the chillun, and I knowed she didn't have no nickels to spare."
"Where were the other children?"
"They was always around, all over the place. They'd watch me work,
some of 'em, some of 'em'd set in the window."
"Would Miss Mayella talk to you?"
"Yes sir, she talked to me."
As Tom Robinson gave his testimony, it came to me that Mayella Ewell
must have been the loneliest person in the world. She was even
lonelier than Boo Radley, who had not been out of the house in
twenty-five years. When Atticus asked had she any friends, she
seemed not to know what he meant, then she thought he was making fun
of her. She was as sad, I thought, as what Jem called a mixed child:
white people wouldn't have anything to do with her because she lived
among pigs; Negroes wouldn't have anything to do with her because
she was white. She couldn't live like Mr. Dolphus Raymond, who
preferred the company of Negroes, because she didn't own a riverbank
and she wasn't from a fine old family. Nobody said, "That's just their
way," about the Ewells. Maycomb gave them Christmas baskets, welfare
money, and the back of its hand. Tom Robinson was probably the only
person who was ever decent to her. But she said he took advantage of
her, and when she stood up she looked at him as if he were dirt
beneath her feet.
"Did you ever," Atticus interrupted my meditations, "at any time, go
on the Ewell property- did you ever set foot on the Ewell property
without an express invitation from one of them?"
"No suh, Mr. Finch, I never did. I wouldn't do that, suh."
Atticus sometimes said that one way to tell whether a witness was
lying or telling the truth was to listen rather than watch: I
applied his test- Tom denied it three times in one breath, but
quietly, with no hint of whining in his voice, and I found myself
believing him in spite of his protesting too much. He seemed to be a
respectable Negro, and a respectable Negro would never go up into
somebody's yard of his own volition.
"Tom, what happened to you on the evening of November twenty-first
of last year?"
Below us, the spectators drew a collective breath and leaned
forward. Behind us, the Negroes did the same.
Tom was a black-velvet Negro, not shiny, but soft black velvet.
The whites of his eyes shone in his face, and when he spoke we saw
flashes of his teeth. If he had been whole, he would have been a
fine specimen of a man.
"Mr. Finch," he said, "I was goin' home as usual that evenin', an'
when I passed the Ewell place Miss Mayella were on the porch, like she
said she were. It seemed real quiet like, an' I didn't quite know why.
I was studyin' why, just passin' by, when she says for me to come
there and help her a minute. Well, I went inside the fence an'
looked around for some kindlin' to work on, but I didn't see none, and
she says, 'Naw, I got somethin' for you to do in the house. Th' old
door's off its hinges an' fall's comin' on pretty fast.' I said you
got a screwdriver, Miss Mayella? She said she sho' had. Well, I went
up the steps an' she motioned me to come inside, and I went in the
front room an' looked at the door. I said Miss Mayella, this door look
all right. I pulled it back'n forth and those hinges was all right.
Then she shet the door in my face. Mr. Finch, I was wonderin' why it
was so quiet like, an' it come to me that there weren't a chile on the
place, not a one of 'em, and I said Miss Mayella, where the chillun?"
Tom's black velvet skin had begun to shine, and he ran his hand over
his face.
"I say where the chillun?" he continued, "an' she says- she was
laughin', sort of- she says they all gone to town to get ice creams.
She says, 'took me a slap year to save seb'm nickels, but I done it.
They all gone to town.'"
Tom's discomfort was not from the humidity. "What did you say
then, Tom?" asked Atticus.
"I said somethin' like, why Miss Mayella, that's right smart o'you
to treat 'em. An' she said, 'You think so?' I don't think she
understood what I was thinkin'- I meant it was smart of her to save
like that, an' nice of her to treat em."
"I understand you, Tom. Go on," said Atticus.
"Well, I said I best be goin', I couldn't do nothin' for her, an'
she says oh yes I could, an' I ask her what, and she says to just step
on that chair yonder an' git that box down from on top of the
chiffarobe."
"Not the same chiffarobe you busted up?" asked Atticus.
The witness smiled. "Naw suh, another one. Most as tall as the room.
So I done what she told me, an' I was just reachin' when the next
thing I knows she- she'd grabbed me round the legs, grabbed me round
th' legs, Mr. Finch. She scared me so bad I hopped down an' turned the
chair over- that was the only thing, only furniture, 'sturbed in
that room, Mr. Finch, when I left it. I swear 'fore God."
"What happened after you turned the chair over?"
Tom Robinson had come to a dead stop. He glanced at Atticus, then at
the jury, then at Mr. Underwood sitting across the room.
"Tom, you're sworn to tell the whole truth. Will you tell it?"
Tom ran his hand nervously over his mouth.
"What happened after that?"
"Answer the question," said Judge Taylor. One-third of his cigar had
vanished.
"Mr. Finch, I got down offa that chair an' turned around an' she
sorta jumped on me."
"Jumped on you? Violently?"
"No suh, she- she hugged me. She hugged me round the waist."
This time Judge Taylor's gavel came down with a bang, and as it
did the overhead lights went on in the courtroom. Darkness had not
come, but the afternoon sun had left the windows. Judge Taylor quickly
restored order.
"Then what did she do?"
The witness swallowed hard. "She reached up an' kissed me 'side of
th' face. She says she never kissed a grown man before an' she might
as well kiss a nigger. She says what her papa do to her don't count.
She says, 'Kiss me back, nigger.' I say Miss Mayella lemme outa here
an' tried to run but she got her back to the door an' I'da had to push
her. I didn't wanta harm her, Mr. Finch, an' I say lemme pass, but
just when I say it Mr. Ewell yonder hollered through th' window."
"What did he say?"
Tom Robinson swallowed again, and his eyes widened. "Somethin' not
fittin' to say- not fittin' for these folks'n chillun to hear-"
"What did he say, Tom? You must tell the jury what he said."
Tom Robinson shut his eyes tight. "He says you goddamn whore, I'll
kill ya."
"Then what happened?"
"Mr. Finch, I was runnin' so fast I didn't know what happened."
"Tom, did you rape Mayella Ewell?"
"I did not, suh."
"Did you harm her in any way?"
"I did not, suh."
"Did you resist her advances?"
"Mr. Finch, I tried. I tried to 'thout bein' ugly to her. I didn't
wanta be ugly, I didn't wanta push her or nothin'."
It occurred to me that in their own way, Tom Robinson's manners were
as good as Atticus's. Until my father explained it to me later, I
did not understand the subtlety of Tom's predicament: he would not
have dared strike a white woman under any circumstances and expect
to live long, so he took the first opportunity to run- a sure sign
of guilt.
"Tom, go back once more to Mr. Ewell," said Atticus. "Did he say
anything to you?"
"Not anything, suh. He mighta said somethin', but I weren't there-"
"That'll do," Atticus cut in sharply. "What you did hear, who was he
talking to?"
"Mr. Finch, he were talkin' and lookin' at Miss Mayella."
"Then you ran?"
"I sho' did, suh."
"Why did you run?"
"I was scared, suh."
"Why were you scared?"
"Mr. Finch, if you was a nigger like me, you'd be scared, too."
Atticus sat down. Mr. Gilmer was making his way to the witness
stand, but before he got there Mr. Link Deas rose from the audience
and announced:
"I just want the whole lot of you to know one thing right now.
That boy's worked for me eight years an' I ain't had a speck o'trouble
outa him. Not a speck."
"Shut your mouth, sir!" Judge Taylor was wide awake and roaring.
He was also pink in the face. His speech was miraculously unimpaired
by his cigar. "Link Deas," he yelled, "if you have anything you want
to say you can say it under oath and at the proper time, but until
then you get out of this room, you hear me? Get out of this room, sir,
you hear me? I'll be damned if I'll listen to this case again!"
Judge Taylor looked daggers at Atticus, as if daring him to speak,
but Atticus had ducked his head and was laughing into his lap. I
remembered something he had said about Judge Taylor's ex cathedra
remarks sometimes exceeding his duty, but that few lawyers ever did
anything about them. I looked at Jem, but Jem shook his head. "It
ain't like one of the jurymen got up and started talking," he said. "I
think it'd be different then. Mr. Link was just disturbin' the peace
or something."
Judge Taylor told the reporter to expunge anything he happened to
have written down after Mr. Finch if you were a nigger like me you'd
be scared too, and told the jury to disregard the interruption. He
looked suspiciously down the middle aisle and waited, I suppose, for
Mr. Link Deas to effect total departure. Then he said, "Go ahead,
Mr. Gilmer."
"You were given thirty days once for disorderly conduct,
Robinson?" asked Mr. Gilmer.
"Yes suh."
"What'd the nigger look like when you got through with him?"
"He beat me, Mr. Gilmer."
"Yes, but you were convicted, weren't you?"
Atticus raised his head. "It was a misdemeanor and it's in the
