Jami Attenberg - Saint Mazie

She said: What do they know that I don’t? You think they’re smarter than me?

I don’t care what she thinks. There’s a bakery next door, and when we open our windows every morning, in comes the smell of bread. I wear the scent all over me, and it lasts for hours.

Mazie’s Diary, May 1, 1927

Tee showed up late at the cage. I hadn’t seen her in weeks. Rapped her wee knuckles on the cage. Her skin was pink.

I said: To what do I owe the pleasure?

She said: No reason. It’s just a nice night. Walk me home. Talk to me about the world.

She was coming from a shelter. She seemed down. I knew I should go home to Rosie, but it cost me nothing to give a little of my love to Tee.

So we walked downtown, through Park Row, past City Hall, down Broadway. We talked about all the money in this town lately, more than usual it seemed. Everyone’s so giddy but it can’t last. The city’s pregnant with hope, but only that. New construction everywhere we looked. It’s made of air, this money, this wealth. It’s not real.

I told her about this new film Rudy’s talking about, coming out this fall. A talking movie. He thinks everything’s going to change. Tee told me nothing will change for those less fortunate, the poor and the hungry. She never lets up, that Tee. But I couldn’t argue with her.

She asked about the new apartment, if we’d be staying awhile. I told her Rosie’s fine for now, but I’m never sure of anything with her. I don’t think she sleeps anymore at all, but I can’t be certain.

I said: I never unpack all my boxes.

She said: And how does that make you feel?

I said: I’m used to it now. I miss some of my shoes though.

That made her laugh. My vanity entertains her.

We stopped in front of the Seton Shrine. Her favorite of all the saints. Tee loves her because she started an entire school system, and she helped poor children, too.

I said: You’re as good as she is.

Then we were at her house.

She said: Come up, I’ve got chocolates.

I said: Slow down, slow down. Chocolates? You’re a wild one, Sister Tee.

It’s been a long time since I’ve slept there, and only twice before. Rosie doesn’t like it when I don’t come home at night. We sleep together not as sisters, but not as lovers, either. She could never give in to that. She’s not as bold as me. Although there is love. And we hold each other. What comfort it is to be held, and to hold. So tiny beneath me, our chests pressed tight. We are silent, and we hold each other. I said but one thing, and I don’t know where it came from. I just sighed it out of me.

I said: You’re divine.

And then she wept.

She said: I’m not sad, I promise. It’s just the pleasure of it all.

Pete Sorensen

I kept wishing a nice guy would show up. But then I realized she had Tee.

Mazie’s Diary, November 1, 1927

Thirty. How? Thirty.

Mazie’s Diary, February 2, 1928

Rosie says she can’t breathe the same anymore. Bad air. The wheat from the bakery, it’s in her lungs. It’s been building up for months and now it’s trapped in there. She claims.

I said: You liar.

She said: Listen. Listen to me wheeze.

I begged her. Please let me stay here. Let me stay near the fresh loaves of bread in the morning and the kind and quiet Jews with their heads in books and the Bowery up the road.

I said: We were getting comfortable. Don’t you feel it? Don’t you feel calm?

She said: I can’t breathe.

Mazie’s Diary, April 1, 1928

The hustling I do. 14 Division Street. Over Louis’s aunt Josie’s dress shop. The only apartment in the building. Just us and Josie. A kitchen cut from diamonds. A window out onto the markets. New dresses for Rosie every day if she likes. New dresses for me as well.

I said: We will stay here, Rosie.

She said: We’ll see.

Am I allowed to unpack? Can we look inside these boxes at last?

Mazie’s Diary, November 1, 1928

Jeanie called! Jeanie. Happy Birthday to me.

I said: Sister, how are you?

She said: Sister, all is well. Things are just dreamy and easy out here in California. I dance and play all day.

I said: That’s living.

She said: I miss you though. I always miss you.

We both started crying like crazy. A fella came up to get a ticket for the two o’clock show and I shut the curtain on him, yelled at him to come back later. He knocked on the window and I growled at him.

I said: Don’t make me come out there. I will smite you.

Jeanie said: You’re still working too hard.

I said: Someone’s got to pay the bills around here.

She said: How’s Rosie?

I said: Why don’t you call her and find out?

She said: I might do that.

I know she won’t. It’s foolish, the two of them not talking like that. Jeanie’s scared, I know it. You don’t get to break someone’s heart twice like that and get off scot-free. You have to walk through a little fire first.

Mazie’s Diary, January 1, 1929

I thought I’d see Tee, wish her the best for a New Year, but she’s nowhere, disappeared. It’s been weeks. No Christmas either. I had a gift for her. A small scented pillow for her head. I’ll keep it in the cage. She’ll show up someday.

Mazie’s Diary, February 9, 1929

I took my lunch break in Chinatown, I wanted to see the parade for the Chinese New Year. I’d heard the men banging their drums all the way from Park Row. The brash clash of the cymbals made me feel proud, and I don’t even have anything to brag about. But their pride was enough to buoy me.

It was snowing, but that didn’t stop anything. The gold and red dragon stomping down Canal Street, the white flakes dripping down like crisp tears. Year of the Snake, someone told me. Snakes mean wisdom. I’m going to take that as a good sign. I’ll be smarter this year. I’ll wise up this time around.

Then there was Tee at my elbow. I threw my arms around her, and nearly wouldn’t let her go. She laughed at me. She said we should keep moving, it was cold, we’d catch our death. So we walked arm in arm through Chinatown, following the parade, schoolchildren all around us, the rattle of their laughter, chattering, chasing the dragon.

I said: Where have you been?

She said: I’ve been run-down.

I said: You’re not avoiding me then?

She said: Why would I avoid you? I’ve been tired. Those moments when I’m not caring for others I’m sleeping. It’s winter. It’s cold.

I said: That’s a lot of reasons why.

She said: I wouldn’t lie to you.

I said: I know that. It was only that I wondered where you were.

She said: This is not about you. This is about those children, and the abuse that they suffer. And the tenements are a disgrace. Everything is a disgrace. I feel as if I plug one hole and another starts to leak and it is all I can do to keep myself dry, let alone those smaller or weaker than myself.

We stopped walking and the crowds following the parade passed around us. Tee looked devastated and exhausted, and I thought thinner, and older, like a withering piece of straw, and not like my sweet Tee anymore, but someone else, another girl, a sad one, one that I would pass on the street and worry if she were all right.

I said: All right, Tee, I understand.

She said: Sometimes I feel like I only have so many prayers in me.

She gasped and grabbed my arm.

She said: Don’t ever tell anyone I said that.

I said: Who would I tell?

Mazie’s Diary, February 14, 1929

A postcard from the Captain.

It said: I’m a father now.

I’ll be sure and send a present.