“What happened after you turned the chair over?”
Tom Robinson had come to a dead stop. He glanced at Atticus, then at the jury, then at Mr. Underwood sitting across the room.
“Tom, you’re sworn to tell the whole truth. Will you tell it?”
Tom ran his hand nervously over his mouth.
“What happened after that?”
“Answer the question,” said Judge Taylor. One-third of his cigar had vanished.
“Mr. Finch, I got down offa that chair an‘ turned around an’ she sorta jumped on me.”
“Jumped on you? Violently?”
“No suh, she—she hugged me. She hugged me round the waist.”
This time Judge Taylor’s gavel came down with a bang, and as it did the overhead lights went on in the courtroom. Darkness had not come, but the afternoon sun had left the windows. Judge Taylor quickly restored order.
“Then what did she do?”
The witness swallowed hard. “She reached up an‘ kissed me ’side of th‘ face. She says she never kissed a grown man before an’ she might as well kiss a nigger. She says what her papa do to her don’t count. She says, ‘Kiss me back, nigger.’ I say Miss Mayella lemme outa here an‘ tried to run but she got her back to the door an’ I’da had to push her. I didn’t wanta harm her, Mr. Finch, an‘ I say lemme pass, but just when I say it Mr. Ewell yonder hollered through th’ window.”
“What did he say?”
Tom Robinson swallowed again, and his eyes widened. “Somethin‘ not fittin’ to say—not fittin‘ for these folks’n chillun to hear—”
“What did he say, Tom? You must tell the jury what he said.”
Tom Robinson shut his eyes tight. “He says you goddamn whore, I’ll kill ya.”
“Then what happened?”
“Mr. Finch, I was runnin‘ so fast I didn’t know what happened.”
“Tom, did you rape Mayella Ewell?”
“I did not, suh.”
“Did you harm her in any way?”
“I did not, suh.”
“Did you resist her advances?”
“Mr. Finch, I tried. I tried to ‘thout bein’ ugly to her. I didn’t wanta be ugly, I didn’t wanta push her or nothin‘.”
It occurred to me that in their own way, Tom Robinson’s manners were as good as Atticus’s. Until my father explained it to me later, I did not understand the subtlety of Tom’s predicament: he would not have dared strike a white woman under any circumstances and expect to live long, so he took the first opportunity to run—a sure sign of guilt.
“Tom, go back once more to Mr. Ewell,” said Atticus. “Did he say anything to you?”
“Not anything, suh. He mighta said somethin‘, but I weren’t there—”
“That’ll do,” Atticus cut in sharply. “What you did hear, who was he talking to?”
“Mr. Finch, he were talkin‘ and lookin’ at Miss Mayella.”
“Then you ran?”
“I sho‘ did, suh.”
“Why did you run?”
“I was scared, suh.”
“Why were you scared?”
“Mr. Finch, if you was a nigger like me, you’d be scared, too.”
Atticus sat down. Mr. Gilmer was making his way to the witness stand, but before he got there Mr. Link Deas rose from the audience and announced:
“I just want the whole lot of you to know one thing right now. That boy’s worked for me eight years an‘ I ain’t had a speck o’trouble outa him. Not a speck.”
“Shut your mouth, sir!” Judge Taylor was wide awake and roaring. He was also pink in the face. His speech was miraculously unimpaired by his cigar. “Link Deas,” he yelled, “if you have anything you want to say you can say it under oath and at the proper time, but until then you get out of this room, you hear me? Get out of this room, sir, you hear me? I’ll be damned if I’ll listen to this case again!”
Judge Taylor looked daggers at Atticus, as if daring him to speak, but Atticus had ducked his head and was laughing into his lap. I remembered something he had said about Judge Taylor’s ex cathedra remarks sometimes exceeding his duty, but that few lawyers ever did anything about them. I looked at Jem, but Jem shook his head. “It ain’t like one of the jurymen got up and started talking,” he said. “I think it’d be different then. Mr. Link was just disturbin‘ the peace or something.”
Judge Taylor told the reporter to expunge anything he happened to have written down after Mr. Finch if you were a nigger like me you’d be scared too, and told the jury to disregard the interruption. He looked suspiciously down the middle aisle and waited, I suppose, for Mr. Link Deas to effect total departure. Then he said, “Go ahead, Mr. Gilmer.”
“You were given thirty days once for disorderly conduct, Robinson?” asked Mr. Gilmer.
“Yes suh.”
“What’d the nigger look like when you got through with him?”
“He beat me, Mr. Gilmer.”
“Yes, but you were convicted, weren’t you?”
Atticus raised his head. “It was a misdemeanor and it’s in the record, Judge.” I thought he sounded tired.
“Witness’ll answer, though,” said Judge Taylor, just as wearily.