14 Chapter 14 (1/2)
Although we heard no more about the Finch family from Aunt Alexandra, we heardplenty from the town. On Saturdays, armed with our nickels, when Jem permitted me toaccompany him (he was now positively allergic to my presence when in public), wewould squirm our way through sweating sidewalk crowds and sometimes hear, ”There'shis chillun,” or, ”Yonder's some Finches.” Turning to face our accusers, we would seeonly a couple of farmers studying the enema bags in the Mayco Drugstore window. Ortwo dumpy countrywomen in straw hats sitting in a Hoover cart.
”They c'n go loose and **** up the countryside for all of 'em who run this countycare,” was one obscure observation we met head on from a skinny gentleman when hepassed us. Which reminded me that I had a question to ask Atticus.
”What's ****?” I asked him that night.
Atticus looked around from behind his paper. He was in his chair by the window. Aswe grew older, Jem and I thought it generous to allow Atticus thirty minutes to himselfafter supper.
He sighed, and said **** was carnal knowledge of a female by force and withoutconsent.
”Well if that's all it is why did Calpurnia dry me up when I asked her what it was?”
Atticus looked pensive. ”What's that again?”
”Well, I asked Calpurnia comin' from church that day what it was and she said ask youbut I forgot to and now I'm askin' you.”
His paper was now in his lap. ”Again, please,” he said.
I told him in detail about our trip to church with Calpurnia. Atticus seemed to enjoy it,but Aunt Alexandra, who was sitting in a corner quietly sewing, put down her embroideryand stared at us.
”You all were coming back from Calpurnia's church that Sunday?”
Jem said, ”Yessum, she took us.”
I remembered something. ”Yessum, and she promised me I could come out to herhouse some afternoon. Atticus. I'll go next Sunday if it's all right, can I? Cal said she'dcome get me if you were off in the car.”
”You may not.”
Aunt Alexandra said it. I wheeled around, startled, then turned back to Atticus in timeto catch his swift glance at her, but it was too late. I said, ”I didn't ask you!”
For a big man, Atticus could get up and down from a chair faster than anyone I everknew. He was on his feet. ”Apologize to your aunt,” he said.
”I didn't ask her, I asked you—”
Atticus turned his head and pinned me to the wall with his good eye. His voice wasdeadly: ”First, apologize to your aunt.”
”I'm sorry, Aunty,” I muttered.
”Now then,” he said. ”Let's get this clear: you do as Calpurnia tells you, you do as I tellyou, and as long as your aunt's in this house, you will do as she tells you. Understand?”
I understood, pondered a while, and concluded that the only way I could retire with ashred of dignity was to go to the bathroom, where I stayed long enough to make themthink I had to go. Returning, I lingered in the hall to hear a fierce discussion going on inthe livingroom. Through the door I could see Jem on the sofa with a football magazine infront of his face, his head turning as if its pages contained a live tennis match.
”…you've got to do something about her,” Aunty was saying. ”You've let things go ontoo long, Atticus, too long.”
”I don't see any harm in letting her go out there. Cal'd look after her there as well asshe does here.”
Who was the ”her” they were talking about? My heart sank: me. I felt the starchedwalls of a pink cotton penitentiary closing in on me, and for the second time in my life Ithought of running away. Immediately.
”Atticus, it's all right to be soft-hearted, you're an easy man, but you have a daughterto think of. A daughter who's growing up.”
”That's what I am thinking of.”
”And don't try to get around it. You've got to face it sooner or later and it might as wellbe tonight. We don't need her now.”
Atticus's voice was even: ”Alexandra, Calpurnia's not leaving this house until shewants to. You may think otherwise, but I couldn't have got along without her all theseyears. She's a faithful member of this family and you'll simply have to accept things theway they are. Besides, sister, I don't want you working your head off for us—you've noreason to do that. We still need Cal as much as we ever did.”
”But Atticus—”
”Besides, I don't think the children've suffered one bit from her having brought themup. If anything, she's been harder on them in some ways than a mother would havebeen… she's never let them get away with anything, she's never indulged them the waymost colored nurses do. She tried to bring them up according to her lights, and Cal'slights are pretty good—and another thing, the children love her.”
I breathed again. It wasn't me, it was only Calpurnia they were talking about. Revived,I entered the livingroom. Atticus had retreated behind his newspaper and AuntAlexandra was worrying her embroidery. Punk, punk, punk, her needle broke the tautcircle. She stopped, and pulled the cloth tighter: punk-punk-punk. She was furious.
Jem got up and padded across the rug. He motioned me to follow. He led me to hisroom and closed the door. His face was grave.
”They've been fussing, Scout.”
Jem and I fussed a great deal these days, but I had never heard of or seen anyonequarrel with Atticus. It was not a comfortable sight.
”Scout, try not to antagonize Aunty, hear?”
Atticus's remarks were still rankling, which made me miss the request in Jem'squestion. My feathers rose again. ”You tryin' to tell me what to do?”
”Naw, it's—he's got a lot on his mind now, without us worrying him.”
”Like what?” Atticus didn't appear to have anything especially on his mind.
”It's this Tom Robinson case that's worryin' him to death—”
I said Atticus didn't worry about anything. Besides, the case never bothered us exceptabout once a week and then it didn't last.
”That's because you can't hold something in your mind but a little while,” said Jem.
”It's different with grown folks, we—”
His maddening superiority was unbearable these days. He didn't want to do anythingbut read and go off by himself. Still, everything he read he passed along to me, but withthis difference: formerly, because he thought I'd like it; now, for my edification andinstruction.
”Jee crawling hova, Jem! Who do you think you are?”
”Now I mean it, Scout, you antagonize Aunty and I'll—I'll spank you.”
With that, I was gone. ”You damn morphodite, I'll kill you!” He was sitting on the bed,and it was easy to grab his front hair and land one on his mouth. He slapped me and Itried another left, but a punch in the stomach sent me sprawling on the floor. It nearlyknocked the breath out of me, but it didn't matter because I knew he was fighting, hewas fighting me back. We were still equals.
”Ain't so high and mighty now, are you!” I screamed, sailing in again. He was still onthe bed and I couldn't get a firm stance, so I threw myself at him as hard as I could,hitting, pulling, pinching, gouging. What had begun as a fist-fight became a brawl. Wewere still struggling when Atticus separated us.
”That's all,” he said. ”Both of you go to bed right now.”
”Taah!” I said at Jem. He was being sent to bed at my bedtime.
”Who started it?” asked Atticus, in resignation.
”Jem did. He was tryin' to tell me what to do. I don't have to mind him now, do I?”
Atticus smiled. ”Let's leave it at this: you mind Jem whenever he can make you. Fairenough?”
Aunt Alexandra was present but silent, and when she went down the hall with Atticuswe heard her say, ”…just one of the things I've been telling you about,” a phrase thatunited us again.
Ours were adjoining rooms; as I shut the door between them Jem said, ”Night, Scout.”
”Night,” I murmured, picking my way across the room to turn on the light. As I passedthe bed I stepped on something warm, resilient, and rather smooth. It was not quite likehard rubber, and I had the sensation that it was alive. I also heard it move.
I switched on the light and looked at the floor by the bed. Whatever I had stepped onwas gone. I tapped on Jem's door.
”What,” he said.
”How does a snake feel?”
”Sort of rough. Cold. Dusty. Why?”
”I think there's one under my bed. Can you come look?”
”Are you bein' funny?” Jem opened the door. He was in his pajama bottoms. I noticednot without satisfaction that the mark of my knuckles was still on his mouth. When hesaw I meant what I said, he said, ”If you think I'm gonna put my face down to a snakeyou've got another think comin'. Hold on a minute.”
He went to the kitchen and fetched the broom. ”You better get up on the bed,” he said.
”You reckon it's really one?” I asked. This was an occasion. Our houses had nocellars; they were built on stone blocks a few feet above the ground, and the entry ofreptiles was not unknown but was not commonplace. Miss Rachel Haverford's excusefor a glass of neat whiskey every morning was that she never got over the fright offinding a rattler coiled in her bedroom closet, on her washing, when she went to hang upher negligee.
Jem made a tentative swipe under the bed. I looked over the foot to see if a snakewould come out. None did. Jem made a deeper swipe.
”Do snakes grunt?”
”It ain't a snake,” Jem said. ”It's somebody.”
Suddenly a filthy brown package shot from under the bed. Jem raised the broom andmissed Dill's head by an inch when it appeared.