of school, play, study. Jem seemed to have put out of his mind
whatever it was he wanted to forget, and our classmates mercifully let
us forget our father's eccentricities. Cecil Jacobs asked me one
time if Atticus was a Radical. When I asked Atticus, Atticus was so
amused I was rather annoyed, but he said he wasn't laughing at me.
He said, "You tell Cecil I'm about as radical as Cotton Tom Heflin."
Aunt Alexandra was thriving. Miss Maudie must have silenced the
whole missionary society at one blow, for Aunty again ruled that
roost. Her refreshments grew even more delicious. I learned more about
the poor Mrunas' social life from listening to Mrs. Merriweather: they
had so little sense of family that the whole tribe was one big family.
A child had as many fathers as there were men in the community, as
many mothers as there were women. J. Grimes Everett was doing his
utmost to change this state of affairs, and desperately needed our
prayers.
Maycomb was itself again. Precisely the same as last year and the
year before that, with only two minor changes. Firstly, people had
removed from their store windows and automobiles the stickers that
said NRA- WE DO OUR PART. I asked Atticus why, and he said it was
because the National Recovery Act was dead. I asked who killed it:
he said nine old men.
The second change in Maycomb since last year was not one of national
significance. Until then, Halloween in Maycomb was a completely
unorganized affair. Each child did what he wanted to do, with
assistance from other children if there was anything to be moved, such
as placing a light buggy on top of the livery stable. But parents
thought things went too far last year, when the peace of Miss Tutti
and Miss Frutti was shattered.
Misses Tutti and Frutti Barber were maiden ladies, sisters, who
lived together in the only Maycomb residence boasting a cellar. The
Barber ladies were rumored to be Republicans, having migrated from
Clanton, Alabama, in 1911. Their ways were strange to us, and why they
wanted a cellar nobody knew, but they wanted one and they dug one, and
they spent the rest of their lives chasing generations of children out
of it.
Misses Tutti and Frutti (their names were Sarah and Frances),
aside from their Yankee ways, were both deaf. Miss Tutti denied it and
lived in a world of silence, but Miss Frutti, not about to miss
anything, employed an ear trumpet so enormous that Jem declared it was
a loudspeaker from one of those dog Victrolas.
With these facts in mind and Halloween at hand, some wicked children
had waited until the Misses Barber were thoroughly asleep, slipped
into their livingroom (nobody but the Radleys locked up at night),
stealthily made away with every stick of furniture therein, and hid it
in the cellar. I deny having taken part in such a thing.
"I heard 'em!" was the cry that awoke the Misses Barber's
neighbors at dawn next morning. "Heard 'em drive a truck up to the
door! Stomped around like horses. They're in New Orleans by now!"
Miss Tutti was sure those traveling fur sellers who came through
town two days ago had purloined their furniture. "Da-rk they were,"
she said. "Syrians."
Mr. Heck Tate was summoned. He surveyed the area and said he thought
it was a local job. Miss Frutti said she'd know a Maycomb voice
anywhere, and there were no Maycomb voices in that parlor last
night- rolling their r's all over her premises, they were. Nothing
less than the bloodhounds must be used to locate their furniture, Miss
Tutti insisted, so Mr. Tate was obliged to go ten miles out the
road, round up the county hounds, and put them on the trail.
Mr. Tate started them off at the Misses Barber's front steps, but
all they did was run around to the back of the house and howl at the
cellar door. When Mr. Tate set them in motion three times, he
finally guessed the truth. By noontime that day, there was not a
barefooted child to be seen in Maycomb and nobody took off his shoes
until the hounds were returned.
So the Maycomb ladies said things would be different this year.
The high-school auditorium would be open, there would be a pageant for
the grown-ups; apple-bobbing, taffy-pulling, pinning the tail on the
donkey for the children. There would also be a prize of twenty-five
cents for the best Halloween costume, created by the wearer.
Jem and I both groaned. Not that we'd ever done anything, it was the
principle of the thing. Jem considered himself too old for Halloween
anyway; he said he wouldn't be caught anywhere near the high school at
something like that. Oh well, I thought, Atticus would take me.
I soon learned, however, that my services would be required on stage
that evening. Mrs. Grace Merriweather had composed an original pageant
entitled Maycomb County: Ad Astra Per Aspera, and I was to be a ham.
She thought it would be adorable if some of the children were costumed
to represent the county's agricultural products: Cecil Jacobs would be
dressed up to look like a cow; Agnes Boone would make a lovely
butterbean, another child would be a peanut, and on down the line
until Mrs. Merriweather's imagination and the supply of children
were exhausted.
Our only duties, as far as I could gather from our two rehearsals,
were to enter from stage left as Mrs. Merriweather (not only the
author, but the narrator) identified us. When she called out,
"Pork," that was my cue. Then the assembled company would sing,
"Maycomb County, Maycomb County, we will aye be true to thee," as
the grand finale, and Mrs. Merriweather would mount the stage with the
state flag.
My costume was not much of a problem. Mrs. Crenshaw, the local
seamstress, had as much imagination as Mrs. Merriweather. Mrs.
Crenshaw took some chicken wire and bent it into the shape of a
cured ham. This she covered with brown cloth, and painted it to
resemble the original. I could duck under and someone would pull the
contraption down over my head. It came almost to my knees. Mrs.
Crenshaw thoughtfully left two peepholes for me. She did a fine job.
Jem said I looked exactly like a ham with legs. There were several
discomforts, though: it was hot, it was a close fit; if my nose itched
I couldn't scratch, and once inside I could not get out of it alone.
When Halloween came, I assumed that the whole family would be
present to watch me perform, but I was disappointed. Atticus said as
tactfully as he could that he just didn't think he could stand a
pageant tonight, he was all in. He had been in Montgomery for a week
and had come home late that afternoon. He thought Jem might escort
me if I asked him.
Aunt Alexandra said she just had to get to bed early, she'd been
decorating the stage all afternoon and was worn out- she stopped short
in the middle of her sentence. She closed her mouth, then opened it to
say something, but no words came.
"'s matter, Aunty?" I asked.
"Oh nothing, nothing," she said, "somebody just walked over my
grave." She put away from her whatever it was that gave her a pinprick
of apprehension, and suggested that I give the family a preview in the
livingroom. So Jem squeezed me into my costume, stood at the
livingroom door, called out "Po-ork," exactly as Mrs. Merriweather
would have done, and I marched in. Atticus and Aunt Alexandra were
delighted.
I repeated my part for Calpurnia in the kitchen and she said I was
wonderful. I wanted to go across the street to show Miss Maudie, but
Jem said she'd probably be at the pageant anyway.
After that, it didn't matter whether they went or not. Jem said he
would take me. Thus began our longest journey together.
28
The weather was unusually warm for the last day of October. We
didn't even need jackets. The wind was growing stronger, and Jem
said it might be raining before we got home. There was no moon.
The street light on the corner cast sharp shadows on the Radley
house. I heard Jem laugh softly. "Bet nobody bothers them tonight," he
said. Jem was carrying my ham costume, rather awkwardly, as it was
hard to hold. I thought it gallant of him to do so.
"It is a scary place though, ain't it?" I said. "Boo doesn't mean
anybody any harm, but I'm right glad you're along."
"You know Atticus wouldn't let you go to the schoolhouse by
yourself," Jem said.
"Don't see why, it's just around the corner and across the yard."
"That yard's a mighty long place for little girls to cross at
night," Jem teased. "Ain't you scared of haints?"
We laughed. Haints, Hot Steams, incantations, secret signs, had
vanished with our years as mist with sunrise. "What was that old
thing," Jem said, "Angel bright, life-in-death; get off the road,
don't suck my breath."
"Cut it out, now," I said. We were in front of the Radley Place.
Jem said, "Boo must not be at home. Listen."
High above us in the darkness a solitary mocker poured out his
repertoire in blissful unawareness of whose tree he sat in, plunging
from the shrill kee, kee of the sunflower bird to the irascible
qua-ack of a bluejay, to the sad lament of Poor Will, Poor Will,
Poor Will.
We turned the corner and I tripped on a root growing in the road.
Jem tried to help me, but all he did was drop my costume in the
dust. I didn't fall, though, and soon we were on our way again.
We turned off the road and entered the schoolyard. It was pitch
black.
"How do you know where we're at, Jem?" I asked, when we had gone a
few steps.
"I can tell we're under the big oak because we're passin' through
a cool spot. Careful now, and don't fall again."
We had slowed to a cautious gait, and were feeling our way forward
so as not to bump into the tree. The tree was a single and ancient
oak; two children could not reach around its trunk and touch hands. It
was far away from teachers, their spies, and curious neighbors: it was
near the Radley lot, but the Radleys were not curious. A small patch
of earth beneath its branches was packed hard from many fights and
furtive crap games.
The lights in the high school auditorium were blazing in the
distance, but they blinded us, if anything. "Don't look ahead, Scout,"
Jem said. "Look at the ground and you won't fall."
"You should have brought the flashlight, Jem."
"Didn't know it was this dark. Didn't look like it'd be this dark
earlier in the evening. So cloudy, that's why. It'll hold off a while,
though."
Someone leaped at us.
"God almighty!" Jem yelled.
A circle of light burst in our faces, and Cecil Jacobs jumped in
glee behind it. "Ha-a-a, gotcha!" he shrieked. "Thought you'd be
comin' along this way!"
"What are you doin' way out here by yourself, boy? Ain't you
scared of Boo Radley?"
Cecil had ridden safely to the auditorium with his parents, hadn't
