"He blacked your left eye with his right fist?"
"I ducked and it- it glanced, that's what it did. I ducked and it
glanced off." Mayella had finally seen the light.
"You're becoming suddenly clear on this point. A while ago you
couldn't remember too well, could you?"
"I said he hit me."
"All right. He choked you, he hit you, then he raped you, that
right?"
"It most certainly is."
"You're a strong girl, what were you doing all the time, just
standing there?"
"I told'ja I hollered'n'kicked'n'fought-"
Atticus reached up and took off his glasses, turned his good right
eye to the witness, and rained questions on her. Judge Taylor said,
"One question at a time, Atticus. Give the witness a chance to
answer."
"All right, why didn't you run?"
"I tried..."
"Tried to? What kept you from it?"
"I- he slung me down. That's what he did, he slung me down'n got
on top of me."
"You were screaming all this time?"
"I certainly was."
"Then why didn't the other children hear you? Where were they? At
the dump?"
"Where were they?"
No answer.
"Why didn't your screams make them come running? The dump's closer
than the woods, isn't it?"
No answer.
"Or didn't you scream until you saw your father in the window? You
didn't think to scream until then, did you?"
No answer.
"Did you scream first at your father instead of at Tom Robinson? Was
that it?"
No answer.
"Who beat you up? Tom Robinson or your father?"
No answer.
"What did your father see in the window, the crime of rape or the
best defense to it? Why don't you tell the truth, child, didn't Bob
Ewell beat you up?"
When Atticus turned away from Mayella he looked like his stomach
hurt, but Mayella's face was a mixture of terror and fury. Atticus sat
down wearily and polished his glasses with his handkerchief.
Suddenly Mayella became articulate. "I got somethin' to say," she
said.
Atticus raised his head. "Do you want to tell us what happened?"
But she did not hear the compassion in his invitation. "I got
somethin' to say an' then I ain't gonna say no more. That nigger
yonder took advantage of me an' if you fine fancy gentlemen don't
wanta do nothin' about it then you're all yellow stinkin' cowards,
stinkin' cowards, the lot of you. Your fancy airs don't come to
nothin'- your ma'amin' and Miss Mayellerin' don't come to nothin', Mr.
Finch-"
Then she burst into real tears. Her shoulders shook with angry sobs.
She was as good as her word. She answered no more questions, even when
Mr. Gilmer tried to get her back on the track. I guess if she hadn't
been so poor and ignorant, Judge Taylor would have put her under the
jail for the contempt she had shown everybody in the courtroom.
Somehow, Atticus had hit her hard in a way that was not clear to me,
but it gave him no pleasure to do so. He sat with his head down, and I
never saw anybody glare at anyone with the hatred Mayella showed
when she left the stand and walked by Atticus's table.
When Mr. Gilmer told Judge Taylor that the state rested, Judge
Taylor said, "It's time we all did. We'll take ten minutes."
Atticus and Mr. Gilmer met in front of the bench and whispered, then
they left the courtroom by a door behind the witness stand, which
was a signal for us all to stretch. I discovered that I had been
sitting on the edge of the long bench, and I was somewhat numb. Jem
got up and yawned, Dill did likewise, and Reverend Sykes wiped his
face on his hat. The temperature was an easy ninety, he said.
Mr. Braxton Underwood, who had been sitting quietly in a chair
reserved for the Press, soaking up testimony with his sponge of a
brain, allowed his bitter eyes to rove over the colored balcony, and
they met mine. He gave a snort and looked away.
"Jem," I said, "Mr. Underwood's seen us."
"That's okay. He won't tell Atticus, he'll just put it on the social
side of the Tribune." Jem turned back to Dill, explaining, I
suppose, the finer points of the trial to him, but I wondered what
they were. There had been no lengthy debates between Atticus and Mr.
Gilmer on any points; Mr. Gilmer seemed to be prosecuting almost
reluctantly; witnesses had been led by the nose as asses are, with few
objections. But Atticus had once told us that in Judge Taylor's
court any lawyer who was a strict constructionist on evidence
usually wound up receiving strict instructions from the bench. He
distilled this for me to mean that Judge Taylor might look lazy and
operate in his sleep, but he was seldom reversed, and that was the
proof of the pudding. Atticus said he was a good judge.
Presently Judge Taylor returned and climbed into his swivel chair.
He took a cigar from his vest pocket and examined it thoughtfully. I
punched Dill. Having passed the judge's inspection, the cigar suffered
a vicious bite. "We come down sometimes to watch him," I explained.
"It's gonna take him the rest of the afternoon, now. You watch."
Unaware of public scrutiny from above, Judge Taylor disposed of the
severed end by propelling it expertly to his lips and saying,
"Fhluck!" He hit a spittoon so squarely we could hear it slosh. "Bet
he was hell with a spitball," murmured Dill.
As a rule, a recess meant a general exodus, but today people weren't
moving. Even the Idlers who had failed to shame younger men from their
seats had remained standing along the walls. I guess Mr. Heck Tate had
reserved the county toilet for court officials.
Atticus and Mr. Gilmer returned, and Judge Taylor looked at his
watch. "It's gettin' on to four," he said, which was intriguing, as
the courthouse clock must have struck the hour at least twice. I had
not heard it or felt its vibrations.
"Shall we try to wind up this afternoon?" asked Judge Taylor. "How
'bout it, Atticus?"
"I think we can," said Atticus.
"How many witnesses you got?"
"One."
"Well, call him."
19
Thomas Robinson reached around, ran his fingers under his left arm
and lifted it. He guided his arm to the Bible and his rubber-like left
hand sought contact with the black binding. As he raised his right
hand, the useless one slipped off the Bible and hit the clerk's table.
He was trying again when Judge Taylor growled, "That'll do, Tom."
Tom took the oath and stepped into the witness chair. Atticus very
quickly induced him to tell us:
Tom was twenty-five years of age; he was married with three
children; he had been in trouble with the law before: he once received
thirty days for disorderly conduct.
"It must have been disorderly," said Atticus. "What did it consist
of?"
"Got in a fight with another man, he tried to cut me."
"Did he succeed?"
"Yes suh, a little, not enough to hurt. You see, I-" Tom moved his
left shoulder.
"Yes," said Atticus. "You were both convicted?"
"Yes suh, I had to serve 'cause I couldn't pay the fine. Other
fellow paid his'n."
Dill leaned across me and asked Jem what Atticus was doing. Jem said
Atticus was showing the jury that Tom had nothing to hide.
"Were you acquainted with Mayella Violet Ewell?" asked Atticus.
"Yes suh, I had to pass her place goin' to and from the field
every day."
"Whose field?"
"I picks for Mr. Link Deas."
"Were you picking cotton in November?"
"No suh, I works in his yard fall an' wintertime. I works pretty
steady for him all year round, he's got a lot of pecan trees'n
things."
"You say you had to pass the Ewell place to get to and from work. Is
there any other way to go?"
"No suh, none's I know of."
"Tom, did she ever speak to you?"
"Why, yes suh, I'd tip m'hat when I'd go by, and one day she asked
me to come inside the fence and bust up a chiffarobe for her."
"When did she ask you to chop up the- the chiffarobe?"
"Mr. Finch, it was way last spring. I remember it because it was
choppin' time and I had my hoe with me. I said I didn't have nothin'
but this hoe, but she said she had a hatchet. She give me the
hatchet and I broke up the chiffarobe. She said, 'I reckon I'll
hafta give you a nickel, won't I?' an' I said, 'No ma'am, there
ain't no charge.' Then I went home. Mr. Finch, that was way last
spring, way over a year ago."
"Did you ever go on the place again?"
"Yes suh."
"When?"
"Well, I went lots of times."
Judge Taylor instinctively reached for his gavel, but let his hand
fall. The murmur below us died without his help.
"Under what circumstances?"
"Please, suh?"
"Why did you go inside the fence lots of times?"
Tom Robinson's forehead relaxed. "She'd call me in, suh. Seemed like
every time I passed by yonder she'd have some little somethin' for
me to do- choppin' kindlin', totin' water for her. She watered them
red flowers every day-"
"Were you paid for your services?"
"No suh, not after she offered me a nickel the first time. I was
glad to do it, Mr. Ewell didn't seem to help her none, and neither did
