Jami Attenberg - Saint Mazie

She said: I think my parents wanted something else for me. I’m an only child. They dreamed of me getting married, and giving them a grandchild or two to dote upon.

I said: You never wanted that?

She said: I always dreamed of the stars and the heavens, and that someone was looking down on me, watching over me. My daydreams were about God.

I said: Do you really love him?

She said: I do. I truly do. My heart feels full when I think of him.

I had no response. My heart was full of so many things and yet not one thing at all.

She said: Who do you love?

I thought of the Captain.

I said: No one. Or no one like that.

Now she was holding my hand.

She said: I’m not trying to convert you. I accept you for who you are. But I would like to help you.

Instantly I was angry. She’s always making me angry. Whenever she tries to help me I can’t stand it. I don’t want anyone to help me. I don’t want her to think she knows better than me. I pulled my hand away from her.

She said: I’m not trying to change you. I swear to you, Mazie. I only care for you. I know you have secrets. You don’t have to tell them to me. You never have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m not your confessor. I’m your friend.

I said: Yes, you’re my friend. Not my parent, not my god. Nothing like that.

She said: I said I’m not. I know I’m not.

I said: Fine. You’re not.

I started to calm down. It was quiet there in her apartment. Just the moon and the Woolworth Building. What was I going to do with all my anger anyway? Was I gonna strike her? No. I love her.

She said: But you could tell your secrets to someone else. No one would have to know. It might make you feel better. Just to talk to someone.

I told her I’d think about it. That’s all she was looking for. Just so she knew I heard her. I’ll never do it, though. Trust a stranger? What a hoot. Plus, that’s what this diary’s for.

Before I left I gave her a gift, a stack of True Romance s. She laughed at me.

She said: What am I going to do with these?

I said: For when you get bored with Jesus.

She said: Never will I tire of my savior.

I said: Boy oh boy, you and your savior.

She took them anyway. I know she likes them. I saw that juicy gleam in her eye. Who doesn’t love a little dirt? Surely she can’t dream only of him at night.

Mazie’s Diary, June 18, 1926

A postcard from Jeanie.

I’ll be in the Bay Area for the foreseeable future, darling. There’s money to be made here. Big crowds every night. Come visit if you please.

California’s on the bottom of my list of things to do, right after jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge for a nice swim. Wish she’d give us a ring though. I’d like to hear her voice.

George Flicker

This is something I never mentioned to Mazie or Rosie at the time because it all had seemed rather delicate, and I don’t like to get into anybody’s personal family business unless it’s offered to me or asked of me or they’re my own blood or what have you. But I had a cousin named Morrie who saw Jeanie perform in San Francisco, at a place called the Capri. It was maybe not a nice club, is what Morrie said. I said, “Well then what were you doing there?” “Ohhhh, I got dragged there.” Okay. Whatever you say, Morrie. She danced with a fan, and then she danced without a fan. It could have been worse. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. Live long enough, you’ll give everyone the benefit of the doubt. It costs you nothing.

And who really cares what kind of dancing she did? Who cares, I say. Do you care? I didn’t think so.

Mazie’s Diary, July 1, 1926

I don’t believe in hell but I’m probably going there anyway.

Just to make Tee happy I went to confession. I said all that forgive me father nonsense she taught me.

It’s hard to believe the man listening on the other side won’t run and blab all my secrets to any bum on the street. So I only told him a few. Just to see how it felt. I told him about some of the lovers I’ve had around town.

But if I’m really going to be confessing here, I was bragging more than anything else.

I tried not to laugh. I tried! Heard him grumbling. Finally he asked me if there was anything else.

I said: So much more. So many more.

I hustled out of there and straight to Finny’s. I gave it a shot anyway.

I know there are other things Tee thinks I should be talking about. But I ain’t ready yet, might never be. I still can’t tell if they’re a burden or a comfort, these secrets of mine. Is it going to make me feel better or worse if someone knows the truth about me?

George Flicker

It was a strange thing, this being Catholic all of a sudden. Look, I don’t think she was 100 percent Catholic, whatever that means anyway. But she was always palling around with that nun, you’d see them walking in the streets, arm in arm, whispering in each other’s ear. And she definitely went to church, here and there. She prayed to that guy . I don’t know if she went all the way and converted, or anything like that. The strangest part of all of it was Mazie believing in any sort of organized anything, because that family had not stepped foot inside a synagogue in years, if ever.

But you know, whatever works. I believe in that. Whatever works, whatever gives you hope.

Mazie’s Diary, November 1, 1926

Twenty-nine now.

New home. Always a new home. There’s nothing new about a new home. What would be new is if we stayed somewhere.

Pete Sorensen

So after her twenty-ninth birthday, this is right about when the diary starts to drop off for a while. I had one theory, which was Mazie was sad the Captain didn’t show up again, and so she just got real quiet. She was hoping for it but didn’t want to say it out loud. Maybe it’s something she prayed for, but just couldn’t tell anyone about it.

I had this other theory that all the excitement happens when we’re younger. Everything feels so big then because you’re learning all the important lessons. When I toured with my band, I was twenty-two and twenty-three and it was, like, every day my mind got blown with a new experience. Mostly it was a new girl, but that counts, right? [Laughs.] Then I was twenty-four and it started to feel familiar, and then I was twenty-five and none of it felt new anymore. My brain slowed, the world slowed. I stopped seeing things with fresh eyes. I started to realize what I knew.

After that, we really only see her checking in three or four times a year for a while. But she doesn’t miss her birthday too often. I’m not big on them myself; I don’t like all the fuss. You know, maybe knock back a beer with your buddies. But I get it; it’s a way to mark time. When your life’s too busy, it forces you to check in with yourself. Or when it feels all the same all the time, maybe it can make you feel special. I’m not knocking Mazie for caring about her birthday.

But I really started missing that time, those days of hers that were gone that I was never going to know about. I wanted to see everything she saw. Also I was worried about everyone. I was like, how’s Rosie, how’s Jeanie, how’s Tee? I felt a little greedy, like why couldn’t I know everything about their time. How would you like it if someone you cared about just disappeared on you?

Mazie’s Diary, April 4, 1927

6 Clinton Street. A married couple beneath us, older than us, no children. He’s a librarian, and she’s a teacher. Jews. Quiet, smart Jews. They seem kind.

She said: Maybe I’ll borrow some books.

I said: Maybe you’ll learn something from them.