We were outside the courtroom. Everyone was there from Maycomb even people who I had never seen where there. I guess everyone was interested in this case of Tom Robinson. I wonder how he feels right now. Does he feel as nervous as I do? I think today is going to be a long day I hope I can go through all of it. I hope that Tom Robinson is found guilty.
Inside the courtroom I heard a little girl say, “Judge Taylor permits smoking in his room but he does not himself indulge.”
I was sat down quietly. Mr. Gilmer called Mr. Heck Tate up to testify. He recounted how on the night of November 21, my dad urged him to go to our house and told him that I had been raped. When Tate got there, he found me bruised and beaten, and I told him that Tom Robinson had raped me. Atticus came up and crossed examined the witness, who admitted that no doctor was summoned, and told Atticus that my bruises were concentrated on the right side of my face. Tate left the stand, and my dad was called up to testify.
Suddenly I started hearing people talking about us. I guess we were not really liked by the town of Maycomb because we are Ewells. We live behind the town garbage dump in a tin-roofed cabin with a yard full of trash. Our house was probably the worst house of the town. I don't like being a Ewell; my life is really bad. I have no friends I just stay in that horrible house and do chores all day. My dad takes the welfare money and he just drinks. He gets really different when he is drunk sometimes he just hits me. I hate it when that happens.
My dad testified that on the evening in question he was coming out of the woods with a load of kindling when he heard me yelling. When he reached the house, he looked in the window and saw Tom Robinson raping me. Robinson fled, and, my dad went into the house, saw that I was all right and ran for the sheriff. Atticus later cross-examined my dad. He asked my dad why no doctor was called. He said the doctor was too expensive. Then he made him write his name. My dad wrote on the back of the envelope and looked up complacently to see Judge Taylor staring at him as if he were some fragment gardenia in full bloom on the witness stand.
“What's so interestin'?” my dad asked.
“You're left-handed, Mr. Ewell,” said Judge Taylor. My dad turned angrily to the judge and said he didn't see what his being left-handed had to do with it, that fearing man and Atticus Finch was taking advantage of him. I guess he was really angry because that would prove that a left-handed man would be more likely to leave bruises on the right side of a girl's face. I was scared, that white lawyer would keep asking my dad those questions and making the truth come out. The impression in my face dispelled when that white lawyer stopped asking those questions to my Papa. I was called up to testify.
“Mayella Violet Ewell-!” I went stealthy to the witness stand.
Mr. Gilmer asked me to tell the jury in my own words what happened on the evening of November twenty-first of last year, just in my own words, please.
I sat silently.
“Where were you at dusk on that evening?” began Mr. Gilmer amiably.
“On the porch,” I said.
“Which porch?”
“Ain't but one, the front porch.”
“What were you doing on the porch?”
“Nothin'.”
Judge Taylor said, “Just tell us what happened. You can do that can't you?”
I stared at him and burst into tears. I covered my mouth with my hands and sobbed.
Judge Taylor let me cry for a while, then he said, “That's enough now. Don't be 'fraid of anybody here, as long as you tell the truth. All this is strange to you, I know, but you've nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to fear. What are you scared of?”
I said something behind my hands. “What was that?” asked the judge.
“Him,” I sobbed, pointing at Atticus.
“Mr. Finch?”
I nodded vigorously, saying, “Don't want him doin' me like he done my Papa, tryin' to make him out left-handed...”
Judge Taylor scratched his thick white hair.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Nineteen-and-a-half,” I said.
“Mr. Finch has no idea of scaring you,” he growled, “and if he did, I’m here to stop him. That’s one thing I’m sitting up here for. Now you’re a big girl, so you just sit up straight and tell the-tell us what happened to you. You can do that, can’t you?”
I started telling Mr. Gilmer my side of the story I said I called Tom Robinson inside the fence that evening and offered him a nickel to break up a dresser for me, and that once he got inside the house he grabbed me and took advantage of me. In Atticus’s cross-examination he asked me weird questions like if I had friends. At first I thought he was making fun of me but I guess he wasn’t. I mostly revealed that my life consisted of seven unhelpful siblings, a drunken father and no friends.
Atticus then examined my testimony and asked me why I didn’t put up a better fight, why my screams didn’t bring the other children running, and most important how Tom Robinson managed the crime: how he bruised the right side of my face with his useless left hand, which was torn apart by a cotton gin when he was a boy, thats what all the town would say. Atticus pleaded with me to admit that there was no rape, that my father beat me up. I shouted at him and yelled that the courtroom would have to be a bunch of cowards not to convict Tom Robinson: then I just burst into tears, and refused to answer any more questions.
After that we went on a ten minute recess.
After the recess Tom Robinson was called up to testify. I was a I little nervous about what he could say.
Tom Robinson testified that he always passed our house on the way to work and that I often asked him to do chores for me. On the evening in question, he recounted, I asked him to come inside the house and fix a door, and he noticed that the other children were gone. He said I told him I had saved my money and sent them all to buy ice cream. Then he said I asked him to lift a box down from a dresser. When Tom climbed on a chair, I grabbed his legs, scaring him so much that he jumped down. I then hugged him around the waist and asked him to kiss me. As I struggled, my father appeared at the window, calling me a whore and threatening to kill me. Tom fled. This was mostly the true story but I had to pretend this had not happen and that what I said first was true or if not I don’t know what my father would do to me.
Link Deas, Tom's white employer, stood up and declared that in eight years of work, he had never had any trouble from Tom. Judge Taylor furiously expelled Deas from the courtroom for interrupting. Mr. Gilmer got up and cross-examined Tom. The prosecutor pointed out that the defendant was once arrested for disorderly conduct and got Tom to admit that he had the strength, even with one hand, to choke the breath out of a woman and sling her to the floor. He began to badger the witness, asking about his motives for always helping me with my chores, until Tom declared that he felt sorry for me. This statement put the courtroom ill at ease—in Maycomb, black people weren't supposed to feel sorry for a white person. Mr. Gilmer reviewed my testimony, accusing Tom of lying about everything. I felt really happy because that Tom Robinson was goin’ to be found guilty.
Inside the courtroom I heard a little girl say, “Judge Taylor permits smoking in his room but he does not himself indulge.”
I was sat down quietly. Mr. Gilmer called Mr. Heck Tate up to testify. He recounted how on the night of November 21, my dad urged him to go to our house and told him that I had been raped. When Tate got there, he found me bruised and beaten, and I told him that Tom Robinson had raped me. Atticus came up and crossed examined the witness, who admitted that no doctor was summoned, and told Atticus that my bruises were concentrated on the right side of my face. Tate left the stand, and my dad was called up to testify.
Suddenly I started hearing people talking about us. I guess we were not really liked by the town of Maycomb because we are Ewells. We live behind the town garbage dump in a tin-roofed cabin with a yard full of trash. Our house was probably the worst house of the town. I don't like being a Ewell; my life is really bad. I have no friends I just stay in that horrible house and do chores all day. My dad takes the welfare money and he just drinks. He gets really different when he is drunk sometimes he just hits me. I hate it when that happens.
My dad testified that on the evening in question he was coming out of the woods with a load of kindling when he heard me yelling. When he reached the house, he looked in the window and saw Tom Robinson raping me. Robinson fled, and, my dad went into the house, saw that I was all right and ran for the sheriff. Atticus later cross-examined my dad. He asked my dad why no doctor was called. He said the doctor was too expensive. Then he made him write his name. My dad wrote on the back of the envelope and looked up complacently to see Judge Taylor staring at him as if he were some fragment gardenia in full bloom on the witness stand.
“What's so interestin'?” my dad asked.
“You're left-handed, Mr. Ewell,” said Judge Taylor. My dad turned angrily to the judge and said he didn't see what his being left-handed had to do with it, that fearing man and Atticus Finch was taking advantage of him. I guess he was really angry because that would prove that a left-handed man would be more likely to leave bruises on the right side of a girl's face. I was scared, that white lawyer would keep asking my dad those questions and making the truth come out. The impression in my face dispelled when that white lawyer stopped asking those questions to my Papa. I was called up to testify.
“Mayella Violet Ewell-!” I went stealthy to the witness stand.
Mr. Gilmer asked me to tell the jury in my own words what happened on the evening of November twenty-first of last year, just in my own words, please.
I sat silently.
“Where were you at dusk on that evening?” began Mr. Gilmer amiably.
“On the porch,” I said.
“Which porch?”
“Ain't but one, the front porch.”
“What were you doing on the porch?”
“Nothin'.”
Judge Taylor said, “Just tell us what happened. You can do that can't you?”
I stared at him and burst into tears. I covered my mouth with my hands and sobbed.
Judge Taylor let me cry for a while, then he said, “That's enough now. Don't be 'fraid of anybody here, as long as you tell the truth. All this is strange to you, I know, but you've nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to fear. What are you scared of?”
I said something behind my hands. “What was that?” asked the judge.
“Him,” I sobbed, pointing at Atticus.
“Mr. Finch?”
I nodded vigorously, saying, “Don't want him doin' me like he done my Papa, tryin' to make him out left-handed...”
Judge Taylor scratched his thick white hair.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Nineteen-and-a-half,” I said.
“Mr. Finch has no idea of scaring you,” he growled, “and if he did, I’m here to stop him. That’s one thing I’m sitting up here for. Now you’re a big girl, so you just sit up straight and tell the-tell us what happened to you. You can do that, can’t you?”
I started telling Mr. Gilmer my side of the story I said I called Tom Robinson inside the fence that evening and offered him a nickel to break up a dresser for me, and that once he got inside the house he grabbed me and took advantage of me. In Atticus’s cross-examination he asked me weird questions like if I had friends. At first I thought he was making fun of me but I guess he wasn’t. I mostly revealed that my life consisted of seven unhelpful siblings, a drunken father and no friends.
Atticus then examined my testimony and asked me why I didn’t put up a better fight, why my screams didn’t bring the other children running, and most important how Tom Robinson managed the crime: how he bruised the right side of my face with his useless left hand, which was torn apart by a cotton gin when he was a boy, thats what all the town would say. Atticus pleaded with me to admit that there was no rape, that my father beat me up. I shouted at him and yelled that the courtroom would have to be a bunch of cowards not to convict Tom Robinson: then I just burst into tears, and refused to answer any more questions.
After that we went on a ten minute recess.
After the recess Tom Robinson was called up to testify. I was a I little nervous about what he could say.
Tom Robinson testified that he always passed our house on the way to work and that I often asked him to do chores for me. On the evening in question, he recounted, I asked him to come inside the house and fix a door, and he noticed that the other children were gone. He said I told him I had saved my money and sent them all to buy ice cream. Then he said I asked him to lift a box down from a dresser. When Tom climbed on a chair, I grabbed his legs, scaring him so much that he jumped down. I then hugged him around the waist and asked him to kiss me. As I struggled, my father appeared at the window, calling me a whore and threatening to kill me. Tom fled. This was mostly the true story but I had to pretend this had not happen and that what I said first was true or if not I don’t know what my father would do to me.
Link Deas, Tom's white employer, stood up and declared that in eight years of work, he had never had any trouble from Tom. Judge Taylor furiously expelled Deas from the courtroom for interrupting. Mr. Gilmer got up and cross-examined Tom. The prosecutor pointed out that the defendant was once arrested for disorderly conduct and got Tom to admit that he had the strength, even with one hand, to choke the breath out of a woman and sling her to the floor. He began to badger the witness, asking about his motives for always helping me with my chores, until Tom declared that he felt sorry for me. This statement put the courtroom ill at ease—in Maycomb, black people weren't supposed to feel sorry for a white person. Mr. Gilmer reviewed my testimony, accusing Tom of lying about everything. I felt really happy because that Tom Robinson was goin’ to be found guilty.
