straight. There will be no more audibly obscene speculations on any
subject from anybody in this courtroom as long as I'm sitting here. Do
you understand?"
Mr. Ewell nodded, but I don't think he did. Judge Taylor sighed
and said, "All right, Mr. Gilmer?"
"Thank you, sir. Mr. Ewell, would you tell us in your own words what
happened on the evening of November twenty-first, please?"
Jem grinned and pushed his hair back. Just-in-your-own words was Mr.
Gilmer's trademark. We often wondered who else's words Mr. Gilmer
was afraid his witness might employ.
"Well, the night of November twenty-one I was comin' in from the
woods with a load o'kindlin' and just as I got to the fence I heard
Mayella screamin' like a stuck hog inside the house-"
Here Judge Taylor glanced sharply at the witness and must have
decided his speculations devoid of evil intent, for he subsided
sleepily.
"What time was it, Mr. Ewell?"
"Just 'fore sundown. Well, I was sayin' Mayella was screamin' fit to
beat Jesus-" another glance from the bench silenced Mr. Ewell.
"Yes? She was screaming?" said Mr. Gilmer.
Mr. Ewell looked confusedly at the judge. "Well, Mayella was raisin'
this holy racket so I dropped m'load and run as fast as I could but
I run into th' fence, but when I got distangled I run up to th' window
and I seen-" Mr. Ewell's face grew scarlet. He stood up and pointed
his finger at Tom Robinson. "-I seen that black nigger yonder
ruttin' on my Mayella!"
So serene was Judge Taylor's court, that he had few occasions to use
his gavel, but he hammered fully five minutes. Atticus was on his feet
at the bench saying something to him, Mr. Heck Tate as first officer
of the county stood in the middle aisle quelling the packed courtroom.
Behind us, there was an angry muffled groan from the colored people.
Reverend Sykes leaned across Dill and me, pulling at Jem's elbow.
"Mr. Jem," he said, "you better take Miss Jean Louise home. Mr. Jem,
you hear me?"
Jem turned his head. "Scout, go home. Dill, you'n'Scout go home."
"You gotta make me first," I said, remembering Atticus's blessed
dictum.
Jem scowled furiously at me, then said to Reverend Sykes, "I think
it's okay, Reverend, she doesn't understand it."
I was mortally offended. "I most certainly do, I c'n understand
anything you can."
"Aw hush. She doesn't understand it, Reverend, she ain't nine yet."
Reverend Sykes's black eyes were anxious. "Mr. Finch know you all
are here? This ain't fit for Miss Jean Louise or you boys either."
Jem shook his head. "He can't see us this far away. It's all
right, Reverend."
I knew Jem would win, because I knew nothing could make him leave
now. Dill and I were safe, for a while: Atticus could see us from
where he was, if he looked.
As Judge Taylor banged his gavel, Mr. Ewell was sitting smugly in
the witness chair, surveying his handiwork. With one phrase he had
turned happy picknickers into a sulky, tense, murmuring crowd, being
slowly hypnotized by gavel taps lessening in intensity until the
only sound in the courtroom was a dim pink-pink-pink: the judge
might have been rapping the bench with a pencil.
In possession of his court once more, Judge Taylor leaned back in
his chair. He looked suddenly weary; his age was showing, and I
thought about what Atticus had said- he and Mrs. Taylor didn't kiss
much- he must have been nearly seventy.
"There has been a request," Judge Taylor said, "that this
courtroom be cleared of spectators, or at least of women and children,
a request that will be denied for the time being. People generally see
what they look for, and hear what they listen for, and they have the
right to subject their children to it, but I can assure you of one
thing: you will receive what you see and hear in silence or you will
leave this courtroom, but you won't leave it until the whole boiling
of you come before me on contempt charges. Mr. Ewell, you will keep
your testimony within the confines of Christian English usage, if that
is possible. Proceed, Mr. Gilmer."
Mr. Ewell reminded me of a deaf-mute. I was sure he had never
heard the words Judge Taylor directed at him- his mouth struggled
silently with them- but their import registered on his face.
Smugness faded from it, replaced by a dogged earnestness that fooled
Judge Taylor not at all: as long as Mr. Ewell was on the stand, the
judge kept his eyes on him, as if daring him to make a false move.
Mr. Gilmer and Atticus exchanged glances. Atticus was sitting down
again, his fist rested on his cheek and we could not see his face. Mr.
Gilmer looked rather desperate. A question from Judge Taylor made
him relax: "Mr. Ewell, did you see the defendant having sexual
intercourse with your daughter?"
"Yes, I did."
The spectators were quiet, but the defendant said something. Atticus
whispered to him, and Tom Robinson was silent.
"You say you were at the window?" asked Mr. Gilmer.
"Yes sir."
"How far is it from the ground?"
"'bout three foot."
"Did you have a clear view of the room?"
"Yes sir."
"How did the room look?"
"Well, it was all slung about, like there was a fight."
"What did you do when you saw the defendant?"
"Well, I run around the house to get in, but he run out the front
door just ahead of me. I sawed who he was, all right. I was too
distracted about Mayella to run after'im. I run in the house and she
was lyin' on the floor squallin'-"
"Then what did you do?"
"Why, I run for Tate quick as I could. I knowed who it was, all
right, lived down yonder in that nigger-nest, passed the house every
day. Jedge, I've asked this county for fifteen years to clean out that
nest down yonder, they're dangerous to live around 'sides devaluin' my
property-"
"Thank you, Mr. Ewell," said Mr. Gilmer hurriedly.
The witness made a hasty descent from the stand and ran smack into
Atticus, who had risen to question him. Judge Taylor permitted the
court to laugh.
"Just a minute, sir," said Atticus genially. "Could I ask you a
question or two?"
Mr. Ewell backed up into the witness chair, settled himself, and
regarded Atticus with haughty suspicion, an expression common to
Maycomb County witnesses when confronted by opposing counsel.
"Mr. Ewell," Atticus began, "folks were doing a lot of running
that night. Let's see, you say you ran to the house, you ran to the
window, you ran inside, you ran to Mayella, you ran for Mr. Tate.
Did you, during all this running, run for a doctor?"
"Wadn't no need to. I seen what happened."
"But there's one thing I don't understand," said Atticus. "Weren't
you concerned with Mayella's condition?"
"I most positively was," said Mr. Ewell. "I seen who done it."
"No, I mean her physical condition. Did you not think the nature
of her injuries warranted immediate medical attention?"
"What?"
"Didn't you think she should have had a doctor, immediately?"
The witness said he never thought of it, he had never called a
doctor to any of his'n in his life, and if he had it would have cost
him five dollars. "That all?" he asked.
"Not quite," said Atticus casually. "Mr. Ewell, you heard the
sheriff's testimony, didn't you?"
"How's that?"
"You were in the courtroom when Mr. Heck Tate was on the stand,
weren't you? You heard everything he said, didn't you?"
Mr. Ewell considered the matter carefully, and seemed to decide that
the question was safe.
"Yes," he said.
"Do you agree with his description of Mayella's injuries?"
"How's that?"
Atticus looked around at Mr. Gilmer and smiled. Mr. Ewell seemed
determined not to give the defense the time of day.
"Mr. Tate testified that her right eye was blackened, that she was
beaten around the-"
"Oh yeah," said the witness. "I hold with everything Tate said."
"You do?" asked Atticus mildly. "I just want to make sure." He
went to the court reporter, said something, and the reporter
entertained us for some minutes by reading Mr. Tate's testimony as
if it were stock-market quotations: "...which eye her left oh yes
that'd make it her right it was her right eye Mr. Finch I remember now
she was bunged." He flipped the page. "Up on that side of the face
Sheriff please repeat what you said it was her right eye I said-"
"Thank you, Bert," said Atticus. "You heard it again, Mr. Ewell.
Do you have anything to add to it? Do you agree with the sheriff?"
"I holds with Tate. Her eye was blacked and she was mighty beat up."
The little man seemed to have forgotten his previous humiliation
from the bench. It was becoming evident that he thought Atticus an
easy match. He seemed to grow ruddy again; his chest swelled, and once
more he was a red little rooster. I thought he'd burst his shirt at
Atticus's next question:
"Mr. Ewell, can you read and write?"
Mr. Gilmer interrupted. "Objection," he said. "Can't see what
witness's literacy has to do with the case, irrelevant'n'immaterial."
Judge Taylor was about to speak but Atticus said, "Judge, if
you'll allow the question plus another one you'll soon see."
"All right, let's see," said Judge Taylor, "but make sure we see,
Atticus. Overruled."
Mr. Gilmer seemed as curious as the rest of us as to what bearing
the state of Mr. Ewell's education had on the case.
"I'll repeat the question," said Atticus. "Can you read and write?"
"I most positively can."
"Will you write your name and show us?"
"I most positively will. How do you think I sign my relief checks?"
Mr. Ewell was endearing himself to his fellow citizens. The whispers
and chuckles below us probably had to do with what a card he was.
I was becoming nervous. Atticus seemed to know what he was doing-
