描述:1-13021FZ446438.jpg "To kill a Mockingbird" belongs to those who are older movies, movies have a sense of reality makes it difficult to imagine. The film is full of the past eranostalgia, we can even from the movie feel the courage and doubt. One handfull of romantic color, on the other hand, but also by the realistic, like a ray of light through the dark forest leads us to seek the truth. The film is based onhubble. Li adapted from the novel, gregory. One of the most representativeworks of Parker movie career. "To kill a Mockingbird" is a pioneer of liberalHollywood in the early 60. That was when the United States domestic black and white conflicts intensified the occasion, film though the great depression when things, is that the domestic status quo innuendo. 　　《杀死一只知更鸟》属于那种比较老式的电影，影片有一种让人难以想象的真实感。影片中充满了对过去那种时代的缅怀之情，我们甚至能从电影中感受到那个时代的勇气与怀疑。一方面充满了浪漫主义色彩，另一方面又深受当时现实主义的影响，宛若一丝光明穿越黑暗的森林引领我们去寻找真理。影片根据哈伯。李的同名小说改编而成，格里高利。派克电影生涯中最具代表的作品之一。《杀死一只知更鸟》是好莱坞60年代初自由主义的先声。当时正值美国国内黑人与白人矛盾冲突激化之际，电影虽然说的是经济大萧条时的事情，其实正是影射当时国内的现状。

慢慢看，感觉楼主好用心

好贴！
收藏慢慢看

Just read chinese version of this book a few days ago. Very touched by the figures in the book, especially the lawyer father. Kindness & Couragement & No discrimination, we should always keep the merits inside our mind.
One of my Target of the next half year on reading is completing the English version.

引用

补充内容(2018-03-09 15:19)And many thanks to Louzhu for sharing this great book.

哇塞 有点棒

谢谢分享

这本书真是炒鸡好看！！！

好长……辛苦了

谢谢楼主分享

THX

Chapter 31       When Boo Radley shuffled to his feet, light from the livingroom windows glistened onhis forehead. Every move he made was uncertain, as if he were not sure his hands andfeet could make proper contact with the things he touched. He coughed his dreadfulraling cough, and was so shaken he had to sit down again. His hand searched for hiship pocket, and he pulled out a handkerchief. He coughed into it, then he wiped hisforehead. 　　Having been so accustomed to his absence, I found it incredible that he had beensitting beside me all this time, present. He had not made a sound. 　　Once more, he got to his feet. He turned to me and nodded toward the front door. 　　“You’d like to say good night to Jem, wouldn’t you, Mr. Arthur? Come right in.” 　　I led him down the hall. Aunt Alexandra was sitting by Jem’s bed. “Come in, Arthur,” 　　she said. “He’s still asleep. Dr. Reynolds gave him a heavy sedative. Jean Louise, isyour father in the livingroom?” 　　“Yes ma’am, I think so.” 　　“I’ll just go speak to him a minute. Dr. Reynolds left some…” her voice trailed away. 　　Boo had drifted to a corner of the room, where he stood with his chin up, peering froma distance at Jem. I took him by the hand, a hand surprisingly warm for its whiteness. Itugged him a little, and he allowed me to lead him to Jem’s bed. 　　Dr. Reynolds had made a tent-like arrangement over Jem’s arm, to keep the cover off,I guess, and Boo leaned forward and looked over it. An expression of timid curiosity wason his face, as though he had never seen a boy before. His mouth was slightly open,and he looked at Jem from head to foot. Boo’s hand came up, but he let it drop to hisside. 　　“You can pet him, Mr. Arthur, he’s asleep. You couldn’t if he was awake, though, hewouldn’t let you…” I found myself explaining. “Go ahead.” 　　Boo’s hand hovered over Jem’s head. 　　“Go on, sir, he’s asleep.” 　　His hand came down lightly on Jem’s hair. 　　I was beginning to learn his body English. His hand tightened on mine and heindicated that he wanted to leave. 　　I led him to the front porch, where his uneasy steps halted. He was still holding myhand and he gave no sign of letting me go. 　　“Will you take me home?” 　　He almost whispered it, in the voice of a child afraid of the dark. 　　I put my foot on the top step and stopped. I would lead him through our house, but Iwould never lead him home. 　　“Mr. Arthur, bend your arm down here, like that. That’s right, sir.” 　　I slipped my hand into the crook of his arm. 　　He had to stoop a little to accommodate me, but if Miss Stephanie Crawford waswatching from her upstairs window, she would see Arthur Radley escorting me down thesidewalk, as any gentleman would do. 　　We came to the street light on the corner, and I wondered how many times Dill hadstood there hugging the fat pole, watching, waiting, hoping. I wondered how many timesJem and I had made this journey, but I entered the Radley front gate for the second timein my life. Boo and I walked up the steps to the porch. His fingers found the frontdoorknob. He gently released my hand, opened the door, went inside, and shut the doorbehind him. I never saw him again. 　　Neighbors bring food with death and flowers with sickness and little things in between. 　　Boo was our neighbor. He gave us two soap dolls, a broken watch and chain, a pair ofgood-luck pennies, and our lives. But neighbors give in return. We never put back intothe tree what we took out of it: we had given him nothing, and it made me sad. 　　I turned to go home. Street lights winked down the street all the way to town. I hadnever seen our neighborhood from this angle. There were Miss Maudie’s, MissStephanie’s—there was our house, I could see the porch swing—Miss Rachel’s housewas beyond us, plainly visible. I could even see Mrs. Dubose’s. 　　I looked behind me. To the left of the brown door was a long shuttered window. Iwalked to it, stood in front of it, and turned around. In daylight, I thought, you could seeto the postoffice corner. 　　Daylight… in my mind, the night faded. It was daytime and the neighborhood wasbusy. Miss Stephanie Crawford crossed the street to tell the latest to Miss Rachel. MissMaudie bent over her azaleas. It was summertime, and two children scampered downthe sidewalk toward a man approaching in the distance. The man waved, and thechildren raced each other to him. 　　It was still summertime, and the children came closer. A boy trudged down thesidewalk dragging a fishingpole behind him. A man stood waiting with his hands on hiships. Summertime, and his children played in the front yard with their friend, enacting astrange little drama of their own invention. 　　It was fall, and his children fought on the sidewalk in front of Mrs. Dubose’s. The boyhelped his sister to her feet, and they made their way home. Fall, and his children trottedto and fro around the corner, the day’s woes and triumphs on their faces. They stoppedat an oak tree, delighted, puzzled, apprehensive. 　　Winter, and his children shivered at the front gate, silhouetted against a blazing house. 　　Winter, and a man walked into the street, dropped his glasses, and shot a dog. 　　Summer, and he watched his children’s heart break. Autumn again, and Boo’schildren needed him. 　　Atticus was right. One time he said you never really know a man until you stand in hisshoes and walk around in them. Just standing on the Radley porch was enough. 　　The street lights were fuzzy from the fine rain that was falling. As I made my wayhome, I felt very old, but when I looked at the tip of my nose I could see fine mistybeads, but looking cross-eyed made me dizzy so I quit. As I made my way home, Ithought what a thing to tell Jem tomorrow. He’d be so mad he missed it he wouldn’tspeak to me for days. As I made my way home, I thought Jem and I would get grownbut there wasn’t much else left for us to learn, except possibly algebra. 　　I ran up the steps and into the house. Aunt Alexandra had gone to bed, and Atticus’sroom was dark. I would see if Jem might be reviving. Atticus was in Jem’s room, sittingby his bed. He was reading a book. 　　“Is Jem awake yet?” 　　“Sleeping peacefully. He won’t be awake until morning.” 　　“Oh. Are you sittin‘ up with him?” 　　“Just for an hour or so. Go to bed, Scout. You’ve had a long day.” 　　“Well, I think I’ll stay with you for a while.” 　　“Suit yourself,” said Atticus. It must have been after midnight, and I was puzzled by hisamiable acquiescence. He was shrewder than I, however: the moment I sat down Ibegan to feel sleepy. 　　“Whatcha readin‘?” I asked. 　　Atticus turned the book over. “Something of Jem’s. Called The Gray Ghost.” 　　I was suddenly awake. “Why’d you get that one?” 　　“Honey, I don’t know. Just picked it up. One of the few things I haven’t read,” he saidpointedly. 　　“Read it out loud, please, Atticus. It’s real scary.” 　　“No,” he said. “You’ve had enough scaring for a while. This is too—” 　　“Atticus, I wasn’t scared.” 　　He raised his eyebrows, and I protested: “Leastways not till I started telling Mr. Tateabout it. Jem wasn’t scared. Asked him and he said he wasn’t. Besides, nothin’s realscary except in books.” 　　Atticus opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again. He took his thumb fromthe middle of the book and turned back to the first page. I moved over and leaned myhead against his knee. “H’rm,” he said. “The Gray Ghost, by Seckatary Hawkins. 　　Chapter One…” 　　I willed myself to stay awake, but the rain was so soft and the room was so warm andhis voice was so deep and his knee was so snug that I slept. 　　Seconds later, it seemed, his shoe was gently nudging my ribs. He lifted me to my feetand walked me to my room. “Heard every word you said,” I muttered. “…wasn’t sleep atall, ‘s about a ship an’ Three-Fingered Fred ‘n’ Stoner’s Boy…” 　　He unhooked my overalls, leaned me against him, and pulled them off. He held me upwith one hand and reached for my pajamas with the other. 　　“Yeah, an‘ they all thought it was Stoner’s Boy messin’ up their clubhouse an‘ throwin’ 　　ink all over it an‘…” 　　He guided me to the bed and sat me down. He lifted my legs and put me under thecover. 　　“An‘ they chased him ’n‘ never could catch him ’cause they didn’t know what he lookedlike, an‘ Atticus, when they finally saw him, why he hadn’t done any of those things…Atticus, he was real nice…” 　　His hands were under my chin, pulling up the cover, tucking it around me. 　　“Most people are, Scout, when you finally see them.” 　　He turned out the light and went into Jem’s room. He would be there all night, and hewould be there when Jem waked up in the morning. 布?拉德利慢慢地站起来，客厅窗户里透出来的灯光照在他前额上。他的一举一动都显得犹豫不决，似乎不知道怎样接触他手和脚碰着的东西才比较合适。 他咳嗽咳得十分厉害，全身颤抖得只好再坐下来。他把手伸进裤子后面的口袋，掏出一条手绢，捂着嘴咳了几声，又用手绢擦了擦前额。 从来没和他呆在一块儿，现在他却在我身边坐了这么久，真是难以置信。他一直没说一句话。 过了一会儿，他又站了起来，转身看了我一眼，朝前门点了点头。 “您想跟杰姆说一声再见吗，亚瑟先生?进去吧。” 我领着他穿过大厅。亚历山德拉姑妈坐在杰姆床前。“进来，亚瑟。”她招呼说，“还没有醒来，雷纳兹医生给他服了大剂量的镇静药。琼?路易斯，你爸爸在客厅吗'” “在，姑妈，我想他在。” “我要去找他说一句话，雷纳兹医生留下了一些……”她的话音随着她的脚步声消失了。 布又缩到屋角里，老远老远地伸着脖子凝视着杰姆。我走过去拉他的手，那只手显得苍白，却惊人地暖和。我拉了他一下，他让我领着他到杰姆床前。 雷纳兹医生在杰姆的断臂上支起了一个帐篷般的架子，我想，主要是为了把杰姆的断臂和毯子隔开吧。布身子前倾，眼光越过架子看着杰姆，睑上浮现出一种羞怯而好奇的表情，好象从来没有看见过男孩似的。他半张着嘴，把杰姆从头到脚端详了一番。他举起一只手，却又放了下去。 “您可以抚摸他，亚瑟先生，他睡熟了。他没睡时您要摸他，他可不让。”我向他解释说，“摸吧。” 布伸出的手在杰姆脑袋上方摇晃着。 “抚摸他吧，先生，他睡着了。’ 他把手轻轻地放在杰姆的头发上。 我开始明白他的动作所发出的语言信号了。他把我的手握得更紧了，这表明他想走了。 我带着他来到前廊，他不自在的步子停了下来，却仍然握着我的手，没有一点想放开的意思。 “送我回家好吗?” 他声音很低，象一个害怕黑暗的小孩的声音。 我伸腿踏在第一级台阶上，但又停住了。我想领他穿过我们的房子，可决不想送他回家。 “亚瑟先生，您把胳膊弯一点儿吧，这样对了。” 我的平挽住他的胳膊。 他不得不稍微弯下身子将就着我。要是斯蒂芬尼?克劳福德小姐在她楼上的窗子里张望的话，一定会看见亚瑟?拉德利在人行道上护送着我，正象别的大人也会这样做一样。 我们来到拐角处的路灯底下。不知道有多少回，迪尔站在这儿抱着那粗大的电杆，杲呆地张望着、等待着、希冀着。也不知道有多少回我和杰姆打这儿经过。但是进拉德利家的大门，这还是平生第二次。我和布登上台阶，来到他家的走廊上。他伸手摸到了门上的把手，然后轻轻放开我的手，打开门，走了进去，把门关上了。打那以后，我再也没有见过他。 我们这儿，死人时邻居送吃的，生病时邻居送鲜花，平时邻居也送一些小礼物。布是我们的邻居，他给了我们两个肥皂雕的娃娃，一块带链的破手表，两枚给人好运气的硬币，还救了我们的命。通常，邻居的馈赠是有来有往的，而我们从来没把从树洞里拿来的东西放回原处，我们什么礼都没有述过，想到这一点，我感到十分内疚。 我转身回家。路灯在通往镇上的整条道上闪烁着。我从来没有从这个角度观察过我们这个地方。那是莫迪小姐家，还有斯蒂芬尼小姐家，再过去是我们家，我可以看见我们走廊上的悬椅，过了我们家，可以清清楚楚地看见雷切尔小姐家。甚至杜搏斯太太家也可以看得见。 我往身后望去，棕色大门的左边是一个长长的百叶窗。我走过去，站在窗子前面，又转过身来。要是在白天，我想，邮局拐角处也一定可以看得见。 白天……啊，我心想，黑夜快要消失了，～蓟白天，附近的地方好不热阉。斯蒂芬尼?克劳福德小姐横过街道，把最新消息告诉雷切尔小姐。莫迪小姐俯身向着她的杜鹃花。夏天一到，两个孩子在人行道上蹦蹦跳跳地朝远处来的一个犬人跑去。那人向他们挥手，他们争先‘恐后地向他跑去。 仍然是夏天，孩子们聚集在一块儿。一个男孩在人行道上慢吞吞地走着，身后拖着一根钓鱼竿。一个大人双手叉腰在等着他。夏天，。他的孩子和孩子们的一个小伙伴在院子里嬉戏，自编自演一场奇怪的小剧。 一到秋天，他的孩子们就在杜博斯太太门前的人行道上打闹。那男孩把他妹妹搀扶起来一道圆家去。秋天，他的孩子们在那街道的拐角处徘徊，脸上带着一天的忧愁和喜悦。在大橡树旁边停了下来，一会儿高兴，一会儿疑惑，一会儿又害怕。 一到冬天，他的孩予们在门前冷得发抖，烈火燃烧的房屋映出了他们的身影。冬天，有个人走上大街，丢掉跟镜，开熗打死了一条狗。 夏天，他看到他的孩子们忧心忡仲，又是秋天，啊，布喜欢的孩子们需要布的帮助。 阿迪克斯说得对，要真正理解一个人，只有站在他的立场，从他的角度，设身处地地考虑问题。只要站在拉德利的走廊上就足够了。 细雨迷漾，路灯昏黑。在回家的路上，我觉得自已年纪很大了。看看自己的鼻尖，我可以看见凝聚在上面的细小的水珠。但是，两眼对视，很不舒服，我不那样看了。回家的路上，我想，明天把这件事告诉杰姆，多妙啊。他一定会为错过了这个机会而大发雷霆，可能一连几天都不会理我。回家的路上，我想，我和杰姆都会长大成人，但是除了可能要学代数以外，没有什么可学的了。 我登上台阶，跑进屋里。亚历山德拉姑妈已经睡了，阿遣克斯的房间里没有灯光。我想看看杰姆是不是苏醒了。阿迪克斯在杰姆房间里，坐在杰姆的床边看书。 “杰姆醒了吗?” “睡得很安静。要到早上才会醒来。” “哦。你打算通宵不睡陪着他吗?” “只陪个把小时。去睡吧，斯各特。你累了一天了。” “嗯，我要和你一起呆一会儿。” “随你的便吧。”阿迪克斯说。一定过了半夜了。他这样和蔼地默许我，倒使我感到迷惑。不过，他到底比我猜得准些，我一坐下就想睡觉了。 “你在看什么书?”我问道。 阿迪克斯把书翻过来说；“是杰姆的书，书名是《灰色的幽灵》。” 我突然惊醒过来。“你怎么看这本书呢?” “宝贝儿，我不知道。随便拿的。这本书我还没看过。”他直率地说。 “请大声读吧，阿迪克斯。这本书真叫人害怕。” “别读吧，”他说，“这会儿，你已经给吓得够呛了。这本书太……” “阿迪克斯，我没有吓坏。” 他蹙起了眉头。我分辩道：“至少，在向塔特先生讲述事情经过以前我不怕。杰姆也不怕。在路上我问他怕不怕，他说不怕。再说，除了书上的东西，没有什么东西真正可怕。” 阿迪克斯张嘴想说ff‘么，但又闭上了嘴。他抽出夹在书中问的大拇指翻回到第一页。我挪近身子，把头依偎在他的膝上。“腮，”他开始了，“Ⅸ灰色的幽灵》，萨克塔利?霍金斯著。第一章……” 我极力使自己不睡着，但是，外面雨声那么轻柔，屋里气氛这样温暖，他的声音这样深沉，他的膝盖又这样使我感到舒服，我一下就睡着了。好象只过了几秒钟，他用鞋子轻轻抵着我的肋部，把我扶起，架着我到我的房间里去。我喃喃地说：“每个字我都听见了，一点也没打瞌睡。说的是一艘船和只有三只手指的弗雷德和斯托纳的孩子……” 他解开我的背带裤，让我靠在他身上，把我的背带裤脱掉。一只手扶着我，一只手去拿我的睡衣。 “是的，大家都以为是斯托纳的孩子把俱乐部搞得乱七八糟，把墨水泼得到处都是……” 他领着我到床边，让我坐下，提起我的双腿，在我身上盖好毯子。 “然后，他们追他，但是抓不到他，因为他们不知道他是什么模祥。阿迪克斯，他们最后看见他的时候，哎呀，他什么都没有做……阿迪克斯，他真好……” 阿迪克斯的双手伸到我下巴下面，把毯子扯上来，帮我塞好。 “斯各特，大多数人都是好人，在你终于了解他们以后。” 他关了灯，回到杰姆的房间去了。整个晚上他都会在杰姆身边，早上杰姆醒来时，他也会在杰姆身边。

Chapter 30        “Mr. Arthur, honey,” said Atticus, gently correcting me. “Jean Louise, this is Mr. ArthurRadley. I believe he already knows you.” 　　If Atticus could blandly introduce me to Boo Radley at a time like this, well—that wasAtticus. 　　Boo saw me run instinctively to the bed where Jem was sleeping, for the same shysmile crept across his face. Hot with embarrassment, I tried to cover up by covering Jemup. 　　“Ah-ah, don’t touch him,” Atticus said. 　　Mr. Heck Tate sat looking intently at Boo through his horn-rimmed glasses. He wasabout to speak when Dr. Reynolds came down the hall. 　　“Everybody out,” he said, as he came in the door. “Evenin‘, Arthur, didn’t notice youthe first time I was here.” 　　Dr. Reynolds’s voice was as breezy as his step, as though he had said it everyevening of his life, an announcement that astounded me even more than being in thesame room with Boo Radley. Of course… even Boo Radley got sick sometimes, Ithought. But on the other hand I wasn’t sure. 　　Dr. Reynolds was carrying a big package wrapped in newspaper. He put it down onJem’s desk and took off his coat. “You’re quite satisfied he’s alive, now? Tell you how Iknew. When I tried to examine him he kicked me. Had to put him out good and proper totouch him. So scat,” he said to me. 　　“Er—” said Atticus, glancing at Boo. “Heck, let’s go out on the front porch. There areplenty of chairs out there, and it’s still warm enough.” 　　I wondered why Atticus was inviting us to the front porch instead of the livingroom,then I understood. The livingroom lights were awfully strong. 　　We filed out, first Mr. Tate—Atticus was waiting at the door for him to go ahead of him. 　　Then he changed his mind and followed Mr. Tate. 　　People have a habit of doing everyday things even under the oddest conditions. I wasno exception: “Come along, Mr. Arthur,” I heard myself saying, “you don’t know thehouse real well. I’ll just take you to the porch, sir.” 　　He looked down at me and nodded. 　　I led him through the hall and past the livingroom. 　　“Won’t you have a seat, Mr. Arthur? This rocking-chair’s nice and comfortable.” 　　My small fantasy about him was alive again: he would be sitting on the porch… rightpretty spell we’re having, isn’t it, Mr. Arthur? 　　Yes, a right pretty spell. Feeling slightly unreal, I led him to the chair farthest fromAtticus and Mr. Tate. It was in deep shadow. Boo would feel more comfortable in thedark. 　　Atticus was sitting in the swing, and Mr. Tate was in a chair next to him. The light fromthe livingroom windows was strong on them. I sat beside Boo. 　　“Well, Heck,” Atticus was saying, “I guess the thing to do—good Lord, I’m losing mymemory…” Atticus pushed up his glasses and pressed his fingers to his eyes. “Jem’snot quite thirteen… no, he’s already thirteen—I can’t remember. Anyway, it’ll comebefore county court—” 　　“What will, Mr. Finch?” Mr. Tate uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. 　　“Of course it was clear-cut self defense, but I’ll have to go to the office and hunt up—” 　　“Mr. Finch, do you think Jem killed Bob Ewell? Do you think that?” 　　“You heard what Scout said, there’s no doubt about it. She said Jem got up andyanked him off her—he probably got hold of Ewell’s knife somehow in the dark… we’llfind out tomorrow.” 　　“Mis-ter Finch, hold on,” said Mr. Tate. “Jem never stabbed Bob Ewell.” 　　Atticus was silent for a moment. He looked at Mr. Tate as if he appreciated what hesaid. But Atticus shook his head. 　　“Heck, it’s mighty kind of you and I know you’re doing it from that good heart of yours,but don’t start anything like that.” 　　Mr. Tate got up and went to the edge of the porch. He spat into the shrubbery, thenthrust his hands into his hip pockets and faced Atticus. “Like what?” he said. 　　“I’m sorry if I spoke sharply, Heck,” Atticus said simply, “but nobody’s hushing this up. 　　I don’t live that way.” 　　“Nobody’s gonna hush anything up, Mr. Finch.” 　　Mr. Tate’s voice was quiet, but his boots were planted so solidly on the porchfloorboards it seemed that they grew there. A curious contest, the nature of whicheluded me, was developing between my father and the sheriff. 　　It was Atticus’s turn to get up and go to the edge of the porch. He said, “H’rm,” andspat dryly into the yard. He put his hands in his pockets and faced Mr. Tate. 　　“Heck, you haven’t said it, but I know what you’re thinking. Thank you for it. JeanLouise—” he turned to me. “You said Jem yanked Mr. Ewell off you?” 　　“Yes sir, that’s what I thought… I—” 　　“See there, Heck? Thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I don’t want my boystarting out with something like this over his head. Best way to clear the air is to have itall out in the open. Let the county come and bring sandwiches. I don’t want him growingup with a whisper about him, I don’t want anybody saying, ‘Jem Finch… his daddy paida mint to get him out of that.’ Sooner we get this over with the better.” 　　“Mr. Finch,” Mr. Tate said stolidly, “Bob Ewell fell on his knife. He killed himself.” 　　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. “应当叫他亚瑟先生，宝贝儿。”阿迪克斯温和地纠正我说，“琼?路易斯，这是亚瑟?拉德利先生。我相信他已经认识你了。”如果阿迪克斯在这样的时候不能温和地把我介绍给布?拉德利，那——他就不成其为阿迪克斯了。 布看见我本能地跑向杰姆的床，他脸上浮现出同样羞涩的笑容。我窘得脸上火辣辣的，只想借遮住杰姆来把自己遮起来。 “哎呀，州碰他。”阿迪克斯i兑。 赫克?塔特先生坐着，透过他那副角质边眼镜日不转睛地看着布。他正要讲话时，雷纳兹医生沿着过厅走了过来。 雷纳兹医生走进门说：“大家都出去吧。晚上好，亚瑟，刚才在这儿没看见你。’ 雷纳兹医生的讲话声和他的脚步声一样轻快，好象他一生中每天晚上都这样与布打招呼，这使我感到比我和布在同一个屋子里这个意外酌事还要奇怪。当然，我想……布?拉德利有时也要生病的，但究竟怎样，我也无法肯定。 雷纳兹医生拿着一个报纸包着的大包，放在杰姆的桌上，又脱下他的上衣。“他还活着，你高兴了吧。告诉你我先前怎么知道他不会死吧。我来检查他的时候，他还用脚踢我。为了接近他，我不得不设法让他完全昏过去。赶快离开这儿吧。”他对我说。 “呃……”阿迪克斯瞅了布一眼说，“赫克，咱们到前面走廊上去吧，那里有的是椅子，外面还是够暖和的。” 我感到奇怪，为什么阿迪克斯邀大家到前面走廊上去而不到客厅去坐，不过一会儿我就理解了：客厅的灯光对布太强烈了。 我们一个个走出来，走在前面的是塔特先生。阿迪克斯站在门口，原想等亚瑟先出去，后来又改变主意，自已跟着塔特先生先走了。 即使在最不正常的情况下，人们还是习惯于做每天做的事情。我也不例外。我听见自己在说：“来吧，亚瑟先生。您对我家的房子还不太熟悉，我带您到前面走廊上去吧。” 他望着我，点了点头。 我领着他经过过厅，又穿过客厅。 “请坐吧，亚瑟先生，这张摇椅挺舒服呢。” 我脑子里关于他的幻觉又复活了。他坐在走廊上……这一向天气很好，是吗，亚瑟先生? 真的，天气可真好。好象在虚幻中似的，我领着他到离阿迪克斯和塔特先生最远的一张椅子旁。这地方黑魃魃的。布在黑暗中会觉得舒服一些。 阿迪克斯坐在悬椅上，塔特先生坐在他旁边。客厅的灯光明亮地照射着他们。我和布坐在一块。 “喂，赫克。”阿迪克斯说，“我想，我们要……天啊，我的记性……不管用了……”阿迪克斯把眼镜推上去，手指压在眼睛上。“杰姆还不副十三岁……不，他已经十三了……我记不清了。不管怎么说，这事要交县法院……” “什么事要交县法院，芬奇先生?”塔特先生放下二郎腿，身子向前倾着说。 “当然，这明摆着，杰姆是为了自卫。但是我必须到事务所去查看一下有关法律。” “芬奇先生，你认为是杰姆杀死了尤厄尔吗?你是那样认为吗?” “你昕斯各特刚才说的，这毫无疑问。她说杰姆从地上爬起来，把尤厄尔从她身上拖倒。他可能在黑暗中夺得了尤厄尔的刀子。我们明天就会弄清楚的。” “芬奇先——生，听我说，”塔特先生说，“杰姆绝对没有刺杀鲍勃-尤厄尔。” 阿迪克斯沉默了一阵，然后望着塔特先生，好象对他的话很感激，但却摇了摇头。 “我知道，赫克，你这样说是出于你的好心，我非常感激你’但是，可不能开这样一个头。。 塔特先生起身走到走廊的边缘，朝灌木丛吐了一口唾沫，然后双手插入屁股后的日袋里，面对着阿迪克斯。“开什么头?”他问。 ‘“请原谅我说话直率，赫克，”阿迪克斯简短地说，“但是，没有谁打算隐瞒事实真相，我可不靠说谎过日子。” “并没有淮打算隐瞒真相，芬奇先生。” 塔特先生的声音很平静，但他那双靴子牢牢实实地贴在地板上，好象在那儿生了根一样。一场奇怪的辩论在我父亲和司法官之间开始了。但是，我无法明了这场争论的实质。 阿迪克斯也起身走列走廊的边缘，哼了一声，朝院里唾了一口，双手插进口袋，面对着塔特先生。 “赫克，你不说我也知道你在想什么。谢谢你。琼-路易斯，”他转向我，“你是说杰姆从你身上拖倒了尤厄尔先生吗?” 。是的，爸爸，至少我是这样想的……我……” “明白了吗，赫克?我打心限里感激你。但是，我不希望我的孩子这么小的年纪就背上隐匿罪过的名声。最好的办法是把一切都公诸于众。让县里的人都来吧，把这件事一五一十地告诉他们。我不希望他在别人的纷纷议论声中长大，我不希望任何人说：‘杰姆?芬奇……他爸爸花费一笔巨款开脱了他的罪责。’这事情了结得越快越好。” “芬奇先生，”塔特先生无动于衷地说，“鲍勃?尤厄尔是倒在自己的刀口上，自己杀死了自己。” 阿迪克斯走刭走廊角上，望着下面的紫藤。我想，他俩各有各的倔强性格，我不知道谁会先计步。阿迪克斯为人沉静，他的倔强性格难得表露出来，但在某些方面，他象坎宁安家的人一样，十分固执。塔特先生却显得粗鲁，总是直通通的，不过他的倔强程度跟我爸爸的不相上下。 “赫克，隐匿这件事就等于向杰姆否定我多年来培育他的原则。”阿追克斯转身对塔特先生说，“有时候，我想，作为父亲，我是完全失败了。但是，我是他们的一切。杰姆看任何人之前总先看我，我一直极力正直地生活，以便毫无愧色地回头看他……如果我纵容这样的事情，说实话，我就会没有脸见他；没有脸觅他，我就失去了他。我不希望失去他和斯各特，因为他们是我台勺一切。” “芬奇先生，”塔特先生双脚仍然牢牢地踏在地板上。“鲍勃?尤厄尔倒在自己的刀口上，我能证实这一点。” 阿迪克斯猛然转过身来，双手插在口袋里。“赫克，你为什么不能象我这样看这件事昵?你自己也有小孩，不过，我年纪比你大，等我的孩子长大时，要是我还没死，就是个老头了，但是现在我……如果他们不信任我，就不会信任别人。杰姆和斯各特知道事情的经过，如果他们听见我在城里说些与事实不符的话，赫克，我就会失去他们。我不能在外面一套，在家里又另外一套。” 塔特先生翘起脚尖，摇晃着身子，耐心地说：“他把杰姆打倒以后，自己在树根上绊了一交，你看，我做给你看。” 塔特先生从上衣口袋里拿出把长长的折叠式小刀。这时雷纳兹医生来到了门口。塔特先生说：“那狗娘养的死在太树下了。医生，他就在校园旁边。你有手电筒吗?拿这个去吧o” “我可以将我的车子转个方向，打开车灯。”雷纳兹医生说。不过他还是接过了塔特先生的电筒。“杰姆的状况良好，我想，他今晚不会醒来了，所以不必为他担心。赫克，是您手里那把刀刺死了尤厄尔吗?” 。不是的，先生。刺死他的那把刀还在他身上。看刀柄象把厨房里用的刀。克恩一定随着柩车到那里了，医生。晚安。” 塔特先生轻轻地把刀子一下打开。“是这样的。”他说。他手拿着刀，装着要绊倒的样子。他往前倾时，左手仲向前去。“明白了吗?就这样，他自己把刀刺在肋骨之间的柔软的地方。他身体的全部重量使得刀子插了进去。” 塔特先生折拢刀子，塞进口袋。“斯各特才八岁，她吓坏了，不可能一清二楚地知道当时究竟是怎么回事儿。” “你会感到吃惊的。”阿迪克斯冷冷地说。 “我并不是说她捏造事实，我是晚她当时惊吓得不可能一清二楚地知道发生的事。那地方又是那么一片漆黑，只有一个习惯黑暗的人才能看清这桩事情。” “我不能接受这种说法。”阿迪克斯轻声地说。 “你这该死的，我并不是在为杰姆考虑啊！” 塔特先生在地板上跺了一脚，蹬得那么重，莫迪小姐卧室里的灯都亮了，斯蒂芬尼?克劳福德小姐的灯也都亮了。阿迪克斯和塔特先生朝对面望了一眼，又互相看了吞，没有吭声。 塔特先生再次开口说话时，声音低得几乎听不见：“芬奇先生，你既然这样，我不想跟你争辩了。你今天晚上过于紧张，谁也不应该象你这样紧张。你为什么不紧张得倒到床上去，我不知道，但我确实知道你今晚没有根据事实来进行推断。我们今晚一定要把这个问题解决，明天就太迟了。鲍勃?尤厄尔的肚子里还插了把厨房里用的刀呢。” 塔特先生接着又说，阿迪克斯不应该老坚持他这样一种看法：任何一个象杰姆这样大的孩子，断了一只胳膊，竟有足够的力气在漆黑的晚上跟一个成年人搏斗并杀死了他。 “赫克，”阿迪克斯突然说，“你刚才拿的好象是把折叠式小刀，在哪里弄来的?” “没收一个酒鬼的。”塔特先生冷冷地回答。 我暗自在极力回忆当时的情景。尤厄尔先生抓住了我……随即他摔倒了……杰姆肯定爬起来了，至少我估计…… “赫克?” “我说了，今天晓t在镇上从一个酒鬼那里没收来的。允厄尔可能是在垃圾场的什么地方捡到了那么一把厨房里用的刀，磨得锋利，等待时机……只是等待时机。” 阿迪克斯走到悬掎旁，坐在上面，双手随意地悬在膝间，双眼盯着地板。那天晚上在监狱门口，他的动作也象这样，慢吞吞的，我当时觉得，他手里的报纸可能永远折不好，也放不到椅子上去。 塔特先毕用沉重的脚步在走廊上踱来踱去。“这不是你的决定，芬奇先生，这完全是我的。是我的决定，责任在我身上。这一次即使我不这样看，你也拿我没法儿。如果你想提出反对意见，我就会当面说你是撒谎。你的孩子绝对没有刺死鲍勃?尤厄尔，”他声音逐渐慢下来，“根本就不是他千的，现在你也知道了。他只是想使自己和妹妹平安地回到家里。” 塔特先生停住了脚步，背向着我们，站在阿迪克斯面前。“我不是什么好人，先生，但是我是梅科姆县的司法官。生长在这个镇上，快四十三岁了。这里发生的每件事情，不管是在我出生以前的还是以后的，我都了如指学。有个黑人平自无辜地断送了性命，对这个命案要负责的人也死了。死了就算了，既往不咎，芬奇先生，既往不咎。” 塔特先生走到悬椅旁，拿起他先头放在阿迪克斯身旁的帽子，把头发往后理了理，戴上帽子。 “从没有听说，一个公民竭尽全力阻止别人犯罪是违法的。他所做的就是这么回事。可能你会说，把全部情况毫不隐讳地公诸于众是我的责任。你知道那后果将怎么样?整个梅科姆的女人包括我妻子，会去敲他的门送蛋糕给他。依我看，芬奇先生，一个在众人面前害羞的隐居者，为了你、为了全镇人除了一大害以后，硬把他拖到众目睽睽之下，这是一种犯罪。这是犯罪，我不想把这个罪名加在自己头E，如果事情牵涉的是任何其他人，处理方法又不同。但是对于这个人，只能是这样，芬奇先生。” 塔特先生用靴尖在地板上踢着，好象想掏出个洞来。他拉了拉鼻子，叉揉了揉左臂。“我并没有什么了不起，芬奇先生，但是我仍然是梅科姆县的司法官。鲍勃?尤厄尔先生倒在自己的刀口上。晚安，先生。” 塔特先生咚咚地走下走廊，越过前院。只听他把车门“砰”地一声关上，开车走了。 阿迪克斯坐在那里，两眼长久地凝视着地板。最后，他抬起头说，“斯各特，尤厄尔先生倒在自己的刀口上。你想得通吗?” 阿迪克斯看来似乎需要别人帮他打起精神，我跑过去抱住他，使劲地吻他。“能，爸爸，我想得通。”我用一种使他放心的口吻说，“塔特先生说得对。” 阿迪克斯掰开我抱着他的手，望着我说：“你说的是什么意思?” “说出他来就有点儿象射杀一只反舌鸟，你说对吗?” 阿迫克斯的脸贴着我的头发擦着。他起身穿过走廊走到阴影里去时，他的脚步又变得轻快了。在越屋之前，他在布?拉德利跟前停下来说：“谢谢你救了我的孩子，亚瑟。”

Chapter 29        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熗，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。

[/td][/trChapter 28        The weather was unusually warm for the last day of October. We didn’t even needjackets. The wind was growing stronger, and Jem said it might be raining before we gothome. There was no moon. The street light on the corner cast sharp shadows on theRadley house. I heard Jem laugh softly. “Bet nobody bothers them tonight,” he said. 　　Jem was carrying my ham costume, rather awkwardly, as it was hard to hold. I thought itgallant of him to do so. 　　“It is a scary place though, ain’t it?” I said. “Boo doesn’t mean anybody any harm, butI’m right glad you’re along.” “You know Atticus wouldn’t let you go to the schoolhouse byyourself,” Jem said. 　　“Don’t see why, it’s just around the corner and across the yard.” 　　“That yard’s a mighty long place for little girls to cross at night,” Jem teased. “Ain’t youscared of haints?” 　　We laughed. Haints, Hot Steams, incantations, secret signs, had vanished with ouryears as mist with sunrise. “What was that old thing,” Jem said, “Angel bright, life-in-death; get off the road, don’t suck my breath.” 　　“Cut it out, now,” I said. We were in front of the Radley Place. 　　Jem said, “Boo must not be at home. Listen.” 　　High above us in the darkness a solitary mocker poured out his repertoire in blissfulunawareness of whose tree he sat in, plunging from the shrill kee, kee of the sunflowerbird to the irascible qua-ack of a bluejay, to the sad lament of Poor Will, Poor Will, PoorWill. 　　We turned the corner and I tripped on a root growing in the road. Jem tried to help me,but all he did was drop my costume in the dust. I didn’t fall, though, and soon we wereon our way again. 　　We turned off the road and entered the schoolyard. It was pitch black. 　　“How do you know where we’re at, Jem?” I asked, when we had gone a few steps. 　　“I can tell we’re under the big oak because we’re passin‘ through a cool spot. Carefulnow, and don’t fall again.” 　　We had slowed to a cautious gait, and were feeling our way forward so as not to bumpinto the tree. The tree was a single and ancient oak; two children could not reach aroundits trunk and touch hands. It was far away from teachers, their spies, and curiousneighbors: it was near the Radley lot, but the Radleys were not curious. A small patch ofearth beneath its branches was packed hard from many fights and furtive crap games. 　　The lights in the high school auditorium were blazing in the distance, but they blindedus, if anything. “Don’t look ahead, Scout,” Jem said. “Look at the ground and you won’tfall.” 　　“You should have brought the flashlight, Jem.” 　　“Didn’t know it was this dark. Didn’t look like it’d be this dark earlier in the evening. Socloudy, that’s why. It’ll hold off a while, though.” 　　Someone leaped at us. 　　“God almighty!” Jem yelled. 　　A circle of light burst in our faces, and Cecil Jacobs jumped in glee behind it. “Ha-a-a,gotcha!” he shrieked. “Thought you’d be comin‘ along this way!” 　　“What are you doin‘ way out here by yourself, boy? Ain’t you scared of Boo Radley?” 　　Cecil had ridden safely to the auditorium with his parents, hadn’t seen us, then hadventured down this far because he knew good and well we’d be coming along. Hethought Mr. Finch’d be with us, though. 　　“Shucks, ain’t much but around the corner,” said Jem. “Who’s scared to go around thecorner?” We had to admit that Cecil was pretty good, though. He had given us a fright,and he could tell it all over the schoolhouse, that was his privilege. 　　“Say,” I said, “ain’t you a cow tonight? Where’s your costume?” 　　“It’s up behind the stage,” he said. “Mrs. Merriweather says the pageant ain’t comin‘on for a while. You can put yours back of the stage by mine, Scout, and we can go withthe rest of ’em.” 　　This was an excellent idea, Jem thought. He also thought it a good thing that Ceciland I would be together. This way, Jem would be left to go with people his own age. 　　When we reached the auditorium, the whole town was there except Atticus and theladies worn out from decorating, and the usual outcasts and shut-ins. Most of thecounty, it seemed, was there: the hall was teeming with slicked-up country people. Thehigh school building had a wide downstairs hallway; people milled around booths thathad been installed along each side. 　　“Oh Jem. I forgot my money,” I sighed, when I saw them. 　　“Atticus didn’t,” Jem said. “Here’s thirty cents, you can do six things. See you later on.” 　　“Okay,” I said, quite content with thirty cents and Cecil. I went with Cecil down to thefront of the auditorium, through a door on one side, and backstage. I got rid of my hamcostume and departed in a hurry, for Mrs. Merriweather was standing at a lectern infront of the first row of seats making last-minute, frenzied changes in the script. 　　“How much money you got?” I asked Cecil. Cecil had thirty cents, too, which made useven. We squandered our first nickels on the House of Horrors, which scared us not atall; we entered the black seventh-grade room and were led around by the temporaryghoul in residence and were made to touch several objects alleged to be componentparts of a human being. “Here’s his eyes,” we were told when we touched two peeledgrapes on a saucer. “Here’s his heart,” which felt like raw liver. “These are his innards,” 　　and our hands were thrust into a plate of cold spaghetti. 　　Cecil and I visited several booths. We each bought a sack of Mrs. Judge Taylor’shomemade divinity. I wanted to bob for apples, but Cecil said it wasn’t sanitary. Hismother said he might catch something from everybody’s heads having been in the sametub. “Ain’t anything around town now to catch,” I protested. But Cecil said his mothersaid it was unsanitary to eat after folks. I later asked Aunt Alexandra about this, and shesaid people who held such views were usually climbers. 　　We were about to purchase a blob of taffy when Mrs. Merriweather’s runnersappeared and told us to go backstage, it was time to get ready. The auditorium wasfilling with people; the Maycomb County High School band had assembled in front belowthe stage; the stage footlights were on and the red velvet curtain rippled and billowedfrom the scurrying going on behind it. 　　Backstage, Cecil and I found the narrow hallway teeming with people: adults inhomemade three-corner hats, Confederate caps, Spanish-American War hats, andWorld War helmets. Children dressed as various agricultural enterprises crowdedaround the one small window. 　　“Somebody’s mashed my costume,” I wailed in dismay. Mrs. Merriweather galloped tome, reshaped the chicken wire, and thrust me inside. 　　“You all right in there, Scout?” asked Cecil. “You sound so far off, like you was on theother side of a hill.” 　　“You don’t sound any nearer,” I said. 　　The band played the national anthem, and we heard the audience rise. Then the bassdrum sounded. Mrs. Merriweather, stationed behind her lectern beside the band, said: 　　“Maycomb County Ad Astra Per Aspera.” The bass drum boomed again. “That means,” 　　said Mrs. Merriweather, translating for the rustic elements, “from the mud to the stars.” 　　She added, unnecessarily, it seemed to me, “A pageant.” 　　“Reckon they wouldn’t know what it was if she didn’t tell ‘em,” whispered Cecil, whowas immediately shushed. 　　“The whole town knows it,” I breathed. 　　“But the country folks’ve come in,” Cecil said. 　　“Be quiet back there,” a man’s voice ordered, and we were silent. 　　The bass drum went boom with every sentence Mrs. Merriweather uttered. Shechanted mournfully about Maycomb County being older than the state, that it was a partof the Mississippi and Alabama Territories, that the first white man to set foot in thevirgin forests was the Probate Judge’s great-grandfather five times removed, who wasnever heard of again. Then came the fearless Colonel Maycomb, for whom the countywas named. 　　Andrew Jackson appointed him to a position of authority, and Colonel Maycomb’smisplaced self-confidence and slender sense of direction brought disaster to all whorode with him in the Creek Indian Wars. Colonel Maycomb persevered in his efforts tomake the region safe for democracy, but his first campaign was his last. His orders,relayed to him by a friendly Indian runner, were to move south. After consulting a tree toascertain from its lichen which way was south, and taking no lip from the subordinateswho ventured to correct him, Colonel Maycomb set out on a purposeful journey to routthe enemy and entangled his troops so far northwest in the forest primeval that theywere eventually rescued by settlers moving inland. 　　Mrs. Merriweather gave a thirty-minute description of Colonel Maycomb’s exploits. Idiscovered that if I bent my knees I could tuck them under my costume and more or lesssit. I sat down, listened to Mrs. Merriweather’s drone and the bass drum’s boom andwas soon fast asleep. 　　They said later that Mrs. Merriweather was putting her all into the grand finale, thatshe had crooned, “Po-ork,” with a confidence born of pine trees and butterbeansentering on cue. She waited a few seconds, then called, “Po-ork?” When nothingmaterialized, she yelled, “Pork!” 　　I must have heard her in my sleep, or the band playing Dixie woke me, but it waswhen Mrs. Merriweather triumphantly mounted the stage with the state flag that I choseto make my entrance. Chose is incorrect: I thought I’d better catch up with the rest ofthem. 　　They told me later that Judge Taylor went out behind the auditorium and stood thereslapping his knees so hard Mrs. Taylor brought him a glass of water and one of his pills. 　　Mrs. Merriweather seemed to have a hit, everybody was cheering so, but she caughtme backstage and told me I had ruined her pageant. She made me feel awful, but whenJem came to fetch me he was sympathetic. He said he couldn’t see my costume muchfrom where he was sitting. How he could tell I was feeling bad under my costume I don’tknow, but he said I did all right, I just came in a little late, that was all. Jem wasbecoming almost as good as Atticus at making you feel right when things went wrong. 　　Almost—not even Jem could make me go through that crowd, and he consented to waitbackstage with me until the audience left. 　　“You wanta take it off, Scout?” he asked. 　　“Naw, I’ll just keep it on,” I said. I could hide my mortification under it. 　　“You all want a ride home?” someone asked. 　　“No sir, thank you,” I heard Jem say. “It’s just a little walk.” 　　“Be careful of haints,” the voice said. “Better still, tell the haints to be careful of Scout.” 　　“There aren’t many folks left now,” Jem told me. “Let’s go.” 　　We went through the auditorium to the hallway, then down the steps. It was still blackdark. The remaining cars were parked on the other side of the building, and theirheadlights were little help. “If some of ‘em were goin’ in our direction we could seebetter,” said Jem. “Here Scout, let me hold onto your—hock. You might lose yourbalance.” 　　“I can see all right.” 　　“Yeah, but you might lose your balance.” I felt a slight pressure on my head, andassumed that Jem had grabbed that end of the ham. “You got me?” 　　“Uh huh.” 　　We began crossing the black schoolyard, straining to see our feet. “Jem,” I said, “Iforgot my shoes, they’re back behind the stage.” 　　“Well let’s go get ‘em.” But as we turned around the auditorium lights went off. “Youcan get ’em tomorrow,” he said. 　　“But tomorrow’s Sunday,” I protested, as Jem turned me homeward. 　　“You can get the Janitor to let you in… Scout?” 　　“Hm?” 　　“Nothing.” 　　Jem hadn’t started that in a long time. I wondered what he was thinking. He’d tell mewhen he wanted to, probably when we got home. I felt his fingers press the top of mycostume, too hard, it seemed. I shook my head. “Jem, you don’t hafta—” 　　“Hush a minute, Scout,” he said, pinching me. 　　We walked along silently. “Minute’s up,” I said. “Whatcha thinkin‘ about?” I turned tolook at him, but his outline was barely visible. 　　“Thought I heard something,” he said. “Stop a minute.” 　　We stopped. 　　“Hear anything?” he asked. 　　“No.” 　　We had not gone five paces before he made me stop again. 　　“Jem, are you tryin‘ to scare me? You know I’m too old—” 　　“Be quiet,” he said, and I knew he was not joking. 　　The night was still. I could hear his breath coming easily beside me. Occasionallythere was a sudden breeze that hit my bare legs, but it was all that remained of apromised windy night. This was the stillness before a thunderstorm. We listened. 　　“Heard an old dog just then,” I said. 　　“It’s not that,” Jem answered. “I hear it when we’re walkin‘ along, but when we stop Idon’t hear it.” 　　“You hear my costume rustlin‘. Aw, it’s just Halloween got you…” 　　I said it more to convince myself than Jem, for sure enough, as we began walking, Iheard what he was talking about. It was not my costume. 　　“It’s just old Cecil,” said Jem presently. “He won’t get us again. Let’s don’t let him thinkwe’re hurrying.” 　　We slowed to a crawl. I asked Jem how Cecil could follow us in this dark, looked to melike he’d bump into us from behind. 　　“I can see you, Scout,” Jem said. 　　“How? I can’t see you.” 　　“Your fat streaks are showin‘. Mrs. Crenshaw painted ’em with some of that shiny stuffso they’d show up under the footlights. I can see you pretty well, an‘ I expect Cecil cansee you well enough to keep his distance.” 　　I would show Cecil that we knew he was behind us and we were ready for him. “CecilJacobs is a big wet he-en!” I yelled suddenly, turning around. 　　We stopped. There was no acknowledgement save he-en bouncing off the distantschoolhouse wall. 　　“I’ll get him,” said Jem. “He-y!” 　　Hay-e-hay-e-hay-ey, answered the schoolhouse wall. It was unlike Cecil to hold out forso long; once he pulled a joke he’d repeat it time and again. We should have been leaptat already. Jem signaled for me to stop again. 　　He said softly, “Scout, can you take that thing off?” 　　“I think so, but I ain’t got anything on under it much.” 　　“I’ve got your dress here.” 　　“I can’t get it on in the dark.” 　　“Okay,” he said, “never mind.” 　　“Jem, are you afraid?” 　　“No. Think we’re almost to the tree now. Few yards from that, an‘ we’ll be to the road. 　　We can see the street light then.” Jem was talking in an unhurried, flat toneless voice. Iwondered how long he would try to keep the Cecil myth going. 　　“You reckon we oughta sing, Jem?” 　　“No. Be real quiet again, Scout.” 　　We had not increased our pace. Jem knew as well as I that it was difficult to walk fastwithout stumping a toe, tripping on stones, and other inconveniences, and I wasbarefooted. Maybe it was the wind rustling the trees. But there wasn’t any wind andthere weren’t any trees except the big oak. 　　Our company shuffled and dragged his feet, as if wearing heavy shoes. Whoever itwas wore thick cotton pants; what I thought were trees rustling was the soft swish ofcotton on cotton, wheek, wheek, with every step. 　　I felt the sand go cold under my feet and I knew we were near the big oak. Jempressed my head. We stopped and listened. 　　Shuffle-foot had not stopped with us this time. His trousers swished softly and steadily. 　　Then they stopped. He was running, running toward us with no child’s steps. 　　“Run, Scout! Run! Run!” Jem screamed. 　　I took one giant step and found myself reeling: my arms useless, in the dark, I couldnot keep my balance. 　　“Jem, Jem, help me, Jem!” 　　Something crushed the chicken wire around me. Metal ripped on metal and I fell to theground and rolled as far as I could, floundering to escape my wire prison. Fromsomewhere near by came scuffling, kicking sounds, sounds of shoes and flesh scrapingdirt and roots. Someone rolled against me and I felt Jem. He was up like lightning andpulling me with him but, though my head and shoulders were free, I was so entangledwe didn’t get very far. 　　We were nearly to the road when I felt Jem’s hand leave me, felt him jerk backwardsto the ground. More scuffling, and there came a dull crunching sound and Jemscreamed. 　　I ran in the direction of Jem’s scream and sank into a flabby male stomach. Its ownersaid, “Uff!” and tried to catch my arms, but they were tightly pinioned. His stomach wassoft but his arms were like steel. He slowly squeezed the breath out of me. I could notmove. Suddenly he was jerked backwards and flung on the ground, almost carrying mewith him. I thought, Jem’s up. 　　One’s mind works very slowly at times. Stunned, I stood there dumbly. The scufflingnoises were dying; someone wheezed and the night was still again. 　　Still but for a man breathing heavily, breathing heavily and staggering. I thought hewent to the tree and leaned against it. He coughed violently, a sobbing, bone-shakingcough. 　　“Jem?” 　　There was no answer but the man’s heavy breathing. 　　“Jem?” 　　Jem didn’t answer. 　　The man began moving around, as if searching for something. I heard him groan andpull something heavy along the ground. It was slowly coming to me that there were nowfour people under the tree. 　　“Atticus…?” 　　The man was walking heavily and unsteadily toward the road. 　　I went to where I thought he had been and felt frantically along the ground, reachingout with my toes. Presently I touched someone. 　　“Jem?” 　　My toes touched trousers, a belt buckle, buttons, something I could not identify, acollar, and a face. A prickly stubble on the face told me it was not Jem’s. I smelled stalewhiskey. 　　I made my way along in what I thought was the direction of the road. I was not sure,because I had been turned around so many times. But I found it and looked down to thestreet light. A man was passing under it. The man was walking with the staccato stepsof someone carrying a load too heavy for him. He was going around the corner. He wascarrying Jem. Jem’s arm was dangling crazily in front of him. 　　By the time I reached the corner the man was crossing our front yard. Light from ourfront door framed Atticus for an instant; he ran down the steps, and together, he and theman took Jem inside. 　　I was at the front door when they were going down the hall. Aunt Alexandra wasrunning to meet me. “Call Dr. Reynolds!” Atticus’s voice came sharply from Jem’s room. 　　“Where’s Scout?” 　　“Here she is,” Aunt Alexandra called, pulling me along with her to the telephone. Shetugged at me anxiously. “I’m all right, Aunty,” I said, “you better call.” 　　She pulled the receiver from the hook and said, “Eula May, get Dr. Reynolds, quick!” 　　“Agnes, is your father home? Oh God, where is he? Please tell him to come over hereas soon as he comes in. Please, it’s urgent!” 　　There was no need for Aunt Alexandra to identify herself, people in Maycomb kneweach other’s voices. 　　Atticus came out of Jem’s room. The moment Aunt Alexandra broke the connection,Atticus took the receiver from her. He rattled the hook, then said, “Eula May, get me thesheriff, please.” 　　“Heck? Atticus Finch. Someone’s been after my children. Jem’s hurt. Between hereand the schoolhouse. I can’t leave my boy. Run out there for me, please, and see if he’sstill around. Doubt if you’ll find him now, but I’d like to see him if you do. Got to go now. 　　Thanks, Heck.” 　　“Atticus, is Jem dead?” 　　“No, Scout. Look after her, sister,” he called, as he went down the hall. 　　Aunt Alexandra’s fingers trembled as she unwound the crushed fabric and wire fromaround me. “Are you all right, darling?” she asked over and over as she worked me free. 　　It was a relief to be out. My arms were beginning to tingle, and they were red withsmall hexagonal marks. I rubbed them, and they felt better. 　　“Aunty, is Jem dead?” 　　“No—no, darling, he’s unconscious. We won’t know how badly he’s hurt until Dr. 　　Reynolds gets here. Jean Louise, what happened?” 　　“I don’t know.” 　　She left it at that. She brought me something to put on, and had I thought about itthen, I would have never let her forget it: in her distraction, Aunty brought me myoveralls. “Put these on, darling,” she said, handing me the garments she most despised. 　　She rushed back to Jem’s room, then came to me in the hall. She patted me vaguely,and went back to Jem’s room. 　　A car stopped in front of the house. I knew Dr. Reynolds’s step almost as well as myfather’s. He had brought Jem and me into the world, had led us through every childhooddisease known to man including the time Jem fell out of the treehouse, and he hadnever lost our friendship. Dr. Reynolds said if we had been boil-prone things would havebeen different, but we doubted it. 　　He came in the door and said, “Good Lord.” He walked toward me, said, “You’re stillstanding,” and changed his course. He knew every room in the house. He also knewthat if I was in bad shape, so was Jem. 　　After ten forevers Dr. Reynolds returned. “Is Jem dead?” I asked. 　　“Far from it,” he said, squatting down to me. “He’s got a bump on the head just likeyours, and a broken arm. Scout, look that way—no, don’t turn your head, roll your eyes. 　　Now look over yonder. He’s got a bad break, so far as I can tell now it’s in the elbow. 　　Like somebody tried to wring his arm off… Now look at me.” 　　“Then he’s not dead?” 　　“No-o!” Dr. Reynolds got to his feet. “We can’t do much tonight,” he said, “except try tomake him as comfortable as we can. We’ll have to X-ray his arm—looks like he’ll bewearing his arm ‘way out by his side for a while. Don’t worry, though, he’ll be as good asnew. Boys his age bounce.” 　　While he was talking, Dr. Reynolds had been looking keenly at me, lightly fingering thebump that was coming on my forehead. “You don’t feel broke anywhere, do you?” 　　Dr. Reynolds’s small joke made me smile. “Then you don’t think he’s dead, then?” 　　He put on his hat. “Now I may be wrong, of course, but I think he’s very alive. Showsall the symptoms of it. Go have a look at him, and when I come back we’ll get togetherand decide.” 　　Dr. Reynolds’s step was young and brisk. Mr. Heck Tate’s was not. His heavy bootspunished the porch and he opened the door awkwardly, but he said the same thing Dr. 　　Reynolds said when he came in. “You all right, Scout?” he added. 　　“Yes sir, I’m goin‘ in to see Jem. Atticus’n’them’s in there.” 　　“I’ll go with you,” said Mr. Tate. 　　Aunt Alexandra had shaded Jem’s reading light with a towel, and his room was dim. 　　Jem was lying on his back. There was an ugly mark along one side of his face. His leftarm lay out from his body; his elbow was bent slightly, but in the wrong direction. Jemwas frowning. 　　“Jem…?” 　　Atticus spoke. “He can’t hear you, Scout, he’s out like a light. He was coming around,but Dr. Reynolds put him out again.” 　　“Yes sir.” I retreated. Jem’s room was large and square. Aunt Alexandra was sitting ina rocking-chair by the fireplace. The man who brought Jem in was standing in a corner,leaning against the wall. He was some countryman I did not know. He had probablybeen at the pageant, and was in the vicinity when it happened. He must have heard ourscreams and come running. 　　Atticus was standing by Jem’s bed. 　　Mr. Heck Tate stood in the doorway. His hat was in his hand, and a flashlight bulgedfrom his pants pocket. He was in his working clothes. 　　“Come in, Heck,” said Atticus. “Did you find anything? I can’t conceive of anyone low-down enough to do a thing like this, but I hope you found him.” 　　Mr. Tate sniffed. He glanced sharply at the man in the corner, nodded to him, thenlooked around the room—at Jem, at Aunt Alexandra, then at Atticus. 　　“Sit down, Mr. Finch,” he said pleasantly. 　　Atticus said, “Let’s all sit down. Have that chair, Heck. I’ll get another one from thelivingroom.” 　　Mr. Tate sat in Jem’s desk chair. He waited until Atticus returned and settled himself. Iwondered why Atticus had not brought a chair for the man in the corner, but Atticusknew the ways of country people far better than I. Some of his rural clients would parktheir long-eared steeds under the chinaberry trees in the back yard, and Atticus wouldoften keep appointments on the back steps. This one was probably more comfortablewhere he was. 　　“Mr. Finch,” said Mr. Tate, “tell you what I found. I found a little girl’s dress—it’s outthere in my car. That your dress, Scout?” 　　“Yes sir, if it’s a pink one with smockin‘,” I said. Mr. Tate was behaving as if he wereon the witness stand. He liked to tell things his own way, untrammeled by state ordefense, and sometimes it took him a while. 　　“I found some funny-looking pieces of muddy-colored cloth—” 　　“That’s m’costume, Mr. Tate.” 　　Mr. Tate ran his hands down his thighs. He rubbed his left arm and investigated Jem’smantelpiece, then he seemed to be interested in the fireplace. His fingers sought hislong nose. 　　“What is it, Heck?” said Atticus. 　　Mr. Tate found his neck and rubbed it. “Bob Ewell’s lyin‘ on the ground under that treedown yonder with a kitchen knife stuck up under his ribs. He’s dead, Mr. Finch.” 已是十月的最后一天，可天气却出奇地暖和，连甲克衫也用不着穿。风渐渐大了，杰姆说，我们回家以前可能会下雨，天上没有月亮。 拐角处的路灯在拉德利家的墙壁上投下轮廓鲜明的阴影。我听见杰姆短促地笑一声说：“今晚肯定没人打扰他们。”杰姆拿着我的火腿戏装，十分艰难地走着，因为那东西不好拿。我心想，他这样做还象个当哥哥的。“这地方有点吓人，你说是吗?”我对他说，“虽然布?拉德和不会害人，你～道来我还是十分高兴。” “你知道，阿迪克斯不让你独自去学校。”杰姆说。 “我不明白这是为什么，只需要拐一个弯，再过一片空地就到了。” “那片空地要让小姑娘晚上去走，可算很长很长的路了。”杰姆取笑我，“你不怕鬼吗?” 我们俩都笑了。鬼，热气，符咒，秘密信号，这些东西随着我们年龄的增长都消失了，好象晨雾随着太阳升起而消失一样。“那些东西是怎么说的，”杰姆说，“光明的守护神，我活得比死还难过；别挡我的路，别吸我的气。” “别说了。”我叫道。已经到了拉德利家门前。 杰姆说：“布肯定没在家，你听。” 在头顶上漆黑的夜空中，一只孤独的反舌鸟一点也不知道自己栖息在谁家的树上，欢乐地模仿百鸟的啁瞅，从葵花鸟尖利的叽叽声，蓝背桎鸟烦躁的呱呱声，直到怪鸱的凄惋韵啼哭声。 转过街角，我不慎绊了一下长在路上的树根，踉跄了几步。杰姆想来扶住我，可是手还没有挨到我就把我的戏装掉在地上。不过我没有摔倒。不一会儿，我们又上路了。 转弯离开大路，进了校园，一片漆黑。 “怎样辨别现在是在哪儿，杰姆?”走了几步，我问。 “现在一定在大橡树下，因为这个地方清凉。当心别又摔倒了。” 我们放慢了脚步，小心地摸索前进，生怕撞在树干上，那是一棵古老曲橡树，孤孤单单的，两个小菝合抱着树干还碰不到手。这里离老师的住处很远，离好奇的邻居也很远，倒是相当靠近拉德利家的地界。不过拉德利家的人一点也不好奇。大树的树枝下那一小块地由于孩子们经常在那儿打架，偷偷地掷骰子，变得硬邦邦的了。 远处中学礼堂里灯火通明，尽管灯光从远处射来，还是照花了我们的眼睛。“别往前望，斯各特，”杰姆说，“往下看就不会摔倒。” “你要是带了手电筒就好了，杰姆。” “先头不知道天这么黑。天刚黑时看不出会这么漆黑。也难怪，这么厚的云层。不过暂时不会下雨就是了。” 有个人一下子蹿到我们面前。 “天啊!”杰姆叫起来。 一圈亮光猛地照射在我们脸上，塞西尔?雅各布在这道亮光后面欢乐地跳着。 “哈哈，抓列你们了！”他尖声叫道，“就知道你们会从这儿走J” “你一个人在这儿干吗，伙计?你不怕布?拉德利吗?” 塞西尔早就平安地和他爸爸妈妈一道乘车到了礼堂，没看见我们，就一个人冒险走到这儿，断定我们一定会从这儿走。不过他原以为芬奇先生会和我们一起来的。 “嗬，学校这么近，一拐弯就到了。”杰妈说，“谁怕走这拐角处来着?”我们必须承认，塞西尔挺好，虽然他真把我们吓了一大跳，而且他会在学校里到处讲这件事，可这也只好由他去。 “喂，”我说，“你今晚不是要演奶牛吗?你的戏装呢?” “放在后台上。”他说，“梅里韦瑟太太说，庆典这一会儿还不会开始。你可以把你的也放到后台去，挨着我的放就是。斯各特，我们可以和其他人一道去玩玩。” 杰姆觉得这真是个好主意。同时他认为塞西尔和我在一起也是件好事。这样，他就可以和他一般大的人一起玩了。 我们进了礼堂。嗬，全城的人，除了阿迪克斯、几位下午布置礼堂秀得精疲力竭的妇女和那些通常在外流浪的人阻及卧病不出门的人，其余都在这儿呢。似乎全县大多数的人都在这儿：大厅里挤满了打扮得漂漂亮亮的乡下人。学校这幢房子的楼下有宽阔的过道，过道两边临时搭起了各式各样的货摊子，拥挤的人群在这些摊子周围，转来转去。 “哦，杰姆，我忘记带钱来了。”看到那些摊子，我叹气说。 “阿迪克斯可没忘记拿钱给你，”杰姆说着，“这三角钱是给你的，拿去吧，每次用五分，你可以分六次用．回头见．” 。好。”我说。有了塞西尔作伴，还有这三角钱，我心里茭滋滋的。我和塞西尔走到礼堂前面，穿过一道侧门，来到后台。我把火腿戏装搁下就连忙出来了。梅里韦瑟太太站在第一排坐位前一个放讲稿的小讲台旁，忙乱地对她的脚本作演出前最后曲修改。 “你有多少钱?”我问塞西尔。他说他也有三角钱，刚好跟我一样多。我们首先各自拿出五分钱镍币进了“恐怖宫”，可是在里面一点也不觉得恐怖；我们又进了漆黑的七年级教室，临时装扮的食尸鬼领着我们转了一圈，让我们摸着假设为人体组成部分的各种物品。我们摸到放在一只盘子里的两颗剥了皮的葡萄时，有人告诉我们说：“这是眼睛。”接着j兑：“这是心脏。”那心脏摸起来象没煮过的猪肝。接着又说：“这些是内脏，”我们双手插进了一盘冷面条。 我和塞西尔到了几个货摊子，一人买了一袋泰勒法官太太家制的软糖。我想去玩咬苹果游戏，但塞西尔说那不卫生。他妈说，玩那种游戏每个人的头都伸到同一个盆里，可能染上什么病。“现在，城里没有流行什么传染病啊。”我提出不同的意见。但是塞西尔说，他妈说了，别人咬了后再去咬不卫生。后来，我问亚历山德拉姑妈，她说，有这种看法的人通常是些想向上爬的人。， 我们正打算一人买一块太妃糖时，梅里韦瑟太太派人跑来叫我们到后台去，演出就要开始了。人们渐渐涌入礼堂。梅科姆县立中学乐队聚集在前台下，戏台的脚灯亮了，柔软的大红幕布后面人来人往，弄得幕布象涟漪和波涛一样的晃动。 后台上，我和塞西尔发现那狭窄的过道上挤满了人：大人们有的戴着家制的三角帽，有的戴着南部邦联帽，有的戴着美西战争帽，有的戴世界大战钢盔。儿童们装扮成五花八门的农产品，聚集在唯一的小窗前。 “有人把我的戏装给压扁了。”我吃惊地哭着说。梅里韦瑟太太飞跑过来，把戏装的铁丝整理好，套在我身上。 “在里面舒服吗，斯各特?”塞西尔说：“你的声音昕起来很远，好象你在山的那边讲话。” “你的声音听来也不近。”我说。 乐队演奏国歌，我们听见观众起立。然后嘣嘣地响起了大鼓的声音。梅里韦瑟太太站在乐队的侧面放讲稿的小讲台后。她高声说道：“梅科姆县；排除万难上天堂。”随即再次响起了大鼓的声音。这一句话原是拉丁文，梅里韦瑟太太为乡下人翻译了。她又补充道，“这是一曲庆典音乐。”我认为她没有必要补充这么一句。 “我想，她不解释，观众可能听不懂。”塞西尔低声说。立刻有人“嘘”的一声要他静下来。 “全城的人都懂。”我轻声说。 “但是观众中有很多乡下人。”塞西尔说。 “那边的孩子，安静一点。”一个男人命令道。我们不出声了。梅里韦瑟太太每讲一句，大鼓响一阵。她哀婉动人地说，梅科姆县的历史比亚拉巴马州更悠久，原来处于密西西比准州和亚拉巴马准州之间；在这一片原始森林内留下第一个脚印的白人是遗嘱法官的曾祖的五代祖，再也没听见人家谈起过他了。然后，她说到英勇无畏的梅科姆上校，这个县就是以他的名字命名的。 安德鲁?杰克逊让梅科姆上校担任一个权威性的职务，不料他过于自信，缺乏辨别方向酌能力，结果使他麾下所有的兵士在和克里克印第安人交战中遭了灾难。梅科姆上枝坚持不懈地努力在这个地区推行民主，可是他的第一次战役也就是他的最后一次。一位友好的印第安传令兵带来上级指示，命令他向南转移。但他根据树苔来判别哪边是南方。虽然一些下级军官大胆提出他的方向错误，可是他不接受意见。梅科姆上校出发时的目的是要赶走敌人，但不幸迷失方向，把部队带进了东北原始森林，最后多亏向内地迁徙的居民把他们搭救出来。 梅里韦瑟太太滔滔不绝地描述了梅科姆上校的功绩，足足说了三十分钟。我发现，我把膝盖弯曲起来可以缩进戏装里，勉强坐下，于是我坐下来，听着梅里韦瑟太太低沉的说话声和大鼓的敲击声，一会儿就酣睡起来了．。 后来，别人告诉我，梅里韦瑟太太要尽最大的努力来结束这场演出了，她看见扮演松树和利马豆的两个角色一听信号就出了台，就满有把握地低声叫了一声；“猪——肉，”等了几秒钟，提高嗓门叫了一声：“猪——肉?”但仍然没有动静，她高叫起来：“猪肉！” 要么是在睡梦中听见了她的喊声，要么是乐队演奏的“迪克西”唤醒了我，梅里韦瑟太太昂首阔步地挥舞亚拉巴马州州旗登上舞台时，我选定了出台的时间——不，说“选定”不对，我想，我是匆匆忙忙赶上其他人的。 后来听别人说，泰勒法官笑得只好走到礼堂后面，站着使劲地拍着膝盖。泰勒太太连忙递给他一杯水和一颗药丸。 梅里韦瑟太太看来十分成功，所有的人都在喝彩，但是她在后台拉住我，说我把她的庆典节目给搅坏了，弄得我好难为情。但杰姆来叫我时，却对我十分同情。他说从他坐的地方看不清我穿的戏装。我不明白他怎么知道我穿着戏装很难受。不过他说，我演得挺不错，只是出场稍晚了点，别的没什么。杰姆现在几乎变得象阿迪克斯一样，你出了差错，他总是使你不感到尴尬。礼堂里观众纷纷离去，挤得水泄不通，杰姆无法带我出去，同意和我一块儿在后台等太伙儿都走了再走。 “你想脱掉戏装吗，斯各特?”杰姆问。 “不，就这样穿着算了，”我说。这样可以遮住我懊丧的面孔。 “你们想坐车回去吗?”有人间。 “不，谢谢您。”我听见杰姆说，“我们离家不远。” “要当心鬼啊!”那声音说，“不过最好还是告诉鬼当心斯各特。” “人不多了，走吧。”杰姆对我说。 我们穿过礼堂来到过道上，又走下台阶，外面仍然一片漆黑。有几辆车还没定，可是停在礼堂的那一侧，车灯帮不了我们什么忙。“要是这些汽车走我们这条路，我们就会看得清楚些。”杰姆说，“斯各特，让我抓住你的…?”这个火腿上的躁关节，要不，你可能会走不稳。” “我看得见。” “知道，但是你可能站不稳。”我感觉头上有轻微的压力。猜想杰姆一定抓住了火腿的那一头。“抓住了吗?” “嗯。” 要走到操场上了，一片漆黑，我们睁大眼睛瞧着脚下的道路。 “杰姆，”我忽然说，“我忘记拿鞋子了，在后台上。” “哎哟，那我们回去拿吧。”但是我们一转身，礼堂的电灯熄灭了。“明天可以拿到的。”他说。 “但是明天是星期天啊，”杰姆拉着我转过身时，我分辩说。 “可以叫看门人让你进去……斯各特?” “嗯?” “没什么。” 杰姆好久没有这样了，耪不知道他这会儿在想什么。他想告诉我就会告诉我的，可能回家会告诉我。我可以感觉到他的手指头按在我的戏裟的顶端，似乎按得太重了。我摇晃丁一下脑袋。“杰姆，用不着……” “安静一分钟，斯各特。”他捏了我一下说。 我们静悄悄地走着。“一分钟列了，”我说，“你在想什么?”我转过来瞅着他，但看不清他的轮廓。 “我好象听见什么声音。”他说，“停一下。” 我们停止了脚步。 “听到什么吗?”他问我。 “没有啊。” 还没走上五步，他又叫我停下来。 “杰姆，你想吓我?你知道，我已经大到……” “别作声，”他喝道。我这才知道他不是闹着玩的。 黑夜一片沉寂。我可以听见他均匀的呼吸。偶尔一阵微风拂过我光着的腿，但这还只是预示晓上有大风。这是暴风雨来临前的沉寂。我们静静地听着。 “刚才我听见了一只老狗的声音。”我说。 “那不是，”杰姆回答说，“有种声音，我们一走就听得见，不走就听不见了。” 。那是我的戏装发出的塞率声。噢，是万圣节前夕迷住了你……” 这样说与其是要使杰姆相信，不如说是为了给我自已壮胆，因为我一抬腿就真的听到了他说的那种声音，决不是我的戏装发出的。 “又是塞西尔那个家伙，”过了一会儿，杰姆说，“这一回他休想吓住我们，我们慢些走，不要让他以为我们是慌慌张张的。” 我们放慢脚步，缓缓而行。我问杰姆天色这么黑，塞西尔怎么可能跟踪我们。我看他会从后面撞到我们身上的。 “我可以看见你，斯各特。”杰姆说。 “怎么看得见?我看不见你。” “你这火腿上的肥肉条纹清清楚楚。克伦肖太太在上面涂了闪光的东西，使它在脚灯下特别显眼。我看你看得相当清楚。我想塞西尔也看得清，所以他和我们可以保持一定的距离。” 我想让塞西尔明白，我们知道他跟在后面，在等着他来吓我们，我突然转身高声叫道：“塞西尔?雅各布真讨厌！” 我们停住脚步。没听见入回答，只听见远处学校的墙壁传回来一声“讨厌”。 “我要打死他，”杰姆说，“嘿!” 嘿——嘿——嘿，学校的墙壁发出连续的回声。 雅各布不会这么久一直沉住气啊。他这个人一个玩笑开着了就会连续开下去。要是他，他早就窜到我们跟前来了。这时杰姆示意要我停下来。 他低声说：“你能把戏装脱掉吗，斯各特?” “我想能，不过我身上没穿什么衣服。” “你的衣服在我这儿。” “黑魑魈的我穿不上。” “好吧，”他说，“那就别脱了。” “杰姆，你害怕了吗?” “没有。我们快到大橡树下了。一会儿就要上公路了，到了公路就有路灯了。”杰姆慢条斯理地、平平淡淡地说。我不知道他到底要把塞西尔这个谜保持多久。 “杰姆，你看我们应该唱歌不?” “不，斯各特，这回真的安静下来昕一听。” 我们没有加快脚步，因为我们都清楚地知道，走快是困准的，要么会碰伤脚趾，要么会绊在石头上，或者遇上其他麻烦，况且我当时赤着脚。树叶沙沙作响，可能是由于风吹吧，可是这当儿没有风，这儿除了大橡树外也没有别的树。 我们酌尾随者拖着脚步慢吞吞地跟着，好象穿着一双笨重的鞋子。不管是谁，反正是穿着厚厚的棉布裤。我原来以为是橡树枝摇晃的沙沙声，其实是棉布裤腿间轻柔的摩擦声。嗖、嗖、嗖，一步一响。 我感到脚下的沙土渐渐变凉了，知道来到了大橡树底下。杰姆按了按我的头，我们一起停下来听着。 那拖着走的脚步这次没有随我们一道停止。他的裤子嗖嗖地不断发出轻柔的声音。突然声音停止了。他飞跑过来，大步大步地朝我们飞跑过来，不是小孩子的脚步声。 “陕跑，斯各特，快跑！快跑i”杰姆尖叫着。 我抬腿猛跨了一步后就趔趄起来，胳膊裹在戏装里，不听使唤，在漆黑中我保持不住身体的平衡…… “杰姆，杰姆!拉我一把，杰姆!” 什么东西猛击裹着我身子的铁丝网，金属劈在金属上。我摔倒在地，尽我的力气一连打了几个滚，身子乱动，想挣扎出铁丝的羁绊。从不远的地方传来格斗的声音，拳打脚赐的声音，鞋子和身体在地上和树根上摩擦的声音。有谁滚到了我身边，我一摸，是杰姆。他闪电般地迅速站起，同时把我一把拉起。但是，尽管我的头部和肩膀摆脱了铁丝的束缚，身子却仍然被缠绕着，我们没有移动几步。 几乎走到公路时，我感到杰姆的手松了，他身子朝后颠踬了一下，摔倒在地上。又是一阵紧张的搏斗声，突然传来沉闷的嘎扎一响，杰姆惨叫了一声。 我朝着杰姆叫的方向跑去，一头撞到一个男人松软酌腹部上，那人“哼”了一声，想抓住我的双臂，但是我的双臂仍被铁丝紧紧地缠绕着。他的腹部松软，可是胳膊却钢铁般有力，他死死地抓住我，我气都慢慢儿地接不上来了，我完全不能动弹了。突然他被人朝后猛拉一下，砰地一声跌倒在地，几乎把我也带倒。我想，是杰姆站起来了。 有时候，一个人的脑子会变得十分迟钝。我惊骇不已，站在那儿呆若木鸡。搏斗的声音渐渐平息了，有人呼哧呼哧地喘息，黑夜又陷入了一片沉寂。 一片沉寂。但是有个人在不停地大声喘气，走起路来摇摇晃晃。我看见他走到大树跟前，靠在树上，拼命地又是咳嗽，又是抽噎，直咳得垒身发抖。 “杰姆吗?” 没人回答，只听见那个人呼哧呼哧的喘息声。 “杰姆J’ 杰姆没有回答。 那个人开始转动起来，象是要找什么东西。我听见他哼了一声，在地上拖起一个什么沉重的东西。这时，我渐渐意识到大树下面一共有四个人。 “阿迪克斯……?” 那个人迈着沉重的步子踉踉跄跄地走向公路。我走到我认为他刚才呆过的地方，伸出脚趾挨着地面发疯似的探索着。一会儿，脚触到了一个什么人。 “杰姆?” 我脚趾碰到了裤子、皮带扣、钮扣和一件我辨认不出的东西，还有衣领和面孔。面孔上刺丛般的胡茬使我知道那不是杰姆。接着，我嗅到一股陈威士忌酒味。 我朝着我认为是公路的方向走去。心里没有一点把握，因为我已经不知在这里转了多少圈了。不久，我发现了公路，朝路灯望去，有人在灯下经过。他时断时续地向前走，好象是背着一个他承受不了的负担。他走到拐角处了，背的是杰姆，只见杰姆的一只胳膊悬在那人胸前摇摆得非常厉害。 我走到拐角处时，那人已进了我家的院子。阿迪克斯的身影在前门灯光里晃动了一下，跑下台阶，跟那人一道把杰姆抬进了屋。 我进门时，他们正朝过厅的那一端走去。亚历山德拉姑妈迎上前来。“打电话给雷纳兹医生f”阿迪克斯严峻的声音从杰姆的房里传来，“斯各特呢?”? “在这儿，”亚历山德拉姑妈高声回答，拉着我一起到电话机旁，焦急不安地用力拉着我。我说：“我没事，姑妈，快打电话吧。” 她从架子上取下听筒，说；“尤拉?梅，请接雷纳兹医生，快!” “艾格尼丝，你爸爸在家吗?天哪，哪儿去啦?回来就叫他快来，有急事!” 亚历山德拉姑妈没有必要通报自己酌姓名，梅科姆镇的人没有听不出对方声音的。 阿迪克斯从杰姆房里出来。姑妈把电话一挂断，阿迪克斯就从她手中拿过话筒，他嘎啦嘎啦地揿着挂钩，说；“尤拉，梅，请接司法官。” “赫克吗?我是阿迪克斯?芬奇。有人追肴我的孩子行凶。杰姆受伤了。在从学校回家的路上。我不能离开孩子。请替我去看看他是不是还在附近。只怕不在了。如果你找到他，我倒想看看，马上去。谢谢，赫克。” “阿迪克斯，杰姆死了吗?” 。没有，斯各特。照看着她，妹妹。”他穿过过厅时叫道。 亚历山德拉姑妈手指颤抖着，把我身上压扁揉破了的铁丝和布解开。她一面解，一面不断地重复问着：“宝贝，不疼吧?” 解开之后舒服多了。我的胳膊开始感到刺痛，上面布满六角形的红色斑痕。我揉了揉，觉得好一点儿。 “姑妈，杰姆死了吗?” “没有……没有，宝贝，他昏过去了。究竟伤势重不重，得等雷纳兹医生来才知道。琼?路易斯，是怎么回事?” “我不知道。” 她没有追根究底，拿来件什么东西叫我穿上。她心神烦乱，把我的背带裤给拿来了。要是我当时意识到这一点，我就会叫她永远忘不了。“穿上吧，亲爱的。”她把她最鄙夷的背带裤递给我说。 她匆匆走到杰姆房间里去，一会儿又出来回到我身旁，茫然地拍拍我的肩膀，又到杰姆房间里去了。 一辆汽车停在屋前。我对雷纳兹医生的脚步声跟对爸爸的一样熟悉。雷纳兹医生曾把我和杰姆接到这人世间来，曾使我们安全度过每一种人类知道的童年疾病，包括杰姆从树上小屋摔下来的那一次。他一直跟我们要好，但是他说，要是我们老是生疖子的话，情况就会不…样了。不过我们对他的话表示怀疑。 他进门就说：。天哪!”又向我走过来说：“你还没倒下。”然后转身进杰姆的房间。他知道我们家每问房间。他也知道，我身体不好，杰姆就好不了。 过了很久很久，雷纳兹医生出来了。“杰姆死了吗?”我问道。 “死不了。”他说着，对我蹲下来。“他头上肿了一块，象你头上一样，还断了只胳膊。斯各特，看着那边——不，头不要转过去，只转动眼珠。好，现在看那边。杰姆的胳膊断得很厉害。据我看是手肘断了，好象有人想拧掉他的胳膊……好，望着我。” “那么他没有死?” “没——有！”雷纳兹医生站起来。“今晚没什么可做的，只是尽力让他感觉舒服点。我们要给他的胳膊照X光——看来一时他得把胳膊吊在一边。不过，不要紧的，他会好起来的。这么大年纪的小伙子好得快。” 他说话时紧紧盯着我，手指轻揉着逐渐出现在我前额上的肿块。“你没觉得身上有什么地方折断了吧?” 雷纳兹医生这一个小玩笑使我笑了起来。“那么，您认为他没有死罗?” 他戴上帽子。“当然，我的话可能不对，但是我认为他活得好好的。没有任何死的征兆。去看看他吧。等我回来，大家就碰头作出决定。” 雷纳兹医生步履轻快，赫克?塔特先生却不然，他沉甸甸的靴子使走廊都得活受罪。他不熟练地推开门，说了雷纳兹医生进门时所说的同样的话，又补充说：“你好吧，斯各特?” “很好，先生，我要进去看看杰姆。阿迪克斯他们都在里面。” “一块进去吧。”塔特先生说。 亚历山德拉姑妈用一条毛巾掩着杰姆的台灯，室内光线暗淡。杰姆仰卧在床上，在他的一边脸上有块难看的伤痕，左臂向外摊着，肘关节有点儿弯曲，但却是向外边弯。他双眉紧锁。 “杰姆……”，阿迪克斯说：“他听不见，斯各特。他象灯一样，暂时熄灭了。他本来快醒了，但雷纳兹医生使他又昏过去了。” “好吧，爸爸。”我退了几步。杰姆的房间四四方方，挺宽敞的。亚历山德拉姑妈坐在壁炉旁的摇椅上。那个背杰姆进来的人倚着墙站在墙角里。他是个我不认识的乡下人，他可能参加了今晚的庆典，事情发生时可能在近旁。他一定是听见我们叫喊跑来搭救我们的。 阿迪克斯站在杰姆床前。? 赫克?塔特先生站在门口，手拿帽子，裤袋里鼓鼓囊囊地装着手电筒。他身穿工作服。 “进来吧，赫克。”阿迪克斯说，“发现了什么吗?我想不出谁竟这样卑鄙，千出这样的事情。但是我希望你已弄清了是谁。” 塔特先生吸了吸鼻予，敏锐的眼睛瞥了屋角里的人一眼，对他点了点头，‘环顾了一下四周的人——杰姆、亚历山德拉姑妈，最后，眼光落在阿迪克斯身上。 “坐吧，芬奇先生。”他以令人愉快的口吻说。 阿迪克斯说：“大家都坐F吧。赫克，你坐那张椅子。我到客厅去再搬张椅子来。” 塔特先生坐在杰姆桌旁的椅子上。他等了等，直到阿迪克斯回来坐好。我不理解为什么阿迪克斯不给那站在墙角如人搬一张椅子。不过，阿迪克斯对于乡下人的习性比我了解得多。他的乡下当事人中有的喜欢把他们的长耳马拴在后院苦楝树上，阿迪克斯常和他们！生后面台阶上接治事情。这一位说不定站在墙角里还觉得舒服些。 “芬奇先生，”塔特先生说话了，“告诉你发现了什么吧。发现一件小姑娘的连衣裙一现在搁在车里。是你的吗，斯各特?” “是的，先生，是水红色带褶饰的。”我说。塔特先生那模样似乎是站在证入席上发言。他喜欢按自己的方式讲话，既不受原告的影响，也不受被告的影响。这样，有时就要拖延老半天。‘ “还发现一些奇怪的褐色布片……” “那是我的戏装，塔特先生。” 塔特先生用双手擦擦大腿，又揉了揉左臂，端详着杰姆的壁炉架，好象对壁炉发生了兴趣，然后把手指伸向他那长长的鼻子。 “还有什么，赫克?”阿迪克斯问道。 塔特先生用手在他曲脖子上揉一揉，说：“鲍勃-尤厄尔躺在那棵大树底下，下肋间插着一把厨房里用的刀，没气了，芬奇先生。”]

Chapter 27       Things did settle down, after a fashion, as Atticus said they would. By the middle ofOctober, only two small things out of the ordinary happened to two Maycomb citizens. 　　No, there were three things, and they did not directly concern us—the Finches—but in away they did. 　　The first thing was that Mr. Bob Ewell acquired and lost a job in a matter of days andprobably made himself unique in the annals of the nineteen-thirties: he was the onlyman I ever heard of who was fired from the WPA for laziness. I suppose his brief burstof fame brought on a briefer burst of industry, but his job lasted only as long as hisnotoriety: Mr. Ewell found himself as forgotten as Tom Robinson. Thereafter, heresumed his regular weekly appearances at the welfare office for his check, andreceived it with no grace amid obscure mutterings that the bastards who thought theyran this town wouldn’t permit an honest man to make a living. Ruth Jones, the welfarelady, said Mr. Ewell openly accused Atticus of getting his job. She was upset enough towalk down to Atticus’s office and tell him about it. Atticus told Miss Ruth not to fret, that ifBob Ewell wanted to discuss Atticus’s “getting” his job, he knew the way to the office. 　　The second thing happened to Judge Taylor. Judge Taylor was not a Sunday-nightchurchgoer: Mrs. Taylor was. Judge Taylor savored his Sunday night hour alone in hisbig house, and churchtime found him holed up in his study reading the writings of BobTaylor (no kin, but the judge would have been proud to claim it). One Sunday night, lostin fruity metaphors and florid diction, Judge Taylor’s attention was wrenched from thepage by an irritating scratching noise. “Hush,” he said to Ann Taylor, his fat nondescriptdog. Then he realized he was speaking to an empty room; the scratching noise wascoming from the rear of the house. Judge Taylor clumped to the back porch to let Annout and found the screen door swinging open. A shadow on the corner of the housecaught his eye, and that was all he saw of his visitor. Mrs. Taylor came home fromchurch to find her husband in his chair, lost in the writings of Bob Taylor, with a shotgunacross his lap. 　　The third thing happened to Helen Robinson, Tom’s widow. If Mr. Ewell was asforgotten as Tom Robinson, Tom Robinson was as forgotten as Boo Radley. But Tomwas not forgotten by his employer, Mr. Link Deas. Mr. Link Deas made a job for Helen. 　　He didn’t really need her, but he said he felt right bad about the way things turned out. Inever knew who took care of her children while Helen was away. Calpurnia said it washard on Helen, because she had to walk nearly a mile out of her way to avoid theEwells, who, according to Helen, “chunked at her” the first time she tried to use thepublic road. Mr. Link Deas eventually received the impression that Helen was coming towork each morning from the wrong direction, and dragged the reason out of her. “Justlet it be, Mr. Link, please suh,” Helen begged. “The hell I will,” said Mr. Link. He told herto come by his store that afternoon before she left. She did, and Mr. Link closed hisstore, put his hat firmly on his head, and walked Helen home. He walked her the shortway, by the Ewells‘. On his way back, Mr. Link stopped at the crazy gate. 　　“Ewell?” he called. “I say Ewell!” 　　The windows, normally packed with children, were empty. 　　“I know every last one of you’s in there a-layin‘ on the floor! Now hear me, Bob Ewell: 　　if I hear one more peep outa my girl Helen about not bein’ able to walk this road I’ll haveyou in jail before sundown!” Mr. Link spat in the dust and walked home. 　　Helen went to work next morning and used the public road. Nobody chunked at her,but when she was a few yards beyond the Ewell house, she looked around and saw Mr. 　　Ewell walking behind her. She turned and walked on, and Mr. Ewell kept the samedistance behind her until she reached Mr. Link Deas’s house. All the way to the house,Helen said, she heard a soft voice behind her, crooning foul words. Thoroughlyfrightened, she telephoned Mr. Link at his store, which was not too far from his house. 　　As Mr. Link came out of his store he saw Mr. Ewell leaning on the fence. Mr. Ewell said,“Don’t you look at me, Link Deas, like I was dirt. I ain’t jumped your—” 　　“First thing you can do, Ewell, is get your stinkin‘ carcass off my property. You’releanin’ on it an‘ I can’t afford fresh paint for it. Second thing you can do is stay awayfrom my cook or I’ll have you up for assault—” 　　“I ain’t touched her, Link Deas, and ain’t about to go with no nigger!” 　　“You don’t have to touch her, all you have to do is make her afraid, an‘ if assault ain’tenough to keep you locked up awhile, I’ll get you in on the Ladies’ Law, so get outa mysight! If you don’t think I mean it, just bother that girl again!” 　　Mr. Ewell evidently thought he meant it, for Helen reported no further trouble. 　　“I don’t like it, Atticus, I don’t like it at all,” was Aunt Alexandra’s assessment of theseevents. “That man seems to have a permanent running grudge against everybodyconnected with that case. I know how that kind are about paying off grudges, but I don’tunderstand why he should harbor one—he had his way in court, didn’t he?” 　　“I think I understand,” said Atticus. “It might be because he knows in his heart that veryfew people in Maycomb really believed his and Mayella’s yarns. He thought he’d be ahero, but all he got for his pain was… was, okay, we’ll convict this Negro but get back toyour dump. He’s had his fling with about everybody now, so he ought to be satisfied. 　　He’ll settle down when the weather changes.” 　　“But why should he try to burgle John Taylor’s house? He obviously didn’t know Johnwas home or he wouldn’t‘ve tried. Only lights John shows on Sunday nights are on thefront porch and back in his den…” 　　“You don’t know if Bob Ewell cut that screen, you don’t know who did it,” said Atticus. 　　“But I can guess. I proved him a liar but John made him look like a fool. All the timeEwell was on the stand I couldn’t dare look at John and keep a straight face. Johnlooked at him as if he were a three-legged chicken or a square egg. Don’t tell me judgesdon’t try to prejudice juries,” Atticus chuckled. 　　By the end of October, our lives had become the familiar routine of school, play, study. 　　Jem seemed to have put out of his mind whatever it was he wanted to forget, and ourclassmates mercifully let us forget our father’s eccentricities. Cecil Jacobs asked meone time if Atticus was a Radical. When I asked Atticus, Atticus was so amused I wasrather annoyed, but he said he wasn’t laughing at me. He said, “You tell Cecil I’m aboutas radical as Cotton Tom Heflin.” 　　Aunt Alexandra was thriving. Miss Maudie must have silenced the whole missionarysociety at one blow, for Aunty again ruled that roost. Her refreshments grew even moredelicious. I learned more about the poor Mrunas’ social life from listening to Mrs. 　　Merriweather: they had so little sense of family that the whole tribe was one big family. Achild had as many fathers as there were men in the community, as many mothers asthere were women. J. Grimes Everett was doing his utmost to change this state ofaffairs, and desperately needed our prayers. 　　Maycomb was itself again. Precisely the same as last year and the year before that,with only two minor changes. Firstly, people had removed from their store windows andautomobiles the stickers that said NRA—WE DO OUR PART. I asked Atticus why, andhe said it was because the National Recovery Act was dead. I asked who killed it: hesaid nine old men. 　　The second change in Maycomb since last year was not one of national significance. 　　Until then, Halloween in Maycomb was a completely unorganized affair. Each child didwhat he wanted to do, with assistance from other children if there was anything to bemoved, such as placing a light buggy on top of the livery stable. But parents thoughtthings went too far last year, when the peace of Miss Tutti and Miss Frutti wasshattered. 　　Misses Tutti and Frutti Barber were maiden ladies, sisters, who lived together in theonly Maycomb residence boasting a cellar. The Barber ladies were rumored to beRepublicans, having migrated from Clanton, Alabama, in 1911. Their ways were strangeto us, and why they wanted a cellar nobody knew, but they wanted one and they dugone, and they spent the rest of their lives chasing generations of children out of it. 　　Misses Tutti and Frutti (their names were Sarah and Frances), aside from theirYankee ways, were both deaf. Miss Tutti denied it and lived in a world of silence, butMiss Frutti, not about to miss anything, employed an ear trumpet so enormous that Jemdeclared it was a loudspeaker from one of those dog Victrolas. 　　With these facts in mind and Halloween at hand, some wicked children had waiteduntil the Misses Barber were thoroughly asleep, slipped into their livingroom (nobody butthe Radleys locked up at night), stealthily made away with every stick of furnituretherein, and hid it in the cellar. I deny having taken part in such a thing. 　　“I heard ‘em!” was the cry that awoke the Misses Barber’s neighbors at dawn nextmorning. “Heard ’em drive a truck up to the door! Stomped around like horses. They’rein New Orleans by now!” 　　Miss Tutti was sure those traveling fur sellers who came through town two days agohad purloined their furniture. “Da-rk they were,” she said. “Syrians.” 　　Mr. Heck Tate was summoned. He surveyed the area and said he thought it was alocal job. Miss Frutti said she’d know a Maycomb voice anywhere, and there were noMaycomb voices in that parlor last night—rolling their r’s all over her premises, theywere. Nothing less than the bloodhounds must be used to locate their furniture, MissTutti insisted, so Mr. Tate was obliged to go ten miles out the road, round up the countyhounds, and put them on the trail. 　　Mr. Tate started them off at the Misses Barber’s front steps, but all they did was runaround to the back of the house and howl at the cellar door. When Mr. Tate set them inmotion three times, he finally guessed the truth. By noontime that day, there was not abarefooted child to be seen in Maycomb and nobody took off his shoes until the houndswere returned. 　　So the Maycomb ladies said things would be different this year. The high-schoolauditorium would be open, there would be a pageant for the grown-ups; apple-bobbing,taffy-pulling, pinning the tail on the donkey for the children. There would also be a prizeof twenty-five cents for the best Halloween costume, created by the wearer. 　　Jem and I both groaned. Not that we’d ever done anything, it was the principle of thething. Jem considered himself too old for Halloween anyway; he said he wouldn’t becaught anywhere near the high school at something like that. Oh well, I thought, Atticuswould take me. 　　I soon learned, however, that my services would be required on stage that evening. 　　Mrs. Grace Merriweather had composed an original pageant entitled Maycomb County: 　　Ad Astra Per Aspera, and I was to be a ham. She thought it would be adorable if someof the children were costumed to represent the county’s agricultural products: CecilJacobs would be dressed up to look like a cow; Agnes Boone would make a lovelybutterbean, another child would be a peanut, and on down the line until Mrs. 　　Merriweather’s imagination and the supply of children were exhausted. 　　Our only duties, as far as I could gather from our two rehearsals, were to enter fromstage left as Mrs. Merriweather (not only the author, but the narrator) identified us. 　　When she called out, “Pork,” that was my cue. Then the assembled company wouldsing, “Maycomb County, Maycomb County, we will aye be true to thee,” as the grandfinale, and Mrs. Merriweather would mount the stage with the state flag. 　　My costume was not much of a problem. Mrs. Crenshaw, the local seamstress, had asmuch imagination as Mrs. Merriweather. Mrs. Crenshaw took some chicken wire andbent it into the shape of a cured ham. This she covered with brown cloth, and painted itto resemble the original. I could duck under and someone would pull the contraptiondown over my head. It came almost to my knees. Mrs. Crenshaw thoughtfully left twopeepholes for me. She did a fine job. Jem said I looked exactly like a ham with legs. 　　There were several discomforts, though: it was hot, it was a close fit; if my nose itched Icouldn’t scratch, and once inside I could not get out of it alone. 　　When Halloween came, I assumed that the whole family would be present to watchme perform, but I was disappointed. Atticus said as tactfully as he could that he justdidn’t think he could stand a pageant tonight, he was all in. He had been in Montgomeryfor a week and had come home late that afternoon. He thought Jem might escort me if Iasked him. 　　Aunt Alexandra said she just had to get to bed early, she’d been decorating the stageall afternoon and was worn out—she stopped short in the middle of her sentence. Sheclosed her mouth, then opened it to say something, but no words came. 　　“‘s matter, Aunty?” I asked. 　　“Oh nothing, nothing,” she said, “somebody just walked over my grave.” She put awayfrom her whatever it was that gave her a pinprick of apprehension, and suggested that Igive the family a preview in the livingroom. So Jem squeezed me into my costume,stood at the livingroom door, called out “Po-ork,” exactly as Mrs. Merriweather wouldhave done, and I marched in. Atticus and Aunt Alexandra were delighted. 　　I repeated my part for Calpurnia in the kitchen and she said I was wonderful. I wantedto go across the street to show Miss Maudie, but Jem said she’d probably be at thepageant anyway. 　　After that, it didn’t matter whether they went or not. Jem said he would take me. Thusbegan our longest journey together. 象阿迪克斯说过的那样，事情总算多多少少平息下来了。到十月中旬止，梅科姆镇只发生了两件异乎寻常的小事。不，应该说是三件。这些事情与我们芬奇家的人没有直接的关系，但是多少又与我们有点牵连。 第一件事：鲍勃?尤厄尔找到了一个工作，但又丢了，前后只有几天时间。这件事很可能在二十世纪三十年代的历史记载中是独一无二的：由于懒惰，他被解雇出工程规划署。我想是他那昙花一现的声誉给他带来比昙花一现还短的勤奋，但是他的工作与他的臭名也一样迅速地不复存在了；尤厄尔先生发现自己与汤姆?鲁宾逊一样被人遗忘了。于是，他跟从前一样，仍旧每周去福利办公室领取他的福利费。他总是毫不客气地取过钱来，含混不清地说，那些自以为他们掌管着这个镇子命运的杂种简直不让一个老实人活下去。福利办公室的工作人员鲁恩?琼斯小姐说，尤厄尔先生公开指控阿迪克斯打破了他的饭碗。鲁思小姐听了又气又恼，跑到阿迪克斯的办公室告诉阿迪克斯。阿迪克斯要鲁思小姐别发愁，他说，如果鲍勃?尤厄尔说他打破了他的饭碗要来找麻烦，他知道怎么到他办公室来。 第二件事是冲着泰勒法官来的。泰勒法官星期天晚上从不上教堂做礼拜，但泰勒太太却是做礼拜的。于是每逢星期天晚上，人家在教堂做礼拜，泰勒法官就津津有味地独个儿守着他那栋太屋子，关在书房里专心阅读鲍勃?泰勒的著作(鲍勃?泰勒不是法官的亲戚，不过法官会以认他做亲戚而感到自豪的)。有个星期天晚上，法官正专心读那些妙趣横生的比喻和绚烂多彩的词藻，忽然听见一种惹人心烦的塞牢声，他不由自主地从书本上抬起头来。“别做声!”他对安?泰勒一一他那只臃肿得难以名状的狗吆喝道。但是他很快便意识到自己是在与空荡荡的房子说话。塞寒牢牢的声音来自屋后。泰勒法官踏着沉重的步子走到屋后走廊上，让狗出去。他发现纱门被打开了，屋角边有个人影在他眼前一闪就无影无踪了。泰勒太太从教堂回来，看见丈夫在椅子上潜心阅读鲍勃?泰勒的著作，一枝猜熗横搁在膝上。 第三件事发生在海伦?鲁宾逊——汤姆的寡妇身上。如果说尤厄尔先生象汤姆?鲁宾逊一样被人遗忘了，那么，汤姆?鲁宾逊就象布?拉德利一样被人遗忘了。但是，汤姆的雇主林克?迪斯先生却没有忘记汤姆，他雇了海伦。他并非真正需要她，但他说，事情弄到这步田地，他感到十分遗憾。海伦工作时谁照看她的小孩我不知道。卡尔珀尼亚说，海伦上班真困难，因为她为了避开尤厄尔那一家，每天不得不绕道，几乎多走一英里路。海伦说，第一次去上班她想打公路上走，尤厄尔那一家子“大声辱骂她”。久而久之，林克?迪斯先生察觉到海伦每天清晨上班不是从她家的方向走来，于是他想方设法向海伦探明原因。“算了，请您别管这事吧，林克?迪斯先生。”海伦恳求说。“我决不会算了!”林克先生说。他叫她那天下午下班前走过他的商店。她来了，林克先生关好店门，戴好帽子，护送海伦回家。他带着她走近路，经过尤厄尔家。回来的路上，林克先生在那张破门前停了下来。 。尤厄尔!”他大声叫遭，“听着，尤厄尔！” 通常挤满了孩子的窗口，今天一个孩子也没有看见。 “我知道你们一个个都躺在地板上了!你们听着，鲍勃?尤厄尔!要是我再听见海伦说一声不敢走这条路，我就要在日落以前把你们全部关进监狱！” 林克先生朝地上吐了一口唾沫，回家去了。 第二天早上，海伦上班是走的公路，没有谁再犬声辱骂她。但是等她走过尤厄尔家几码远回头看时，只见尤厄尔先生紧紧跟着她，她扭过头去继续向前走，尤厄尔先生老跟着，和她保持一定的距离，直到她到了林克?迪斯先生的房子跟前。海伦说，一路上她听见身后有个低沉的声音，哼哼唧唧地骂着粗话。她吓得心惊胆战，连忙给在店子里的林克先生打了个电话。林克先生的店子离家不远，他立即从店子里出来，看见尤厄尔先生靠在栅栏上。 “不要这样望着我，林克先生，”尤厄尔先生说，“好象我是什么脏东西。我没有侵犯你的……” 。尤厄尔，首先，你那具臭不可闻的尸体得赶快从我的地盘上滚开，别靠在我的栅栏上，我可没钱再刷油漆!其次，不许你碰我的厨子，不然，我就要指控你强奸……” “我没有碰她，林克?迪斯，我不会跟任何黑鬼走同一条路!” “别说你不碰她，就是吓唬她，你倒试试看j如果强奸的罪名还不能把你关起来，我就要诉诸妇女法。你滚吧!要是你以为我只是说说而已，你就再惹一惹她看!” 尤厄尔先生显然认为他不是说说而已的，因为海伦没有再说过碰上什么麻烦。 “真讨厌，阿迪克斯，这些事情真讨厌。”亚历山德拉姑妈对这些事情发表自己的看法，“尤厄尔这个人好象对每个与那件案子有关的人都永远怀恨在心。我知道他那种人会发泄怨恨的，但是我不理解他为什么要怀恨得这么深——他的官司不是打赢了吗?” “我想，我可以理解，”阿迪克斯说，“可能是因为他心里明白，梅科姆几乎没有人真正相信他和梅耶拉的假话。他原融为他会成为一个英雄，可是尽管他煞费苦心，但得到的只是……只是，不错，我们给这个黑人定了罪，但是你还是回你的垃圾场去吧。现在，他几乎对每个人都发泄了一顿怨气，他应该满足了。气候一变，他就会安静下来的。” “但是，他为什么企图夜间闯进约翰?泰勒家去偷盗呢?显然，他不知道约翰在家，否则他是不会的。星期天晚上约翰只打开前面走廊和他那问屋里的灯……” “你也不清楚到底是不是鲍勃?尤厄尔把那张纱门弄破了，不知道究竟是谁弄的。”阿迪克斯说，“但是我可以猜得出来。我证实了他惯予说谎，约翰却把他当傻瓜嘲弄了。尤厄尔在证人席上时我一看约翰那神态就想笑，所以我不敢望他。约翰望着尤厄尔好象尤厄尔是一只三只脚的鸡，或者是一只方形的鸡蛋。你别以为法官不会设法使陪审团抱偏见。”阿迪克斯格格地笑了。 到了十月底，我们的生活完全变成了那种一般单调乏味的程序：上学——玩耍——读书。杰姆似乎已经从脑海里驱走了一切他想忘记的东西，同学们也宽厚地让我们忘记了我们父亲的各种怪癖。有一次，塞西尔?雅各布问我，阿迪克斯是不是一个激进分子。我便去问阿迪克斯。阿迪克斯听了开心得哈哈大笑，把我都给惹得有些恼了。但是他说他不是笑我。他说：“你去告诉塞西尔，就说我几乎和棉花汤姆?赫夫林一样激进。” 亚历山德拉姑妈正是春风得意的时候。准是莫迪小姐一下子使整个传教团体都沉默寡言起来，因而姑妈在传教团体里又唱起主角来了。她做的点心也更加香甜可口了。由于常听梅里韦瑟太太讲话，我对可怜的摩路纳人的社会生活了解得更清楚：他们几乎没有家庭观念，因而整个部落是一个大家庭。部落里有多少个男人，一个孩子就有多少个父亲，部落里有多少个女人，一个孩子就有多少个母亲。捷?格兰姆斯?埃弗雷德正为改变这种状态作出最大的努力，极端需要我们为他祈祷。 梅科姆镇恢复了常态。除了两个小小的变化之外，一切与去年和前年一模一样。这两个小小的变化，一个是原来在商店橱窗和汽车上张贴着的“NRA——我们尽奉分”的标语被扯掉了。我问阿迪克斯为什么，他说，这是因为《国家恢复法令*已经取消。我问他是谁取消的，他说，是九个老头取消的。 自去年以来，梅科姆的第二个变化不具有全国性意义。去年和去年以前，万圣节前夕的活动在梅科姆还是一种毫无组织的活动，每个儿童可以为所欲为，如果要搬动什么东西，譬如说要把一辆小马车搬到马车房顶上，就请别的儿童来帮忙。但是自从去年塔蒂小姐和弗鲁蒂小姐宁静的生活被扰乱后，家长们都认为儿童们过于放肆了。 塔蒂?巴伯和弗鲁蒂?巴伯两位小姐是两姊妹，都是未结过婚的老处女。她俩住在一起。整个梅科姆镇只有她们家有地窖。她俩于1911年从亚拉巴马州的克兰顿县迁居到这里，谣传是共和党人，她们的生活方式与众不同。她们为什么想要一个地窖，没有人知道。反正，她们想要，就挖了一个。然后她们不得不在她们的余生里，不断地把一代一代的孩子从地窖里轰出来。 塔蒂、弗鲁蒂两位小姐(她们一个叫萨拉，一个叫弗朗西斯)除具有新英格兰人的特点外，两个人都耳聋。塔蒂小姐不承认自己有这个缺陷，因而生活在一个完全寂静的世界里，但是弗鲁蒂小姐不愿意少听任何一件事情，于是使用一个大得无比的助听器，杰姆说，她的助听器大得象个电唱机的喇叭。 顽童们知道她俩的这些情况。万圣节前夕，他们等到两位巴伯小姐酣睡之后，悄悄溜进她们的客厅(除了拉德利家外，这里的人晚上都不拴门)，偷偷地把屋里的家具一件一件搬个一千二净，全藏到地窨里。我否认我自己参加了这种恶作剧。 “我听见有人!”翌日黎明，两位巴伯小姐的邻居被这一叫声惊醒。“听见他们开了一辆卡车来到门前！象马一样在四处跺得咚咚响。现在他们早已到新奥尔良了!” 塔蒂小姐断定是两天前路过这里的流动皮货商人把家具偷走了。“黑心肠的”，她说，“这些叙利亚人。” 有人叫来了赫克?塔特先生。他检查了现场之后说，他认为这是本地人千的。弗鲁蒂小姐说，梅科姆每一个人的声音不管在哪里她都辨得出，但是昨天晚上客厅里没有一个熟悉的声音。满屋予的人都是用舌前颤音发出r这个字母的。塔蒂小姐坚持说，只有使用警犬才能寻出她们的家具。于是，塔特先生不得不沿小道走了十英里到乡下弄来本县的猎狗，’上它们来追寻失物。． 塔特先生在巴伯小姐家门前的台阶上放开猎狗，但它们只是全都一个劲地飞跑着绕到屋子后面，朝着地窖门狂吠。一连三次都是这样，塔特先生终于猜蓟了实情。那天中午，梅科姆看不到一个赤脚的孩子，没有谁脱掉鞋子，直到送还了所有的猎狗。 梅科姆的女人们说，今年情况会不同了。中学的大礼堂会开放，并会为成年人举行一次隆重的庆典，孩子们将玩咬苹果、拉太妃糖、给驴子加上尾巴等游戏。还有一项二角五分的奖金将奖给万圣节前夕最好的戏服的制作和穿戴者。 我和杰姆叹息着，倒不是因为我们犯了什么过错，而是因为有个原则。杰姆认为自己已长大了，不管怎么说不应该再参加万圣节前夕的活动了。他说，在中学附近任何地方，无论如何也不会有人看到他挨这种活动的边。不过，我想，阿迪克斯会带我去的。 然而不久又听说，那天晚上我将要上台扮演角色。格雷斯?梅里韦瑟太太为庆典谱写了一支新颖的曲子，题为《梅科姆县：排除万难上天堂"。我将扮演一只火腿。她党得要是让每个孩子都穿着特别的戏服，代表一种本县的农产品，那将十分有趣。塞西尔可以扮演一头奶牛；艾格尼丝?布恩可以扮演一粒可爱的利马豆，另一个小孩扮演一颗花生，还有诸如此类的角色，直到梅里韦瑟太太韵想象力和所有的小孩都用上了为止。 根据两次排练的情况来看，我们仅有的任务是，梅里韦瑟太太(她不仅是作者而且是解说员)一个个叫我们的时候，我们从舞台的左侧出场。她叫到“猪肉”的时候，我就要赶快出场。然后，聚集在台上的所有角色高唱“梅科姆县，梅科姆县，我们永远忠于您”。最后，作为庄严盛大的结尾，梅里韦瑟太太将登上舞台挥舞州旗。 我的戏装不难解决。镇上的裁缝克伦肖太太想象力不亚于梅里韦瑟太太。她找来点做篱笆的铁丝网，把它弯成一只熏火腿的形状，再用棕色的市包裹起来，涂上颜料，做成后很象一只真正的火腿。我俯下身子让别人把这玩意儿从我头上罩下来。几乎可以一直罩到膝头上。克伦肖太太想得真周到，还给我留了两个窥视孔。戏装做得真象，杰姆说，我穿了宛如一只长了双脚的大火腿。可美中不足的是：由于罩得太紧，穿了觉得热；如果鼻子痒起来，我没有办法去抓；一旦钻进去我自己就脱不下来。 万圣节前夕到来的这一天，我暗地里想，全家一定都会去看我演出，但是我失望了。阿迪克斯极为婉转地说，他想他已疲惫不堪，没能耐去参加当晚的庆典了。他到蒙哥马利去了一周，当天下午很晚才回来。他要我邀杰姆，说他可能会陪我去。 亚历山德拉姑妈说，她整个下午都在布置舞台，这会儿够累了，必须早些上床休息。……她话讲了一半突然停住了，闭住嘴，又张开来想说什么，但没说出来。 “怎么啦，姑妈?”我问她。 “哦，没什么，没什么。”她回答说，“我刚才打了个冷颤．怕会要死了。”然后，她驱遗了一切惶恐的心理，建议我在客厅先演一遍给全家人看。于是杰姆把我推进戏装，站在客厅门口，叫了一声“猪肉”，声音跟梅里韦瑟太太一模一样。我走进来，阿迪克斯和亚历山德拉姑妈给拉逗乐了。 我又到厨房里在卡尔珀尼亚面前演了一遍，她说演得好极了。我想过街去演给莫迪小姐看，但杰姆说莫迪小姐可能已去会场了。 这样演了一阵，我想他们去不去也无关紧要了。杰姆说要陪我去。于是我们一道开始了我们最漫长的旅行。

Chapter 26        School started, and so did our daily trips past the Radley Place. Jem was in theseventh grade and went to high school, beyond the grammar-school building; I was nowin the third grade, and our routines were so different I only walked to school with Jem inthe mornings and saw him at mealtimes. He went out for football, but was too slenderand too young yet to do anything but carry the team water buckets. This he did withenthusiasm; most afternoons he was seldom home before dark. 　　The Radley Place had ceased to terrify me, but it was no less gloomy, no less chillyunder its great oaks, and no less uninviting. Mr. Nathan Radley could still be seen on aclear day, walking to and from town; we knew Boo was there, for the same old reason—nobody’d seen him carried out yet. I sometimes felt a twinge of remorse, when passingby the old place, at ever having taken part in what must have been sheer torment toArthur Radley—what reasonable recluse wants children peeping through his shutters,delivering greetings on the end of a fishing-pole, wandering in his collards at night? Andyet I remembered. Two Indian-head pennies, chewing gum, soap dolls, a rusty medal, abroken watch and chain. Jem must have put them away somewhere. I stopped andlooked at the tree one afternoon: the trunk was swelling around its cement patch. Thepatch itself was turning yellow. 　　We had almost seen him a couple of times, a good enough score for anybody. 　　But I still looked for him each time I went by. Maybe someday we would see him. Iimagined how it would be: when it happened, he’d just be sitting in the swing when Icame along. “Hidy do, Mr. Arthur,” I would say, as if I had said it every afternoon of mylife. “Evening, Jean Louise,” he would say, as if he had said it every afternoon of my life,“right pretty spell we’re having, isn’t it?” “Yes sir, right pretty,” I would say, and go on. 　　It was only a fantasy. We would never see him. He probably did go out when themoon was down and gaze upon Miss Stephanie Crawford. I’d have picked somebodyelse to look at, but that was his business. He would never gaze at us. 　　“You aren’t starting that again, are you?” said Atticus one night, when I expressed astray desire just to have one good look at Boo Radley before I died. “If you are, I’ll tellyou right now: stop it. I’m too old to go chasing you off the Radley property. Besides, it’sdangerous. You might get shot. You know Mr. Nathan shoots at every shadow he sees,even shadows that leave size-four bare footprints. You were lucky not to be killed.” 　　I hushed then and there. At the same time I marveled at Atticus. This was the first hehad let us know he knew a lot more about something than we thought he knew. And ithad happened years ago. No, only last summer—no, summer before last, when… timewas playing tricks on me. I must remember to ask Jem. 　　So many things had happened to us, Boo Radley was the least of our fears. Atticussaid he didn’t see how anything else could happen, that things had a way of settlingdown, and after enough time passed people would forget that Tom Robinson’sexistence was ever brought to their attention. 　　Perhaps Atticus was right, but the events of the summer hung over us like smoke in aclosed room. The adults in Maycomb never discussed the case with Jem and me; itseemed that they discussed it with their children, and their attitude must have been thatneither of us could help having Atticus for a parent, so their children must be nice to usin spite of him. The children would never have thought that up for themselves: had ourclassmates been left to their own devices, Jem and I would have had several swift,satisfying fist-fights apiece and ended the matter for good. As it was, we were compelledto hold our heads high and be, respectively, a gentleman and a lady. In a way, it waslike the era of Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose, without all her yelling. There was one oddthing, though, that I never understood: in spite of Atticus’s shortcomings as a parent,people were content to re-elect him to the state legislature that year, as usual, withoutopposition. I came to the conclusion that people were just peculiar, I withdrew fromthem, and never thought about them until I was forced to. 　　I was forced to one day in school. Once a week, we had a Current Events period. 　　Each child was supposed to clip an item from a newspaper, absorb its contents, andreveal them to the class. This practice allegedly overcame a variety of evils: standing infront of his fellows encouraged good posture and gave a child poise; delivering a shorttalk made him word-conscious; learning his current event strengthened his memory;being singled out made him more than ever anxious to return to the Group. 　　The idea was profound, but as usual, in Maycomb it didn’t work very well. In the firstplace, few rural children had access to newspapers, so the burden of Current Eventswas borne by the town children, convincing the bus children more deeply that the townchildren got all the attention anyway. The rural children who could, usually broughtclippings from what they called The Grit Paper, a publication spurious in the eyes ofMiss Gates, our teacher. Why she frowned when a child recited from The Grit Paper Inever knew, but in some way it was associated with liking fiddling, eating syrupy biscuitsfor lunch, being a holy-roller, singing Sweetly Sings the Donkey and pronouncing itdunkey, all of which the state paid teachers to discourage. 　　Even so, not many of the children knew what a Current Event was. Little Chuck Little,a hundred years old in his knowledge of cows and their habits, was halfway through anUncle Natchell story when Miss Gates stopped him: “Charles, that is not a current event. 　　That is an advertisement.” 　　Cecil Jacobs knew what one was, though. When his turn came, he went to the front ofthe room and began, “Old Hitler—” 　　“Adolf Hitler, Cecil,” said Miss Gates. “One never begins with Old anybody.” 　　“Yes ma’am,” he said. “Old Adolf Hitler has been prosecutin‘ the—” 　　“Persecuting Cecil…” 　　“Nome, Miss Gates, it says here—well anyway, old Adolf Hitler has been after theJews and he’s puttin‘ ’em in prisons and he’s taking away all their property and he won’tlet any of ‘em out of the country and he’s washin’ all the feeble-minded and—” 　　“Washing the feeble-minded?” 　　“Yes ma’am, Miss Gates, I reckon they don’t have sense enough to wash themselves,I don’t reckon an idiot could keep hisself clean. Well anyway, Hitler’s started a programto round up all the half-Jews too and he wants to register ‘em in case they might wantacause him any trouble and I think this is a bad thing and that’s my current event.” 　　“Very good, Cecil,” said Miss Gates. Puffing, Cecil returned to his seat. 　　A hand went up in the back of the room. “How can he do that?” 　　“Who do what?” asked Miss Gates patiently. 　　“I mean how can Hitler just put a lot of folks in a pen like that, looks like the govamint’dstop him,” said the owner of the hand. 　　“Hitler is the government,” said Miss Gates, and seizing an opportunity to makeeducation dynamic, she went to the blackboard. She printed DEMOCRACY in largeletters. “Democracy,” she said. “Does anybody have a definition?” 　　“Us,” somebody said. 　　I raised my hand, remembering an old campaign slogan Atticus had once told meabout. 　　“What do you think it means, Jean Louise?” 　　“‘Equal rights for all, special privileges for none,’” I quoted. 　　“Very good, Jean Louise, very good,” Miss Gates smiled. In front of DEMOCRACY,she printed WE ARE A. “Now class, say it all together, ‘We are a democracy.’” 　　We said it. Then Miss Gates said, “That’s the difference between America andGermany. We are a democracy and Germany is a dictatorship. Dictator-ship,” she said. 　　“Over here we don’t believe in persecuting anybody. Persecution comes from peoplewho are prejudiced. Prejudice,” she enunciated carefully. “There are no better people inthe world than the Jews, and why Hitler doesn’t think so is a mystery to me.” 　　An inquiring soul in the middle of the room said, “Why don’t they like the Jews, youreckon, Miss Gates?” 　　“I don’t know, Henry. They contribute to every society they live in, and most of all, theyare a deeply religious people. Hitler’s trying to do away with religion, so maybe hedoesn’t like them for that reason.” 　　Cecil spoke up. “Well I don’t know for certain,” he said, “they’re supposed to changemoney or somethin‘, but that ain’t no cause to persecute ’em. They’re white, ain’t they?” 　　Miss Gates said, “When you get to high school, Cecil, you’ll learn that the Jews havebeen persecuted since the beginning of history, even driven out of their own country. It’sone of the most terrible stories in history. Time for arithmetic, children.” 　　As I had never liked arithmetic, I spent the period looking out the window. The onlytime I ever saw Atticus scowl was when Elmer Davis would give us the latest on Hitler. 　　Atticus would snap off the radio and say, “Hmp!” I asked him once why he was impatientwith Hitler and Atticus said, “Because he’s a maniac.” 　　This would not do, I mused, as the class proceeded with its sums. One maniac andmillions of German folks. Looked to me like they’d shut Hitler in a pen instead of lettinghim shut them up. There was something else wrong—I would ask my father about it. 　　I did, and he said he could not possibly answer my question because he didn’t knowthe answer. 　　“But it’s okay to hate Hitler?” 　　“It is not,” he said. “It’s not okay to hate anybody.” 　　“Atticus,” I said, “there’s somethin‘ I don’t understand. Miss Gates said it was awful,Hitler doin’ like he does, she got real red in the face about it—” 　　“I should think she would.” 　　“But—” 　　“Yes?” 　　“Nothing, sir.” I went away, not sure that I could explain to Atticus what was on mymind, not sure that I could clarify what was only a feeling. Perhaps Jem could providethe answer. Jem understood school things better than Atticus. 　　Jem was worn out from a day’s water-carrying. There were at least twelve bananapeels on the floor by his bed, surrounding an empty milk bottle. “Whatcha stuffin‘ for?” Iasked. 　　“Coach says if I can gain twenty-five pounds by year after next I can play,” he said. 　　“This is the quickest way.” 　　“If you don’t throw it all up. Jem,” I said, “I wanta ask you somethin‘.” 　　“Shoot.” He put down his book and stretched his legs. 　　“Miss Gates is a nice lady, ain’t she?” 　　“Why sure,” said Jem. “I liked her when I was in her room.” 　　“She hates Hitler a lot…” 　　“What’s wrong with that?” 　　“Well, she went on today about how bad it was him treatin‘ the Jews like that. Jem, it’snot right to persecute anybody, is it? I mean have mean thoughts about anybody, even,is it?” 　　“Gracious no, Scout. What’s eatin‘ you?” 　　“Well, coming out of the courthouse that night Miss Gates was—she was goin‘ downthe steps in front of us, you musta not seen her—she was talking with Miss StephanieCrawford. I heard her say it’s time somebody taught ’em a lesson, they were gettin‘ wayabove themselves, an’ the next thing they think they can do is marry us. Jem, how canyou hate Hitler so bad an‘ then turn around and be ugly about folks right at home—” 　　Jem was suddenly furious. He leaped off the bed, grabbed me by the collar and shookme. “I never wanta hear about that courthouse again, ever, ever, you hear me? Youhear me? Don’t you ever say one word to me about it again, you hear? Now go on!” 　　I was too surprised to cry. I crept from Jem’s room and shut the door softly, lest unduenoise set him off again. Suddenly tired, I wanted Atticus. He was in the livingroom, and Iwent to him and tried to get in his lap. 　　Atticus smiled. “You’re getting so big now, I’ll just have to hold a part of you.” He heldme close. “Scout,” he said softly, “don’t let Jem get you down. He’s having a rough timethese days. I heard you back there.” 　　Atticus said that Jem was trying hard to forget something, but what he was reallydoing was storing it away for a while, until enough time passed. Then he would be ableto think about it and sort things out. When he was able to think about it, Jem would behimself again. 开学了，我们又象以前一样每天都经过拉德利家。杰姆上中学了，念的是七年级，中学就在我们小学后面。我现在是念三年级。我同杰姆的课程和活动迥然不同。我们只是每天早晨一同上学，其余就只能在吃饭时见面。他常跟着橄榄球队出去，但是年纪太轻，身材又太不魁梧，不能作什么事，只能为球队提水桶。但他千起来还挺带劲，几乎每天下午都要天黑以后才回家。 路过拉德利家时，我再也不怕了，不过，那地方仍旧象以前一样，在大橡树下阴森森的，冷冰冰的，总是那副不逗人喜欢的样子。天气晴朗时仍可碰见内森?拉德利先生，他有时进城去，有时从城里回来，我们知道布?拉德利仍在里面。为什么知道呢?还是那个老原由——还没有谁看见他被抬出去。经过那个老地方时，我有时感到一阵阵懊悔，悔不该曾参加恶作刷——那种恶作别对亚瑟?拉德静！先生柬说纯粹是一种折磨，因为哪一个神志清醒的隐居者会希望孩子们透过百叶窗去偷看他的行动，在钓竿末端粘上纸条伸进去，并在他的甘蓝地里半夜徘徊呢? 我还记得。两个印有印第安人头像酌辨士，口香精，肥皂雕的娃娃，一枚生锈的奖章，一只带链的破表，杰姆肯定把这些东西藏在什么地方了。一天下午。我不禁停住脚步端详着那棵树：只见在那水泥补丁的周围，树干胀得又粗又大，水泥补丁变黄了。 有两三次我们几乎看到他了，这对任何人来i兑都是一个不乎凡的经历。 但是每次打那儿经过时，我还是希望见到他。可能我们有朝一日会见到他的。我想象着那将是怎样的情景。我走过来看见他时，他可能正坐在悬椅上。“您好哇，亚瑟先生。”我会这样向他问好，好象我一辈子里每天下午都这样对他说的。“晚上好，琼?路易斯，”他会这样说，也好象每天下午都对我说过一样，“这一向天气真好啊，不是吗?”是啊，先生，天气是好啊。”我会这样回答，并继续谈下去。 但是这不过是一种幻想。因为我们永远也见不到他。在夜阑人静、月亮下去的时候，他可能真的从屋里出来，目不转睛地盯着斯蒂芬尼?克劳福德。要是我啊，我就要盯着另一个人。不过那是他的事，反正他不会盯着我们就是了。 “你们没再搞那些恶作剧吧?”一天晚上我无意流露了我在死以前想好好看一眼布?拉德利这一愿望，阿迪克斯问道，“如果你们又在搞的话，我现在就警告你们：赶快停止。我老了，没有精神去把你们从拉德利的院子里赶走。再则，也太危险了。你们可能会挨子弹的。你们知道，内森先生不论看到什么影子都会开艳，哪怕那影子只留下儿童的小脚印。你们上次没有被打死算是万幸了。” 我当时就没再吭声。阿迪克斯这一席话使我感到非常惊异。这是他第一次让我知道他知道的比我们以为他知道的要多得多，而这件事情还是发生在几年以前呢。不，仅仅发生在去年夏天——不，两年前的夏天，当时时问把我糊弄了。我一定要记得问一问杰姆。 我口j遭遇了这么多事情，对布?拉德利的恐惧已经算不了什么了。阿迪克斯说。他看不出还会有什么事发生。事情总是会逐渐平静下来的，再过相当长的时间，人们就会忘记这里曾经有个叫汤姆?鲁宾逊的人曾被他们注意过。 阿迪克斯可能说得对。但是夏天发生的事情好象一问关闭着的屋子里的烟雾在我们头上缭绕。梅科姆的大人们从来不跟我和杰姆谈论那桩案子，却似乎跟他们自己的孩子谈论过。他们一定认为，我和杰姆有阿迪克新这么个父亲是不得已的，所以尽管阿迪克斯不好，他们的孩子仍然应该对我们友好。孩子们自己不管怎么样也不会这样想的。要是同学们的家长听任同学们自行其是的话．我和杰姆一定早就痛痛快快地和他们每个人部干了几次干净利落的拳斗了，这事情也一定早就一劳永逸地解决了。现在这样呢，我们不得不把头抬起来，象有身分的男女一样。这一来就有点象是亨利?拉斐特?杜博斯太太在世的时候一样，不过没有象她那样狂呼乱叫罢了。然而，有一桩怪事我百思不得其解：尽管阿迪克斯作为一个父亲缺点很多，但是在这一年里，人们还是一如既往，再次一致情愿地把他选入州立法机构。由此．我得出了这么个结论，人就是这么奇怪。我从此回避他们，不到不得已时．连想都不想他们一下． 有一次在学校里我却不得已地想到了他们。我们每个星期有一节时事课。每个小孩要从报纸上剪下一段新闻，熟悉这段新闻的内容．然后到课堂上来复述给大家昕。据说这种做法可以克服许多缺点：站在伙伴的面前可以培养优美的姿势和保持镇定自若的神情，发表简短的演讲可以培养遣词造句的能力，背熟一条新闻可以加强记忆力}学生被挑选出来搞这项活动，他就比以前任何时候都更加渴望回到集体中来。 这种做法意义深远，然而在梅科姆实行起来效果不好。首先，没有几个乡下小孩能看到报纸，所以剪辑新闻的任务就落在城里孩子的身上，越发使得乡下来的学生相信城里的孩子在课堂上是注意的中心。农村小孩通常只能从他们称为《格利特报》的报纸上剪下一些消息，而这种报纸所登载的东西，在盖茨小姐——我们老师的眼中纯属虚构。一个小孩背诵《格利特报*中的一段时，我不知道为什么盖茨小姐总是紧蹙眉头，不过那背诵的东西或多或少使人联想起这类事情，诸如爱玩土乐器啦，用糖浆软饼当午餐啦，做一个礼拜时极度兴奋的教派的教徒啦，唱《毛驴唱歌真动听》这首歌而又把“毛驴”这个词的音唱错了啦，等等。所有这些，都是州政府花钱让老师阻止学生干的事情。 尽管我们每周有这么一节课，仍然没有多少孩子知道时事究竟是什么。有一次，小查克?利特尔(尽管他似乎对母牛和母牛酌习性了解得象一个百岁老人一样清楚)讲述一个纳田尔叔叔的故事，只讲了一半，盖茨小姐就叫住了他：“查理斯，这不是时事，这是广告。” 不过塞西尔?雅各布还算知道什么是时事。轮到他时，他走上前去说：“老希特勒……” “是阿道夫?希特勒，塞西尔。”盖茨小姐说，“说到人时我们从来不说‘老’什么什么的。” “是的，小姐。”他接着说，“老阿道夫?希特勒一直在检拦……’ “不是‘检举’，是‘迫害’，塞西尔。” “不，盖茨小姐，报纸上是这样说的……好吧，不管怎么说，老阿道夫?希特勒一直没有放过犹太人，把他们关进监狱，没收他们所有的财产。他不让任何一个犹太人出国，他在洗涤所有意志薄弱者，他……” “什么，洗涤意志薄弱者?” “是的，小姐，盖茨小姐。我想，是因为他们自己不知道怎么给自己洗涤，我想，一个白痴不会保搏自身清洁。哎，不管怎么说，希特勒还把所有半犹太血统的人都圈到一起，他想给这些人都立下名册，防止他们给他惹麻烦。我认为这是罪恶的行径。好了，这是我要说的时事。” “很好，塞西尔，”盖茨小姐说。塞西尔喘着气回到自己的座位上。 坐在后面的一个小孩举起手来。“他怎么能那样做呢?” “谁怎么能那样做?”盖茨小姐耐心地问。 “我说，希特勒怎么能把很多人关进栏圈呢?政府会阻止他那样予啦。”那只，j、手的主人说。 “希特勒就是那里的政府，”盖茨小姐说。她觉得要抓住这个机会把课堂搞得生动活泼一些，于是走到黑板旁用大写字母写下“民主”这个词。“民主，”她说，“谁知道民主的定义吗?” “我们知道。”一个孩子回答。 我想起了阿迪克斯曾经告诉我的一条古老的竞选标语，于是举起手来。 “民主是什么意思，琼?路易斯?” “人人权利平等，没有人享受特权。”我援引那条标语的话说。 “很好，琼-路易斯，很好。”盖茨小姐笑容可掬地说。接着，她在“民主”前边用大写字母加上“我们是一个”几个字，“同学们，现在让我们齐声读‘我们是一个民主国家。” 我们齐声读了一遍。然后，盖茨小姐说：“美国和德国的区别就在这里。我们是一个民主国家，而德国是一个独裁国家。独——裁，”她说，“在这里，我们反对迫害任何人。只有抱有偏见的人才会迫害别人。偏——见，”她清晰迪发出这个词。“世界上没有什么人比犹太人更好，为什么希特勒不这么认为，这对我来说是个谜。” 教室中间一个喜欢追根究底的孩子问道：“他们为什么不喜欢犹太人呢?盖茨小姐，您看是为什么?” “我不知道，亨利。无论居住在哪个国家，犹太人都作出了重大贡献。更重要的是，他们是虔诚的宗教信徒。希特勒企图消灭宗教，可能是由于这个原因他不喜欢他们。” 塞西尔大声说道，“哎，我弄不清楚，人们认为犹太人喜欢兑换货币或者怎么的，不过那不是他们遭受迫害的原因。他们是白种人吗?” 盖茨小姐说：“塞西尔，进了中学你就会知道，有史以来犹太人一直备受迫害，甚至被赶出自己的家园。这是历史上惨绝人寰的事。好，现在该学算术了，孩子们。” 我从来不喜欢算术，所以整整一节课我老是望着窗外。阿迪克斯极少发火，只有在埃尔默?戴维斯要向我们报告希特勒的近况时他才会勃然大怒。他会忿忿地把收音机“啪”的一下关掉，说一声“哼！”有一次我问他为什么对希特勒这样厌恶，他说：“因为他是一个疯子。” 同学们在做算术练习时，我暗暗思忖道，这怎么可能呢?疯子只有一个，德国人千千万万，我看他们会把希特勒关进栏圈，而不是让希特勒把他们关进栏圈。肯定还有什么别的因素吧——我要去问爸爸。 我问了他，他说，他根本不能回答这个问题，因为他不知道怎样回答。 “但是，憎恨希特勒是应该的吗?” “不，不应该，”他说，“憎恨什么人都不应该。” “阿迪克斯，”我说，“我真有点弄不明白。盖茨小姐说，希特勒的所作所为残酷已极。她真气得满脸绯红……” “我觉得她会这样气愤的。’ “但是……” “什么?” “没什么，爸爸。”我走了。我既不知道是否能把心中的烦恼对阿迪克斯解释清楚，也不知道是否能将一种模糊的感觉用语言表达出来。杰姆大概能够回答我的问题，对学校里的事情，杰姆比阿迪克斯了解一些。 杰姆帮橄榄球队打了一天水，累得精疲力竭。他的床边至少有十二根香蕉的皮，中间还有个空的牛奶瓶。“你一下子吃这么多干吗?”我问道。? “教练说，要是我两年内体重能增加二十五磅，我就可以上场打球。”他说，“这是最好的办法。’ “你会都呕出来的。杰姆，”我说，“我想问你件事。” “说吧，”他放下书，伸了伸腿。 “盖茨小姐是个好人吧?” “当然啦，”杰姆回答，“我从进她的教室起就喜欢她了。” “她痛恨希特勒……” “那有什么错?” “呃，她今天告诉我们希特勒多么坏，那样残酷地对待犹太人。杰姆，迫害任何人都是不对的，是吗?我是说，即使对任何人抱有鄙视的想法都不对，是吗'” “当然不对啊，斯各特，你怎么了?” “噢，那天晚上，从审判厅出来，盖茨小姐——她走下台阶时，在我们前面，你一定没注意她——她在与斯蒂芬尼?克劳福德小姐说话。我听见她说，时候到了，是要给他们点颜色看看了。他们忘了自己是什么货色，下一步，他们就以为可以和我们通婚了。杰姆，一个人怎么能这样憎恨希特勒，却又回过头来这样鄙夷地看待家门口的人呢……” 杰姆一下子勃然大怒，跳下床来，抓住我的衣领使劲地摇我。“我不想再昕到有关审判厅的事情，永远不想，不想，听见吗，你听见吗?再不要跟我说起它，一个字也不许说，听见吗?好吧，你出去!” 我惊骇得都忘了哭了。悄悄地离开杰姆的房问，轻轻地关上门，生怕弄出什么讨厌的响声又使他怒气冲天。我感到一阵疲倦，想找阿迪克斯。他在客厅里，我走到他跟前，想爬到他膝上去。 阿迪克斯笑了。“你长得这么大了，我都抱不起你了。”他把我紧紧搂住。“斯各特，”他温和地说，“别对杰姆不高兴。这些日子他很难过。我阿JJ才听见你们在那边讲话。” 阿迪克斯说，杰姆想方设法要忘记什么事情，但是他实际上只能把事情暂时极力忘记，过了相当长的时间以后，他就能冷静考虑这件事，理出个头绪来。等他冷静考虑以后，他又会变成往常的杰姆了。

Chapter 25        “Don’t do that, Scout. Set him out on the back steps.” 　　“Jem, are you crazy?…” 　　“I said set him out on the back steps.” 　　Sighing, I scooped up the small creature, placed him on the bottom step and wentback to my cot. September had come, but not a trace of cool weather with it, and wewere still sleeping on the back screen porch. Lightning bugs were still about, the nightcrawlers and flying insects that beat against the screen the summer long had not gonewherever they go when autumn comes. 　　A roly-poly had found his way inside the house; I reasoned that the tiny varmint hadcrawled up the steps and under the door. I was putting my book on the floor beside mycot when I saw him. The creatures are no more than an inch long, and when you touchthem they roll themselves into a tight gray ball. 　　I lay on my stomach, reached down and poked him. He rolled up. Then, feeling safe, Isuppose, he slowly unrolled. He traveled a few inches on his hundred legs and Itouched him again. He rolled up. Feeling sleepy, I decided to end things. My hand wasgoing down on him when Jem spoke. 　　Jem was scowling. It was probably a part of the stage he was going through, and Iwished he would hurry up and get through it. He was certainly never cruel to animals,but I had never known his charity to embrace the insect world. 　　“Why couldn’t I mash him?” I asked. 　　“Because they don’t bother you,” Jem answered in the darkness. He had turned outhis reading light. 　　“Reckon you’re at the stage now where you don’t kill flies and mosquitoes now, Ireckon,” I said. “Lemme know when you change your mind. Tell you one thing, though, Iain’t gonna sit around and not scratch a redbug.” 　　“Aw dry up,” he answered drowsily. 　　Jem was the one who was getting more like a girl every day, not I. Comfortable, I layon my back and waited for sleep, and while waiting I thought of Dill. He had left us thefirst of the month with firm assurances that he would return the minute school was out—he guessed his folks had got the general idea that he liked to spend his summers inMaycomb. Miss Rachel took us with them in the taxi to Maycomb Junction, and Dillwaved to us from the train window until he was out of sight. He was not out of mind: Imissed him. The last two days of his time with us, Jem had taught him to swim—Taught him to swim. I was wide awake, remembering what Dill had told me. 　　Barker’s Eddy is at the end of a dirt road off the Meridian highway about a mile fromtown. It is easy to catch a ride down the highway on a cotton wagon or from a passingmotorist, and the short walk to the creek is easy, but the prospect of walking all the wayback home at dusk, when the traffic is light, is tiresome, and swimmers are careful not tostay too late. 　　According to Dill, he and Jem had just come to the highway when they saw Atticusdriving toward them. He looked like he had not seen them, so they both waved. Atticusfinally slowed down; when they caught up with him he said, “You’d better catch a rideback. I won’t be going home for a while.” Calpurnia was in the back seat. Jem protested,then pleaded, and Atticus said, “All right, you can come with us if you stay in the car.” 　　On the way to Tom Robinson’s, Atticus told them what had happened. 　　They turned off the highway, rode slowly by the dump and past the Ewell residence,down the narrow lane to the Negro cabins. Dill said a crowd of black children wereplaying marbles in Tom’s front yard. Atticus parked the car and got out. Calpurniafollowed him through the front gate. 　　Dill heard him ask one of the children, “Where’s your mother, Sam?” and heard Samsay, “She down at Sis Stevens’s, Mr. Finch. Want me run fetch her?” 　　Dill said Atticus looked uncertain, then he said yes, and Sam scampered off. “Go onwith your game, boys,” Atticus said to the children. 　　A little girl came to the cabin door and stood looking at Atticus. Dill said her hair was awad of tiny stiff pigtails, each ending in a bright bow. She grinned from ear to ear andwalked toward our father, but she was too small to navigate the steps. Dill said Atticuswent to her, took off his hat, and offered her his finger. She grabbed it and he eased herdown the steps. Then he gave her to Calpurnia. 　　Sam was trotting behind his mother when they came up. Dill said Helen said, “‘evenin’,Mr. Finch, won’t you have a seat?” But she didn’t say any more. Neither did Atticus. 　　“Scout,” said Dill, “she just fell down in the dirt. Just fell down in the dirt, like a giantwith a big foot just came along and stepped on her. Just ump—” Dill’s fat foot hit theground. “Like you’d step on an ant.” 　　Dill said Calpurnia and Atticus lifted Helen to her feet and half carried, half walked herto the cabin. They stayed inside a long time, and Atticus came out alone. When theydrove back by the dump, some of the Ewells hollered at them, but Dill didn’t catch whatthey said. 　　Maycomb was interested by the news of Tom’s death for perhaps two days; two dayswas enough for the information to spread through the county. “Did you hear about?…No? Well, they say he was runnin‘ fit to beat lightnin’…” To Maycomb, Tom’s death wastypical. Typical of a nigger to cut and run. Typical of a nigger’s mentality to have no plan,no thought for the future, just run blind first chance he saw. Funny thing, Atticus Finchmight’ve got him off scot free, but wait—? Hell no. You know how they are. Easy come,easy go. Just shows you, that Robinson boy was legally married, they say he kepthimself clean, went to church and all that, but when it comes down to the line theveneer’s mighty thin. Nigger always comes out in ‘em. 　　A few more details, enabling the listener to repeat his version in turn, then nothing totalk about until The Maycomb Tribune appeared the following Thursday. There was abrief obituary in the Colored News, but there was also an editorial. 　　Mr. B. B. Underwood was at his most bitter, and he couldn’t have cared less whocanceled advertising and subscriptions. (But Maycomb didn’t play that way: Mr. 　　Underwood could holler till he sweated and write whatever he wanted to, he’d still gethis advertising and subscriptions. If he wanted to make a fool of himself in his paper thatwas his business.) Mr. Underwood didn’t talk about miscarriages of justice, he waswriting so children could understand. Mr. Underwood simply figured it was a sin to killcripples, be they standing, sitting, or escaping. He likened Tom’s death to the senselessslaughter of songbirds by hunters and children, and Maycomb thought he was trying towrite an editorial poetical enough to be reprinted in The Montgomery Advertiser. 　　How could this be so, I wondered, as I read Mr. Underwood’s editorial. Senselesskilling—Tom had been given due process of law to the day of his death; he had beentried openly and convicted by twelve good men and true; my father had fought for him allthe way. Then Mr. Underwood’s meaning became clear: Atticus had used every toolavailable to free men to save Tom Robinson, but in the secret courts of men’s heartsAtticus had no case. Tom was a dead man the minute Mayella Ewell opened her mouthand screamed. 　　The name Ewell gave me a queasy feeling. Maycomb had lost no time in getting Mr. 　　Ewell’s views on Tom’s demise and passing them along through that English Channel ofgossip, Miss Stephanie Crawford. Miss Stephanie told Aunt Alexandra in Jem’spresence (“Oh foot, he’s old enough to listen.”) that Mr. Ewell said it made one downand about two more to go. Jem told me not to be afraid, Mr. Ewell was more hot gasthan anything. Jem also told me that if I breathed a word to Atticus, if in any way I letAtticus know I knew, Jem would personally never speak to me again. “别把它弄死，斯各特。把它放在后面的台阶上。” “杰姆，你疯了吗?” “我说了，把它放在后面的台阶上。” 我叹了一口气，拈起那只小生物，放在台阶的最低一级，回到床边。已经是九月了，可是天气没有一点转凉的征兆，晚上我们仍睡在屋后装有纱窗的走廊上。萤火虫仍然在四处闪烁着，夜间蠕动的爬虫和整个夏天都飞撞着纱窗的昆虫还没有隐退到它们秋天该去的地方。 在屋里发现了一条圆滚涔的小爬虫。我想它是爬上台阶再从门下爬进来的。我把书往床头地上放时发现了它。这种小家伙只有一英寸长，用手挨一下它会立即紧紧地缩成一个灰色的小球。 我俯卧在床上，伸手捅了它一下，那小虫立即缩成一个球。过了一会儿，我想它一定是感到平安无事了，又慢慢地展开身子，用它那成百只脚爬行了几英寸。我又捅了它一下，它又缩起来。我感到疲倦了，想把它弄死了事，我正要下手，杰姆开口了。 杰姆蹙着眉头，沉着脸。他这种表现可能是他正在经历的一个成长阶段。我希望他加把劲，赶快度过这个阶段。说来也是，他对动物从来就不狠心，不过我还不知道，他慈善得可以拥抱昆虫世界。 “为什么不能弄死它?”我问道。 “因为他没有打扰你。”杰姆在黑暗中回答。他早已关掉了台灯。 “我想，你是在经历着这么一个阶段，哪怕是苍蝇蚊子你都不忍心打死。”我说，“让我知道你什么时候不再这样啊。但我得跟你说，我才不会呆杲坐着连一个红甲虫都不抓一抓。” “噢，别说了吧。”他带着睡意回答。 我和杰姆两人之闻，越来越象个丫头的是杰姆，而不是我。这会儿，我舒舒服服地仰卧在床上等待入睡，一边等一边又想起了迪尔。他是这个月一号走的。走时很有把握地对我们说，一放假他就立即回来——他猜想，他家里已经基本上形成了这么个概念，知道他喜欢在梅科姆度暑假。他走的那天，雷切尔小姐带着我们一块儿乘坐出租汽车到了梅科姆火车站，迪尔从车窗里向我们招手，直到从我们的视野中消失。可是他一直没有从我脑海里消失。我H于刻想念他，他跟我们一道度过的最后两天里，杰姆教他游泳……。 ……教他游泳。我又没了睡意，因为我回想起迪尔告诉我的事情。巴克-埃迪河湾离城约莫一公里，在一条大道的尽头，这条大道是通往梅里迪安的公路的岔道，可以随便爬上一辆运棉花的马车，或者一辆过路的汽车到那里去。从公路到河湾的路程不远，走起来也容易。但是，在黄昏时分公路上车子很少的时候，乘不上车，从河湾一直走回来那就真够呛！『。所以，去游泳的人都注意不呆得太晚。 迪尔说，郴天，他和杰姆刚从河湾走上公路就看见阿迪克斯_丌着车朝他们驶来。阿迪克斯好象没看见他们，所以他俩一起挥手。阿迪克斯放慢速度停下车，他们跑上前去，阿迪克斯说：“你们最好另找一辆车回家，因为我这会儿不回去。叫÷尔珀尼亚坐在车的后排座位上。 杰姆先是反对，然后哀求，阿迪克斯说：“好吧，你们呆在车里不出来，我就带你们去。” 在去汤姆?鲁宾逊家的路上，阿迪克斯把发生的事情告诉了他们。 他们转弯离开公路，沿着垃圾场慢慢行驶，经过尤厄尔家，穿过狭窄的小巷来到黑人住宅区。迪尔说，一群黑孩子在汤姆家前面的院子里玩弹子游戏。阿迪克斯停车走出来，卡尔珀尼亚跟着他进了前门。 迪尔听见他问一个小孩：“萨姆，你妈妈呢?”又听见萨姆说：“她在史蒂文斯姐姐家里，芬奇先生，我去叫她来好吗?” 迪尔说，阿迪克斯看来有点犹豫不决，过了一会儿才说，“好的。”萨姆跑着去了。阿迪克斯对其他小孩说，“你们继续玩你们的吧，孩子们。” 一个小姑娘从小屋里出来，站在门口望着阿迪克斯。迪尔说，她的头发编成许多条硬邦邦的小辫子，每一条辫梢上有一只美丽的蝴蝶结。她向我们的爸爸走来，满面笑容，但是她太小，下不了门前的台阶。据迪尔说，阿迪克斯走过去，摘下帽子，伸出一个指头，这小姑娘抓住他的指头，让他引着慢慢走下台阶，然后他把她交给了卡尔珀尼亚。 萨姆小跑着跟着他妈妈一起来了。据迪尔说，海伦说：“晚上好，芬奇先生，坐一坐吧。”然后她再没说什么，阿迪克斯也没说什么。 “斯各特，”迪尔说，“她一下子倒在地上。倒在地上，好象有个巨人过来将一只大脚踏在她身上。就这么一下……”迪尔那胖墩墩的脚在地上跺了一下，“好象踩死一只蚂蚁一样。” 迪尔说，阿迪克斯和卡尔珀尼亚扶起海伦，半抬半搀地进了屋，他们在屋里果了很久，最后阿迪克斯一个人出来了。他们回家路过垃圾场时，尤厄尔家一些人对着他们狂喊乱叫，但迪尔没听清他们叫些什么。 汤姆之死，在大约两天内是梅科姆镇的谈话资料。两天就足够让这个消息传遍全县。“你听说了吗?……还没有?哦，他们说，他跑得比闪电还快……”对梅科姆来说，汤姆之死具有典型意义。汤姆是一个迅速逃跑的黑人典型，典型地表现了一个黑人的特点，没有打算，不顾后果，一有机会就盲目地逃跑。遗憾的是，阿迪克斯?芬奇本来有可能设法使他无罪获释，不过，要他等待?哼，他才不会呢。他们黑人，你还不知道吗?什么事情都不假思索。随随便便。这只不过表明，鲁宾逊虽然是正式结的婚，并能洁身自好，经常做礼拜；但是，说到底，这些都足表面现象。黑人的特性总是会暴露出来的。 还有一些详细的情况，听话者可以借此把事情转告别人。其余再没有什么新鲜事了。星期四出版了《梅科姆论坛报》，在黑人消息栏里登载了一篇简短的讣告，还有一篇社论。 安德伍德先生悲痛欲绝，不下于谁取消了广告，撤销了订阅。(不过，梅科姆并没有谁那么做，尽管安德伍德先生Ⅱ！喊到浑身出汗，尽管他想写什么就写什么，刊登广告、订阅报纸的人仍然有那么多。如果你想在报纸上嘲弄自已，那是他自己的事。)安德伍德先生只字未提什么审判不公平，他只是写得让孩子们都能懂得这件事。他只说，一个残废人，不管是站着、坐着还是企图逃跑，杀害他就是罪恶。他把汤姆的死比喻为猎入和小孩毫无意义的残杀唱歌的鸟。梅科姆人认为，他是想把社论写得富有诗意，希望连“蒙哥马利广告报》都能转载。 我一边读着安德伍德先生的社论，一边想。毫无意义的残杀?怎么能这样说呢?汤姆的案件直到他被熗杀为止都是按正当的法律程序处理的；审判是在法庭公开进行的，罪是十二个正直的人组成的陪审团判定的，我父亲还自始至终为争取他的释放作出了努力。想着想着，我恍然大悟，懂得了安德伍德先生的意思：尽管阿迪克斯想尽了自由人可以采用的一切办法搭救汤姆?鲁宾逊，但是，在人们心中的秘密法庭里，阿迪克斯则无话可辩。汤姆在梅耶拉?尤厄尔张嘴呼喊那一刹那就已经注定要被处死。 提及尤厄尔这个名字我就作呕。尤厄尔对于汤姆之死酌看法，梅科姆人一会儿就知遭了，并通过那道传播闲话的“英吉利海映”——斯蒂芬尼?克劳福德小姐张扬开去。斯蒂芬尼小姐当着杰姆的面(“哦，哼，他够大了。听着无妨”)告诉亚历山德拉姑妈，尤厄尔先生说，暂时死一个，以后还有一两个要死。杰姆叫我别害怕，尤厄尔先生只会瞎吹。杰姆还警告我说，要是我列阿迪克斯泄露一个字，要是我以任何方式让阿迪克斯知道我知道这件事，他，杰姆本人，就永远不会理睬我了。

Chapter 24       Calpurnia wore her stiffest starched apron. She carried a tray of charlotte. She backedup to the swinging door and pressed gently. I admired the ease and grace with whichshe handled heavy loads of dainty things. So did Aunt Alexandra, I guess, because shehad let Calpurnia serve today. 　　August was on the brink of September. Dill would be leaving for Meridian tomorrow;today he was off with Jem at Barker’s Eddy. Jem had discovered with angry amazementthat nobody had ever bothered to teach Dill how to swim, a skill Jem considerednecessary as walking. They had spent two afternoons at the creek, they said they weregoing in naked and I couldn’t come, so I divided the lonely hours between Calpurnia andMiss Maudie. 　　Today Aunt Alexandra and her missionary circle were fighting the good fight all overthe house. From the kitchen, I heard Mrs. Grace Merriweather giving a report in thelivingroom on the squalid lives of the Mrunas, it sounded like to me. They put the womenout in huts when their time came, whatever that was; they had no sense of family—Iknew that’d distress Aunty—they subjected children to terrible ordeals when they werethirteen; they were crawling with yaws and earworms, they chewed up and spat out thebark of a tree into a communal pot and then got drunk on it. 　　Immediately thereafter, the ladies adjourned for refreshments. 　　I didn’t know whether to go into the diningroom or stay out. Aunt Alexandra told me tojoin them for refreshments; it was not necessary that I attend the business part of themeeting, she said it’d bore me. I was wearing my pink Sunday dress, shoes, and apetticoat, and reflected that if I spilled anything Calpurnia would have to wash my dressagain for tomorrow. This had been a busy day for her. I decided to stay out. 　　“Can I help you, Cal?” I asked, wishing to be of some service. 　　Calpurnia paused in the doorway. “You be still as a mouse in that corner,” she said,“an‘ you can help me load up the trays when I come back.” 　　The gentle hum of ladies’ voices grew louder as she opened the door: “Why,Alexandra, I never saw such charlotte… just lovely… I never can get my crust like this,never can… who’d‘ve thought of little dewberry tarts… Calpurnia?… who’da thought it…anybody tell you that the preacher’s wife’s… nooo, well she is, and that other one notwalkin’ yet…” 　　They became quiet, and I knew they had all been served. Calpurnia returned and putmy mother’s heavy silver pitcher on a tray. “This coffee pitcher’s a curiosity,” shemurmured, “they don’t make ‘em these days.” 　　“Can I carry it in?” 　　“If you be careful and don’t drop it. Set it down at the end of the table by MissAlexandra. Down there by the cups’n things. She’s gonna pour.” 　　I tried pressing my behind against the door as Calpurnia had done, but the door didn’tbudge. Grinning, she held it open for me. “Careful now, it’s heavy. Don’t look at it andyou won’t spill it.” 　　My journey was successful: Aunt Alexandra smiled brilliantly. “Stay with us, JeanLouise,” she said. This was a part of her campaign to teach me to be a lady. 　　It was customary for every circle hostess to invite her neighbors in for refreshments,be they Baptists or Presbyterians, which accounted for the presence of Miss Rachel(sober as a judge), Miss Maudie and Miss Stephanie Crawford. Rather nervous, I took aseat beside Miss Maudie and wondered why ladies put on their hats to go across thestreet. Ladies in bunches always filled me with vague apprehension and a firm desire tobe elsewhere, but this feeling was what Aunt Alexandra called being “spoiled.” 　　The ladies were cool in fragile pastel prints: most of them were heavily powdered butunrouged; the only lipstick in the room was Tangee Natural. Cutex Natural sparkled ontheir fingernails, but some of the younger ladies wore Rose. They smelled heavenly. Isat quietly, having conquered my hands by tightly gripping the arms of the chair, andwaited for someone to speak to me. 　　Miss Maudie’s gold bridgework twinkled. “You’re mighty dressed up, Miss JeanLouise,” she said, “Where are your britches today?” 　　“Under my dress.” 　　I hadn’t meant to be funny, but the ladies laughed. My cheeks grew hot as I realizedmy mistake, but Miss Maudie looked gravely down at me. She never laughed at meunless I meant to be funny. 　　In the sudden silence that followed, Miss Stephanie Crawford called from across theroom, “Whatcha going to be when you grow up, Jean Louise? A lawyer?” 　　“Nome, I hadn’t thought about it…” I answered, grateful that Miss Stephanie was kindenough to change the subject. Hurriedly I began choosing my vocation. Nurse? Aviator? 　　“Well…” 　　“Why shoot, I thought you wanted to be a lawyer, you’ve already commenced going tocourt.” 　　The ladies laughed again. “That Stephanie’s a card,” somebody said. Miss Stephaniewas encouraged to pursue the subject: “Don’t you want to grow up to be a lawyer?” 　　Miss Maudie’s hand touched mine and I answered mildly enough, “Nome, just a lady.” 　　Miss Stephanie eyed me suspiciously, decided that I meant no impertinence, andcontented herself with, “Well, you won’t get very far until you start wearing dresses moreoften.” 　　Miss Maudie’s hand closed tightly on mine, and I said nothing. Its warmth wasenough. 　　Mrs. Grace Merriweather sat on my left, and I felt it would be polite to talk to her. Mr. 　　Merriweather, a faithful Methodist under duress, apparently saw nothing personal insinging, “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…” It wasthe general opinion of Maycomb, however, that Mrs. Merriweather had sobered him upand made a reasonably useful citizen of him. For certainly Mrs. Merriweather was themost devout lady in Maycomb. I searched for a topic of interest to her. “What did you allstudy this afternoon?” I asked. 　　“Oh child, those poor Mrunas,” she said, and was off. Few other questions would benecessary. 　　Mrs. Merriweather’s large brown eyes always filled with tears when she consideredthe oppressed. “Living in that jungle with nobody but J. Grimes Everett,” she said. “Not awhite person’ll go near ‘em but that saintly J. Grimes Everett.” 　　Mrs. Merriweather played her voice like an organ; every word she said received its fullmeasure: “The poverty… the darkness… the immorality—nobody but J. Grimes Everettknows. You know, when the church gave me that trip to the camp grounds J. GrimesEverett said to me—” 　　“Was he there, ma’am? I thought—” 　　“Home on leave. J. Grimes Everett said to me, he said, ‘Mrs. Merriweather, you haveno conception, no conception of what we are fighting over there.’ That’s what he said tome.” 　　“Yes ma’am.” 　　“I said to him, ‘Mr. Everett,’ I said, ‘the ladies of the Maycomb Alabama MethodistEpiscopal Church South are behind you one hundred percent.’ That’s what I said to him. 　　And you know, right then and there I made a pledge in my heart. I said to myself, when Igo home I’m going to give a course on the Mrunas and bring J. Grimes Everett’smessage to Maycomb and that’s just what I’m doing.” 　　“Yes ma’am.” 　　When Mrs. Merriweather shook her head, her black curls jiggled. “Jean Louise,” shesaid, “you are a fortunate girl. You live in a Christian home with Christian folks in aChristian town. Out there in J. Grimes Everett’s land there’s nothing but sin andsqualor.” 　　“Yes ma’am.” 　　“Sin and squalor—what was that, Gertrude?” Mrs. Merriweather turned on her chimesfor the lady sitting beside her. “Oh that. Well, I always say forgive and forget, forgive andforget. Thing that church ought to do is help her lead a Christian life for those childrenfrom here on out. Some of the men ought to go out there and tell that preacher toencourage her.” 　　“Excuse me, Mrs. Merriweather,” I interrupted, “are you all talking about MayellaEwell?” 　　“May—? No, child. That darky’s wife. Tom’s wife, Tom—” 　　“Robinson, ma’am.” 　　Mrs. Merriweather turned back to her neighbor. “There’s one thing I truly believe,Gertrude,” she continued, “but some people just don’t see it my way. If we just let themknow we forgive ‘em, that we’ve forgotten it, then this whole thing’ll blow over.” 　　“Ah—Mrs. Merriweather,” I interrupted once more, “what’ll blow over?” 　　Again, she turned to me. Mrs. Merriweather was one of those childless adults who findit necessary to assume a different tone of voice when speaking to children. “Nothing,Jean Louise,” she said, in stately largo, “the cooks and field hands are just dissatisfied,but they’re settling down now—they grumbled all next day after that trial.” 　　Mrs. Merriweather faced Mrs. Farrow: “Gertrude, I tell you there’s nothing moredistracting than a sulky darky. Their mouths go down to here. Just ruins your day tohave one of ‘em in the kitchen. You know what I said to my Sophy, Gertrude? I said,’Sophy,‘ I said, ’you simply are not being a Christian today. Jesus Christ never wentaround grumbling and complaining,‘ and you know, it did her good. She took her eyesoff that floor and said, ’Nome, Miz Merriweather, Jesus never went around grumblin‘.’ Itell you, Gertrude, you never ought to let an opportunity go by to witness for the Lord.” 　　I was reminded of the ancient little organ in the chapel at Finch’s Landing. When I wasvery small, and if I had been very good during the day, Atticus would let me pump itsbellows while he picked out a tune with one finger. The last note would linger as long asthere was air to sustain it. Mrs. Merriweather had run out of air, I judged, and wasreplenishing her supply while Mrs. Farrow composed herself to speak. 　　Mrs. Farrow was a splendidly built woman with pale eyes and narrow feet. She had afresh permanent wave, and her hair was a mass of tight gray ringlets. She was thesecond most devout lady in Maycomb. She had a curious habit of prefacing everythingshe said with a soft sibilant sound. 　　“S-s-s Grace,” she said, “it’s just like I was telling Brother Hutson the other day. ‘S-s-sBrother Hutson,’ I said, ‘looks like we’re fighting a losing battle, a losing battle.’ I said, ‘S-s-s it doesn’t matter to ’em one bit. We can educate ‘em till we’re blue in the face, wecan try till we drop to make Christians out of ’em, but there’s no lady safe in her bedthese nights.‘ He said to me, ’Mrs. Farrow, I don’t know what we’re coming to downhere.‘ S-s-s I told him that was certainly a fact.” 　　Mrs. Merriweather nodded wisely. Her voice soared over the clink of coffee cups andthe soft bovine sounds of the ladies munching their dainties. “Gertrude,” she said, “I tellyou there are some good but misguided people in this town. Good, but misguided. Folksin this town who think they’re doing right, I mean. Now far be it from me to say who, butsome of ‘em in this town thought they were doing the right thing a while back, but allthey did was stir ’em up. That’s all they did. Might’ve looked like the right thing to do atthe time, I’m sure I don’t know, I’m not read in that field, but sulky… dissatisfied… I tellyou if my Sophy’d kept it up another day I’d have let her go. It’s never entered that woolof hers that the only reason I keep her is because this depression’s on and she needsher dollar and a quarter every week she can get it.” 　　“His food doesn’t stick going down, does it?” 　　Miss Maudie said it. Two tight lines had appeared at the corners of her mouth. Shehad been sitting silently beside me, her coffee cup balanced on one knee. I had lost thethread of conversation long ago, when they quit talking about Tom Robinson’s wife, andhad contented myself with thinking of Finch’s Landing and the river. Aunt Alexandra hadgot it backwards: the business part of the meeting was blood-curdling, the social hourwas dreary. 　　“Maudie, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” said Mrs. Merriweather. 　　“I’m sure you do,” Miss Maudie said shortly. 　　She said no more. When Miss Maudie was angry her brevity was icy. Something hadmade her deeply angry, and her gray eyes were as cold as her voice. Mrs. Merriweatherreddened, glanced at me, and looked away. I could not see Mrs. Farrow. 　　Aunt Alexandra got up from the table and swiftly passed more refreshments, neatlyengaging Mrs. Merriweather and Mrs. Gates in brisk conversation. When she had themwell on the road with Mrs. Perkins, Aunt Alexandra stepped back. She gave MissMaudie a look of pure gratitude, and I wondered at the world of women. Miss Maudieand Aunt Alexandra had never been especially close, and here was Aunty silentlythanking her for something. For what, I knew not. I was content to learn that AuntAlexandra could be pierced sufficiently to feel gratitude for help given. There was nodoubt about it, I must soon enter this world, where on its surface fragrant ladies rockedslowly, fanned gently, and drank cool water. 　　But I was more at home in my father’s world. People like Mr. Heck Tate did not trapyou with innocent questions to make fun of you; even Jem was not highly critical unlessyou said something stupid. Ladies seemed to live in faint horror of men, seemedunwilling to approve wholeheartedly of them. But I liked them. There was somethingabout them, no matter how much they cussed and drank and gambled and chewed; nomatter how undelectable they were, there was something about them that I instinctivelyliked… they weren’t—“Hypocrites, Mrs. Perkins, born hypocrites,” Mrs. Merriweather was saying. “At leastwe don’t have that sin on our shoulders down here. People up there set ‘em free, butyou don’t see ’em settin‘ at the table with ’em. At least we don’t have the deceit to say to‘em yes you’re as good as we are but stay away from us. Down here we just say youlive your way and we’ll live ours. I think that woman, that Mrs. Roosevelt’s lost hermind—just plain lost her mind coming down to Birmingham and tryin’ to sit with ‘em. If Iwas the Mayor of Birmingham I’d—” 　　Well, neither of us was the Mayor of Birmingham, but I wished I was the Governor ofAlabama for one day: I’d let Tom Robinson go so quick the Missionary Society wouldn’thave time to catch its breath. Calpurnia was telling Miss Rachel’s cook the other dayhow bad Tom was taking things and she didn’t stop talking when I came into the kitchen. 　　She said there wasn’t a thing Atticus could do to make being shut up easier for him, thatthe last thing he said to Atticus before they took him down to the prison camp was,“Good-bye, Mr. Finch, there ain’t nothin‘ you can do now, so there ain’t no use tryin’.” 　　Calpurnia said Atticus told her that the day they took Tom to prison he just gave uphope. She said Atticus tried to explain things to him, and that he must do his best not tolose hope because Atticus was doing his best to get him free. Miss Rachel’s cook askedCalpurnia why didn’t Atticus just say yes, you’ll go free, and leave it at that—seemed likethat’d be a big comfort to Tom. Calpurnia said, “Because you ain’t familiar with the law. 　　First thing you learn when you’re in a lawin‘ family is that there ain’t any definite answersto anything. Mr. Finch couldn’t say somethin’s so when he doesn’t know for sure it’s so.” 　　The front door slammed and I heard Atticus’s footsteps in the hall. Automatically Iwondered what time it was. Not nearly time for him to be home, and on MissionarySociety days he usually stayed downtown until black dark. 　　He stopped in the doorway. His hat was in his hand, and his face was white. 　　“Excuse me, ladies,” he said. “Go right ahead with your meeting, don’t let me disturbyou. Alexandra, could you come to the kitchen a minute? I want to borrow Calpurnia fora while.” 　　He didn’t go through the diningroom, but went down the back hallway and entered thekitchen from the rear door. Aunt Alexandra and I met him. The diningroom door openedagain and Miss Maudie joined us. Calpurnia had half risen from her chair. 　　“Cal,” Atticus said, “I want you to go with me out to Helen Robinson’s house—” 　　“What’s the matter?” Aunt Alexandra asked, alarmed by the look on my father’s face. 　　“Tom’s dead.” 　　Aunt Alexandra put her hands to her mouth. 　　“They shot him,” said Atticus. “He was running. It was during their exercise period. 　　They said he just broke into a blind raving charge at the fence and started climbing over. 　　Right in front of them—” 　　“Didn’t they try to stop him? Didn’t they give him any warning?” Aunt Alexandra’s voiceshook. 　　“Oh yes, the guards called to him to stop. They fired a few shots in the air, then to kill. 　　They got him just as he went over the fence. They said if he’d had two good arms he’dhave made it, he was moving that fast. Seventeen bullet holes in him. They didn’t haveto shoot him that much. Cal, I want you to come out with me and help me tell Helen.” 　　“Yes sir,” she murmured, fumbling at her apron. Miss Maudie went to Calpurnia anduntied it. 　　“This is the last straw, Atticus,” Aunt Alexandra said. 　　“Depends on how you look at it,” he said. “What was one Negro, more or less, amongtwo hundred of ‘em? He wasn’t Tom to them, he was an escaping prisoner.” 　　Atticus leaned against the refrigerator, pushed up his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. 　　“We had such a good chance,” he said. “I told him what I thought, but I couldn’t in truthsay that we had more than a good chance. I guess Tom was tired of white men’schances and preferred to take his own. Ready, Cal?” 　　“Yessir, Mr. Finch.” 　　“Then let’s go.” 　　Aunt Alexandra sat down in Calpurnia’s chair and put her hands to her face. She satquite still; she was so quiet I wondered if she would faint. I heard Miss Maudie breathingas if she had just climbed the steps, and in the diningroom the ladies chattered happily. 　　I thought Aunt Alexandra was crying, but when she took her hands away from herface, she was not. She looked weary. She spoke, and her voice was flat. 　　“I can’t say I approve of everything he does, Maudie, but he’s my brother, and I justwant to know when this will ever end.” Her voice rose: “It tears him to pieces. He doesn’tshow it much, but it tears him to pieces. I’ve seen him when—what else do they wantfrom him, Maudie, what else?” 　　“What does who want, Alexandra?” Miss Maudie asked. 　　“I mean this town. They’re perfectly willing to let him do what they’re too afraid to dothemselves—it might lose ‘em a nickel. They’re perfectly willing to let him wreck hishealth doing what they’re afraid to do, they’re—” 　　“Be quiet, they’ll hear you,” said Miss Maudie. “Have you ever thought of it this way,Alexandra? Whether Maycomb knows it or not, we’re paying the highest tribute we canpay a man. We trust him to do right. It’s that simple.” 　　“Who?” Aunt Alexandra never knew she was echoing her twelve-year-old nephew. 　　“The handful of people in this town who say that fair play is not marked White Only;the handful of people who say a fair trial is for everybody, not just us; the handful ofpeople with enough humility to think, when they look at a Negro, there but for the Lord’skindness am l.” Miss Maudie’s old crispness was returning: “The handful of people inthis town with background, that’s who they are.” 　　Had I been attentive, I would have had another scrap to add to Jem’s definition ofbackground, but I found myself shaking and couldn’t stop. I had seen Enfield PrisonFarm, and Atticus had pointed out the exercise yard to me. It was the size of a footballfield. 　　“Stop that shaking,” commanded Miss Maudie, and I stopped. “Get up, Alexandra,we’ve left ‘em long enough.” 　　Aunt Alexandra rose and smoothed the various whalebone ridges along her hips. Shetook her handkerchief from her belt and wiped her nose. She patted her hair and said,“Do I show it?” 　　“Not a sign,” said Miss Maudie. “Are you together again, Jean Louise?” 　　“Yes ma’am.” 　　“Then let’s join the ladies,” she said grimly. 　　Their voices swelled when Miss Maudie opened the door to the diningroom. AuntAlexandra was ahead of me, and I saw her head go up as she went through the door. 　　“Oh, Mrs. Perkins,” she said, “you need some more coffee. Let me get it.” 　　“Calpurnia’s on an errand for a few minutes, Grace,” said Miss Maudie. “Let me passyou some more of those dewberry tarts. ‘dyou hear what that cousin of mine did theother day, the one who likes to go fishing?…” 　　And so they went, down the row of laughing women, around the diningroom, refillingcoffee cups, dishing out goodies as though their only regret was the temporary domesticdisaster of losing Calpurnia. The gentle hum began again. “Yes sir, Mrs. Perkins, that J. 　　Grimes Everett is a martyred saint, he… needed to get married so they ran… to thebeauty parlor every Saturday afternoon… soon as the sun goes down. He goes to bedwith the… chickens, a crate full of sick chickens, Fred says that’s what started it all. Fredsays…” 　　Aunt Alexandra looked across the room at me and smiled. She looked at a tray ofcookies on the table and nodded at them. I carefully picked up the tray and watchedmyself walk to Mrs. Merriweather. With my best company manners, I asked her if shewould have some. 　　After all, if Aunty could be a lady at a time like this, so could I. 卡尔珀尼亚系着浆得硬邦邦的围裙，手里端着一盘水果糕，转身甩背轻轻把回旋门顶开。她双手端着一盘盘香甜可口的食品时总是这样开门的，她从容文雅，真使我佩服。我想，亚历山德拉姑妈也佩服她吧，所以今天才让她来服侍大家。 八月即将过去，九月就要来临。迪尔明天就要回梅里迪安去。今天他跟杰姆到巴克?埃迪河湾去了。杰姆发现从没有人教过迪尔游泳，既感到惊奇，又显得生气。游泳，在杰姆看来，跟走路同样必要。一连两个下午他们都在河湾里泡着。他们说，他们在那里一丝不挂，所以不让我去。于是，在寂寞中我只好一会儿呆在卡尔珀尼亚身边，一会儿又去跟莫迪小姐聊天。 今天，亚历山德拉姑妈和她的传教团体在家里辩论什么，声音满屋子都听见。我在厨房里听见格雷斯?梅里韦瑟太太在客厅向大家报告，听起来好象是关于叫摩路纳人的悲惨生活。摩路纳人在他们的妇女临产时把她们关在外面的小茅棚里。摩路纳人没有一点儿家庭观念——我知道，这一点会使姑妈感到难过。这种人的孩子刚满十三岁就要经受痛苦的折磨，他们患有皮肤病，身上沾满了玉米虫，在地上到处爬，他们从树上剥下树皮放在嘴里嚼，把渣滓吐在公共的钵子里，然后又喝那钵子里的龌龊液体。 等梅里韦瑟太太讲完，女人们休会到餐室里来吃茶点。 我不知该至Ⅱ餐室里去还是就呆在外面。亚历山德拉姑妈要我和她们一起吃茶点。她说，她们谈正事时我不必参加，因为我会感到枯燥无味。这一天，我穿着平时只有礼拜天才穿的粉红色连衣裙和鞋子，里面还穿了衬裙。我心想，如果衣服溅上了什么东西，卡尔珀尼亚为了让我明天还可以穿，就不得不再洗一遍。她这一天已经忙得够呛了。于是我决定果在外边，不进去了。 “有什么事叫我做吗，卡尔?”我想帮她傲点什么。 卡尔珀尼亚在门口停下来。“你就象老鼠一样呆在那个角落里别动吧，”她说，“我回来时，帮我把糕点放进盘予里。” 她开门进去时，里面那些女人们轻柔的叽叽喳喳的说话声越来越大了：“嗳，亚历山德拉，。我从来没见过这么好的水果糕……真可爱……我从来没做出过这么美观的外表……谁想得到用黑莓做馅饼……卡尔珀尼亚?……谁会想到……有谁告诉你没有，那牧师的妻子又有了……不，不，哦，是的，是有了，她那个大的还不能走呢……” 她们安静下来。我知道一定是她们各自都有了点心。卡尔珀尼亚回到厨房，把我妈妈的银质大咖啡罐放在盘子上。“这个咖啡罐是件珍贵的东西。”她喃喃说，“现在没有哪里生产这种罐子了。” “让我拿进去好吗?” “小心一点，别摔坏了。放在桌子一头亚历山德拉小姐身旁，跟琊些杯子碟子放在一起。她会给大家斟上的。’ 我象卡尔珀尼亚那样用屁股去顶门，可是那门纹丝不动。卡尔珀尼亚笑着替我把门打开。“当心点啊，很沉呢。不看它，它就不会泼出来。” 我顺利地将咖啡罐放到了桌上，亚历山德拉姑妈笑逐颜开。“就呆在这儿吧，琼-路易斯。”她说。这是她耍把我培养成一个有教养的女子的一部分活动。 按通常的习惯，这个团体的每一位女主人都得邀请邻居来吃点心，无论她的邻居是浸礼会成员还是长老会信徒。所以，雷切尔小姐(她的表情象法官一样严肃)、莫迪小姐和斯蒂芬尼?克劳福德小姐都来了。我感到有点尴尬，在奘迪小姐身旁坐了下来，心里想着为什么女人们总是戴着帽子过大街。跟一群群女人在一起我总是模模糊糊地感到局促不安，总想赶快避开她们。但是这种感觉正是亚厉山德拉姑妈所说的“被宠坏了”。 这些女人穿着颜色清淡柔和的印花布衣，加上大多数部只抹了厚厚的香粉而没涂胭脂，看起来给人一种凉爽之感。房子里惟一的唇膏是天然的桔红色的，她们指甲上大都是涂的天然色的指甲油，不过她们中较年轻的涂的是玫瑰红色的。她们周身散发出浓郁的馨香。我静静地坐着，紧紧抓住椅子的扶手——生怕两只手不听话，等待她们中哪一个来跟我说话。 莫迪小姐的金牙闪闪发亮。“啊，今天打扮得这么漂亮啊?琼?路易斯小姐，”她说，“今天你的裤子哪儿去了?” “穿在连衣裙下面呢。” 我并没有打算逗乐，但是她们一下子笑开了。我意识到自己的错误，只觉得双颊顿时火辣辣的。只有莫迪小姐一个人严肃地看着我。除非我有意逗乐，她从来不取笑我。 屋里突然沉默下来。这时斯蒂芬尼?克劳福德小姐在对面叫道：“琼?路易斯，你长大了干什么?当律师吗?” “不……嗯，我还没想过这个问题……”我阐答说，心里感谢她好心把话题岔开了。我急急忙忙地开始选择未来的职业。护士?飞行员?“呃……” “讲出来吧，我以为你想当律师呢，因为你已经开始去法庭啦。” 女人们又哈哈大笑起来。“斯蒂芬尼还真够滑稽的呢I”有人说了一句。斯蒂芬尼小姐又来劲了，迫问说：“你长大不想当律师吗?” 莫迪小姐把手搭在我的手上。我用很轻很轻的声音回答：“不，我只想当一个有教养的女人。” 斯蒂芬尼小姐用怀疑的眼光打量了我一会儿，确信我没有打算鲁莽无礼，于是心满意足地说，“喂，你成不了有教养的女人，除非你开始更经常地穿连衣裙。” 莫迪小姐紧紧地握住了我的手。我再没说一句话。她手上传来的温暖足够使我坦然了。 格雷斯?梅里韦瑟太太坐在我左边，我觉得和她讲讲话会显得很礼貌。她丈夫梅里韦瑟先生被迫成了一个虔诚的卫理公会教徒。他唱着“全能的上帝的慈悲，有多么悦耳的声音，拯救了我这个可怜的人……”，唱的时候显然他不觉得这个颂歌涉及任何个人。然而，梅科姆镇的人普遍认为格雷斯?梅里韦瑟太太使他清醒了，把他改造成了一?个通情达理而又有用的公民。因为，毫无疑问，梅里韦瑟太太是梅科姆最虔诚的女人。我在思索着一个她会感兴趣的话题。“你们今天下午都在说些什么?”我问道。 “哦，孩子，说那些可怜的摩路纳人。”她说了这一句就不再说下去了。没有再问的必要了。 梅里韦瑟太太一想到受苦难的人，她那大大的棕色眼睛就饱噙着泪花。“他们住在丛林里，只有捷?格兰姆斯-埃弗雷特和他们在一起，其他什么人也没有。”她说，“除了圣徒般的捷?格兰姆斯?埃弗雷特，没有一个白人会走近他们。” 梅里韦瑟太太说话象是演奏风琴，每个词都完全符合音乐的节奏。“贫困……黑暗……邪恶……这一切，唯有捷-格兰姆斯?埃弗雷特知遭。教堂派我到野营地时，捷?格兰姆斯?埃弗霄特对我说……” “他在那里吗，太太?我还以为……” “他回家休假了。捷?格兰姆斯?埃弗雷特对我说：‘梅里韦瑟太太，您不知遭啊，您不知道我们在那里得和什么作斗争。’他就是这么对我说的。” “嗯，太太。” “我对他说：‘埃弗雷特先生，亚拉巴马州梅科姆县的南方卫理公会主教派的妇女百分之百地作您的后盾。’我对他就是这么说的。你们知道，我心里当即立下誓言。我想回去就要把摩路纳人的情况讲给大家听，把捷?格兰姆斯?埃弗雷特的愿望传达给梅科姆县的人民。我现在就是这么做的。” “嗯，太太。” 梅里韦瑟太太摇了摇头，头上一绺绺的黑色鬈发也随着轻轻摇晃。“琼?路易斯，”她说，“你真是幸运啊。你生长在基督教的城镇，基督敦的家庭，周围都是基督教徒。在那里，捷?格兰姆斯?埃弗雷特工作的地方，除了罪恶和贫困就一无所有啊。” “嗯，太太。”-“罪恶和贫困…???那是什么，格特鲁德?”梅里韦瑟太太转身看着身旁的那位女人，用动听的声音说，“哦，那个。暖，我总是说宽恕、忘记，宽恕、忘记。教会应该做的是帮助她，让她从现在起，为了孩子，象基督徒一样地生活。这里应该派一些男人去要那个牧师鼓励她。” “请问，梅里韦瑟太太，”我插嘴问道，“您是在说梅耶拉?尤厄尔吗?” “梅……?不，孩子。我说的是那黑人的妻子。汤姆的妻子，汤姆……” “鲁宾逊，太太。” 梅里韦瑟太太叉转过身去对她旁边的女人说。“有一件事我真正相信，格特鲁德，”她继续说，“但是有些人不象我这么看，如果我们干脆让他们知遘我们宽恕他们了，我们不再计较那件事了，那么，整个事情就会过去的。” “呃，——梅里韦瑟太太，”我又插嘴说，“什么事会过去?” 她又向我转过身来。梅里韦瑟太太无儿无女，与小孩说话时，总觉得有必要采用不同的口吻。“没有什么，琼?路易斯，”她用一种庄重缓慢的语气说，“厨子和地里干活的工人都忿忿不平，不过现在慢慢平息了——审判后第二天他们嘀咕了整整一天。” 梅里韦瑟太太面对着法罗太太。“格特鲁德，我告诉您，最令人心烦意乱的奠过于与一个愠怒的黑人打交道。他们的嘴巴一直耷拉到这里。有个这样的黑人在厨房里，你这一天就别想过得痛快。您知道我怎么对索菲说吗，格特鲁德?我说；‘索菲，你今天简直不是个基督教徒了。耶稣基督可从没有成天喃喃咕咕的啊!’这么一说她果然好些了。她抬起头说：‘是的，梅里韦瑟太太，耶稣基督是从不嘀咕的。’我告诉您，格特鲁德，您决不要白白放过任何一个为上帝作见证的机会。” 她讲话的姿势使我回想起芬奇庄园小教堂里的那个古旧的小风琴。我很小的时候，要是一天到晚都乖的话，阿迪克斯就让我拉那风琴的风箱，而他就用一个指头弹上一支曲子。最后一个音符一直要拖到风箱内没有气时为止。我想，梅里韦瑟太太已经耗尽了肺部的空气。法罗太太镇静下来准备说话时，梅里韦瑟太太正在不断地往肺里充气。 法罗太太体态优美，眼睛是灰色的，有一双秀气的脚。她的头发新近电烫过，还带有一个个灰色的环形发卷。她算得上梅科姆第二个虔诚的女人。她有个奇怪的毛病，说起话来前面总带着轻柔的咝音。 “咝咝咝，格雷斯，”她说，“这正象我那天跟赫得森教友说的那样。我说，‘咝咝——咝，赫得森教友，看来我们这一仗没有希望赢，这是注定要失败的一仗啊。’我说，‘咝——咝咝，这对他们倒无关紧要。我们可以教育他们，直教到我们精疲力竭；我们可以努力使他们皈依基督教，直到我们疲惫不堪地倒下去。但是这些个晚上，没有哪个女人觉得睡在床上安全。’他对我说：‘法罗太太，我不知道我们在这儿会要遭什么殃。’咝咝——咝，我告诉他，事实无疑就是这样。” 梅里韦瑟太太心领神会地点了点头。她提高嗓门，声音压过咖啡杯的碰撞声，压过女人咀嚼点心发出的象牛咀嚼饲料般的声音。“格特鲁德，”她说，“我告诉你，这个镇上有些好人，但是他们误入歧途了。他们人好，但误入歧途。我说的是镇上那些自以为坐得正站得直的人。我当然不敢冒昧说谁是这种人，但是，这城里确实有些人自以为不久前他们做的事情是对的，其实，他们只不过是引起骚乱，除了引起骚乱，他们什么也没做。当时来看，他们或许做得不错，不过究竟怎样，我当然不知道。在这一方面，我一无所知，但是，愠怒……不满……告诉你，要是索菲第二天还是那样，我就会打发她走。她从来也不想一想，我留用她是因为目前还没有度过经济危机，她还需要靠做工每周挣一块二角五分钱。” “赫得森教友是个道貌岸然的伪君子，不是吗?” 这是莫迪小姐说的。她的嘴角上出现了两根绷得紧紧的皱纹。她一直坐在我旁边，一声不吭，咖啡杯平稳地放在膝盖上。从她们停止谈论汤姆?鲁宾逊的妻子那会儿起，我对他们的谈话就感到奠名其妙了，话题只是回忆芬奇庄园和那条河流。亚历山德拉姑妈弄反了：谈正经事的时候令人毛骨悚然，闲谈的时侯令人郁闷。 “莫迪，我一定还没理解你的意思。”梅里韦瑟太太说。 “你一定理解了。”莫迪小姐简慢地回答。 莫迪小姐没再说什么。她恼怒时说话简慢，冷冰冰的。不知什么事情使她这会几十分恼怒，她灰色的眼睛象她的声音一样冷冰冰的。梅里韦瑟太太满脸绯红，瞥了我一下，又把目光瞟开了。法罗太太脸色如何我没看见。 亚历山德拉姑妈起身迅速取来一些点心，然后与梅里韦瑟太太和盖茨太太活跃地谈了起来。一会儿她又使她俩与珀金斯太太谈得火热，自己却缄默起来。她向莫迪小姐丢了一个衷心感激的眼色。女人的天地真使我感到莫名其妙。亚所山德拉姑妈与莫迪小姐从来没什么深交，但这当儿姑妈却默默地为什么事感激地。究竟为了什么，我不知道。亚历山德拉姑妈有时也会感动得对别人的帮助表示谢意，这一点使我感到惬意。毫无疑问，我不久就得进入这个天地。在这个天地里，从表面上看来香气扑鼻的女人们慢慢地摆着身子，轻轻地摇着扇子，喝着清凉的水。 但是，在父亲的天地里，我感到自由自在一些。象赫克?塔特先生这样的人不会问一些幼稚的问题来开你的玩笑。即使杰姆也不怎么挑毛病，除非你硬是说了些蠢话。女人似乎有些惧怕男人，似乎不愿意全心全意地赞同他们的行为，但是我喜欢他们。无论他们多么喜欢咒骂，喜欢喝酒，喜欢赌博，喜欢嚼烟，无论他们多么不讨人喜欢，他们身上总有一种气质，总有一种我本能地喜欢的东西……他们不是…… “伪君子，珀金斯太太，是天生的伪君子。”梅里韦瑟正说荇，“在我们南方，我们身上没有这种罪恶。北方人让黑人自由，但你没见过那里的自人和黑人同坐一桌。至少，我们不会虚伪地说，是的，你们和我们一样好，但是你们不要和我们呆在一起。在这里，我们只是说，你们过你们的日子，我们过我们的日子。我看，那个女人——就是那个罗斯福太太，丧失了理智，完全丧失了理智，她到伯明翰来开会，想和黑人坐到一块，要是我是伯明翰的市长，我就要……” 可惜，我们中没有谁是伯明翰的市长。我倒希望自己能当一天亚拉巴马州州长，那么我就要立即释放汤姆，使得传教团体松口气的时候都没有。前几天，卡尔珀尼亚跟雷切尔小姐家的厨子说，汤姆一点儿也不乐观。我进了厨房她们也没停止谈话。她说，阿迪克斯无法使汤姆在牢房里过得安心些；他们把他押送监驶之前，他与阿迪克斯告别说：“再见，芬奇先生，现在您也没办法了，不必再作任何努力了。”卡尔珀尼亚说，阿迪克斯告诉他，他们把汤姆押送监狱的那天，汤姆完全绝望了。她说，阿迪克斯反复把情况解释给他听，要他尽最大的努力别放弃希望，因为阿迪克斯会尽最大的努力使他出狱。雷切尔小姐家的厨子问卡尔珀尼亚，为什么阿迪克斯不干脆肯定地说，赴的，他一定会被释放，不要担心，那样汤姆不是可以获得巨大的安慰吗?卡尔珀尼亚说：“因为你对法律不熟悉。在一个律师家庭里，你知道的第一件事就是任何事情都没有定准。芬奇先生不能说某件事将怎么样，因为他自己也不敢肯定事情真会怎么样。” 砰的一声传来前门关闭的声音。我听见过厅里响起了阿迪克斯的脚步声。我不由自主地揣度着这会儿是什么时候了，离他回家的时间还早呢。在传教团体的活动日子里，不到天黑一般他不会回家。 他在门口停下来。手里拿着帽子，脸上没有一点儿血色。 “请原谅，女士们，”他说，“你们继续开会吧，可别让我打扰你们了。亚历山德拉，你到厨房来一下好吗?我想叫卡尔珀尼亚去办点事。” 他没有走过餐室，而是沿着过道，从后门进了厨房。我和亚历山德拉姑妈迎上去。餐室门又开了，莫迪小姐也来到厨房。卡尔珀尼亚从椅予上正在站起来。 “卡尔，”阿迪克斯说，“我想要你跟我一道去海伦?鲁宾逊家……” “出了什么事?”亚历山德拉姑妈问道，父亲的脸色使她感到惊慌。 。汤姆死了。” 亚厉山德拉姑妈双手仲向嘴巴。 “他们用熗打死了他，”阿迪克斯说。“做操时他想越狱。据说，他突然没命地向栅栏狂跑，想翻越过去。就在他们的面前……” “他们没有制止他吗?没有警告他吗?”亚历山德拉姑妈说话时声音颤抖。 “嗯，警卫命令他站住。他们首先朝天放了几熗，然后朝他开了熗。他正好翻过栅栏就被击毙。他们说，如果他有两只听使唤的胳膊，他就跑脱了。他的动作可快啦。身上有十七个弹孔。他们没有必要开这么多熗。卡尔，我想要你跟我一起去，帮我把这事告诉海伦。” “好的，先生。”她喃喃地说，手在围裙上乱摸。莫迪小姐走拢来帮她解开围裙。 “这一下，他们再没法忍受了，阿迪克斯。”亚历山德拉姑妈说。 “看你如何去看，”他说，“监狱里有两百多个黑人，死一个算得了什么?对看守来说，他不是汤姆，他是个仓图越狱的犯人。” 阿迪克斯靠着电冰箱，把眼镜往上推了推，揉了一下眼睛。“本来我们很有希望的，”他说，“我告诉了他我的想法，但我不能肯定地把事情说得更乐观。我想，汤姆对白人总是受到偏袒感到十分厌恶，决定铤而走险。准备好了吗，卡尔?” “好了，芬奇先生。” “那我们走吧。” 亚历山德拉姑妈一屁股坐在卡尔珀尼亚的椅子上，双手捂着脸。静静地坐着，静得吓人，我担心她会昏过去。我听见莫迪小姐在大口大口地喘气，好象刚刚爬过一些阶梯似的。餐室里，女人们仍在悠然自得地闲聊。 我以为亚历山德拉姑妈在哭泣，但她捂着面部的手拿开时并没有哭的迹象。她显得疲惫，说话时声音低沉。 “我不能说我赞成他做的一切，莫迪。但是他是我哥哥。所以我只想知道这件事情究竟要多久才能了结。”她提高了嗓门，“这事把他的心隶！I要撕碎了。表面上不大看得出来，实际上他心都要给撕碎了。我曾经看见过他的这种表现，那时……他们还想找他要什么，莫迪，还想找他耍什么?” “谁找他要什么，亚历山德拉?”莫迪小姐问。 “我说的是这个镇上的人。他们倒非常愿意让他做他们自己怕得不敢做的事情，因为这样他们就可以万无一失。让他做他们不敢做的事情，让他搞垮自己的身体，他们侧非常愿意，他们……” “小声点，她们会听见的。”莫迪小姐说，“亚历山德拉，您这样想过吗?无论梅科姆的人知不知道您说的这一点，我们对他的赞颂是再高也没有了。我们希望他伸张正义。问题十分简单。” “您指的是谁?”亚历山德拉姑妈不知道自己是在重复十二岁的侄儿问过的问题。 “这镇上那部分认为公平合理不能光对白人而言的人；那部分认为不仅是对我们而且对所有的人都要实行公平审判的人j那部分看见黑人就谦卑地想到没有上帝的慈悲就没有自己的人。”莫迪小姐又和以前一样爽快了：“这镇上那部分有门第的人，这就是我指的那些人。” 我要是认真听，就可以使杰姆关于门第的定义得到充实，但是我发现自己浑身颤抖，控制不住。我见过恩菲尔德劳改农场，阿迪克斯曾指着那个犯人操场给我看，那操场与橄榄球场一般大小。 “不要这样颤抖，”莫迪小姐命令道。我果真不颤抖了。“起来吧，亚历山德拉，我们离开餐室够久了。” 亚历山德拉姑妈起身抚平裙子上各式各样的鲸须般的褶子，从腰带里抽出小手帕擦擦鼻子，又轻轻拍了拍头发，问道：“看得出来吗?” “没有一点痕迹。”莫迪小姐说，“一道去吗?琼?路易斯?” “好吧，小姐。” “那就让我们一起进去吧。”她严峻地说。 真迪小姐打开门走入餐室时，那些女人的声音加大了。亚历山德拉姑妈走在我前面，我看见她进门时把头朝上一扬。 “噢，珀金斯太太，”她说，“您还要些咖啡吧。来，让我来给你斟上。” “卡尔珀尼亚有事出去几分钟，格雷斯。”莫迪小姐说，。‘让我给您拿些黑莓馅饼吧。您听说我那个表哥前几天干了什么吗，就是那个喜欢钓鱼的表哥?……” 于是她俩招呼着这一桌谈笑风生的女人，在餐室里来来往往，斟咖啡的斟咖啡，端甜饼的端甜饼。暂时失去卡尔珀尼亚是一个小小不便，而她们唯一遗憾的似乎仅仅就是这一点。 轻柔的叽叽瞳喳的讲话声又开始了：“是的，珀金斯太太，捷?格兰姆斯?埃弗旨特是个受难的圣徒，他……得赶快结婚，所以他们就跑……每星期六下午跑到美容院去……太阳一下山他就睡觉……小鸡，满满一柳条箱的小鸡全生病了，弗雷德说，他就是从这种境况中开始的。弗雷德还说……” 亚历山德拉姑妈坐在我对面看着我一笑。她看看桌上的一盘甜饼，向我丢了个眼色。我小心翼翼地端起那个盘子，落落大方地走到梅里韦瑟太太身旁，彬彬有礼地询问她是不是要一些甜饼。不管怎么说，只要姑妈在这种场合能象一个有教养的女子那样言谈举止，那我也同样做得到。

Chapter 23        “I wish Bob Ewell wouldn’t chew tobacco,” was all Atticus said about it. 　　According to Miss Stephanie Crawford, however, Atticus was leaving the post officewhen Mr. Ewell approached him, cursed him, spat on him, and threatened to kill him. 　　Miss Stephanie (who, by the time she had told it twice was there and had seen it all—passing by from the Jitney Jungle, she was)—Miss Stephanie said Atticus didn’t bat aneye, just took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and stood there and let Mr. Ewellcall him names wild horses could not bring her to repeat. Mr. Ewell was a veteran of anobscure war; that plus Atticus’s peaceful reaction probably prompted him to inquire,“Too proud to fight, you nigger-lovin‘ bastard?” Miss Stephanie said Atticus said, “No,too old,” put his hands in his pockets and strolled on. Miss Stephanie said you had tohand it to Atticus Finch, he could be right dry sometimes. 　　Jem and I didn’t think it entertaining. 　　“After all, though,” I said, “he was the deadest shot in the county one time. He could—” 　　“You know he wouldn’t carry a gun, Scout. He ain’t even got one—” said Jem. “Youknow he didn’t even have one down at the jail that night. He told me havin‘ a gunaround’s an invitation to somebody to shoot you.” 　　“This is different,” I said. “We can ask him to borrow one.” 　　We did, and he said, “Nonsense.” 　　Dill was of the opinion that an appeal to Atticus’s better nature might work: after all, wewould starve if Mr. Ewell killed him, besides be raised exclusively by Aunt Alexandra,and we all knew the first thing she’d do before Atticus was under the ground good wouldbe to fire Calpurnia. Jem said it might work if I cried and flung a fit, being young and agirl. That didn’t work either. But when he noticed us dragging around the neighborhood,not eating, taking little interest in our normal pursuits, Atticus discovered how deeplyfrightened we were. He tempted Jem with a new football magazine one night; when hesaw Jem flip the pages and toss it aside, he said, “What’s bothering you, son?” 　　Jem came to the point: “Mr. Ewell.” 　　“What has happened?” 　　“Nothing’s happened. We’re scared for you, and we think you oughta do somethingabout him.” 　　Atticus smiled wryly. “Do what? Put him under a peace bond?” 　　“When a man says he’s gonna get you, looks like he means it.” 　　“He meant it when he said it,” said Atticus. “Jem, see if you can stand in Bob Ewell’sshoes a minute. I destroyed his last shred of credibility at that trial, if he had any to beginwith. The man had to have some kind of comeback, his kind always does. So if spittingin my face and threatening me saved Mayella Ewell one extra beating, that’s somethingI’ll gladly take. He had to take it out on somebody and I’d rather it be me than thathouseful of children out there. You understand?” 　　Jem nodded. 　　Aunt Alexandra entered the room as Atticus was saying, “We don’t have anything tofear from Bob Ewell, he got it all out of his system that morning.” 　　“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Atticus,” she said. “His kind’d do anything to pay off agrudge. You know how those people are.” 　　“What on earth could Ewell do to me, sister?” 　　“Something furtive,” Aunt Alexandra said. “You may count on that.” 　　“Nobody has much chance to be furtive in Maycomb,” Atticus answered. 　　After that, we were not afraid. Summer was melting away, and we made the most of it. 　　Atticus assured us that nothing would happen to Tom Robinson until the higher courtreviewed his case, and that Tom had a good chance of going free, or at least of havinga new trial. He was at Enfield Prison Farm, seventy miles away in Chester County. Iasked Atticus if Tom’s wife and children were allowed to visit him, but Atticus said no. 　　“If he loses his appeal,” I asked one evening, “what’ll happen to him?” 　　“He’ll go to the chair,” said Atticus, “unless the Governor commutes his sentence. Nottime to worry yet, Scout. We’ve got a good chance.” 　　Jem was sprawled on the sofa reading Popular Mechanics. He looked up. “It ain’tright. He didn’t kill anybody even if he was guilty. He didn’t take anybody’s life.” 　　“You know rape’s a capital offense in Alabama,” said Atticus. 　　“Yessir, but the jury didn’t have to give him death—if they wanted to they could’vegave him twenty years.” 　　“Given,” said Atticus. “Tom Robinson’s a colored man, Jem. No jury in this part of theworld’s going to say, ‘We think you’re guilty, but not very,’ on a charge like that. It waseither a straight acquittal or nothing.” 　　Jem was shaking his head. “I know it’s not right, but I can’t figure out what’s wrong—maybe rape shouldn’t be a capital offense…” 　　Atticus dropped his newspaper beside his chair. He said he didn’t have any quarrelwith the rape statute, none what ever, but he did have deep misgivings when the stateasked for and the jury gave a death penalty on purely circumstantial evidence. Heglanced at me, saw I was listening, and made it easier. “—I mean, before a man issentenced to death for murder, say, there should be one or two eye-witnesses. Someone should be able to say, ‘Yes, I was there and saw him pull the trigger.’” 　　“But lots of folks have been hung—hanged—on circumstantial evidence,” said Jem. 　　“I know, and lots of ‘em probably deserved it, too—but in the absence of eye-witnesses there’s always a doubt, some times only the shadow of a doubt. The law says’reasonable doubt,‘ but I think a defendant’s entitled to the shadow of a doubt. There’salways the possibility, no matter how improbable, that he’s innocent.” 　　“Then it all goes back to the jury, then. We oughta do away with juries.” Jem wasadamant. 　　Atticus tried hard not to smile but couldn’t help it. “You’re rather hard on us, son. Ithink maybe there might be a better way. Change the law. Change it so that only judgeshave the power of fixing the penalty in capital cases.” 　　“Then go up to Montgomery and change the law.” 　　“You’d be surprised how hard that’d be. I won’t live to see the law changed, and if youlive to see it you’ll be an old man.” 　　This was not good enough for Jem. “No sir, they oughta do away with juries. Hewasn’t guilty in the first place and they said he was.” 　　“If you had been on that jury, son, and eleven other boys like you, Tom would be afree man,” said Atticus. “So far nothing in your life has interfered with your reasoningprocess. Those are twelve reasonable men in everyday life, Tom’s jury, but you sawsomething come between them and reason. You saw the same thing that night in frontof the jail. When that crew went away, they didn’t go as reasonable men, they wentbecause we were there. There’s something in our world that makes men lose theirheads—they couldn’t be fair if they tried. In our courts, when it’s a white man’s wordagainst a black man’s, the white man always wins. They’re ugly, but those are the factsof life.” 　　“Doesn’t make it right,” said Jem stolidly. He beat his fist softly on his knee. “You justcan’t convict a man on evidence like that—you can’t.” 　　“You couldn’t, but they could and did. The older you grow the more of it you’ll see. Theone place where a man ought to get a square deal is in a courtroom, be he any color ofthe rainbow, but people have a way of carrying their resentments right into a jury box. 　　As you grow older, you’ll see white men cheat black men every day of your life, but letme tell you something and don’t you forget it—whenever a white man does that to ablack man, no matter who he is, how rich he is, or how fine a family he comes from, thatwhite man is trash.” 　　Atticus was speaking so quietly his last word crashed on our ears. I looked up, and hisface was vehement. “There’s nothing more sickening to me than a low-grade white manwho’ll take advantage of a Negro’s ignorance. Don’t fool yourselves—it’s all adding upand one of these days we’re going to pay the bill for it. I hope it’s not in you children’stime.” 　　Jem was scratching his head. Suddenly his eyes widened. “Atticus,” he said, “whydon’t people like us and Miss Maudie ever sit on juries? You never see anybody fromMaycomb on a jury—they all come from out in the woods.” 　　Atticus leaned back in his rocking-chair. For some reason he looked pleased withJem. “I was wondering when that’d occur to you,” he said. “There are lots of reasons. 　　For one thing, Miss Maudie can’t serve on a jury because she’s a woman—” 　　“You mean women in Alabama can’t—?” I was indignant. 　　“I do. I guess it’s to protect our frail ladies from sordid cases like Tom’s. Besides,” 　　Atticus grinned, “I doubt if we’d ever get a complete case tried—the ladies’d beinterrupting to ask questions.” 　　Jem and I laughed. Miss Maudie on a jury would be impressive. I thought of old Mrs. 　　Dubose in her wheelchair—“Stop that rapping, John Taylor, I want to ask this mansomething.” Perhaps our forefathers were wise. 　　Atticus was saying, “With people like us—that’s our share of the bill. We generally getthe juries we deserve. Our stout Maycomb citizens aren’t interested, in the first place. Inthe second place, they’re afraid. Then, they’re—” 　　“Afraid, why?” asked Jem. 　　“Well, what if—say, Mr. Link Deas had to decide the amount of damages to award,say, Miss Maudie, when Miss Rachel ran over her with a car. Link wouldn’t like thethought of losing either lady’s business at his store, would he? So he tells Judge Taylorthat he can’t serve on the jury because he doesn’t have anybody to keep store for himwhile he’s gone. So Judge Taylor excuses him. Sometimes he excuses him wrathfully.” 　　“What’d make him think either one of ‘em’d stop trading with him?” I asked. 　　Jem said, “Miss Rachel would, Miss Maudie wouldn’t. But a jury’s vote’s secret,Atticus.” 　　Our father chuckled. “You’ve many more miles to go, son. A jury’s vote’s supposed tobe secret. Serving on a jury forces a man to make up his mind and declare himselfabout something. Men don’t like to do that. Sometimes it’s unpleasant.” 　　“Tom’s jury sho‘ made up its mind in a hurry,” Jem muttered. 　　Atticus’s fingers went to his watchpocket. “No it didn’t,” he said, more to himself thanto us. “That was the one thing that made me think, well, this may be the shadow of abeginning. That jury took a few hours. An inevitable verdict, maybe, but usually it takes‘em just a few minutes. This time—” he broke off and looked at us. “You might like toknow that there was one fellow who took considerable wearing down—in the beginninghe was rarin’ for an outright acquittal.” 　　“Who?” Jem was astonished. 　　Atticus’s eyes twinkled. “It’s not for me to say, but I’ll tell you this much. He was one ofyour Old Sarum friends…” 　　“One of the Cunninghams?” Jem yelped. “One of—I didn’t recognize any of ‘em…you’re jokin’.” He looked at Atticus from the corners of his eyes. 　　“One of their connections. On a hunch, I didn’t strike him. Just on a hunch. Could’ve,but I didn’t.” 　　“Golly Moses,” Jem said reverently. “One minute they’re tryin‘ to kill him and the nextthey’re tryin’ to turn him loose… I’ll never understand those folks as long as I live.” 　　Atticus said you just had to know ‘em. He said the Cunninghams hadn’t taken anythingfrom or off of anybody since they migrated to the New World. He said the other thingabout them was, once you earned their respect they were for you tooth and nail. Atticussaid he had a feeling, nothing more than a suspicion, that they left the jail that night withconsiderable respect for the Finches. Then too, he said, it took a thunderbolt plusanother Cunningham to make one of them change his mind. “If we’d had two of thatcrowd, we’d’ve had a hung jury.” 　　Jem said slowly, “You mean you actually put on the jury a man who wanted to kill youthe night before? How could you take such a risk, Atticus, how could you?” 　　“When you analyze it, there was little risk. There’s no difference between one manwho’s going to convict and another man who’s going to convict, is there? There’s a faintdifference between a man who’s going to convict and a man who’s a little disturbed inhis mind, isn’t there? He was the only uncertainty on the whole list.” 　　“What kin was that man to Mr. Walter Cunningham?” I asked. 　　Atticus rose, stretched and yawned. It was not even our bedtime, but we knew hewanted a chance to read his newspaper. He picked it up, folded it, and tapped my head. 　　“Let’s see now,” he droned to himself. “I’ve got it. Double first cousin.” 　　“How can that be?” 　　“Two sisters married two brothers. That’s all I’ll tell you—you figure it out.” 　　I tortured myself and decided that if I married Jem and Dill had a sister whom hemarried our children would be double first cousins. “Gee minetti, Jem,” I said, whenAtticus had gone, “they’re funny folks. ‘d you hear that, Aunty?” 　　Aunt Alexandra was hooking a rug and not watching us, but she was listening. She satin her chair with her workbasket beside it, her rug spread across her lap. Why ladieshooked woolen rugs on boiling nights never became clear to me. 　　“I heard it,” she said. 　　I remembered the distant disastrous occasion when I rushed to young WalterCunningham’s defense. Now I was glad I’d done it. “Soon’s school starts I’m gonna askWalter home to dinner,” I planned, having forgotten my private resolve to beat him upthe next time I saw him. “He can stay over sometimes after school, too. Atticus coulddrive him back to Old Sarum. Maybe he could spend the night with us sometime, okay,Jem?” 　　“We’ll see about that,” Aunt Alexandra said, a declaration that with her was always athreat, never a promise. Surprised, I turned to her. “Why not, Aunty? They’re goodfolks.” 　　She looked at me over her sewing glasses. “Jean Louise, there is no doubt in my mindthat they’re good folks. But they’re not our kind of folks.” 　　Jem says, “She means they’re yappy, Scout.” 　　“What’s a yap?” 　　“Aw, tacky. They like fiddlin‘ and things like that.” 　　“Well I do too—” 　　“Don’t be silly, Jean Louise,” said Aunt Alexandra. “The thing is, you can scrub WalterCunningham till he shines, you can put him in shoes and a new suit, but he’ll never belike Jem. Besides, there’s a drinking streak in that family a mile wide. Finch womenaren’t interested in that sort of people.” 　　“Aun-ty,” said Jem, “she ain’t nine yet.” 　　“She may as well learn it now.” 　　Aunt Alexandra had spoken. I was reminded vividly of the last time she had put herfoot down. I never knew why. It was when I was absorbed with plans to visit Calpurnia’shouse—I was curious, interested; I wanted to be her “company,” to see how she lived,who her friends were. I might as well have wanted to see the other side of the moon. 　　This time the tactics were different, but Aunt Alexandra’s aim was the same. Perhapsthis was why she had come to live with us—to help us choose our friends. I would holdher off as long as I could: “If they’re good folks, then why can’t I be nice to Walter?” 　　“I didn’t say not to be nice to him. You should be friendly and polite to him, you shouldbe gracious to everybody, dear. But you don’t have to invite him home.” 　　“What if he was kin to us, Aunty?” 　　“The fact is that he is not kin to us, but if he were, my answer would be the same.” 　　“Aunty,” Jem spoke up, “Atticus says you can choose your friends but you sho‘ can’tchoose your family, an’ they’re still kin to you no matter whether you acknowledge ‘emor not, and it makes you look right silly when you don’t.” 　　“That’s your father all over again,” said Aunt Alexandra, “and I still say that JeanLouise will not invite Walter Cunningham to this house. If he were her double first cousinonce removed he would still not be received in this house unless he comes to seeAtticus on business. Now that is that.” 　　She had said Indeed Not, but this time she would give her reasons: “But I want to playwith Walter, Aunty, why can’t I?” 　　She took off her glasses and stared at me. “I’ll tell you why,” she said. “Because—he—is—trash, that’s why you can’t play with him. I’ll not have you around him, pickingup his habits and learning Lord-knows-what. You’re enough of a problem to your fatheras it is.” 　　I don’t know what I would have done, but Jem stopped me. He caught me by theshoulders, put his arm around me, and led me sobbing in fury to his bedroom. Atticusheard us and poked his head around the door. “‘s all right, sir,” Jem said gruffly, “’s notanything.” Atticus went away. 　　“Have a chew, Scout.” Jem dug into his pocket and extracted a Tootsie Roll. It took afew minutes to work the candy into a comfortable wad inside my jaw. 　　Jem was rearranging the objects on his dresser. His hair stuck up behind and down infront, and I wondered if it would ever look like a man’s—maybe if he shaved it off andstarted over, his hair would grow back neatly in place. His eyebrows were becomingheavier, and I noticed a new slimness about his body. He was growing taller. When helooked around, he must have thought I would start crying again, for he said, “Show yousomething if you won’t tell anybody.” I said what. He unbuttoned his shirt, grinning shyly. 　　“Well what?” 　　“Well can’t you see it?” 　　“Well no.” 　　“Well it’s hair.” 　　“Where?” 　　“There. Right there.” 　　He had been a comfort to me, so I said it looked lovely, but I didn’t see anything. “It’sreal nice, Jem.” 　　“Under my arms, too,” he said. “Goin‘ out for football next year. Scout, don’t let Auntyaggravate you.” 　　It seemed only yesterday that he was telling me not to aggravate Aunty. 　　“You know she’s not used to girls,” said Jem, “leastways, not girls like you. She’strying to make you a lady. Can’t you take up sewin‘ or somethin’?” 　　“Hell no. She doesn’t like me, that’s all there is to it, and I don’t care. It was her callin‘Walter Cunningham trash that got me goin’, Jem, not what she said about being aproblem to Atticus. We got that all straight one time, I asked him if I was a problem andhe said not much of one, at most one that he could always figure out, and not to worrymy head a second about botherin‘ him. Naw, it was Walter—that boy’s not trash, Jem. 　　He ain’t like the Ewells.” 　　Jem kicked off his shoes and swung his feet to the bed. He propped himself against apillow and switched on the reading light. “You know something, Scout? I’ve got it allfigured out, now. I’ve thought about it a lot lately and I’ve got it figured out. There’s fourkinds of folks in the world. There’s the ordinary kind like us and the neighbors, there’sthe kind like the Cunninghams out in the woods, the kind like the Ewells down at thedump, and the Negroes.” 　　“What about the Chinese, and the Cajuns down yonder in Baldwin County?” 　　“I mean in Maycomb County. The thing about it is, our kind of folks don’t like theCunninghams, the Cunninghams don’t like the Ewells, and the Ewells hate and despisethe colored folks.” 　　I told Jem if that was so, then why didn’t Tom’s jury, made up of folks like theCunninghams, acquit Tom to spite the Ewells?“Jem waved my question away as being infantile. 　　“You know,” he said, “I’ve seen Atticus pat his foot when there’s fiddlin‘ on the radio,and he loves pot liquor better’n any man I ever saw—” 　　“Then that makes us like the Cunninghams,” I said. “I can’t see why Aunty—” 　　“No, lemme finish—it does, but we’re still different somehow. Atticus said one time thereason Aunty’s so hipped on the family is because all we’ve got’s background and not adime to our names.” 　　“Well Jem, I don’t know—Atticus told me one time that most of this Old Family stuff’sfoolishness because everybody’s family’s just as old as everybody else’s. I said did thatinclude the colored folks and Englishmen and he said yes.” 　　“Background doesn’t mean Old Family,” said Jem. “I think it’s how long your family’sbeen readin‘ and writin’. Scout, I’ve studied this real hard and that’s the only reason Ican think of. Somewhere along when the Finches were in Egypt one of ‘em must havelearned a hieroglyphic or two and he taught his boy.” Jem laughed. “Imagine Auntybeing proud her great-grandaddy could read an’ write—ladies pick funny things to beproud of.” 　　“Well I’m glad he could, or who’da taught Atticus and them, and if Atticus couldn’tread, you and me’d be in a fix. I don’t think that’s what background is, Jem.” 　　“Well then, how do you explain why the Cunninghams are different? Mr. Walter canhardly sign his name, I’ve seen him. We’ve just been readin‘ and writin’ longer’n theyhave.” 　　“No, everybody’s gotta learn, nobody’s born knowin‘. That Walter’s as smart as he canbe, he just gets held back sometimes because he has to stay out and help his daddy. 　　Nothin’s wrong with him. Naw, Jem, I think there’s just one kind of folks. Folks.” 　　Jem turned around and punched his pillow. When he settled back his face was cloudy. 　　He was going into one of his declines, and I grew wary. His brows came together; hismouth became a thin line. He was silent for a while. 　　“That’s what I thought, too,” he said at last, “when I was your age. If there’s just onekind of folks, why can’t they get along with each other? If they’re all alike, why do theygo out of their way to despise each other? Scout, I think I’m beginning to understandsomething. I think I’m beginning to understand why Boo Radley’s stayed shut up in thehouse all this time… it’s because he wants to stay inside.” “但愿鲍勃?尤厄尔不再咀嚼烟丝。”对这桩事，阿迪克斯只说了这么一句。 据斯蒂芬尼?克劳福德小姐说，阿迪克斯从邮局出来时，尤厄尔先生逼近他，咒骂他，往他睑上吐唾沫，扬言要宰了他(斯蒂芬尼小姐这时已把这件事叙述了两遍)。她说，她从容格尔游艺室回来，恰巧路过那儿，全看见了。她说，阿迪克斯当时眼睛都没眨一下，只是掏出手绢抹一抹脸，站在那里任凭尤厄尔先生那种实在不堪重述的粗话咒骂他。尤厄尔先生自己是参加过一次人们不大知道的战争的退伍军人，加之阿迪克斯反应又那样平静，这就使得他更肆无忌惮地挑衅道：“怎么?高傲得不愿意应战?你这个为黑鬼帮腔的杂种!”斯蒂芬尼说，阿迪克斯只回答说：“不，是老得不能应战了。”说着，他将手揣进口袋，继续走他的路。斯蒂芬尼说，你不得不佩服阿迫克斯，他有时还很能若无其事地说出幽默话。 我和杰姆不觉得这是件有趣的事。 “但是，不管怎么说，”我}兑，“阿迪克斯过去是全县赫赫有名的神熗手，他能……” “你知道，他不能随身带手熗，斯各特。其实他根本就没有熗。”杰姆说，“你知道，就是那天晚上在牢房前他身上也没有熗。他说，随身带熗就等于要别人向你自己开熗。” “这次不同，”我说，“我们可以要他去借一枝。” 我们真跟他说了，可他要我们别胡说。 迪尔认为，想办法提出一个能打动他善良心地的要求可能会有用：不管怎么说，要是尤厄尔先生害死了他，我们就得挨饿，除非让亚历山德拉姑妈单独抚养我们；而且，我们都明白，不等阿迪克斯安葬好，她就会立即解雇卡尔珀尼亚。杰姆说，我年纪小，又是个女孩，要是我大哭大闹要性子，可能会起作用。其实那也不起作用。 但是，看见我们没精打采地在附近闲逛，既不想吃，也不热衷于我们的正常爱好，他知道我们惊恐到什么程度了。一天晚上，他给杰姆看一本新到的橄榄球杂志，想激起他的兴致。看见杰姆胡乱翻了几页就丢到一边时，他问道，“你怎么啦，孩子?” 杰姆直截了当地说：“尤厄尔先生。” “出了什么事?” “没出什么事。我们是为你担惊受怕。我们认为你应该对他采取点措施。” 阿迪克斯苦笑着说：“采取什么措施?用和平条约限制他?” “一个人说要千掉你，看起来他很可能真有这种打算。” “他说的时候是有这种打算的，”阿迪克斯说，“杰姆，你能不能站到尤厄尔先生那边想想。如果说他先前还有什么信用的话，在法庭上最后一点信用也被我毁掉了。他总要想办法出口怨气，他这种人就是这样。所以，如果他朝我脸上吐唾沫，扬言要宰了我，那就能够让梅耶拉?尤厄尔少挨一顿打，我倒十分愿意他这样做。他终究要找一个出气筒。既然这样，与其让他整他那一屡的孩子，不如让我来挨整。懂吗?” 杰姆点了点头。 阿迪克斯说：“鲍勃?尤厄尔没有什么值得我们怕的，那天早上他已把满腔怨气都发泄尽了。” 说这话时，亚历山德拉姑妈走进了屋子。 “这种事情我就不敢那么肯定。阿迪克斯，”她说，“他那种人报复起来什么事都于得出来。你知道他是什么样的人。” “尤厄尔究竟能怎样来报复我，妹妹?” “偷偷摸摸搞卑鄙勾当。”亚历山德拉姑妈说，“你等着瞧吧J” “在梅科姆镇，谁也没法偷偷摸摸。”阿迪克斯回答说。 从那以后，我们不再害怕了。夏天渐渐过去，我们抓紧时间玩了个痛快。阿迪克斯要我们放心，说在上一级法庭审理这个案件以前，汤姆-鲁宾逊一定会平安无事；他还说，汤姆很可能被释放，至少也会重新审判。他现在呆在切斯特县恩菲尔德劳改农场，离这儿有七十英里。我问阿迪克斯，汤姆的妻室儿女能不能去看他，阿迪克斯说不能。 一天晚上我问他：“如果上诉被驳回来，汤姆会怎么样?” 阿迪克斯回答说：“会判处死刑，除非州长减刑。不过现在还不是担心的时候，斯各特。我们很有赢的希望。” 杰姆趴在沙发卜看《大众机械学》。他这会儿抬起头来说：“真不合理。即使有罪，他也没杀人啊！他并没有断遗过任何人的性命。” “你知道，在亚拉巴马，强奸是要判处死刑的。”阿迪克斯说。 “我知道，爸爸。但是，陪审团不一定要刿处他死刑；他们愿意的话，可以只判二十年徒刑嘛。”杰姆讲到“判”字时犯了个语法错误。． “你讲话要注意语法。”阿迪克斯说，“问题是，汤姆?鲁宾逊是个黑人。在世界上我们的这块地方，没有哪个陪审团会说：‘我们认为你有罪，但是罪不重。’这个案子只有两种结果，要么就干脆释放，要么就是死刑。” 杰姆摇着头。“我知道这不合理，但究竟错在那儿，我也弄不清。可能强奸不应看作死罪……” 阿迪克斯手中的报纸掉在椅子边。他说他对于有关强奸的法律条款毫无意见。但是，起诉一方只根据问接证据就请求对被告处以极刑，而陪审团也以此为依据定极刑，对于这一点，他感到深为不安。他瞥了我一眼，看见我也在听，就把话说得浅显一点：“我是说，要是一个人因谋杀而判死刑，必须有一两个目击者。必须有人证明说：‘是的，我当时在场，亲眼看见他扣动扳机。” “但是很多人只根据间接证据就被判处了绞刑。”杰姆说。他说到。绞刑”时，又犯了个语法错误，但随即更正了。 “我知道，可能其中很多也确实是罪有应得。但是，没有目击者，疑惑总是有的，虽然有时只有一丁点儿疑惑。法律上允许判决时有‘合理的疑惑’，但我认为，这一丁点儿疑惑就应给被告某种权利。被告无辜，总有这种可能性，不管这种可能性是多么的靠不住。 “那么，一切的一切都有赖于陪审团了。我们应当废除陪审团制度。”杰姆说得很坚决。 阿迪克斯极力忍住笑，但还是忍不住地笑了。“你对我们真苛刻啊，孩子。我想，可能有一个比较好的办法，那就是修改法律，死刑只有法官才有权判处。” “那么，就上蒙哥马利修改法律去吧。” “修改法律有多难，你听了一定会吃惊。我这一辈子是看不到修改法律了，你这辈子即使看到了，你也将是老年人了。” 但是，这还不能使杰姆心悦诚服。“不，爸爸，应该废除陪审团。他根本就没有罪，但是陪审团硬说他有罪。” “假若陪审团是由你和十一个象你这样的娃娃组成，汤姆就自由了。”阿迪克斯说，“到现在为止，在你的生活中，还没有什么来干扰你的推理。组成汤姆案件的陪审团的十二个陪审员在日常生活中足懂道理的人，但是在法庭上你看得出他们和道理之间存在一种什么东西。那天晚上在监狱门前，你看到了类似的情况。那帮人走时，不是因为他们讲道理，而是因为我们在那儿。在这个世界上，有一种东西可以使人丧失理智——即使他想公正也办不到。在我们的法庭上，如果是自人跟黑人打官司，自人毫无疑问会赢。这种现象是丑恶的，但是这是生活中的事实。” “这样做并不说明合理。”杰姆不动声色地说。他用拳头轻敲着膝头。“不能凭那样的证据给一个人定罪啊——不能，绝对不能。” “你不能，但他们能，并且这样干了。你年纪越大会理解得越深刻。法庭应该是保证一个人受到公平待遇的唯一场所，不管是个什么肤色的人。可是，人们却以一种特殊的方式把他们的怨恨带到陪审团席上。等弥再长大一些你就会看到，生活中每天都有白人欺骗黑人的事情发生。但是，我告诉你一点——这一点你永远不能忘记t作为一个自人，无论什么时候，无论他是什么人，无论他多么富有，无论他出身多么高贵，只要他欺骗黑人，他就是个败类。” 阿迪克斯说这些话时声音一直很柔和，但他说的最后一个词听起来最响。我抬头看他，发现他脸上表露出强烈的感情。“最令我厌恶韵事情莫过于一个下贱的白人利用黑人的无知欺侮他们。不要自欺欺人了，所有的事情会累积起来，有朝一日，我们会要付这笔帐的。我希望不会在你们这一代找你们算帐。” 杰姆搔着脑袋。他突然睁大眼睛。。阿迪克斯，为什么我们这样的人，还有莫迪小姐这样的人，不能当陪审员呢?从没看见梅科姆镇的人当陪审员——陪审员都是来自树林子里的人。” 阿迪克斯坐在摇椅上往后靠着。由于某种原因，他对杰姆很满意。“我一直在想，什么时候你才会提出这个问题。”他说，“这有多方面的原因。比方说，莫迪小姐不能当陪审员是因为她是女的……” “你是说在亚拉巴马，女人不能……?”我顿时义愤填膺。 “是的。我想，这是为了保护我们的脆弱的女性，使她们不接触污秽的案件，比方说汤姆这种案件。除此以外，”阿迪克斯笑了笑接着说，“我怀疑，要是有妇女陪审员参加的话，我们是否能完成一次审判，因为女人总是会无休止地插嘴提问的。” 我和杰姆哈哈大笑。莫迪小姐当陪审团成员一定会给人留下深刻的印象。我想象老杜博斯太太坐在轮椅上高I儿{，“别老拿木锤敲个不停，约翰-泰勒，我想问这个人一个问题。”可能我们前人作出这样的规定是明智的。 阿迪克斯说：“在我们这样的人这儿——那是我们该付的帐啊。我们常常得到我们该得到的陪审团。我们这些倔强的梅科姆人，一来对这事不感兴趣；二来也有些害怕，三来……” “害怕，为什么?”杰姆问道。 “呃，比方说，假如雷切尔小姐开车压伤了莫迪小姐，林克?迪斯先生不得不决定雷切尔小姐要付给莫迪小姐多少赔偿金，那就不知道该怎么办了。她们俩作为他商店的顾客，他一个也不想丢了生意，是吗?所以他对泰勒法官说，他不能参加陪审团，因为他一走开就没人帮忙照管商店。所以，尽管泰勒有时因此很气愤，却还是不再勉强他了。” “他为什么要认为她们俩一定会有一个不会再买他店里的东西了呢?”我问道。 杰姆说：“雷切尔小姐会，但莫迪小姐不会。不过，陪审团的表决是秘密的啊，阿迫克斯。” 爸爸格格地笑了起来。“你要走的路程还长着呢，孩子。陪审团的表决不过是所谓的秘密。一个人当了陪审员，就不得不作出决定并明确表态，人们不喜欢干这样的事。干这样的事有时使人感到不是滋味。” “那天汤姆这件案子的陪审团肯定是很匆忙地作出判决的。”杰姆嘀咕道。 阿迪克斯把手指伸向表袋。他说，“他们不是这样的。”他的话与其说是对我们说的，不如说是对他自己说的，“这件事是唯一使我深思的事，可能预示着一个良好的开端。那陪审团花了几个小时才作出判决。可能这是一个不可避免的判决，但是通常他们只要几分钟就作出决定的。这一次……”他停下来看着我们。“你们可能愿意知道，他们中有个人，别人好不容易才说服他一一开始时，他坚决主张释放汤姆。” “潍啊?”杰姆感到非常惊讶。 阿迪克斯眨了眨眼睛。“不应该说出来，不过我告诉你们一点，他是你们的萨勒姆朋友之一。” “坎宁安家的人?”杰姆叫了起来，“一个……啊，我没认出他们中的任何一个人……你在开玩笑。”他用跟角斜视着阿迪克斯。 “他家的一个亲戚。我凭一时的直觉，没有把他的名字从陪审员名单中删去。只是凭一时的直觉。我本来可以删去的，但没删。” “天哪！”杰姆肃然起敬地说，“一会儿他们想杀死他，一会儿他们又想释放他……我一辈子也理解不了这些人。” 阿迪克斯说，我们必须理解他们。他说，坎宁安一家自从迁居新大陆以来，从不拿人家的东西；他们还有一个特点，一旦你博得他们的尊敬，他们就会竭尽全力地拥护你。阿迪克斯说，他有这么种感觉，或者仅仅是一种猜想，即那天晚上，那一帮人离去时，对我们一家已怀有相当的敬意。他又说，要想使坎宁安家族的人改变主意，除非天上打雷，再加上他们里面另一个人的苦苦劝说。要是陪审团里有两个那晚到监狱去的坎宁安家旅的人，绪审团就可能意『见分歧而作不出一致的判决了。 杰姆慢条斯理地说：“你是说，你竟然指定了一个前一天晚上还想杀你的人当陪审员?你怎么能担这样的风险?阿迪克斯，你怎么船这样呢?” “分机一下你就知道我并没有担什么风险。两个都要去给被告定罪的人，没有什么差别，是吗?但是，一个要去给被告定罪的人和一个心里稍微感到不安的人却有一点儿差别，不是吗?他是整个名单上唯一说不准的人。” “那人是沃尔特?坎宁安的什么亲戚?”我问道。 阿迪克斯站起来，仲伸懒腰打了个呵欠。时间还早，连我们睡觉的时间都还没到呢。不过，我们知道，他是想去看看报纸。他拾起报纸折叠起来，在我头上轻叩了儿下。“让我想一想，”他自言自语地说，“哦，知道了，是双重表兄弟。” “怎么个双重法?” “两姊妹嫁给两兄弟。好了，我就告诉你们这些，你们自己去弄清楚吧。” 我冥思苦想了好一会儿，最后断定，如果我与杰姆结婚，迪尔和他的妹妹结婚，那么，我们两家的孩子就是双重表兄弟了。“哎呀，杰姆，”阿迪克斯走后，我说，“他们是很奇怪的人，刚才你听见了吗，姑妈?” 亚历山德拉姑妈在钩织地毯，没有注视我们，不过耳朵还是在听。她坐在椅予上，椅子旁边放着针线篮，她钩的地毯铺在她的膝上。为什么女人们在酷热的夜晚钩织羊毛地毯，我始终弄不明白。 “听见了。”她说。 我想起了很久以前的一次灾难性的时刻。那时我毫不狁豫地为小沃尔特?坎宁安辩护。现在想起来，还为过去这么徼了而高兴。“一开学。我就要邀沃尔特来我们家吃饭。”我合计着说，把我暗自作过下次遇见他就要把他痛打一顿的决定忘到了脑后。“放学后，他有时也可以来玩玩，阿迪克斯可以开车进他回萨勒姆。他甚至可以在我们家过夜，是吗，杰姆?_， “到时候我会留意的。”亚历山德拉姑妈说。这样一句话到了她口中总是一种威胁，而不是许诺。我吃惊地回头看着她。“难道不行吗，姑妈?他们是好人哪。” 她从她的眼镜框上面看着我。“琼?路易斯，我心里毫不怀疑他们是好人。但是他们跟我们不同。” 杰姆说；“斯备特，她是说他们是乡巴佬。” “乡巴佬是什么意思?” “噢，就是粗俗的人。他们喜欢玩弄土乐器啊什么的。” “哎，我也同样啊……” “别傻了。琼?路易斯。”亚历山德拉姑妈说，“问题是你可以把沃尔特?坎宁安擦得闪闪发光，你可以给他穿鞋子，穿新农，但是他永远不会象杰姆。加之，他们家有酗酒的癖性，个个贪杯，我们芬奇家的女人对那种人不感兴趣。” “姑——妈，”杰姆说，。斯各特还不到九岁呢。” “她现在就学一学也不妨。” 亚历山德拉姑妈没再说什么了。她上次是怎样坚决拒绝我的要求的，我当时记忆犹新，不过不知道究竟是什么原因。那时，我一心想去卡尔珀尼亚家——既感到好奇又感到有趣，想到她家去做“客”，去看看她是怎么生活的，有些什么样的朋友。我就是想看看月亮的背面也无妨啊。这一次，亚历山德拉姑妈采用的策略不同了，但目的仍是一样。可能这就是她来和我们住在一起的原因：帮我们选择朋友。只要可能，我诚尽可能不接近她。“既然他们是好人，为什么我不能友好地对待沃尔特呢?” “我没有说不能对他好。你应该和他友好，对他有礼貌，对任何人都应该彬彬有礼，亲爱的。但是你犯不着邀他到家里来。” “如果他是我们的亲戚呢，姑妈?” “事实上他不是我们的亲戚}即使是，我也不让他来。” “姑妈，”杰姆大声说，“阿迪克斯况了，朋友可以选择，但家庭是不能选择的。不管你承认不承认，是亲戚的总归是亲戚。不承认反而显得愚蠢。” “又是你爸爸那一套，”亚历山德拉姑妈说，“我还是要说，琼?路易斯不能邀沃尔特?坎宁安到这个家里来。哪怕他们是双重表兄弟，他到这个家里来还是不会受欢迎的，除非是有事来找阿迪克斯。好，这件事情就这样吧。” 她过去总说就是不行。但这一次她倒愿意说出她的理由。 我说j“但是我想跟沃尔特玩，姑妈，为什么不行呢?” 她摘下眼镜瞪着我说：“告诉你为什么吧，因为他——是个——下贱的人。因此，你不能跟他玩。我不许你和他在一起学他的坏样，学些天知道的乌七八糟的东西。事实上你已经够使你爸爸伤脑筋了。”一 要是杰姆不拦住我，真不知我会干出什么来。他抓住我的双肩，搂住我把我带进他的卧室。我怒气冲天，抽泣不止。阿迪克斯听见了，从门外探头来看是怎么回事。“没什么，爸爸，”杰姆生硬地说，“没有发生任何事情。”阿迪克斯就没再管了。 。给你一点东西吃，斯各特。”杰姆伸手到口袋里拿出一块圆圆的巧克力糖。花了好几分钟我才把这块糖塑成一个舒适的形状含在嘴里。 杰姆在整理梳妆台上的东西。他的头发翘的往后翘，倒的往前倒，我怀疑他那头发到底会不会长得象一个男人的。如果他把头发剃光让它重新长，可能会长得熨熨帖帖。他的眉毛越长越浓了，我还注意到，他身子苗条些了，长高些了。 他转过身来时，一定以为我又会哭起来，因为他说：“给你看样东西，可别告诉别人。”我问他是什么。他解开衬衣钮扣，羞涩地咧开嘴笑。 “噢，是什么?” “你看不见吗?” “看不见。” “哎，是毛啊I” “在哪儿?” “这儿，就在这儿。” 因为他刚才安慰了我，所以我i兑很好看。实际上我什么也没看到。“真好，杰姆。” “腋窝里也有呢，”他说，“明年可以出去打橄榄球了。斯各特，别让姑妈把你搞恼了。” 昨天他好象还在要我别把姑妈搞恼了。 “你知道，她看不惯女孩子，”杰姆说，“至少是看不惯你这样的女孩子。她想让你变成一个有教养的女子。你不能学学缝纫什么的吗?” “哎呀，我才不学呢。她不喜欢我，就是这么回事。我才不在乎呢。我发火是因为她说沃尔特?坎宁安是下贱的人，而不是因为她说我使阿迪克斯伤脑筋。有一次，我和阿迪克斯把这个问题说清楚了。我问他我是不是难以管教，他说不见得，再难也没难到使他伤脑筋的地步，他叫我丝毫不要怕打扰他。不，我生气是为了沃尔特——他不是下贱的人，杰姆。他可不象尤厄尔家的人。” 杰姆甥掉脚上的鞋子，把脚撩到床上。一头靠在枕头上，打开台灯。“你知道吗，斯各特?我已经理出个头绪来了．我最近反复思考，终于理出个头绪来了。世界上一共有四种人。象我们和我们的邻居这样的普通人，象坎宁安那样的住在树林里的人，象尤厄尔那样住在垃圾场上白勺人，还有黑人。” “还有中国人呢?还有鲍德文县的凯琴人呢?。 “我是说在梅科姆县的范围内。现在的情况是：我们这种人不喜欢坎宁安这类人，坎宁安家的人不喜欢尤厄尔那样的人，尤厄尔家的人憎恨和蔑视黑人，” 我对杰姆说，“如果事情真是这样，由坎宁安这类人组成的陪审团为什么不释放汤姆来发泄对尤厄尔的怨恨呢?” 杰姆挥了挥手，表示我的问题太孩子气了。 “你知道，”他说，“收音机播放上乐器音乐时，我看见阿迪克斯用脚打拍子，他比我见过的任何人都喜欢喝自家酿的酒……” “那样我们就象坎宁安家的人了。”我说，“我不理解为什么姑妈……… “哎，让我说完——是的，那是使我们象他们了，但是，我们终究跟他们不同。有一次，阿迪克斯说，姑妈之所以这样为这个家庭感到忧心忡忡，是由于我们所有的只是门第，除此以外一无所有。” “唉，杰姆，我不知道……有一次阿迪克斯告诉我，有关最早的移民之类的东西大多数是毫无价值的，是荒谬的，因为每个人的家族都和其他人的家族一样古老。我问他黑人和英国人是不是也包括在内，他说是的，都包括在内。” “门第并不等于古老的家族啊。”杰姆说，“我想，门第指的是你这个家族会念书会写字共有多久了。斯各特，这个问题我冥思苦想了好大一阵子．这是我想刭的唯一原因。芬奇这一家族在埃及时，家里的某个成员肯定学会了一两个象形文字，并教给了他的小孩。”杰姆笑了起来。“想一想吧，姑妈为她的曾祖父能读能写而感到自豪——女人们总是挑一些奇怪的事情来引以自豪。” “暖，幸好那时侯有个人是这样做了，不然谁能教阿迪克斯和芬奇家其他的人呢?要是阿迪克斯不识字，你我两个就真糟了。不过，我想，门第不是指的这个，杰姆。” “那么，你怎么解释坎宁安家与我们家的不同昵?我曾经看见，沃尔特先生几乎连自己的姓名部不会写。我们只不过比他们读书写字的时间长一些罢了。” “不，每个人都要学了才会，没有人生来就会。沃尔特非常聪明，但他的聪明有时不能发挥，因为他经常要在家帮他爸爸干活。他没有什么不好。不，杰姆，我认为，人只有一种。就是人。” 杰姆转身捅了捅枕头。再靠下去时，他脸色显得有些阴沉。他的情绪又在低落下去，弄得我小心谨慎起来。他的眉毛蹙成一团，嘴巴变成了一条细缝。好大一会儿他都沉默营。 “我象你这么大时，”他最后说，“也是这样想的。如果人只有一种，为什么人与人之间不能很好地相魁呢?如果大家都一样，为什么他们要专门互相鄙视呢?斯各特，我想，我逐渐悟出了一个道理。我逐渐懂得了为什么布?拉德利总是把自己关在屋子里……那是因为他亭硌呆在屋子里。”