"I don't know, Henry. They contribute to every society they live in,
and most of all, they are a deeply religious people. Hitler's trying
to do away with religion, so maybe he doesn't like them for that
reason."
Cecil spoke up. "Well I don't know for certain," he said, "they're
supposed to change money or somethin', but that ain't no cause to
persecute 'em. They're white, ain't they?"
Miss Gates said, "When you get to high school, Cecil, you'll learn
that the Jews have been persecuted since the beginning of history,
even driven out of their own country. It's one of the most terrible
stories in history. Time for arithmetic, children."
As I had never liked arithmetic, I spent the period looking out
the window. The only time I ever saw Atticus scowl was when Elmer
Davis would give us the latest on Hitler. Atticus would snap off the
radio and say, "Hmp!" I asked him once why he was impatient with
Hitler and Atticus said, "Because he's a maniac."
This would not do, I mused, as the class proceeded with its sums.
One maniac and millions of German folks. Looked to me like they'd shut
Hitler in a pen instead of letting him shut them up. There was
something else wrong- I would ask my father about it.
I did, and he said he could not possibly answer my question
because he didn't know the answer.
"But it's okay to hate Hitler?"
"It is not," he said. "It's not okay to hate anybody."
"Atticus," I said, "there's somethin' I don't understand. Miss Gates
said it was awful, Hitler doin' like he does, she got real red in
the face about it-"
"I should think she would."
"But-"
"Yes?"
"Nothing, sir." I went away, not sure that I could explain to
Atticus what was on my mind, not sure that I could clarify what was
only a feeling. Perhaps Jem could provide the answer. Jem understood
school things better than Atticus.
Jem was worn out from a day's water-carrying. There were at least
twelve banana peels on the floor by his bed, surrounding an empty milk
bottle. "Whatcha stuffin' for?" I asked.
"Coach says if I can gain twenty-five pounds by year after next I
can play," he said. "This is the quickest way."
"If you don't throw it all up. Jem," I said, "I wanta ask you
somethin'."
"Shoot." He put down his book and stretched his legs.
"Miss Gates is a nice lady, ain't she?"
"Why sure," said Jem. "I liked her when I was in her room."
"She hates Hitler a lot..."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Well, she went on today about how bad it was him treatin' the
Jews like that. Jem, it's not right to persecute anybody, is it? I
mean have mean thoughts about anybody, even, is it?"
"Gracious no, Scout. What's eatin' you?"
"Well, coming out of the courthouse that night Miss Gates was- she
was goin' down the steps in front of us, you musta not seen her- she
was talking with Miss Stephanie Crawford. I heard her say it's time
somebody taught 'em a lesson, they were gettin' way above
themselves, an' the next thing they think they can do is marry us.
Jem, how can you hate Hitler so bad an' then turn around and be ugly
about folks right at home-"
Jem was suddenly furious. He leaped off the bed, grabbed me by the
collar and shook me. "I never wanta hear about that courthouse
again, ever, ever, you hear me? You hear me? Don't you ever say one
word to me about it again, you hear? Now go on!"
I was too surprised to cry. I crept from Jem's room and shut the
door softly, lest undue noise set him off again. Suddenly tired, I
wanted Atticus. He was in the livingroom, and I went to him and
tried to get in his lap.
Atticus smiled. "You're getting so big now, I'll just have to hold a
part of you." He held me close. "Scout," he said softly, "don't let
Jem get you down. He's having a rough time these days. I heard you
back there."
Atticus said that Jem was trying hard to forget something, but
what he was really doing was storing it away for a while, until enough
time passed. Then he would be able to think about it and sort things
out. When he was able to think about it, Jem would be himself again.
27
Things did settle down, after a fashion, as Atticus said they would.
By the middle of October, only two small things out of the ordinary
happened to two Maycomb citizens. No, there were three things, and
they did not directly concern us- the Finches- but in a way they did.
The first thing was that Mr. Bob Ewell acquired and lost a job in
a matter of days and probably made himself unique in the annals of the
nineteen-thirties: he was the only man I ever heard of who was fired
from the WPA for laziness. I suppose his brief burst of fame brought
on a briefer burst of industry, but his job lasted only as long as his
notoriety: Mr. Ewell found himself as forgotten as Tom Robinson.
Thereafter, he resumed his regular weekly appearances at the welfare
office for his check, and received it with no grace amid obscure
mutterings that the bastards who thought they ran this town wouldn't
permit an honest man to make a living. Ruth Jones, the welfare lady,
said Mr. Ewell openly accused Atticus of getting his job. She was
upset enough to walk down to Atticus's office and tell him about it.
Atticus told Miss Ruth not to fret, that if Bob Ewell wanted to
discuss Atticus's "getting" his job, he knew the way to the office.
The second thing happened to Judge Taylor. Judge Taylor was not a
Sunday-night churchgoer: Mrs. Taylor was. Judge Taylor savored his
Sunday night hour alone in his big house, and churchtime found him
holed up in his study reading the writings of Bob Taylor (no kin,
but the judge would have been proud to claim it). One Sunday night,
lost in fruity metaphors and florid diction, Judge Taylor's
attention was wrenched from the page by an irritating scratching
noise. "Hush," he said to Ann Taylor, his fat nondescript dog. Then he
realized he was speaking to an empty room; the scratching noise was
coming from the rear of the house. Judge Taylor clumped to the back
porch to let Ann out and found the screen door swinging open. A shadow
on the corner of the house caught his eye, and that was all he saw
of his visitor. Mrs. Taylor came home from church to find her
husband in his chair, lost in the writings of Bob Taylor, with a
shotgun across his lap.
The third thing happened to Helen Robinson, Tom's widow. If Mr.
Ewell was as forgotten as Tom Robinson, Tom Robinson was as
forgotten as Boo Radley. But Tom was not forgotten by his employer,
Mr. Link Deas. Mr. Link Deas made a job for Helen. He didn't really
need her, but he said he felt right bad about the way things turned
out. I never knew who took care of her children while Helen was
away. Calpurnia said it was hard on Helen, because she had to walk
nearly a mile out of her way to avoid the Ewells, who, according to
Helen, "chunked at her" the first time she tried to use the public
road. Mr. Link Deas eventually received the impression that Helen
was coming to work each morning from the wrong direction, and
dragged the reason out of her. "Just let it be, Mr. Link, please suh,"
Helen begged. "The hell I will," said Mr. Link. He told her to come by
his store that afternoon before she left. She did, and Mr. Link closed
his store, put his hat firmly on his head, and walked Helen home. He
walked her the short way, by the Ewells'. On his way back, Mr. Link
stopped at the crazy gate.
"Ewell?" he called. "I say Ewell!"
The windows, normally packed with children, were empty.
"I know every last one of you's in there a-layin' on the floor!
Now hear me, Bob Ewell: if I hear one more peep outa my girl Helen
about not bein' able to walk this road I'll have you in jail before
sundown!" Mr. Link spat in the dust and walked home.
Helen went to work next morning and used the public road. Nobody
chunked at her, but when she was a few yards beyond the Ewell house,
she looked around and saw Mr. Ewell walking behind her. She turned and
walked on, and Mr. Ewell kept the same distance behind her until she
reached Mr. Link Deas's house. All the way to the house, Helen said,
she heard a soft voice behind her, crooning foul words. Thoroughly
frightened, she telephoned Mr. Link at his store, which was not too
far from his house. As Mr. Link came out of his store he saw Mr. Ewell
leaning on the fence. Mr. Ewell said, "Don't you look at me, Link
Deas, like I was dirt. I ain't jumped your-"
"First thing you can do, Ewell, is get your stinkin' carcass off
my property. You're leanin' on it an' I can't afford fresh paint for
it. Second thing you can do is stay away from my cook or I'll have you
up for assault-"
"I ain't touched her, Link Deas, and ain't about to go with no
nigger!"
"You don't have to touch her, all you have to do is make her afraid,
an' if assault ain't enough to keep you locked up awhile, I'll get you
in on the Ladies' Law, so get outa my sight! If you don't think I mean
it, just bother that girl again!"
Mr. Ewell evidently thought he meant it, for Helen reported no
further trouble.
"I don't like it, Atticus, I don't like it at all," was Aunt
Alexandra's assessment of these events. "That man seems to have a
permanent running grudge against everybody connected with that case. I
know how that kind are about paying off grudges, but I don't
understand why he should harbor one- he had his way in court, didn't
he?"
"I think I understand," said Atticus. "It might be because he
knows in his heart that very few people in Maycomb really believed his
and Mayella's yarns. He thought he'd be a hero, but all he got for his
pain was... was, okay, we'll convict this Negro but get back to your
dump. He's had his fling with about everybody now, so he ought to be
satisfied. He'll settle down when the weather changes."
"But why should he try to burgle John Taylor's house? He obviously
didn't know John was home or he wouldn't've tried. Only lights John
shows on Sunday nights are on the front porch and back in his den..."
"You don't know if Bob Ewell cut that screen, you don't know who did
it," said Atticus. "But I can guess. I proved him a liar but John made
him look like a fool. All the time Ewell was on the stand I couldn't
dare look at John and keep a straight face. John looked at him as if
he were a three-legged chicken or a square egg. Don't tell me judges
don't try to prejudice juries," Atticus chuckled.
By the end of October, our lives had become the familiar routine
