Jami Attenberg - Saint Mazie

Mazie’s Diary, April 11, 1920

I adore every little thing about taking the train to work. I feel gentle, resting on the cushion of the straw cane seats, the ceiling fans above dusting me with air. The train rocks us all in sweet rhythm. Babies drop their heads on their mamas’ chests. I keep catching myself smiling like a fool on the train. The smell of the burning oil even makes me feel a little lusty, though I know that’s odd. No one around me knows what it means to me, what five cents a ride can do for a girl. Change her world forever.

Mazie’s Diary, May 1, 1920

Another postcard from Jeanie today. A picture of White City. I liked all the sweet little trees around the edges of the park. Not so different from our Luna Park, I suppose, except we’ve got the ocean and all Chicago’s got is some boring old lake. Phoenix Theatre, that’s where she’s playing these days.

The postcard said: Why didn’t you tell me staying up late was this much fun?

A note like that, now she’s just bragging. I hope she’s having the time of her life. I hope she’s breaking hearts and wearing out those heels on her dancing shoes. I hope someone’s having fun somewhere.

Mazie’s Diary, May 12, 1920

Sister Tee brought a peace offering, a bag of sweets, peppermint candies strong enough to knock you sober.

Sister Tee said: I didn’t do anything wrong.

I said: It wasn’t what you did. It was what you said.

Sister Tee: What did I say? I was only concerned for your welfare.

It makes me grind my teeth, her talking like she knows better than me how to take care of myself. She’s no older than I am. Devotion to something doesn’t make you any kind of expert on life. Life makes you an expert on life.

I forgave her though. I missed her when she was gone, and I adore her, it’s true. No one I’d rather tease than my little Tee.

Mazie’s Diary, July 1, 1920

Postcard from Jeanie.

It said: I’m in love with love.

I didn’t like this postcard much. Michigan Boulevard, Looking North. Bunch of buildings and cars, no different than New York City. Cleaner, I suppose. Shoot anything from the right angle and it can look clean.

Mazie’s Diary, July 15, 1920

Al Flicker was on the train this morning. He got on at Jay Street, with a plump, purple shiner.

I said: Hey, Al, I’d hate to see the other guy, right?

Just trying to make a joke, make things easy on the guy. But he didn’t think it was funny. He didn’t think it was much of anything. He just looked behind me, at the darkness of the station. He stared so hard I looked myself to see if there was anything there. But all I could see was pitch-black tunnel.

George Flicker

My mother didn’t know where he was disappearing to, and I don’t think he could have told you much either. He was a grown man though, and allowed to go where he pleased. I was still carousing in Europe myself, so I couldn’t really disagree with how he spent his time. In my mother’s letters and phone calls though, I could tell she was really worried. She used to say he’d be the death of her, and I’d say, “Ma, like anything could kill you.”

Mazie’s Diary, September 5, 1920

A postcard from the Captain.

It said: I’ll be in New York City on October 4. I’d be honored if you’d join me for dinner. P.S. You look gorgeous in red.

Mazie’s Diary, September 16, 1920

Devastating day. Ain’t seen nothing like it before in my life, never hope to again.

A bomb went off down on Wall Street. I heard it at noon. A mile away and I could hear it, not like it was right next to me but close enough. No lines for another hour, so I shut the cage and stepped outside. I saw Mack running. Then more of the foot patrol. I watched them fly. I stopped breathing for a second. The whole city grew quiet, I swear it. And then I heard screaming. I hiked up my skirt and started running down Pearl Street. Don’t know what I was thinking, don’t know where I was heading. Just toward the noise. Just wanted to help.

After a few minutes a crowd was coming from the other direction. Some of them covered in yellow dust, like parchment, and then a few with some blood. Nobody was dying, but they were all scared and crying. Dazed creatures. I was pushing against them, I didn’t mean to. I was going the wrong direction. I used to outrun all the boys. I still remember turning and seeing them all trailing behind me.

The farther downtown I got, the more dust I saw. All kinds of things flying through the air. The red of the blood against the yellow of the dust. I’d have liked to wash it all clean. Started praying for rain, thought that would help. Whatever’s up there in the sky, let it rain. I looked up but all I saw was these clouds of smoke, yellow and green mixed together. Sirens screeching madness. Someone said it was the Morgan building, a bomb at the Morgan building.

I ran up Wall Street. Windows blown out in buildings along the way. I started seeing bodies. I saw some arms. I don’t know why I didn’t turn back. There was the leg of a horse. Blood on the streets. Then I saw Sister Tee on the ground, her hands pressed against a man’s leg, a bleeding wound. I dropped to my knees. I took the scarf from my neck, and we tied it together around him. Police all around, everyone racing. There was another man bleeding next to him, and another, and another. We moved together. I ripped off the hem of my dress and we tied it on the next man’s wound. Mack was in the distance, with other officers. The dust was all around us. We stayed until there was no one left to help, till all the bodies were gone.

Sister Tee and I walked up through Chinatown together, slow and dizzy. She stopped us in front of the Church of the Transfiguration.

She said: Look up.

There was a statue in the steeple, an old man, chipped white marble.

She said: Saint John Bosco.

I said: Well where were you today, Saint Bosco?

She said: Oh he was there.

She crossed herself and I would have laughed but today was no day for disrespect.

Finny’s was open later. Funny how it opens and closes as it pleases. No one said a thing. I saw half the force in there I swear. Everyone needed a drink. The saddest day I’ve ever seen in New York City.

The anarchists, police were saying. Justice tomorrow, I thought. Tonight let’s just sleep.

I got home a few minutes ago and Rosie said Louis was driving me to work in the morning.

Mazie’s Diary, September 17, 1920

I rose at dawn and snuck out of my own home. I’d be damned if I didn’t take that train with the rest of New York City today. I wondered if I’d be the only one riding, but sure enough, stop after stop, people got on. All dressed in dark colors, dark skirts, dark blouses, dark suits, dark hats. Their finest and saddest. The whole train hovered with gloom.

At Flatbush, a man boarded, hauling a crate of apples. They were small and bright green. I nodded at the man and he nodded at me. He was small too, short, with a dark, swirling mustache. An Italian I thought.

He said: I picked these in New Jersey yesterday. I was out of town all day. I missed everything because I was picking apples.

I said: Better to miss it.

He said: It’s not the kind of thing you want to see but it’s not the kind of thing you want to miss neither.

I said: I saw it. Believe you me.

He said: It just made me want to fight someone, anyone. Wished I could have helped.

I said: I know it.

He said: Hey, you want an apple?

I said: There’s nothing more on this earth I want than one of those apples.

He handed me one. He asked a lady sitting next to me if she wanted one too, and then another, and then another. Soon enough all his apples were gone. We all sat there eating them, our shiny green rewards for being alive. The train rocked us back and forth like we were babies. You couldn’t hear nothing but the sound of people crunching on apples. It wasn’t like we forgot the day before. It was just that those were some damn good apples.