What does Annie see, I wonder, as she watches the movie trial and thinks about her grandfather? Does she see how much the world has changed since 1960? Or does it look essentially the same to her, with the colors of the accused and accuser inverted? In the film, a black man is unjustly imprisoned by whites. In Annie’s world, her white grandfather has been unjustly imprisoned by a black district attorney. Does she see race behind my father’s indictment? Annie attends private school with quite a few black children—the offspring of black physicians and attorneys (plus a few exceptional athletes)—but the public schools are almost entirely black. More telling still, we could dine out in restaurants every night for a year and not see a mixed-race couple. We see them other places now and then—at Walmart or the baseball field, for example—but in what passes for “society,” such things remain unseen, if not unknown.
Something else struck me at the beginning of the film: the first time we see Atticus—always remembered as a man who regards violence as the desperate tactic of lesser men—he’s revealed to be the “best shot in Maycomb County,” and he actually kills a rabid dog before his children’s eyes. What could more firmly establish the credibility of an action hero than this? And if we didn’t know that Atticus was willing to be ruthless when necessary, would we so readily listen to his homilies about honor and fairness?
I also wonder what Atticus Finch would have done if the woman he loved had been murdered on the order of a man beyond the reach of any court. Surely the “best shot in Maycomb County” might be tempted to use his rifle to eliminate Forrest or Snake Knox? At the end of the film, Sheriff Heck Tate leaves us in no doubt that if rough justice happens to strike down a monster like Bob Ewell—who tried to kill the Finch children—it’s best to simply look the other way. In the spirit of Sheriff Tate, Rusty Duncan today mourned the fact that Ray Presley or Daniel Kelly isn’t around to neutralize the Knoxes by whatever means necessary. Would that moral trade-off buy us freedom from fear? If Snake Knox turned up dead tomorrow morning, would my father still sit silent in court while Shad Johnson ushers him toward Parchman Farm?
“Daddy?” Annie says as she watches the credits roll.
“Mm-hm.”
“Is Mr. Quentin Avery like Atticus?”
“Ahh . . . yes and no.”
Annie rolls off the pillow she’s been lying on and looks back at me, and I get one of those unexpected blasts of déjà vu, when her mother’s soul looks out of her eyes. “Quentin is actually more heroic than Atticus,” I tell her, trying not to think about her mother. “Atticus Finch is always seen as brave, and he was. But Atticus was white. Part of the dominant class. All he really risked by defending Tom was being spit on by trash like Bob Ewell, or not being invited to some fancy parties. But when Quentin was a young lawyer, he literally risked his life every time he took on the system. That took real bravery.”
“And what about now? Is Mr. Quentin brave now?”
I’m not sure I know the answer to this question. “Well . . . the world has changed a lot. Quentin’s made a lot of money, and in some ways that makes him part of the dominant class. Although to some people, he’ll always be just a black man, no matter how rich he gets.”
“But as a lawyer, I mean. Is he as good as you?”
“That’s hard to say. I was a prosecutor, but when Quentin took on criminal cases, he mostly defended people.”
Annie groans in frustration. “Could you beat him? That’s all I’m asking.”
“I never had to go against him, so I don’t know. I’m glad I never had to. I think the outcome would probably have depended on the evidence. Whose side it favored.”
“Whose side does it favor in Papa’s case?”
“That’s hard to say, since nobody’s sure exactly what all the evidence is. There may be witnesses none of us knows about.”
Annie crosses her legs Indian style, then props her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. “Well, I know something’s wrong. Ya’ll can’t hide that from me. Mr. Quentin’s upsetting everybody. Gram and Miriam, but you especially. I can tell. And I think there’s only one thing to do about it.”
“What?”
“You have to take over Papa’s case, like Mr. Rusty said. You have to defend Papa.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you’ll do the right thing. Like Atticus.”
“Annie, these days, a lawyer like Atticus Finch wouldn’t be able to win many cases. These days it takes a smart, slick lawyer like Quentin to do it.”
“But Atticus didn’t win his case, Daddy. He just did the right thing. My teacher would call that a moral victory.”
This simple assertion of what should be obvious stuns me with the force of an epiphany. “Have you thought about what you’re saying, Boo? Atticus didn’t just lose his case. He lost his client. Tom Robinson died.”
“But only because Tom hung himself. Papa wouldn’t ever hang himself.”
I wonder if that’s true . . . If Dad could hear the faith in his granddaughter’s voice, he certainly wouldn’t— “Even if you lost this first trial against Mr. Shad,” Annie goes on, “you could appeal, and eventually you’d win.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because Papa would never do the wrong thing! He might do something that looked wrong. But if we could know all the things he did before he did it—and feel them—then we’d know it wasn’t wrong.”
The logical gymnastics of a child can be amazing.
“All you have to do is get the jury to see and feel everything Papa knew and felt before he did whatever it was he did. And then they’ll find him innocent. And I know you can do that.”
It suddenly strikes me that Annie might have stumbled onto Quentin’s strategy at last. Could that really be what Quentin intends to do?
“I’ll think about it, Boo.”
“Don’t take too long. I heard Mr. Rusty say Papa doesn’t have much time.”
Is she old enough to hear the truth? “Annie, I’m glad you have so much faith in me. But thinking I can save Papa is like saying Mama wouldn’t have died if Papa had treated her from the start. Papa’s a good doctor, but he couldn’t have saved her. No one could.”
She knits her brows and focuses all her intelligence upon me. “Are you saying no lawyer can save Papa?”
“No. But I’m saying that right now his best chance is Quentin Avery—even if the rest of us don’t understand what Quentin’s doing. I’m a good lawyer. Quentin is like a magician with rabbits up his sleeve. You just wait.”
“If I have to wait, can I please do it in the courtroom?”
I groan with exasperation. “Boo, we’ve been over this a hundred times.”
“So this makes a hundred and one! Daddy, ya’ll think I don’t hear things, but I do. I hear everything. I know how bad things are. I know nobody’s perfect. Nobody tells the truth all the time. I’ve lied before. Everybody does, when they don’t want to hurt people.”
“And?”
“Don’t you see that going to court isn’t going to scar me for life? Papa needs me there! If he sees me, maybe he’ll realize he needs to tell you whatever it is he’s been keeping to himself.”
Again I wonder if Annie could be right. Perhaps. But I’m not going to sit an eleven-year-old girl in a courtroom where my father’s bastard son might accuse him of God knows what.
Catching Annie under the arms, I pick her up and hold her face close to mine. “I’m sorry, but you’re just not old enough. I’ll stay with you tomorrow, and Rusty will keep us up to date by hook or by crook.”
As she rolls her eyes with theatrical exaggeration, female voices drift down the stairs. A few seconds later, Mia and my mother walk into the den together.
“Well,” Mom says to Annie, “have you had any more little episodes like you did this morning?”