Jami Attenberg - Saint Mazie

Elio Ferrante

This city, as imperfect as it is, knows how to come together when things get rough.

Mazie’s Diary, September 18, 1920

Louis drove me to the city this morning. Just because, said Rosie. Just because.

Louis said: You don’t go any farther downtown today, you hear me. It’s none of our business.

I said: It was working stiffs, just like me. Those are the people standing in my line, Louis.

He said: We ain’t losing any more family members this year, Mazie.

Mazie’s Diary, October 2, 1920

Rosie’s on me about Louis driving me to work again every day. She wants me to go from cage to cage to cage. No way, no how. The train’s the only time I have to myself.

Down on the floor scrubbing and she’s calling out orders. That woman makes more rules on her knees than most kings do on thrones.

I said: I’m taking the train goddammit.

Rosie turned her back on me and started scrubbing again. But that didn’t mean she agreed with me.

Mazie’s Diary, October 3, 1920

Louis dropped by again, more money in the safe. I’ve been daydreaming about stealing it, not all of it, just enough. What’s mine is yours, sis — he tells me that all the time. I could take it and go. But would I even know what to do if I ran? Where would I go? To White City to find Jeanie? I’d just end up working in another ticket booth. From one cage to another.

Mazie’s Diary, October 4, 1920

I forgot about the Captain coming to town. How could I forget? I did, though. But there he was, at the cage. In his uniform.

I said: I forgot to wear red, sir.

He said: You’re beautiful no matter what, miss.

He could bend me in two, that’s how fragile I am these days. I’m made of paper, fold me at the edges.

We walked up the Bowery.

He said: It’s cleaned up since the last time I was here.

I said: There’s no more booze.

He said: There’s always booze.

He pulled a flask from his pocket. Then he turned us down Hester Street, toward the park there. His hand on my elbow. He whispered something in my ear about loving my elbow and I nearly loathed him.

We sat in the park quietly. A gent and a lady, passing a flask back and forth.

He said: They take it away, it only makes you want it more.

I said: Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder.

I looked down at the ground, suddenly humbled. I had this feeling the whole time that seeing him was going to humble me.

A police officer turned a block up. The Captain slid the flask in his coat pocket, fast and easy. Like a thief on the street.

He said: What do you want to do on a night like tonight?

What I really wanted to do was get on the train with him to Coney Island so he could meet Rosie and Louis. Let’s sit together on the train and be like people in love. Let’s sit together in my kitchen with my family. Let’s be like those other people.

He didn’t wait for me to answer. He turned and kissed me, fingertips in my hair, wicked little pleasure points.

He said: What about that, beautiful? Do you want to do that?

My desire for him humbled me most of all. I went with him to his hotel. It was clean and quiet. In his room he kissed me at the door. Wretched and perfect. Oh he smelled like a man and I could have howled at the moon.

He said: I can’t believe we’ll have all night.

I watched as he undressed. He watched as I undressed.

I made him give me more of the flask and I drank it and he drank it till it was done. We spilled it on each other some too. We sipped it off each other’s flesh. I got down on my knees. He said my name and told me I was beautiful as I sucked. Then we were on the bed. Then, at last, I howled at the moon.

It went on like that for a while. I’m raw today. Each step I take reminds me of him.

I’d love him if I could. But he’s got a whole life out there, flying free wherever he likes, and I know nothing about what he does with his time. Except that I do know, I think. And I ain’t a part of it.

Mazie’s Diary, October 5, 1920

In my dream I tell him about the baby and he turns his back to me and I throw my arms around him and he says why are you telling me this now and I say I just thought you should know and he says what’s the point of knowing and I say I’m just letting you know there was something there and now it’s gone and he says I wish you hadn’t told me I could have lived my whole life not knowing and I said me too and he said it would have been fine now I have to carry it with me forever and I say me too me too me too.

Mazie’s Diary, October 8, 1920

Louis and me stood on the front porch and stared down at the ocean. Summer’s gone, it’s over. Nothing left to grasp at.

Louis said: You don’t want to spend a little time with your old pal Louis?

I said: I don’t want to be driven.

He said: I’ll buy a new car, fresh off the lot. Your pick. And it’ll be in your name.

I said: It’s not fair.

I cried. He tried to hold me but I wouldn’t let him. Let him go hold his wife instead.

Mazie’s Diary, October 9, 1920

I’ll move out, that’s what I’ll do. Back into the city. I got a job, I got money saved. I’ll find a single apartment just right for a girl like me. Other girls do it, lots of them, all the time. I can find someone to rent to me. I won’t even tell Rosie. I’ll just move out in the middle of the night. I’ll pack up my things and run in the night. If she wants to talk to me she can come and stand in line just like everyone else.

Mazie’s Diary, October 11, 1920

Mack stopped by the cage.

I said: What’s the good word?

He said: Nothing, not a peep.

I said: What about that thing that happened down on Wall Street?

He said: We’re trying, we’re trying.

I said: Truly nothing then?

He said: Not a lot of evidence to be found, unless you count a horse’s head, and that horse ain’t talking. But we’ve got our eye on some individuals. Just because we can’t prove it doesn’t mean they didn’t do it.

I shuddered then. I don’t like that kind of talk.

Elio Ferrante

But we have a little problem here in New York with authority. The cops are not afraid to use their fists or their weapons.

Mazie’s Diary, October 13, 1920

Early morning, the coffee stinging more than most days.

Rosie down on the floor, washing away specks of nothing. Louis’s eating eggs at the table, fork after fork, not breathing in between.

I said: The kitchen’s clean.

Rosie kept scrubbing.

I said: Did you hear me? The kitchen’s clean, Rosie.

Rosie said: It’s clean when I say it’s clean.

I got down on my knees next to her. I grabbed her hand and she slapped me away. Louis came behind me and lifted me up by my waist. All of this was done in silence, as if we were performing our own lunatic ballet.

I ran to the train in the rain. I ruined my new hat. I threw it on the ground in front of the theater, and watched it suck up the water from the skies until one of the ushers dashed out with an umbrella and threw it away.

Elio Ferrante

It goes both ways though, this problem with authority. You bear down too much, someone fights back.

Mazie’s Diary, October 15, 1920

Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness.

This morning, we’re sniping at each other, me and Rosie, like usual. She won’t rest till she gets me off that train.

Louis said: Can’t a man eat his breakfast in peace? The two of you are like children.

Rosie said: She’s the child.

Louis said: Take it outside. I can’t stand another minute of it.