Aftermath
Even the best a’ mothers need a break sometimes. Or that’s what I keep tellin myself when I holler at the kids t’ go outside so I can be gettin some sleep. I can’t sleep at night not anymore. My only escapes are the brief snatches in between cookin and cleanin scrubbin and tendin. I’ve been learning to sleep in small segments ten minutes here twenty minutes there. And if I can’t fall asleep, I use that time t’think. To reflect. To remember. The thoughts that in the dark of night turn dark are bearable durin the day. And I can’t help it. I can’t not remember him.
Today my excuse is groceries. Margaret down the street will look after my babies and I can spend the thirty-minute walk inta town wallowin. Sometimes it’s almost nice to remember. No nice ain’t the right word. It’s…calmin. If I can think freely durin the day the nights aren’t as tough. And I’ve gotta keep it together for my kids.
As I pass the old oak tree goin inta town I pause. This tree is special to me for two reasons. One is because this was the tree that the man who murdered my husband was stabbed out under. This is also the place I had my first conversation with Mr. Finch after Tom was accused. I remember that talk real well…
I was walkin inta town for groceries much the same as I am now. I had been so wound up what with all that was goin on that I had forgotten t’ buy food. So I reminded myself that starvin myself t’ death wasn’t gonna help nothing and I went inta town. That was two days after that Ewell man accused him. Why that man Finch was gonna defend him was beyond me. What’re we to him? Tom was just another Negro. We get blamed for things so much it’s almost a everyday occurrence and no one gives a damn. What made this man Finch look at us with pity instead of the indifference and hate from others? I was thinking about all a’ this when I near bumped inta him roundin a corner.
“Helen,” he says smilin at me. I'm not used to the kinda smile he gives me. Whenever white folk smile at us, there’s something in their eyes, something dangerous. But he smiles with his entire face and body too. He seems…warm. Not arrogant. Not hateful. Not even uninterested. He seems actually happy t’ see me.
“Why?” I ask him. He frowns in confusion not sure what I'm refurin to. “Why you so happy t’ see me?” I clarify for him.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he responds. We stare at each other for minute. But he seems like a decent man so I smile back.
“Actually,” he says, “I was hoping I would run into you, although not quite as literally as it turned out.” He pauses there and smiles a little t’ himself. But then the smile fades and he’s serious. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he repeated softly. “In all truth, Helen, it is you who should be unhappy to see me. You should know that any news I bring won’t be good.” He paused waiting for me to say something.
“Well I would rather it be you than some court appointed idiot who’d as soon as look at Tom t’ say he’s guilty. Y’ know how it is Mr. Finch. At least you wanna defend him. That’s more than can be said o’ the others. It doesn matter t’ them. All we blacks are the same. I'm telling you it was that girls dad did somat t’ her and just blamed it on the first passin Negro he saw. And he’ll win too. The people of this town ain’t never gonna choose a black man over a white.”
“But what if I can prove his innocence?”
“It don’t matter nome. This town just like any other still won’t do it. They’re blinded by their hate and fear a’ us. Some of them are even halfway decent but have just been treatin us like dirt for so long they can’t e’en remember it’s wrong. And then there are those who will lie through their teeth under oath in the God’s name just to see some Negro blood. But it don’t matter nome which one’s they are the outcome is the same.”
“Helen, I realize, probably even better than you know, the racism involved in this case, the hatred, the blindness. But I have faith that the good people in Maycomb will come to their senses. I must have faith.” He closed him eyes for a moment. He looked tired.
“It’s been nice talking t’ ya Mr. Finch. I’ll see ya round.”
“Yes, you will. And I'm sorry Helen. So sorry.”
With that he turned and left me standin there like a shot mad dog wide eyed and foamin at the mouth. He’d been wrong though. All they see of us is the color of our skin.
I continue walkin past the elementary school and past the Radley house. I feel like if I turn my head to look at the old house I’ll see a set of colorless eyes lookin right back at me. Most a’ the Negro women I know will go outa their way t’ avoid this house. Scared silly. And they have every right t’ be. But I don’t turn I hold my head up high and walk straight by. I am relieved when I turn the corner. I pass some nameless houses, not really paying much attention to anythin at all. Then all of a sudden I'm surrounded. A group o’ five boys white big and mean lookin. Most o’ there people here won’t do nothin t’ me no more which is why I feel safe goin inta town by myself but these five obviously have no idea who I am else they’d leave me alone like the rest a’ them do.
“Pay up,” says one steppin forward. He’s short but broad and his muscles show from under his shirt. And he’s filthy. In fact all five of um could be usin a bath. I try t’ stay calm.
“What do ya want son?” I emphasize this last word hopin t’ put him in his place and knowin it won’t work.
He growls. “I said pay up, bitch.” He spits at me.
If I wasn’t so frightened, I would sigh. If I was white there wouldn’t be no problem. These boys wouldn’t look twice at me. But it ain’t like this is rare at least not the spittin part. That’s just a everyday part a’ my life. Everyday racism.
But this whole money thing is new. No one in Maycomb has ever ever demanded my money from me not even before the trial. I mean who would be stupid enough to try t’ steal from me in broad daylight? People will turn a blind eye t’ many a black’s misfortune but stealin is a whole nother story.
But no one else is on the street. No one t’ save me.
“Listen, bitch, you give me your money NOW” --- he shouts the last word --- “or I’ll beat ya into a pulp! You want that?” He steps forward.
Nome I sure don’t. But I can’t afford t’ give up my grocery money. So I say t’ him, “Think about what yer doin son.”
He pauses and scrunches his face up like he’s thinkin and pretends t’ scratch his dirty head. All of a sudden his face brightens with fake understanding.
“All right, bitch, I thought about it. I thought about it real good.” He pauses. I wait for him t’ speak but it seem like that’s all he’s gonna say. But I can’t think a’ anything that I could say that could help me so I stay quiet. We stare at each other and he realizes I ain’t gonna say nothing either. His eyes harden and he steps forward again.
“My my, what have we here?” We all turn in the direction of the newcomer’s voice. My heart soars when I see who it is.
“Scout,” says the boy. “It’s been a while.”
“I go by Jean now. And yes, I believe the last time I saw you was the first day of first grade. Did you ever move to second?”
“Nome, I sure didn’t. Jean now is it? What, Scout ain’t good enough for a lady? You’s only can be about fifteen or so. That ain’t so old to be callin yourself Scout.”
“What’s going on here Burris?”
Burris. Suddenly it makes sense. And a anger so strong I very near came t’ strikin that bastered rose up in me.
“You.” I turn on him. “Your father killed my husband. How dare you even come near me?”
Burris laughs. “Don’t come near me!” he shrieks in a high falsetto.
Before I can smack him over the head with my purse Scout sorry I mean Jean intervenes.
“Burris,” she says starin him right in the eye. “Go.”
He looks at her for a second and then stalks off without another word his surprised and disappointed gang followin ‘im.
“Thanks Miss Jean,” I say.
“Fear is a very interesting thing,” is all she says. We walk in silence for a couple of minutes towards town.
As we reach the center of the town, Jean stops.
“Burris Ewell hates me. He’d do anything for a chance to pummel me. He could have easily then. Why didn’t he?” She pauses here. “I’ll tell you why. Fear. Every move we make is dictated by fear. That’s why Tom ran, even though he could have been saved in the appeal. Fear’s the reason he was convicted in the first place. They say it’s healthy, fear. Keeps you from doing stupid things. But I disagree. Fear’s killed many more lives than bravery has. You see, fear is very strong. It takes over everything, and nothing else is important. Bob Ewell was a man blinded by fear. The only thing important to him was making sure the thing he most feared, discovery, never happened. As a result, he ruined and decimated the lives of many others. He gave in to his fear. But if you can resist it, if you can see things clearly, you can do amazing things. I was scared silly just now rescuing you. Yet I fought my fear and now you’ll manage to put food on the table for your family for the next week. My father was able to put aside his fear and defend your husband. You just have to make sure you don’t mistake stupidity or madness for bravery.”
“How is your father?”
Jean sighs. “He’s much the same, outwardly at least. But I can tell he’s in pain. It’s his back, you know. We want him to do something about it, but he refuses to. He says it’s nothing. But he’s allowing Jem to take over much of his work.”
“Yah I heard about that case he won for that poor black man. Mr. Wimple. How anyone could accuse him of stealin that bag a’ grain what with his fake leg is beyond me.”
“Again, it all has to do with fear. Only this time the jury’s more scared of Jem then of the Taylors.”
“Well Miss Jean thanks fer walkin me inta town. And send my regards t’ Atticus.”
“I will. It was very nice talking to you.”
“Yah you too.” She turns around a starts walkin back the way she came. I watch her until I can’t see her no more and then I shake she head to clear it. I need to hurry up with my shoppin and hurry home. I got kids t’ take care of.
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