aunt alexandra got up and reached for the mantelpiece. mr. tate rose, but shedeclined assistance. for once in his life, atticus’s instinctive courtesy failed him: he satwhere he was.

somehow, i could think of nothing but mr. bob ewell saying he’d get atticus if it tookhim the rest of his life. mr. ewell almost got him, and it was the last thing he did.

“are you sure?” atticus said bleakly.

“he’s dead all right,” said mr. tate. “he’s good and dead. he won’t hurt these childrenagain.”

“i didn’t mean that.” atticus seemed to be talking in his sleep. his age was beginningto show, his one sign of inner turmoil, the strong line of his jaw melted a little, onebecame aware of telltale creases forming under his ears, one noticed not his jet-blackhair but the gray patches growing at his temples.

“hadn’t we better go to the livingroom?” aunt alexandra said at last.

“if you don’t mind,” said mr. tate, “i’d rather us stay in here if it won’t hurt jem any. iwant to have a look at his injuries while scout… tells us about it.”

“is it all right if i leave?” she asked. “i’m just one person too many in here. i’ll be in myroom if you want me, atticus.” aunt alexandra went to the door, but she stopped andturned. “atticus, i had a feeling about this tonight—i—this is my fault,” she began. “ishould have—”

mr. tate held up his hand. “you go ahead, miss alexandra, i know it’s been a shock toyou. and don’t you fret yourself about anything—why, if we followed our feelings all thetime we’d be like cats chasin‘ their tails. miss scout, see if you can tell us whathappened, while it’s still fresh in your mind. you think you can? did you see himfollowing you?”

i went to atticus and felt his arms go around me. i buried my head in his lap. “westarted home. i said jem, i’ve forgot m’shoes. soon’s we started back for ‘em the lightswent out. jem said i could get ’em tomorrow…”

“scout, raise up so mr. tate can hear you,” atticus said. i crawled into his lap.

“then jem said hush a minute. i thought he was thinkin‘—he always wants you tohush so he can think—then he said he heard somethin’. we thought it was cecil.”

“cecil?”

“cecil jacobs. he scared us once tonight, an‘ we thought it was him again. he had ona sheet. they gave a quarter for the best costume, i don’t know who won it—”

“where were you when you thought it was cecil?”

“just a little piece from the schoolhouse. i yelled somethin‘ at him—”

“you yelled, what?”

“cecil jacobs is a big fat hen, i think. we didn’t hear nothin‘—then jem yelled hello orsomethin’ loud enough to wake the dead—”

“just a minute, scout,” said mr. tate. “mr. finch, did you hear them?”

atticus said he didn’t. he had the radio on. aunt alexandra had hers going in herbedroom. he remembered because she told him to turn his down a bit so she couldhear hers. atticus smiled. “i always play a radio too loud.”

“i wonder if the neighbors heard anything…” said mr. tate.

“i doubt it, heck. most of them listen to their radios or go to bed with the chickens.

maudie atkinson may have been up, but i doubt it.”

“go ahead, scout,” mr. tate said.

“well, after jem yelled we walked on. mr. tate, i was shut up in my costume but icould hear it myself, then. footsteps, i mean. they walked when we walked andstopped when we stopped. jem said he could see me because mrs. crenshaw putsome kind of shiny paint on my costume. i was a ham.”

“how’s that?” asked mr. tate, startled.

atticus described my role to mr. tate, plus the construction of my garment. “youshould have seen her when she came in,” he said, “it was crushed to a pulp.”

mr. tate rubbed his chin. “i wondered why he had those marks on him, his sleeveswere perforated with little holes. there were one or two little puncture marks on his armsto match the holes. let me see that thing if you will, sir.”

atticus fetched the remains of my costume. mr. tate turned it over and bent it aroundto get an idea of its former shape. “this thing probably saved her life,” he said. “look.”

he pointed with a long forefinger. a shiny clean line stood out on the dull wire. “bobewell meant business,” mr. tate muttered.

“he was out of his mind,” said atticus.

“don’t like to contradict you, mr. finch—wasn’t crazy, mean as hell. low-down skunkwith enough liquor in him to make him brave enough to kill children. he’d never havemet you face to face.”

atticus shook his head. “i can’t conceive of a man who’d—”

“mr. finch, there’s just some kind of men you have to shoot before you can say hidy to‘em. even then, they ain’t worth the bullet it takes to shoot ’em. ewell ‘as one of ’em.”

atticus said, “i thought he got it all out of him the day he threatened me. even if hehadn’t, i thought he’d come after me.”

“he had guts enough to pester a poor colored woman, he had guts enough to pesterjudge taylor when he thought the house was empty, so do you think he’da met you toyour face in daylight?” mr. tate sighed. “we’d better get on. scout, you heard himbehind you—”

“yes sir. when we got under the tree—”

“how’d you know you were under the tree, you couldn’t see thunder out there.”

“i was barefooted, and jem says the ground’s always cooler under a tree.”

“we’ll have to make him a deputy, go ahead.”

“then all of a sudden somethin‘ grabbed me an’ mashed my costume… think i duckedon the ground… heard a tusslin‘ under the tree sort of… they were bammin’ against thetrunk, sounded like. jem found me and started pullin‘ me toward the road. some—mr.

ewell yanked him down, i reckon. they tussled some more and then there was thisfunny noise—jem hollered…” i stopped. that was jem’s arm.

“anyway, jem hollered and i didn’t hear him any more an‘ the next thing—mr. ewellwas tryin’ to squeeze me to death, i reckon… then somebody yanked mr. ewell down.

jem must have got up, i guess. that’s all i know…”

“and then?” mr. tate was looking at me sharply.

“somebody was staggerin‘ around and pantin’ and—coughing fit to die. i thought itwas jem at first, but it didn’t sound like him, so i went lookin‘ for jem on the ground. ithought atticus had come to help us and had got wore out—”

“who was it?”

“why there he is, mr. tate, he can tell you his name.”

as i said it, i half pointed to the man in the corner, but brought my arm down quicklylest atticus reprimand me for pointing. it was impolite to point.

he was still leaning against the wall. he had been leaning against the wall when icame into the room, his arms folded across his chest. as i pointed he brought his armsdown and pressed the palms of his hands against the wall. they were white hands,sickly white hands that had never seen the sun, so white they stood out garishly againstthe dull cream wall in the dim light of jem’s room.

i looked from his hands to his sand-stained khaki pants; my eyes traveled up his thinframe to his torn denim shirt. his face was as white as his hands, but for a shadow onhis jutting chin. his cheeks were thin to hollowness; his mouth was wide; there wereshallow, almost delicate indentations at his temples, and his gray eyes were so colorlessi thought he was blind. his hair was dead and thin, almost feathery on top of his head.

when i pointed to him his palms slipped slightly, leaving greasy sweat streaks on thewall, and he hooked his thumbs in his belt. a strange small spasm shook him, as if heheard fingernails scrape slate, but as i gazed at him in wonder the tension slowlydrained from his face. his lips parted into a timid smile, and our neighbor’s imageblurred with my sudden tears.

“hey, boo,” i said.

亚历山德拉姑妈站起来伸手去扶壁炉架，塔特先生想起来帮她，但被她谢绝了。阿迪克新坐着没动，破天荒第一次，他那天生的礼貌对他一时不起作用了。

不知怎的，我脑子里什么别的事情也不能想，只是老想着鲍勃?尤厄尔先生说过的，哪怕要花他一辈子工夫也得干掉阿迪克斯。他险些儿成功了。这是他一生中最后的作恶。

“你敢肯定他死了吗?”阿迪克斯的声音显得凄凉。

“肯定死了，”塔特先生说，“完全死了，再不会伤害这些孩子了。”

“我不是说这个。”阿迪克斯仿佛在睡梦中说话。他渐渐上了年纪，内心不安宁的唯一标志——下颌上刚毅的线条显得松弛了一些，可以看出，他耳下逐渐出现了预示老年的皱纹。虽然仍有一头乌黑发亮的头发，但更显眼的是，两鬓已经灰白了。

“咱们到客厅去谈不是好些吗?”亚历山德拉姑妈最后建议道。

“如果您不介意，而且不影响杰姆的话，”塔特先生说，“我想就呆在这儿。我想一砸看看杰姆的伤，一面让斯各特说一说事情的经过。”

“我走开行吗?”姑妈问道，“我是这里多余的人。阿迪克斯，有事就叫我，我在我的房间里。”亚历山德拉姑妈起身出去，但又站住转身说：“阿迪克斯，今晚的事我有点预感，我早该…．-”

塔特先生把手一挥，说，“您去吧，亚历山德拉小姐，我知道，这对您是一个打击，不过，不要为任何事情懊恼。为什么呢?要是我们总是凭预感办事的话，那岂不象只猫儿老追赶自己的尾巴?斯备特小姐，趁你还记得，把事情的经过说说看。行吗?你们看见他跟在后面吗?”

我走列阿迪克斯身边，感觉到他用胳膊搂住了我。我把头埋在他的膝上。“我们走出来，我对杰姆说，我把鞋子给忘了。我们想去拿鞋子，可转身一看，礼堂的灯熄了。杰姆说，我可以明天去拿……”

“斯各特，抬起头好让塔特先生听清楚。”阿迪克斯说。我爬到他的膝上。

“然后，杰姆说，安静一会儿。我心想，他准在考虑什么问题——他总是叫你别说话，好让他思考——然后他说，他听见了什么声音。我们以为是塞西尔。”

“塞西尔?”

“塞西尔?雅各布。今晚他先吓了我们一跳，我们想，准又是他。他披着一床被单。最好的戏装可得奖两角五分钱，不知遭谁得了……”

“你们以为后面是塞西尔时，到了什么地方?”

“离学校不远。我对他高叫了一声……”

“你叫了，叫什么来着?”

“我想我是叫的‘塞西尔?雅各布真讨厌’。没有人回答，杰姆又叫了‘嘿’什么的，他声音大得可以叫醒死人……”

“等等，斯各特，”塔特先生插话说，“芬奇先生，你听见他们的叫声吗?”

阿迪克斯说没有。他当时在他房问听收音机。亚历山德拉姑妈在她自己房间里，也在昕收音机。他记得这一点，因为亚历山德拉姑妈当时还叫他把他的收音机开小一点，好让她听得清自己的。阿迪克斯微微一笑说：“我总是把收音机开得大大的。”

。不知道周围的邻居是不是听见了什么……”塔特先生说。

“我看他们未必会听见，赫克。他们大多数听收音机，或者干脆很早就睡了。莫迪?阿特金森可能没睡，但是我怀疑她是否听到了。”

“继续说吧，斯各特，”塔特先生说。

“好。杰姆叫了以后，我们继续走。塔特先生，这时，我虽然身上套着戏装，可也听得见了。我是说也昕得见后面的脚步声了。我们走，那脚步也走！我们停，它也停。杰姆说，他看得清我，因为克伦肖太太在我的戏装上刷了一种发光的东西，我是火腿。”

“那是怎么回事儿?”塔特先生惊异地问道。

阿迪克斯把我扮演的角色向塔特先生描绘了一番，还解释了我那戏装是怎么做成的。“她进来时你看到她就好了。”他说，“那戏装己经搞得稀巴烂了。”

塔特先生摸了摸下巴。“我说尤厄尔身上怎么会有那么多印予呢，他衣袖上扎了许多小孔。他胳膊上有一两个小孔跟他衣袖上的能够合在一起。让我看看那玩意儿，好码?”

阿迪克斯拿来了那戏装剩下的部分。塔特先生把它翻过来，弄圆整，想看看原来到底是个什么形状。“可能这玩意儿救了斯备特的命。”他说，“你看。’

、他伸出长长的食指指着。那灰黑色的铁丝上有一道发亮的印子。“鲍勃?尤厄尔是下了狠心的。”塔特先生喃喃说。

“他精神不正常。”阿迪克斯说。

“我不想反驳你，芬奇先生——不是疯了，而是卑鄙已极。那可耻的无赖装一肚子酒，却只敢害小孩子，他决不敢直接碰你。’

阿迪克斯摇摇头说：“我不能设想有人竟会……”

“芬奇先生，是有这么些人，你必须先对他们开一枪，才能说声‘您好’，即便这样，他们也不配他们挨的子弹。尤厄尔就是这种人。”

阿迪克斯说：“我原来以为，那天他恶狠狠地威胁了我一顿，怨气该发泄完了。即使还没有，他也应该找甜我的头上来。”．．

．“他只有胆去找一个黑人妇女的麻烦，有胆在认为没有人在屋予里的时候才去找泰勒法官的麻烦。你以为他会在大白天和你面对面地干吗?”塔特先生叹了一声，“最好还是继续说吧，斯各特。你听见他在你们后面跟着……”

“是的，先生，我们到了树下……”

“你怎么知道你们到了树下呢，你们什么也看不见啊?”

“我赤着脚；杰姆说，树底下总是凉一些。”

“我们简直可以选他当助理司法官了。讲下去。”

“突然，什么东西抓住了我，把我的戏装压破了……我想我当时朝地上急速俯下身子……听见树底下有人在扭打，好象是……听起来好象有人顶着树干在搏斗。杰姆找到我，拉着我往公路上跑。尤厄尔先生猛然把他拉倒——我想是这样。他们又扭打了一阵子，然后传来一种奇怪的声音——杰姆惨叫了一声……”我停下不说了，想到了就是那时，杰姆的胳膊给扭断了。

“反正杰姆惨叫了一声之后，我再也没听见他吭气。紧接着，尤厄尔先生想把我压死，我想是这样。后来，有人把尤厄尔先生打倒了。我猜，杰姆那时一定站起来了。我就只知道这些……”

“后来呢?”塔特先生目光炯炯地望着我。

“不知是谁气喘吁吁地踉跄着——大声大声地咳嗽，简直咳得要死了一样。开始我以为是杰姆，但听声音不象杰姆，所以我在地上寻找杰姆。我想，是阿迪克斯来救了我们。累得精疲力竭了……’

。那是谁?”

“怎么，就是他嘛，塔特先生，你可以问他叫什么名字。”

我一边说，一边用手半指着站在墙角里的那个人，但很快又把手放下了，生怕阿迫克斯责怪我不该用手指人家。用手指人家是不礼貌的。

那个人仍然靠墙站着。我进来时他就是这样靠墙站着的，他的胳膊交叉抱在胸前。我指他时，他把胳膊放下来，两个手掌按在墙壁上。那是双苍白的手，病态的苍白，似乎从没见过阳光，在杰姆房间里暗淡的灯光下，它们自得甚至与毫无生气的米黄色的墙壁也形成了鲜明的对照。

我的眼光从他的双手转移到他粘满混沙的咔叽布裤上，又往上越过他单瘦的身躯一直到他那撕烂了的斜纹都衬衣上。他的面部除凸出的下巴土那团阴影之外，跟他的手一样苍白。他的面颊瘦得深陷下去，嘴巴很宽，太阳穴处，有两个浅浅的依稀可见的凹坑，一双捉白的眼睛毫无光彩，我简直以为他是瞎子。他的头发极其稀薄，头顶上只有几根细细的软毛。

我指他时，他的手掌轻微地滑动，在墙上留下油腻般的汗水条纹。他把大拇指插进皮带里，全身奇异地痉挛了一下，好象他听见了指甲在石板上刻画时所发出的刺耳声音一样。但是我惊异地目不转睛地凝视他时，他那紧张的表情慢慢松弛下来，嘴唇张开，露出羞怯的微笑。我们这位邻居的形象被我突然涌出的泪水弄模糊了。

“嘿，布。”我喊了一声。