To Kill A Mockingbird
Judge Taylor
Court Case
Taking out one of my many cigars, I sniffed along the length of it. I twirled it around my fingers and finally, it having passed my inspection, I took a vicious bite. Chewing it slowly, I surveyed my court room.
The accused, Tom Robinson, was shuffling up to the stand. Atticus was watching him carefully, taking in every move his client made. Having already suffered through Heck Tate's, Bob Ewell's and the disaster that was Mayella's turn, I was surprisingly looking forward to what Atticus would pull out for his client.
Being a judge, I, of course, had to be unbiased and only, after all sides had given their appeal, could I make a judgement. But this case really had me torn.
Being raised as a respectable Southern man, I, naturally, was taught that black men were below me. Us, white men, were chosen by God. We were the almightly and powerful. Niggers were just tools, to be used when needed and tossed out when broken.
Atticus Finch was just like me. A right Southern gentleman. Raised in a good family, by good practices. But he believed differently. When I appointed him as Tom Robinson's lawyer, I knew the case wouldn't be straight forward. I don't even know why I did it. When this case landed on my desk, I sensed a long and public struggle ahead and then I decided to put Atticus Finch as the accused lawyer.
Maybe it was the human inside me that was trying to speak out. The human that believed in all this integration talk. That took the North's side in the Civil War. The human that was like Atticus.
Atticus could, and by Maycomb's people, should have just taken the case and went through it, without actually trying to defend Robinson. But being Atticus, here he was trying to clear Tom Robinson's name and get him back to his family.
Somewhere deep inside me admired the man, but the Southern man in me pitied him. It was a hard balance to live with.
Sighing in frustration, I produced the slick mess of cigar on my lips and spat it into the corner.
I could see the townsfolk of Maycomb visibly showing their discomfort as Robinson sat down. Little Scout Finch squirmed slightly in her seat. I had noticed them walk in but, after deciding that their presence would not do any harm, I had ignored them.
It was now looking into the eyes of the innocent child that I realised how much discord this case could cause this town. Atticus was a good lawyer and if anyone had the ability to pull the jury in favour of Tom Robinson, it was him. I had heard stories from my wife suggesting that even before the case has started, the Finches were the butt of jokes and at the recieving end of insults.
When I had given Atticus the case, I had not wanted to cause them any grief but it seems the people of Maycomb were very set in their ways. Tom Robinson was guilty. I should have known that but I had tricked myself into believing I could change the minds of people, whose beliefs had been drilled into them from birth.
If on the off chance, Tom Robinson was proven innocent, there would be public outrage. People storming the black neighbourhood, in search for Robinson. Insults thrown at the Finch kids at school. Somehow, I hoped Robinson would be proven guilty, just to save the Finches and the Robinsons from the ill-treatment that was sure to follow it he was not.
I turned to see Robinson trying to place his crippled left hand on the Bible to take his oath.
Crippled left hand.
Mayella's right side of the face was bruised, suggesting she was hit by a left-handed person.
" That'll do Tom," I growled.
Atticus went on to tell the jury all about Tom Robinson. According to Tom, he did bust up the Ewell's chiffarobe, but it happened last Spring.
I sighed. Yes, this was going to be a long, hard and very, very public case.
I just hoped Maycomb would understand.
Courtney McMullan 9PLB