didn't see anything. "It's real nice, Jem."
"Under my arms, too," he said. "Goin' out for football next year.
Scout, don't let Aunty aggravate you."
It seemed only yesterday that he was telling me not to aggravate
Aunty.
"You know she's not used to girls," said Jem, "leastways, not
girls like you. She's trying to make you a lady. Can't you take up
sewin' or somethin'?"
"Hell no. She doesn't like me, that's all there is to it, and I
don't care. It was her callin' Walter Cunningham trash that got me
goin', Jem, not what she said about being a problem to Atticus. We got
that all straight one time, I asked him if I was a problem and he said
not much of one, at most one that he could always figure out, and
not to worry my head a second about botherin' him. Naw, it was Walter-
that boy's not trash, Jem. He ain't like the Ewells."
Jem kicked off his shoes and swung his feet to the bed. He propped
himself against a pillow and switched on the reading light. "You
know something, Scout? I've got it all figured out, now. I've
thought about it a lot lately and I've got it figured out. There's
four kinds of folks in the world. There's the ordinary kind like us
and the neighbors, there's the kind like the Cunninghams out in the
woods, the kind like the Ewells down at the dump, and the Negroes."
"What about the Chinese, and the Cajuns down yonder in Baldwin
County?"
"I mean in Maycomb County. The thing about it is, our kind of
folks don't like the Cunninghams, the Cunninghams don't like the
Ewells, and the Ewells hate and despise the colored folks."
I told Jem if that was so, then why didn't Tom's jury, made up of
folks like the Cunninghams, acquit Tom to spite the Ewells?"
Jem waved my question away as being infantile.
"You know," he said, "I've seen Atticus pat his foot when there's
fiddlin' on the radio, and he loves pot liquor better'n any man I ever
saw-"
"Then that makes us like the Cunninghams," I said. "I can't see
why Aunty-"
"No, lemme finish- it does, but we're still different somehow.
Atticus said one time the reason Aunty's so hipped on the family is
because all we've got's background and not a dime to our names."
"Well Jem, I don't know- Atticus told me one time that most of
this Old Family stuff's foolishness because everybody's family's
just as old as everybody else's. I said did that include the colored
folks and Englishmen and he said yes."
"Background doesn't mean Old Family," said Jem. "I think it's how
long your family's been readin' and writin'. Scout, I've studied
this real hard and that's the only reason I can think of. Somewhere
along when the Finches were in Egypt one of 'em must have learned a
hieroglyphic or two and he taught his boy." Jem laughed. "Imagine
Aunty being proud her great-grandaddy could read an' write- ladies
pick funny things to be proud of."
"Well I'm glad he could, or who'da taught Atticus and them, and if
Atticus couldn't read, you and me'd be in a fix. I don't think
that's what background is, Jem."
"Well then, how do you explain why the Cunninghams are different?
Mr. Walter can hardly sign his name, I've seen him. We've just been
readin' and writin' longer'n they have."
"No, everybody's gotta learn, nobody's born knowin'. That Walter's
as smart as he can be, he just gets held back sometimes because he has
to stay out and help his daddy. Nothin's wrong with him. Naw, Jem, I
think there's just one kind of folks. Folks."
Jem turned around and punched his pillow. When he settled back his
face was cloudy. He was going into one of his declines, and I grew
wary. His brows came together; his mouth became a thin line. He was
silent for a while.
"That's what I thought, too," he said at last, "when I was your age.
If there's just one kind of folks, why can't they get along with
each other? If they're all alike, why do they go out of their way to
despise each other? Scout, I think I'm beginning to understand
something. I think I'm beginning to understand why Boo Radley's stayed
shut up in the house all this time... it's because he wants to
stay inside."
24
Calpurnia wore her stiffest starched apron. She carried a tray of
charlotte. She backed up to the swinging door and pressed gently. I
admired the ease and grace with which she handled heavy loads of
dainty things. So did Aunt Alexandra, I guess, because she had let
Calpurnia serve today.
August was on the brink of September. Dill would be leaving for
Meridian tomorrow; today he was off with Jem at Barker's Eddy. Jem had
discovered with angry amazement that nobody had ever bothered to teach
Dill how to swim, a skill Jem considered necessary as walking. They
had spent two afternoons at the creek, they said they were going in
naked and I couldn't come, so I divided the lonely hours between
Calpurnia and Miss Maudie.
Today Aunt Alexandra and her missionary circle were fighting the
good fight all over the house. From the kitchen, I heard Mrs. Grace
Merriweather giving a report in the livingroom on the squalid lives of
the Mrunas, it sounded like to me. They put the women out in huts when
their time came, whatever that was; they had no sense of family- I
knew that'd distress Aunty- they subjected children to terrible
ordeals when they were thirteen; they were crawling with yaws and
earworms, they chewed up and spat out the bark of a tree into a
communal pot and then got drunk on it.
Immediately thereafter, the ladies adjourned for refreshments.
I didn't know whether to go into the diningroom or stay out. Aunt
Alexandra told me to join them for refreshments; it was not
necessary that I attend the business part of the meeting, she said
it'd bore me. I was wearing my pink Sunday dress, shoes, and a
petticoat, and reflected that if I spilled anything Calpurnia would
have to wash my dress again for tomorrow. This had been a busy day for
her. I decided to stay out.
"Can I help you, Cal?" I asked, wishing to be of some service.
Calpurnia paused in the doorway. "You be still as a mouse in that
corner," she said, "an' you can help me load up the trays when I
come back."
The gentle hum of ladies' voices grew louder as she opened the door:
"Why, Alexandra, I never saw such charlotte... just lovely... I
never can get my crust like this, never can... who'd've thought of
little dewberry tarts... Calpurnia?... who'da thought it... anybody
tell you that the preacher's wife's... nooo, well she is, and that
other one not walkin' yet..."
They became quiet, and I knew they had all been served. Calpurnia
returned and put my mother's heavy silver pitcher on a tray. "This
coffee pitcher's a curiosity," she murmured, "they don't make 'em
these days."
"Can I carry it in?"
"If you be careful and don't drop it. Set it down at the end of
the table by Miss Alexandra. Down there by the cups'n things. She's
gonna pour."
I tried pressing my behind against the door as Calpurnia had done,
but the door didn't budge. Grinning, she held it open for me. "Careful
now, it's heavy. Don't look at it and you won't spill it."
My journey was successful: Aunt Alexandra smiled brilliantly.
"Stay with us, Jean Louise," she said. This was a part of her campaign
to teach me to be a lady.
It was customary for every circle hostess to invite her neighbors in
for refreshments, be they Baptists or Presbyterians, which accounted
for the presence of Miss Rachel (sober as a judge), Miss Maudie and
Miss Stephanie Crawford. Rather nervous, I took a seat beside Miss
Maudie and wondered why ladies put on their hats to go across the
street. Ladies in bunches always filled me with vague apprehension and
a firm desire to be elsewhere, but this feeling was what Aunt
Alexandra called being "spoiled."
The ladies were cool in fragile pastel prints: most of them were
heavily powdered but unrouged; the only lipstick in the room was
Tangee Natural. Cutex Natural sparkled on their fingernails, but
some of the younger ladies wore Rose. They smelled heavenly. I sat
quietly, having conquered my hands by tightly gripping the arms of the
chair, and waited for someone to speak to me.
Miss Maudie's gold bridgework twinkled. "You're mighty dressed up,
Miss Jean Louise," she said, "Where are your britches today?"
"Under my dress."
I hadn't meant to be funny, but the ladies laughed. My cheeks grew
hot as I realized my mistake, but Miss Maudie looked gravely down at
me. She never laughed at me unless I meant to be funny.
In the sudden silence that followed, Miss Stephanie Crawford
called from across the room, "Whatcha going to be when you grow up,
Jean Louise? A lawyer?"
"Nome, I hadn't thought about it..." I answered, grateful that
Miss Stephanie was kind enough to change the subject. Hurriedly I
began choosing my vocation. Nurse? Aviator? "Well..."
"Why shoot, I thought you wanted to be a lawyer, you've already
commenced going to court."
The ladies laughed again. "That Stephanie's a card," somebody
said. Miss Stephanie was encouraged to pursue the subject: "Don't
you want to grow up to be a lawyer?"
Miss Maudie's hand touched mine and I answered mildly enough, "Nome,
just a lady."
Miss Stephanie eyed me suspiciously, decided that I meant no
impertinence, and contented herself with, "Well, you won't get very
far until you start wearing dresses more often."
Miss Maudie's hand closed tightly on mine, and I said nothing. Its
warmth was enough.
Mrs. Grace Merriweather sat on my left, and I felt it would be
polite to talk to her. Mr. Merriweather, a faithful Methodist under
duress, apparently saw nothing personal in singing, "Amazing Grace,
how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me..." It was the
general opinion of Maycomb, however, that Mrs. Merriweather had
sobered him up and made a reasonably useful citizen of him. For
certainly Mrs. Merriweather was the most devout lady in Maycomb. I
searched for a topic of interest to her. "What did you all study
this afternoon?" I asked.
"Oh child, those poor Mrunas," she said, and was off. Few other
questions would be necessary.
