To Kill a Mockingbird
Chapter 16
By Harper Lee
Atticus drove us home and killed the engine as we approached the house so we wouldn’t wake Aunty. We went to our rooms without a word. I was very tired. I was drifting to sleep when the events of the night hit me and I started crying. Jem came to me and he was very nice to me.
In the morning, Aunty, who knew about what happened last night, said that children who slipped out at night were a disgrace to the family. Aunty also said that Mr. Underwood was there the whole time and nothing bad would have happened.
“You know, it’s a funny thing about Braxton (Mr. Underwood),” said Atticus. “He despises Negroes, won’t have one near him.”
Aunty took offense to Atticus saying this comment about Mr. Underwood in front of Calpurnia. “Don’t talk like that in front of them.”
“Talk like what in front of whom?” he asked.
“Like that in front of Calpurnia. You said Braxton Underwood despises Negroes right in front of her.”
“Well, I’m sure Cal knows it. Everybody in Maycomb knows it. Anything fit to say at the table’s fine to say in front of Calpurnia. She knows what she means to this family.”
“I don’t think it’s a good habit, Atticus. It encourages them. You know how they talk among themselves.”
“I don’t know of any law that says they can’t talk. Maybe if we didn’t give them so much to talk about they’d be quiet.”
I was playing with my spoon and asked, “I thought Mr. Cunningham was a friend of ours. You told me a long time ago he was.”
“He still is.”
“But last night he wanted to hurt you.”
“Mr. Cunningham’s basically a good man,” he said. “He just has his blind spots along with the rest of us.”
Jem spoke. “Don’t call that a blind spot. He’d a’ killed you last night when he first went there.”
“He might have hurt me a little,” Atticus agreed, “but son, you’ll understand folks a little better when you’re older. A mob ’s always made up of people, no matter what. Mr. Cunningham was part of a mob last night, but he was still a man. Every mob in every little Southern town is always made up of people, you know – doesn’t say much for them, does it?”
“I’ll say not,” said Jem.
“So it took an eight-year-old child to bring ‘em to their senses, didn’t it?” said Atticus. “That proves something --- that a gang of wild animals can be stopped, simply because they’re still human. Hmph, maybe we need a police force of children… you children last night made Walter Cunningham stand in my shoes for a minute. That was enough.”
Jem and I decided we were going to court to watch the trial even if Atticus didn't want us to. When we got to the square outside of the court house , we saw people everywhere. All of the colored folks were in one corner of the square eating and talking.
That's when Jem said something about a mixed child.
“Jem,” I asked. “What’s a mixed child?”
“Half white, half colored. You’ve seen ‘em, Scout. You know that red kinky-headed one that delivers for the drugstore. He’s half white. They’re real sad.”
“Sad, how come?”
“They don’t belong anywhere. Colored folks won’t have ‘em because they’re half white; white folks won’t have ‘em because they’re colored, so they’re just in-between, don’t belong anywhere. I hear people don't mind mixed kids as much up north”
Jem told us, “Around here once you have a drop of Negro blood, that makes you all black.”
“Let’s go in,” said Dill.
“Naw, we better wait till they get in. Atticus might not like it if he sees us,” said Jem.
We knew there would be a crowd but we had not bargained for all of the people. We overheard conversations about my father.
This is what the people were saying about Atticus.
“…thinks he knows what he’s doing,” one said.
“Ohh now, I wouldn’t say that,” another said.
“Lemme tell you somethin’ now, Billy,” a third said, “you know the court appointed him to defend this n****r.”
“Yeah, but Atticus aims to defend him. That’s what I don’t like about it.”
The Negroes waited for the white people to go in and then they climbed to the balcony where they were to sit. We couldn’t find a seat anywhere and were going to have to stand by the wall. We ran into Reverend Sykes. He edged his way and told us that there was not a seat anywhere downstairs.
“Do you all reckon it’ll be all right if you all come to the balcony with me?”
“Gosh, yes, “ said Jem. Happily we sped ahead of Reverend Sykes to the staircase. Four Negroes rose and gave us their front-row seats.
The jury sat on the left, under long windows. One or two of the jury looked vaguely like dressed up Cunninghams. Atticus and Tom Robinson sat at tables with their backs to us and there was the prosecutor at the other table. Judge Taylor was at the bench.
Judge Taylor looked like he was sleepy but knew the law and actually ran his courtroom with a firm grip . He had one weird habit. He allowed smoking in his courtroom but didn’t smoke himself. However, he did, at times, put a long dry cigar into his mouth and chew it up slowly. Bit by bit the dead cigar would disappear, to reappear some hours later as a flat slick mess. By the time we took our seats in the balcony, Sheriff Heck Tate was already taking his seat on the witness stand .