"What's your birthday, Cal?"
"I just have it on Christmas, it's easier to remember that way- I
don't have a real birthday."
"But Cal," Jem protested, "you don't look even near as old as
Atticus."
"Colored folks don't show their ages so fast," she said.
"Maybe because they can't read. Cal, did you teach Zeebo?"
"Yeah, Mister Jem. There wasn't a school even when he was a boy. I
made him learn, though."
Zeebo was Calpurnia's eldest son. If I had ever thought about it,
I would have known that Calpurnia was of mature years- Zeebo had
half-grown children- but then I had never thought about it.
"Did you teach him out of a primer, like us?" I asked.
"No, I made him get a page of the Bible every day, and there was a
book Miss Buford taught me out of- bet you don't know where I got it,"
she said.
We didn't know.
Calpurnia said, "Your Granddaddy Finch gave it to me."
"Were you from the Landing?" Jem asked. "You never told us that."
"I certainly am, Mister Jem. Grew up down there between the Buford
Place and the Landin'. I've spent all my days workin' for the
Finches or the Bufords, an' I moved to Maycomb when your daddy and
your mamma married."
"What was the book, Cal?" I asked.
"Blackstone's Commentaries."
Jem was thunderstruck. "You mean you taught Zeebo outa that?"
"Why yes sir, Mister Jem." Calpurnia timidly put her fingers to
her mouth. "They were the only books I had. Your grandaddy said Mr.
Blackstone wrote fine English-"
"That's why you don't talk like the rest of 'em," said Jem.
"The rest of who?"
"Rest of the colored folks. Cal, but you talked like they did in
church...."
That Calpurnia led a modest double life never dawned on me. The idea
that she had a separate existence outside our household was a novel
one, to say nothing of her having command of two languages.
"Cal," I asked, "why do you talk nigger-talk to the- to your folks
when you know it's not right?"
"Well, in the first place I'm black-"
"That doesn't mean you hafta talk that way when you know better,"
said Jem.
Calpurnia tilted her hat and scratched her head, then pressed her
hat down carefully over her ears. "It's right hard to say," she
said. "Suppose you and Scout talked colored-folks' talk at home it'd
be out of place, wouldn't it? Now what if I talked white-folks' talk
at church, and with my neighbors? They'd think I was puttin' on airs
to beat Moses."
"But Cal, you know better," I said.
"It's not necessary to tell all you know. It's not ladylike- in
the second place, folks don't like to have somebody around knowin'
more than they do. It aggravates 'em. You're not gonna change any of
them by talkin' right, they've got to want to learn themselves, and
when they don't want to learn there's nothing you can do but keep your
mouth shut or talk their language."
"Cal, can I come to see you sometimes?"
She looked down at me. "See me, honey? You see me every day."
"Out to your house," I said. "Sometimes after work? Atticus can
get me."
"Any time you want to," she said. "We'd be glad to have you."
We were on the sidewalk by the Radley Place.
"Look on the porch yonder," Jem said.
I looked over to the Radley Place, expecting to see its phantom
occupant sunning himself in the swing. The swing was empty.
"I mean our porch," said Jem.
I looked down the street. Enarmored, upright, uncompromising, Aunt
Alexandra was sitting in a rocking chair exactly as if she had sat
there every day of her life.
13
"Put my bag in the front bedroom, Calpurnia," was the first thing
Aunt Alexandra said. "Jean Louise, stop scratching your head," was the
second thing she said.
Calpurnia picked up Aunty's heavy suitcase and opened the door.
"I'll take it," said Jem, and took it. I heard the suitcase hit the
bedroom floor with a thump. The sound had a dull permanence about it.
"Have you come for a visit, Aunty?" I asked. Aunt Alexandra's visits
from the Landing were rare, and she traveled in state. She owned a
bright green square Buick and a black chauffeur, both kept in an
unhealthy state of tidiness, but today they were nowhere to be seen.
"Didn't your father tell you?" she asked.
Jem and I shook our heads.
"Probably he forgot. He's not in yet, is he?"
"Nome, he doesn't usually get back till late afternoon," said Jem.
"Well, your father and I decided it was time I came to stay with you
for a while."
"For a while" in Maycomb meant anything from three days to thirty
years. Jem and I exchanged glances.
"Jem's growing up now and you are too," she said to me. "We
decided that it would be best for you to have some feminine influence.
It won't be many years, Jean Louise, before you become interested in
clothes and boys-"
I could have made several answers to this: Cal's a girl, it would be
many years before I would be interested in boys, I would never be
interested in clothes... but I kept quiet.
"What about Uncle Jimmy?" asked Jem. "Is he comin', too?"
"Oh no, he's staying at the Landing. He'll keep the place going."
The moment I said, "Won't you miss him?" I realized that this was
not a tactful question. Uncle Jimmy present or Uncle Jimmy absent made
