30 Chapter 30 (2/2)

Atticus walked to the corner of the porch. He looked at the wisteria vine. In his ownway, I thought, each was as stubborn as the other. I wondered who would give in first.

Atticus's stubbornness was quiet and rarely evident, but in some ways he was as set asthe Cunninghams. Mr. Tate's was unschooled and blunt, but it was equal to my father's.

”Heck,” Atticus's back was turned. ”If this thing's hushed up it'll be a simple denial toJem of the way I've tried to raise him. Sometimes I think I'm a total failure as a parent,but I'm all they've got. Before Jem looks at anyone else he looks at me, and I've tried tolive so I can look squarely back at him… if I connived at something like this, frankly Icouldn't meet his eye, and the day I can't do that I'll know I've lost him. I don't want tolose him and Scout, because they're all I've got.”

”Mr. Finch.” Mr. Tate was still planted to the floorboards. ”Bob Ewell fell on his knife. Ican prove it.”

Atticus wheeled around. His hands dug into his pockets. ”Heck, can't you even try tosee it my way? You've got children of your own, but I'm older than you. When mine aregrown I'll be an old man if I'm still around, but right now I'm—if they don't trust me theywon't trust anybody. Jem and Scout know what happened. If they hear of me sayingdowntown something different happened—Heck, I won't have them any more. I can'tlive one way in town and another way in my home.”

Mr. Tate rocked on his heels and said patiently, ”He'd flung Jem down, he stumbledover a root under that tree and—look, I can show you.”

Mr. Tate reached in his side pocket and withdrew a long switchblade knife. As he didso, Dr. Reynolds came to the door. ”The son—deceased's under that tree, doctor, justinside the schoolyard. Got a flashlight? Better have this one.”

”I can ease around and turn my car lights on,” said Dr. Reynolds, but he took Mr.

Tate's flashlight. ”Jem's all right. He won't wake up tonight, I hope, so don't worry. Thatthe knife that killed him, Heck?”

”No sir, still in him. Looked like a kitchen knife from the handle. Ken oughta be therewith the hearse by now, doctor, 'night.”

Mr. Tate flicked open the knife. ”It was like this,” he said. He held the knife andpretended to stumble; as he leaned forward his left arm went down in front of him. ”Seethere? Stabbed himself through that soft stuff between his ribs. His whole weight drove itin.”

Mr. Tate closed the knife and jammed it back in his pocket. ”Scout is eight years old,”

he said. ”She was too scared to know exactly what went on.”

”You'd be surprised,” Atticus said grimly.

”I'm not sayin' she made it up, I'm sayin' she was too scared to know exactly whathappened. It was mighty dark out there, black as ink. 'd take somebody mighty used tothe dark to make a competent witness…”

”I won't have it,” Atticus said softly.

”God damn it, I'm not thinking of Jem!”

Mr. Tate's boot hit the floorboards so hard the lights in Miss Maudie's bedroom wenton. Miss Stephanie Crawford's lights went on. Atticus and Mr. Tate looked across thestreet, then at each other. They waited.

When Mr. Tate spoke again his voice was barely audible. ”Mr. Finch, I hate to fightyou when you're like this. You've been under a strain tonight no man should ever haveto go through. Why you ain't in the bed from it I don't know, but I do know that for onceyou haven't been able to put two and two together, and we've got to settle this tonightbecause 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 boyJem's size with a busted arm had fight enough left in him to tackle and kill a grown manin the pitch dark.

”Heck,” said Atticus abruptly, ”that was a switchblade you were waving. Where'd youget 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 musthave gotten up. At least I thought…”Heck?”

”I said I took it off a drunk man downtown tonight. Ewell probably found that kitchenknife 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 betweenhis knees. He was looking at the floor. He had moved with the same slowness that nightin front of the jail, when I thought it took him forever to fold his newspaper and toss it inhis chair.

Mr. Tate clumped softly around the porch. ”It ain't your decision, Mr. Finch, it's allmine. It's my decision and my responsibility. For once, if you don't see it my way, there'snot much you can do about it. If you wanta try, I'll call you a liar to your face. Your boynever stabbed Bob Ewell,” he said slowly, ”didn't come near a mile of it and now youknow 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'mnot a very good man, sir, but I am sheriff of Maycomb County. Lived in this town all mylife an' I'm goin' on forty-three years old. Know everything that's happened here sincebefore I was born. There's a black boy dead for no reason, and the man responsible forit'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. Tatepushed 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 acrime from being committed, which is exactly what he did, but maybe you'll say it's myduty to tell the town all about it and not hush it up. Know what'd happen then? All theladies in Maycomb includin' my wife'd be knocking on his door bringing angel foodcakes. To my way of thinkin', Mr. Finch, taking the one man who's done you and thistown a great service an' draggin' him with his shy ways into the limelight—to me, that's asin. It's a sin and I'm not about to have it on my head. If it was any other man, it'd bedifferent. 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 hisnose, then he massaged his left arm. ”I may not be much, Mr. Finch, but I'm still sheriffof 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 doorslammed and he drove away.

Atticus sat looking at the floor for a long time. Finally he raised his head. ”Scout,” hesaid, ”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 kissedhim 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 theporch into the shadows, his youthful step had returned. Before he went inside thehouse, he stopped in front of Boo Radley. ”Thank you for my children, Arthur,” he said.