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On the night of Halloween, a mockingbird was killed: Boo Radley. While trying to defend my brother Jem, Mr. Bob Ewell managed to plunge a knife into Boo's chest before falling on his own knife in his drunken stupor, killing him instantly. This I watched in horror, fearing for Jem's life as well as my own. I didn't even realize it was Boo until after he had been killed when Mr. Heck Tate was explaining to Atticus that Jem wasn't the one that killed Bob Ewell. Only then did I have the epiphany that Boo Radley was the one who had saved our lives from the peril of Bob Ewell.
Jem was currently asleep when I found all of this out. Dr. Reynolds said his arm was severely broken, and it would take a long time for Jem to fully recover. I knew Jem will have difficulty submitting to his orders to rest, considering his inability to be content while remaining in bed doing absolutely nothing. It really is unfortunate for Jem, as he never even got the chance to see Boo Radley. He will be jealous.
After learning what Boo did, Maycomb County wanted to throw him a large funeral to honor the ultimate sacrifice he made to protect us, but Atticus refused to let that happen.
"Arthur would want nothing so ostentatious as the tribute you are talking about, Miss Stephanie," Atticus politely said to her when she approached the subject to him and Mr. Nathan the next morning when word got out what happened. "That will be my thanks to him, keeping him out of the way of unwanted attention. It would simply be a sin to allow that, and I won't have it," he had said firmly. This was the second time I had ever heard Atticus say it was a sin to do something, the first being when he said it was a sin to kill a mockingbird. Atticus was right. One sin had already been committed, there was no need to carry out another in Boo's name.
Boo ended up being cremated, as was Mr. Nathan's wish. His ashes were spread at the pond located at Finch's landing. Atticus, Miss Maudie, Aunt Alexandra, Mr. Heck Tate, Mr. Nathan, Calpurnia, and I were the only ones in attendance. As small and intimate as the service was, it was the most beautiful service I had ever attended.
As Boo's ashes were scattered into the water, tears were brought to my eyes. Boo saved my life. Our lives. He was our guardian, our protector. He watched over us, making sure we were alright. He placed objects, treasures, in that knothole in the tree as tokens showing he was protecting us, loving us.
During the service when I realized all of this, I felt bad I hadn't known it sooner. I never got to thank him, or even talk to him. Instead, my brother and I went around thinking he was some murderous psychopath. In reality, he was the opposite.
The service concluded, and we all drove to our own homes. I saw Mr. Nathan go into his house. As he did, he turned and gave me a quick wave. When I went to wave back, he was already in the house. This was the first gesture of friendliness he had ever made towards me, and he did it so quickly I wasn't for sure he had even done it. A gesture of friendliness towards me, or anybody for that matter, was an anomaly from his usual disposition. Either way, I never saw him again except for when he would walk by our house to town in his lackadaisical manner.
Several days passed, and not much happened. Atticus went back to work two days after Boo's service. Jem became fully conscious the afternoon of Boo's funeral. When he found out about Boo and what he did for us, boy was he jealous.
"You saw 'em scout? You really saw 'em?" Jem asked, enthusiastically curious.
"Yeah, I sure did. He was a real nice fellow, timid as he might've been, though I didn't seem 'em but maybe a minute," I said.
"What did he look like? Was he tall, scout? Did he have sharp, bloody teeth? Were his hands bloodstained?"
At his choice of words about Boo's hands, I became very aware of what I was going to have to tell him
"Uh...Jem?"
"Yeah, Scout?"
"Boo's dead. He uh, died while trying to save us. Bob Ewell stabbed him. I'm really sorry, Jem."
Jem's face went as white as paper. He turned his head toward the window, looking out at nothing in particular. I could see tears rising in his eyes, and he swallowed hard, making his Adam's Apple bob up and down.
"First, Bob Ewell kills Tom Robinson. He might as well have been the one to shoot 'em. It's his fault. Now, he physically kills Boo. Who next, scout? When will his reign of terror end?" Jem asks angrily.
"If it makes you feel any better, Jem, Bob Ewell is dead, too. He fell on his own knife. He was drunk like he always was."
"Good, Scout. I hope he experienced excruciating pain. He deserved to suffer. I hope he goes to Hell." This was the most furious I had ever seen Jem get besides the time he got so mad at Mrs. Dubose he decided to destroy her Camellia bushes. Apparently Atticus thought so too.
"Don't ever say you wish someone went to Hell, son," he says, standing in the doorframe.
"I'm sorry, Atticus, but I'm so angry at him," says Jem.
"I know, son. I am too. Sometimes in this world, there are people who will make you angry. They get right under your skin, and you think you won't ever be able to stand it. But try not to let it get to that point. I know you are angry, as you have a right to be. Bob Ewell hurt you and other innocent people, there is no changing that, but don't let it consume your life. Just try to forgive and forget. Hold your head up high and show the world that you won't let it get you down. Don't be arrogant, just hold it high enough to prove you are stronger and better than the thing that angers you. That's what I do when I become angry with someone or something."
Both Jem's and my mouth hung agape. Atticus saying he was angry at someone was the equivalent to telling us he had murdered twelve people. Atticus seemed to realize this.
"Of course I get angry, contrary to popular belief. I'm still human, you know, no matter how phlegmatic I may seem. Let me tell you something, when I found out the jury decided Tom was guilty, I felt so apoplectic I could've set the whole court house on fire. My whole spirit and being sank, but I tried to go ahead and forgive them anyway. I became optimistic in thinking Tom would win in an appeal. So when Tom was killed, you can imagine how disheartened I felt then, and still do. I have decided to forgive the people who shot him and have dismissed it as simple ignorance. Just like when I found out about Bob Ewell attacking you children. He did it out of pride, ignorance, and jealousy.
"While I may not necessarily forget things like I advised you children to do, I do try to forgive everyone. It helps you move on. To live your life in a happier manner."
I pondered this. It seemed impossible to forgive Bob Ewell for killing Boo. I approached this subject to Atticus.
"Atticus, how can you possibly ever forgive him for all of the pain he has inflicted on people. On his own children, on an innocent black man and his family, on your own son, and on Boo Radley. He killed 'em, Atticus, he killed him!" At this point, I could feel the biting sting of tears welling up in my eyes.
Atticus gave me one of those solemn grimaces he makes when he has something to say that is unpleasant. "Jean Louise, you will never understand why he did it. Neither will I. However, I do know that if you forgive him, you will feel better, that I promise you. It helps you get on with your life. It shows you and others that you are a better person.
"There are just some men like him who have a downright mean streak in them. I'm going to be very philosophical for a moment. Life's maliciousness is an unknown factor that not even the world's most notably intellectual beings can reason. What Bob Ewell did is a fact of life that we do not understand, and no one will ever truly understand. Do you see the point i'm trying to make?" Says Atticus.
Neither Jem nor I respond. We both simply sat in Jem's bedroom, looking out the window and reflecting on Atticus's wise words.
"Can I ask you both something?" Atticus asks, breaking the silence. We both look at him somewhat eagerly, awaiting what his question is. "Why the Change of heart about Arthur Radley, or Boo, as you two are partial to calling him. Jean Louise, you never spoke to him, and Jem never even laid eyes on the man. Both of you used to think he was a madman who spent his evenings dining on squirrels and peeping at people while they were asleep."
Jem and I looked at each other and smirked, sharing a look that only a brother and sister will ever experience. "Atticus," Jem begins,"We learned that Boo was our friend when we started finding things he put into the knothole in the tree he wanted us to have. He was our friend." "Our guardian as well, I suppose," I interjected.
Atticus smiled. "I know he was. He still is," he says. Atticus got up and walked out of the room, leaving Jem and me to ponder this as well.
Later that night, while we were eating supper sans Jem, I had an idea that I wanted to run by Atticus. The idea was given to me when Atticus was advising me to forgive Bob Ewell. "Atticus, what is going to become of the Ewell children now that their daddy is dead?"
Atticus finished chewing the food that was in his mouth before answering me, which seemed to take forever. That was one thing about Atticus and Aunt Alexandra that was alike: Their table manners remained intact no matter what.
"I really don't know, Scout. Mayella is trying to raise the other seven children to the best of her ability. I hear she made the children old enough to work go on a farm and help pick soybeans and the like. That was smart of her, because she needs all the money she can get. It's a pitiful situation, when you get right down to it. Why'd you ask, Scout?"
"I...well I didn't know if maybe I should go down to the Ewell place in the evenings after school and maybe help Mayella out around the house a little. Keep her company. By doing that, maybe it'll help me forgive Bob Ewell," I say, a little timidly.
"Scout, I think that is a lovely idea. That is right kind of you," says Aunt Alexandra. Atticus nodded in agreement.
I was really shocked to hear Aunt Alexandra's approval, based on her previous comments about the Ewells being complete trash and they weren't fit for anyone to be around. She had really changed her disposition ever since Tom Robinson had died. She didn't act as arrogant anymore, and Jem and I noticed she no longer tolerated those missionary circle ladies and their snide ways. I never thought i'd actually get along and agree with Aunt Alexandra, but now that she's changed, the possibility is growing.
The following afternoon, I walked to the Ewell place from school. Mayella Ewell was outside tending to the red geraniums that sat off on the side of the yard. When she first saw me, a flummoxed look appeared on her face. I couldn't blame her, because after what her daddy had done to Jem and me, she was probably scared we were going to get her back, even though it wasn't her fault.
"Hey, Mayella," I say to her, remembering her repugnance of the title miss, a title she had no way of completely understanding. She timidly raised her hand toward me, yet she wouldn't look at me in the face. She seemed to be staring at my feet.
"Those geraniums are very pretty," I say, trying to approach her. She look down at them and poured a little water on the first one in the row out of her rusted tin watering can. "Yessum, they are. I take pride in 'em," Mayella says, barely above a whisper.
An awkward silence ensued. She kept pouring water on the rest of the geraniums. Next, she carefully pulled the small weeds that had grown in the ground between each one. She then kept plucking off all of the dead blooms that had appeared on the plants, which was a relatively good amount considering it was now November, the time of year where temperatures dropped some at night but remained warm during the days. After all, it rarely got cold in Alabama in November. I noticed how gently she worked with the flowers; it was as if she were caring for a child. In a way, those flowers were her children. She loved them and cared for them like she did for nothing else. They were just about all she had in this world.
"You sure do a good job keeping those flowers pretty. They're nice and red. Do you put any special fertilizers on them?" I ask her
"Yessum, I do," she mumbles. It occurred to me that she might literally be scared to talk to me since Atticus is my father, and I may tell him anything she says, which we could use against her. In a way, it made sense, but in all actuality, there was nothing else Atticus could do to her with both Tom Robinson and Bob Ewell dead.
"Uh, Mayella," I say, "I wanted to come out here and see if there was anything I could do to help you out. You must have a lot to do, being in charge and all like you are."
She looks at me for the first time since I have been here. Our eyes make contact and in them I can see just the faintest, most minute glint of trust in them, as if she was starting to suspect I actually hadn't come out here to get her into trouble.
"I suppose I do have a lot going on. I could use some help 'round here. No offence, but why are you coming out here to help me?" she asks.
"No reason, really, I just assumed you needed help, that's all. I don't really have anything to do after school, now with Jem like he is." At Jem's mention, she winces. "He just needs to rest, that's all. His arm will heal in a couple of months, and then he'll be fine," I add, hoping to make her feel a little more at ease. It did.
"Oh, well thank you. Why don't you come on in the house and i'll show you around," Mayella says, her voice barely above a whisper. She walks me to the house in her timid way. She acted as if I was going to stab her if she dared to turn her back. "Here we are," she says.
As I already knew, there wasn't much to look at. The house was very dirty. There was dirt all over the floor, or what could be seen of the floor, rather. Beer bottles littered the floor and sat atop what measly furniture there was in the room. The room itself was small and led down a shotgun hall where three other rooms could be accessed. From what I could tell, the three other rooms were all bedrooms: one for the late Bob Ewell, one for the girls, and one for the boys. I speculated Mayella probably now claimed her late father's room as her own, considering it was the only one with a real bed. In the other two, dirty brown-stained cushions were scattered on the floor. These presumably were what the children slept on. They were all probably found in the town dump like the rest of the furniture in the house.
"What a cozy home you have, Mayella," I say, politely lying through my teeth.
"No, it's really not, but it's the best we can do," she responds, waving her hand towards the dirty cushions.
"Why, I bet we could make this place look a lot better if we cleaned it up a little," I tell her. In reality, the best way to clean up the place would be to set it on fire, but I wouldn't have told her that.
"You really think we could?" she asks.
"Oh, sure, we'll just have to sweep the floors, throw away the beer bottles, clean up the junk in the yard, maybe try to get some new furniture, and then you'll be set," I say, even though I knew no matter how much we cleaned up, the house would still hold its dilapidated look because of the way it was built and how much maintenance it had been neglected.
I realized it was starting to get late, and I would need to go soon to go home for supper. "Mayella, I better be on my way home, but i'll come back tomorrow and we can get started."
"Oh, okay. See you tomorrow," she says, and in her voice I could hear happiness. On my walk out across the yard, I took notice of all the miscellaneous items scattered on the grass. It would probably take at least two weeks just to remove all of the stuff on the ground.
By the time I made it to the house, it was almost dark. The least time I walked in the dark, my life was almost stolen from me. I shuddered at the thought.
Atticus was sitting in the chair in the living room when I walked in. "Well, Scout, how was she?" he asks.
"Well, she was really quiet and timid the whole time I was there. I think she was nervous to be around me, but she did seem glad I had come. When I told her I would come back, she sounded a little happy. Their house is awful, Atticus," I say him. I described the inside of their house to him, and he grimaced.
"Mayella has had a hard life. She can't help the way they live. It was her father's fault, not her's. I'm glad you have taken it upon yourself to help her, though. I'm sure she'll love for you to go over there, but give her time to get warmed up to you, first. From what I can tell, that girl has a hard time understanding that not everyone is a despicable as her father was. You can show her otherwise, Scout, as i'm sure you will," he says.
"Yeah, you're right. I just feel sorry for her," I say, echoing the the words of the late Tom Robinson.
"A lot of people do, Scout," he says.
"Supper is ready," calls Calpurnia from the kitchen, beckoning to us it was time to eat.
The next day, I went back to Mayella's after school. The first thing we did was pick up all of the beer bottles in the house. I couldn't stand looking at them, knowing they were most of the reason for all of the trials of life we all have had to go through recently. This in itself took a while to do, considering just how many there were. Even Dolphus Raymond wouldn't have laid a claim on drinking that many beers, despite the fact he truly didn't drink.
While I was there, I could already tell that Mayella was feeling a little less nervous around me. She was still on edge, of course, but at least it had improved. She didn't talk much, but when she did, she spoke louder and with more certainty.
Two weeks went by, and I went to Mayella's house everyday. We got the inside if the house cleaned up. The floors were swept, the walls were scrubbed, and all of the trash was gone. We had started trying to clean the yard up some, which proved to be very difficult. The Ewell's yard and the town dump looked about the same.
During this time, she talked to me more, and even confided things into me. She would ask about my suggestions as to what to do with the younger children, and I would tell her my answer.
"You know, for an eight year old, you're pretty resourceful," she said to me. "I do what I can," I had said back.
One day, she didn't say much, and I could tell something was wrong.
"Mayella, what's bothering you?" I asked. She looked anywhere but at me, which reminded me of when I had first started coming here.
"Oh, nothing… I was just thinkin'," she says.
"About?" I ask.
"It's my fault Tom died. I was just so scared," she says with tears welling up in her eyes. I had suspected she felt bad about this, but I had never said anything. I remember how upset she had been in that court room, how scared she probably was of her father. At the time, the jury thought it was because of Tom, but we all now know the real reason.
Because Tom was a black man, Mayella's story had real verisimilitude. Almost everyone in Maycomb County had automatically assumed Tom was guilty before the trial. After the trial, people had their doubts, but they had rather commit an innocent black man than think a white man would do something so horrible to his own daughter.
"Mayella… It's one of those situations where no one wins. What happened to Tom was horrible. It's not completely your fault. It's mostly society's fault. While you did do something to make it all start, you didn't do anything wrong. What your father tried to do afterwards was wrong, although he was taught this by society," I say. It was true too.
Society was the one to blame for Tom's death. When Mayella developed feelings of some sort for a black man, it broke all codes society had established. She wasn't the only one to hold these taboo feelings, and she wouldn't be the last. A time will come where a great Götterdämmerung will come to the beliefs of society where one person is better than another person. When this time comes, people like Mayella won't have to lie to protect themselves, causing innocents like Tom to be annihilated. The regime we call society will mostly accept those things, so people can all on the same level, the same basis of life. There is only one kind of people: people. We are all created in the same way.
As I thought about this, it gave me hope for Mayella and for the future. Tom's death would one day be justified. Mayella's feelings would one day be justified. Boo Radley's death was not done in vain, but Bob Ewell's death was, as all people like Bob Ewell are. After all, all mockingbirds serve a purpose, and they all sing for other's enjoyment while they do it.