18 Chapter 18 (1/2)
But someone was booming again.
”Mayella Violet Ewell—!”
A young girl walked to the witness stand. As she raised her hand and swore that theevidence she gave would be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so helpher God, she seemed somehow fragile-looking, but when she sat facing us in thewitness chair she became what she was, a thick-bodied girl accustomed to strenuouslabor.
In Maycomb County, it was easy to tell when someone bathed regularly, as opposedto yearly lavations: Mr. Ewell had a scalded look; as if an overnight soaking haddeprived him of protective layers of dirt, his skin appeared to be sensitive to theelements. Mayella looked as if she tried to keep clean, and I was reminded of the row ofred geraniums in the Ewell yard.
Mr. Gilmer asked Mayella to tell the jury in her own words what happened on theevening of November twenty-first of last year, just in her own words, please.
Mayella sat silently.
”Where were you at dusk on that evening?” began Mr. Gilmer patiently.
”On the porch.”
”Which porch?”
”Ain't but one, the front porch.”
”What were you doing on the porch?”
”Nothin'.”
Judge Taylor said, ”Just tell us what happened. You can do that, can't you?”
Mayella stared at him and burst into tears. She covered her mouth with her hands andsobbed. Judge Taylor let her cry for a while, then he said, ”That's enough now. Don't be'fraid of anybody here, as long as you tell the truth. All this is strange to you, I know, butyou've nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to fear. What are you scared of?”
Mayella said something behind her hands. ”What was that?” asked the judge.
”Him,” she sobbed, pointing at Atticus.
”Mr. Finch?”
She nodded vigorously, saying, ”Don't want him doin' me like he done Papa, tryin' tomake him out lefthanded…”
Judge Taylor scratched his thick white hair. It was plain that he had never beenconfronted with a problem of this kind. ”How old are you?” he asked.
”Nineteen-and-a-half,” Mayella said.
Judge Taylor cleared his throat and tried unsuccessfully to speak in soothing tones.
”Mr. Finch has no idea of scaring you,” he growled, ”and if he did, I'm here to stop him.
That's one thing I'm sitting up here for. Now you're a big girl, so you just sit up straightand tell the—tell us what happened to you. You can do that, can't you?”
I whispered to Jem, ”Has she got good sense?”
Jem was squinting down at the witness stand. ”Can't tell yet,” he said. ”She's gotenough sense to get the judge sorry for her, but she might be just—oh, I don't know.”
Mollified, Mayella gave Atticus a final terrified glance and said to Mr. Gilmer, ”Well sir,I was on the porch and—and he came along and, you see, there was this old chiffarobein the yard Papa'd brought in to chop up for kindlin'—Papa told me to do it while he wasoff in the woods but I wadn't feelin' strong enough then, so he came by-”
”Who is 'he'?”
Mayella pointed to Tom Robinson. ”I'll have to ask you to be more specific, please,”
said Mr. Gilmer. ”The reporter can't put down gestures very well.”
”That'n yonder,” she said. ”Robinson.”
”Then what happened?”
”I said come here, nigger, and bust up this chiffarobe for me, I gotta nickel for you. Hecoulda done it easy enough, he could. So he come in the yard an' I went in the house toget him the nickel and I turned around an 'fore I knew it he was on me. Just run upbehind me, he did. He got me round the neck, cussin' me an' sayin' dirt—Ifought'n'hollered, but he had me round the neck. He hit me agin an' agin—”
Mr. Gilmer waited for Mayella to collect herself: she had twisted her handkerchief intoa sweaty rope; when she opened it to wipe her face it was a mass of creases from herhot hands. She waited for Mr. Gilmer to ask another question, but when he didn't, shesaid, ”-he chunked me on the floor an' choked me'n took advantage of me.”
”Did you scream?” asked Mr. Gilmer. ”Did you scream and fight back?”
”Reckon I did, hollered for all I was worth, kicked and hollered loud as I could.”
”Then what happened?”
”I don't remember too good, but next thing I knew Papa was in the room a'standingover me hollerin' who done it, who done it? Then I sorta fainted an' the next thing I knewMr. Tate was pullin' me up offa the floor and leadin' me to the water bucket.”
Apparently Mayella's recital had given her confidence, but it was not her father's brashkind: there was something stealthy about hers, like a steady-eyed cat with a twitchy tail.
”You say you fought him off as hard as you could? Fought him tooth and nail?” askedMr. Gilmer.
”I positively did,” Mayella echoed her father.
”You are positive that he took full advantage of you?”
Mayella's face contorted, and I was afraid that she would cry again. Instead, she said,”He done what he was after.”
Mr. Gilmer called attention to the hot day by wiping his head with his hand. ”That's allfor the time being,” he said pleasantly, ”but you stay there. I expect big bad Mr. Finchhas some questions to ask you.”
”State will not prejudice the witness against counsel for the defense,” murmured JudgeTaylor primly, ”at least not at this time.”
Atticus got up grinning but instead of walking to the witness stand, he opened his coatand hooked his thumbs in his vest, then he walked slowly across the room to thewindows. He looked out, but didn't seem especially interested in what he saw, then heturned and strolled back to the witness stand. From long years of experience, I could tellhe was trying to come to a decision about something.
”Miss Mayella,” he said, smiling, ”I won't try to scare you for a while, not yet. Let's justget acquainted. How old are you?”
”Said I was nineteen, said it to the judge yonder.” Mayella jerked her head resentfullyat the bench.
”So you did, so you did, ma'am. You'll have to bear with me, Miss Mayella, I'm gettingalong and can't remember as well as I used to. I might ask you things you've alreadysaid before, but you'll give me an answer, won't you? Good.”
I could see nothing in Mayella's expression to justify Atticus's assumption that he hadsecured her wholehearted cooperation. She was looking at him furiously.
”Won't answer a word you say long as you keep on mockin' me,” she said.
”Ma'am?” asked Atticus, startled.
”Long's you keep on makin' fun o'me.”
Judge Taylor said, ”Mr. Finch is not making fun of you. What's the matter with you?”
Mayella looked from under lowered eyelids at Atticus, but she said to the judge:
”Long's he keeps on callin' me ma'am an sayin' Miss Mayella. I don't hafta take hissass, I ain't called upon to take it.”
Atticus resumed his stroll to the windows and let Judge Taylor handle this one. JudgeTaylor was not the kind of figure that ever evoked pity, but I did feel a pang for him as hetried to explain. ”That's just Mr. Finch's way,” he told Mayella. ”We've done business inthis court for years and years, and Mr. Finch is always courteous to everybody. He's nottrying to mock you, he's trying to be polite. That's just his way.”
The judge leaned back. ”Atticus, let's get on with these proceedings, and let the recordshow that the witness has not been sassed, her views to the contrary.”
I wondered if anybody had ever called her ”ma'am,” or ”Miss Mayella” in her life;probably not, as she took offense to routine courtesy. What on earth was her life like? Isoon found out.
”You say you're nineteen,” Atticus resumed. ”How many sisters and brothers haveyou?” He walked from the windows back to the stand.
”Seb'm,” she said, and I wondered if they were all like the specimen I had seen thefirst day I started to school.
”You the eldest? The oldest?”
”Yes.”
”How long has your mother been dead?”
”Don't know—long time.”
”Did you ever go to school?”
”Read'n'write good as Papa yonder.”
Mayella sounded like a Mr. Jingle in a book I had been reading.
”How long did you go to school?”
”Two year—three year—dunno.”
Slowly but surely I began to see the pattern of Atticus's questions: from questions thatMr. Gilmer did not deem sufficiently irrelevant or immaterial to object to, Atticus wasquietly building up before the jury a picture of the Ewells' home life. The jury learned thefollowing things: their relief check was far from enough to feed the family, and there wasstrong suspicion that Papa drank it up anyway—he sometimes went off in the swamp fordays and came home sick; the weather was seldom cold enough to require shoes, butwhen it was, you could make dandy ones from strips of old tires; the family hauled itswater in buckets from a spring that ran out at one end of the dump—they kept thesurrounding area clear of trash—and it was everybody for himself as far as keepingclean went: if you wanted to wash you hauled your own water; the younger children hadperpetual colds and suffered from chronic ground-itch; there was a lady who camearound sometimes and asked Mayella why she didn't stay in school—she wrote downthe answer; with two members of the family reading and writing, there was no need forthe rest of them to learn—Papa needed them at home.
”Miss Mayella,” said Atticus, in spite of himself, ”a nineteen-year-old girl like you musthave friends. Who are your friends?”
The witness frowned as if puzzled. ”Friends?”
”Yes, don't you know anyone near your age, or older, or younger? Boys and girls?
Just ordinary friends?”
Mayella's hostility, which had subsided to grudging neutrality, flared again. ”Youmakin' fun o'me agin, Mr. Finch?”
Atticus let her question answer his.
”Do you love your father, Miss Mayella?” was his next.
”Love him, whatcha mean?”
”I mean, is he good to you, is he easy to get along with?”
”He does tollable, 'cept when—”
”Except when?”
Mayella looked at her father, who was sitting with his chair tipped against the railing.
He sat up straight and waited for her to answer.
”Except when nothin',” said Mayella. ”I said he does tollable.”
Mr. Ewell leaned back again.
”Except when he's drinking?” asked Atticus so gently that Mayella nodded.
”Does he ever go after you?”
”How you mean?”
”When he's—riled, has he ever beaten you?”
Mayella looked around, down at the court reporter, up at the judge. ”Answer thequestion, Miss Mayella,” said Judge Taylor.
”My paw's never touched a hair o'my head in my life,” she declared firmly. ”He nevertouched me.”
Atticus's glasses had slipped a little, and he pushed them up on his nose. ”We've hada good visit, Miss Mayella, and now I guess we'd better get to the case. You say youasked Tom Robinson to come chop up a—what was it?”
”A chiffarobe, a old dresser full of drawers on one side.”
”Was Tom Robinson well known to you?”
”Whaddya mean?”
”I mean did you know who he was, where he lived?”
Mayella nodded. ”I knowed who he was, he passed the house every day.”
”Was this the first time you asked him to come inside the fence?”