matar a un ruiseñor

To KILL A
MOCKINGBIRD / 275

Miss Maudie's bedroom went on . Miss Stephanie

Crawford 's lights went on. Atticus and Mr. Tate

looked across the street, then at each other. They

waited.

When Mr. Tate spoke again his voice was bareJy

audible. "Mr. Finch, I hate to fight you when you're

like this. You've been under a strain tonight no man

should ever have to go through. Why you ain't in the

bed from it I don't know, but I do know that for once

you haven't been able to put two and two together,

and we've got to settle this tonight because

tomorrow'll be too late. Bob Ewell's got a kitchen knife

in his craw."

Mr. Tate added that Atticus wasn't going to stand

there and maintain that any boy Jem's size with a
busted arm had fight enough left in him to tackle and

kill a grown man in the pitch .dark.

" Heck," said Atticus abruptly, "that was a

switchblade you were waving. Where'd you get it?"

"Took it off a drunk man," Mr. Tate answered coolly.

I was trying to remember. Mr. Ewell was on me . .

. then he went down . . . . Jem must have gotten up.

At least I thought . . .

" Heck?"

"I said I took it off a drunk man downtown tonight.

Ewell probably found that kitchen knife in the dump

somewhere. Honed it down and bided his time . . .

just bided his time. '' Atticus made his way to the

swing and sat down. His hands dangled limply

between his knees. He was looking at the floor. He

had moved with the same slowness that night in

front of the jail, when I thought it took him forever to

his newspaper and toss it in his chair. fold

Mr. Tate clumped softly around the porch. "It ain't

your decision, Mr. Finch, it's all mine. It's my decision
and my responsibility. For once, if you don't see it my
way, there's not much you can do about it. If you

wanta try, I'll call you a liar to your face. Your boy
never stabbed Bob Ewell,'' he said slowly, "didn't
come near a mile of it and now you know it. All he
wanted to do was get him and his sister safely home.
"

Mr. Tate stopped pacing. He stopped in front of
Atticus, and his back was to us. "I'm not a very good
man, sir, but I am sheriff of Maycomb County. Lived
in this town all my

276 I tiARPER Lr;r;

life an' I'm goin' on forty-three years old. Know
everything that's happened here since before I was
born. There's a black boy dead for no reason, and
the man responsible for it's dead . Let the dead bury
the dead this time, Mr. Finch. Let the dead bury the
dead. ''

Mr. Tate went to the swing and picked up his hat. It
was
lying beside Atticus. Mr. Tate pushed back his hair
and put his hat on.
"I never heard tell that it's against the law for a citizen
to
do his utmost to prevent a crime from being
committed, which is exactly what he did, but maybe
you'll say it's my duty to tell the town all about it and
not hush it up. Know what'd happen then? All the
ladies in Maycomb includin' my wife'd be knocking on
his door bringing angel food cakes. To my way of
thinkin', Mr. Finch, taking the one man who's done
you and this town a great service an' draggin ' him
with his shy ways into the limelight-to me, that's a sin.
It's a sin and I'm not about to have it on my head . If
it was any other man it'd be different. But not this
man, Mr. Finch."
Mr. Tate was trying to dig a hole in the floor with
the toe of his boot. He pulled his nose, then he
massaged his left arm. "I may not be much, Mr.
Finch, but I'm still sheriff of Maycomb County and
Bob Ewell fell on his knife. Good night, sir. ''
Mr. Tate stamped off the porch and strode across
the front yard. His car door slammed and he drove
away.
Atticus sat looking at the floor for a long time.
Finally he raised his head. "Scout," he said, "Mr.
Ewell fell on his knife. Can you possibly
understand?' '

Atticus looked like he needed cheering up. I ran to
him and hugged him and kissed him with all my
might. '' Yes sir, I understand," I reassured him. "Mr.
Tate was right."

Atticus disengaged himself and looked at me.
"What do you mean?''

''Well, it'd be sort of like shootin' a mockingbird,
wouldn't it?' '

Atticus put his face in my hair and rubbed it. When
he got up and walked across the porch into the
shadows , his youthful step had returned. Before he
went inside the house, he stopped in front of Boo
Radley. "Thank you for my children, Ar thur," he said.

31

When Boo Radley shuffled to his feet, light from the
liv ingroom windows glistened on his forehead.
Every move he made was uncertain, as if he were not
sure his hands and feet could make proper contact
with the things he touched. He coughed his dreadful
raling cough, and was so shaken he had to sit down
again. His hand searched for his hip pocket, and he
pulled out a handkerchief. He coughed into it, then
he wiped his forehead.

Having been so accustomed to his absence, I found
it
incredible that he had been sitting beside me all this
time, present. He had not made a sound.
Once more, he got to his feet. He turned to me and
nodded toward the front door.
"You'd like to say good night to Jem, wouldn't you,
Mr.
Arthur? Come right in. ''
I led him down the hall. Aunt Alexandra was
sitting by Jem's bed. "Come in, Arthur," she said.
"He's still asleep. Dr. Reynolds gave him a heavy
sedative. Jean Louise, is your father in the
livingroom?"
"Yes ma'am, I think so. "
"I'll just go speak to him a minute. Dr. Reynolds
left some . . . '' her voice trailed away.

Boo had drifted to a comer of the room, where he
stood with his chin up, peering from a distance at
Jem. I took him by the hand, a hand surprisingly
warm for its whiteness. I tugged him a little, and he
allowed me to lead him to Jem's bed.

Dr. Reynolds had made a tent-like arrangement
over Jem's arm, to keep the cover off, I guess, and Boo
leaned forward and looked over it. An expression of
timid curiosity was on his face, as though he had
never seen a boy before. His mouth was slightly
open, and he looked at Jem from head to foot. Boo's
hand came up, but he let it drop to his side.

-277

278 I HARPER 1.��

"You can pet him, Mr. Arthur, he's asleep. You
couldn't if he was awake, though, he wouldn't let you
. . . " I found myself explaining. "Go ahead. "

Boo's hand hovered over Jem's
head . "Go on, sir, he's asleep."
His hand came down lightly on Jem's hair.
I was beginning to learn his body English. His hand
tight ened on mine and he indicated that he wanted
to leave.
I led him to the front porch, where his uneasy steps
halted. He was still holding my hand and he gave no
sign of letting me go .
"Will you take me home?''
He almost whispered it, in the voice of a child
afraid of the dark.

I put my foot on the top step and stopped. I would
lead him through our house, but I would never lead
him home.

" Mr. Arthur, bend your an down here, like that. That's
right, sir. "

I slipped my hand into the crook of his arm.
He had to stoop a little to accommodate me, but if
Miss Stephanie Crawford was watching from her
upstairs window, she would see Arthur Radley
escorting me down the sidewalk, as any gentleman
would do.
We came to the street light on the corner, and I
wondered how many times Dill had stood there
hugging the fat pole, watching, waiting, hoping. I
wondered how many times Jem and I had made this
journey, but I entered the Radley front gate for the
second time in my life. Boo and I walked up the steps
to the porch. His fingers found the front doorknob.
He gently released my hand, opened the door, went
inside, and shut the door behind him. I never saw
him again.
Neighbors bring food with death and flowers with

sickness and little things in between. Boo was our
neighbor. He gave us two soap dolls, a broken watch
and chain, a pair of good luck pennies, and our Jives.
But neighbors give in return. We never put back into
the tree what we took out of it: we had given him
nothing, and it made me sad.

I turned to go home. Street lights winked down the
street all the way to town. I had never seen our
neighborhood from this angle. There were Miss
Maudie's, Miss Stephanie's there was our house, I
could see the porch swing-Miss

To KILL A
MOCKINGBIRD I 279

Rachel 's house was beyond us, plainly visible. I
could even see Mrs. Dubose's.

I looked behind me. To the left of the brown door
was a long shuttered window. I walked to it, stood in
front of it, and turned around . In daylight, I thought,
you could see to the postoffice corner.

Daylight . . . in my mind, the night faded. It was
daytime and the neighborhood was busy. Miss
Stephanie Crawford crossed the street to tell the
latest to Miss Rachel. Miss Mau die bent over her
azaleas . It was summertime, and two chil dren
scampered down the sidewalk toward a man
approaching in the distance. The man waved, and
the children raced each other to him.

It was still summertime, and the children came
closer. A boy trudged down the sidewalk dragging a
fishingpole behind him. A man stood waiting with his

hands on his hips. Sum mertime, and his children
played in the front yard with their friend, enacting a

strange little drama of their own invention. It was
fall, and his children fought on the sidewalk in front
of Mrs. Dubose's. The boy helped his sister to her

feet, and they made their way home. Fall, and his
children trotted to and fro around the corner, the
day's woes and triumphs on their faces. They
stopped at an oak tree, delighted, puzzled,

apprehensive.
Winter, and his children shivered at the front gate,

silhou etted against a blazing house. Winter, and a
man walked into the street, dropped his glasses, and
shot a dog.

Summer, and he watched his children 's heart
break. Au tumn again, and Boo's children needed
him.

Atticus was right. One time he said you never really
know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk

around in them. Just standing on the Radley porch
was enough.

The street lights were fuzzy from the fine rain that
was falling. As I made my way home, I felt very old,
but when I looked at the tip of my nose I could see
fine misty beads, but looking cross-eyed made me
dizzy so I quit. As I made my way home, I thought
what a thing to tell Jem tomorrow. He'd be so mad he
missed it he wouldn't speak to me for days. As I made
my way home, I thought Jem and I would get grown
but there wasn't much else left for us to learn, except
possibly algebra.

280 I HARreR Lee

I ran up the steps and into the house. Aunt
Alexandra had gone to bed, and Atticus's room was
dark. I would see if Jem might be reviving. Atticus
was in Jem's room, sitting by his bed. He was
reading a book.

"Is Jem awake yet?"
"Sleeping peacefully . He won 't be awake until
morning." "Oh. Are you sittin' up with him?"
"Just for an hour or so . Go to bed, Scout. You've
had a long day. ''
"Well, I think I'll stay with you for a while."
"Suit yourself, " said Atticus. It must have been
after mid night, and I was puzzled by his amiable
acquiescence. He was shrewder than I, however:
the moment I sat down I began to feel sleepy.
"Whatcha readin '?" I asked.
Atticus turned the book over. "Something of Jem's.
Called

The Gray Ghost. "

I was suddenly awake. "Why'd you get that one?"
" Honey, I don't know. Just picked it up . One of
the few
things I haven't read, '' he said pointedly.
" Read it out loud, please, Atticus. It's real scary ."
"No," he said. "You ' ve had enough scaring for a
while.
This is too-''
"Atticus, I wasn't scared . "
He raised his eyebrows, and I protested:
"Leastways not till I started telling Mr. Tate about it.
Jem wasn't scared. Asked him and he said he wasn
't. Besides, nothin's real scary except in books.''
Atticus opened his mouth to say something, but
shut it again. He took his thumb from the middle of
the book and turned back to the first page. I moved
over and leaned my head against his knee. "H' rm,"

he said. " The Gray Ghost, by Seckatary Hawkins.

Chapter One . . . ''

I willed myself to stay awake, but the rain was so

soft and the room was so warm and his voice was so

deep and his knee was so snug that I slept.

Seconds later, it seemed , his shoe was gently

nudging my ribs. He lifted me to my feet and walked

me to my r.o?.o.mw.a's'Hne'tasrldeeepvaetryallw, o'srd�youut said, '' I
muttered. '' a ship an
' Three-Finge<red Fred 'n' Stoner's Boy . . . .

>

TO KILL A
MOCKINGBIRD / 28 1

He unhooked my overalls, leaned me against him,
and pulled them off. He held me up with one hand
and reached for my pajamas with the other.

"Yeah, an' they all thought it was Stoner's Boy
messin' up their clubhouse an' throwin' ink all over it
an• . . . ' •

He guided me to the bed and sat me down. He lifted
my legs and put me under the cover.

" An' they chased him 'n' never could catch him
'cause they didn't know what he looked like, an '
Atticus, when they finally saw him, why he hadn't
done any of those things . . . Atticus, he was real nice
"

His hands were under my chin, pulling up the
cover, tuck ing it around me.

"Most people are, Scout, when you finally see them.
"
He turned out the light and went into Jem's room.

He would be there all night, and he would be there
when Jem waked up in the morning.