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。”