Jami Attenberg - Saint Mazie

Pete Sorensen

Even though I wanted to know what happened, I still didn’t want to show the diaries to anyone, because it seemed like she wanted them to be a secret. I was cool with that; I respected that. It was like we would have a secret together, Mazie and me.

But then I met you, and my first thought was that you would appreciate it just because you’re such a special lady. For sure I thought you would know what to do with it, if it even made sense to do anything with it. You said you thought you could fill in the blanks, you could try to anyway, and that you could make it a project, like a professional project for yourself. I’m all about making projects for yourself.

Also we talked about how you hadn’t been passionate about anything in a while. Me, I’m passionate all the time. I’m always busy, the shop’s going well, I’ve got people working for me that I care about. Even if I’m not being hands-on all the time, I like doing the design work. Also being a good boss is a thing I care about. There are a lot of things I care about in my life, and there are people who need me just to show up every day and be me.

But all of your film projects had been a dead end. You couldn’t find funding for anything, like, arty. And even though this wasn’t a film project, you said it felt akin to what you had done in the past. You were looking for a passion project. So I said you could have the diary for a while if you thought it would help. And now here you are traipsing all over the place, tracking down anyone who has any little bit of information about Mazie.

It’s funny, isn’t it? How we can treat the same fascination so differently. I’d have daydreamed forever about her.

Mazie’s Diary, March 1, 1929

Tee’s sicker than I thought.

I hadn’t seen her in a month, longer, two, I lost count. I thought she disappeared on me. I thought I’d done something wrong. I thought I’d never see her face again, and that she didn’t care to see mine either. I stopped my clean living. I dug my flask out.

Rosie said: What’s wrong with you? Why you mooning about?

I thought I saw her yesterday morning from far away, another nun on a corner, talking to a wicked-looking girl. Lipstick on fire. Me, I thought. That should be me. I’m your wicked-looking girl. I waved, but she wasn’t Tee after all. She was old, much older, and she didn’t smile at me, she didn’t wave back. Where’s Tee? I was thinking it all day. I drank more than I should have. I dropped in on Finny’s after work. I hadn’t stayed out late in so long. I decided to find her, to climb up her castle.

I walked downtown, past her beloved Seton Shrine. I crossed myself in front of it even though I didn’t know what it meant to do that, but I knew it meant something. Praying she’d never abandon me, Tee wouldn’t. Not by choice. Not my Tee.

The dark lobby, the elevator down, the elevator always down. Up the stairs, my head swirling as I walked, drunk as I was. A huddle of nuns outside her room, silent but for one.

I said: Where is she, where’s Tee, where’s my friend?

And no one answered.

I said: Is it TB? I don’t care, I’ll see her anyway.

They shook their heads.

It’s not TB. Her breast is sick. The right one.

I said: Let me see her.

They didn’t stop me, I’d like to have seen them try.

She’s skin and bones, bones and skin. She’d been losing weight for a while and I hadn’t noticed. No one had noticed. Tee hadn’t told a soul she wasn’t feeling well. She’d had too much to do, is what she told me. I touched her cheek with my hand, I said her name. I leaned in close.

She said: You’re drunk.

I said: I am.

She said: Now I have to pray for you tonight all over again. Just when I thought I was done with all that.

I said: Stop it. I’m praying for you, I’m praying for you!

She said: I’ll take your prayers, Mazie. Bless you.

Then she put her hand to my cheek.

She said: But you absolutely must brush your teeth first.

I was up all night with her, now I’m home. Rosie made me breakfast, and I ate it only so I won’t be sick at work all day. Because I don’t feel like I want to eat ever again. After she fed me, she made a noise for a moment, a heartbeat of a complaint about street vendors blocking the door in the morning.

I said: We have to stop moving for a while.

Rosie said: Do you think I’m making this up? I can barely get out the front door when I need to.

I said: My friend is dying, Rosie. Tee is dying. I need to sit still for just a moment. I’m exhausted. Let me sit still. You can do whatever you want when she’s done dying. When she’s dead.

Rosie said: What if there’s a fire and I can’t get out?

I slammed my fist on the table, the only thing we’ve held on to after all those moves.

I said: Goddammit, Rosie. Goddammit. Let me sit still.

Pete Sorensen

I mean, yes, obviously, I wanted to impress you. I wanted you to see something more than just this guy who works with his hands all day. I’m an actual community college dropout, have you ever met one of me before? I’m like a total joke in the intellectual department. And you’re smart. And fancy. You look fancy. You feel fancy. You smell fancy. I thought maybe showing you this would make you feel the way about me that I felt about you. It was like an offering. It was one of the most precious things I owned, as much as anyone can own something like this. And I didn’t realize how precious it was to me until I handed it to you and never saw it again. I thought, well I’ll give it to her, and maybe I’ll have a shot. I’ll give it to her and maybe she’ll love me for it.

Mazie’s Diary, October 24, 1929

I walked down through Wall Street before I went to visit Tee. Today, I had to see today on the streets, the day Wall Street fell. People were weeping on the corners. Why is this city so beautiful when it mourns? I pretended it was all for Tee.

I said: Tee, don’t leave me.

She said: What if you don’t think about it as me leaving you? And just that I’m going to him instead?

That’s of comfort only to her.

I wrapped my arms around her. I asked her for the hundredth time if she wanted to go to the hospital and she said no, that she would die there, in her own bed.

I said: We could get you a better blanket at least. You deserve a thick blanket.

She said: I’m not better or worse than anyone else. We’re all the same.

I said: We could get you silk sheets. You should be covered in silk. You should be swimming in it.

She said: It’s all the same. It feels the same if you let it. Don’t you see that yet? It’s all the same.

I got under the blanket with her.

I said: Silk sheets, fit for a princess.

I stayed the night there. I held her and she moaned sometimes with pain and I tried not to cry. When I walked back through Wall Street this morning, the sidewalks were littered with garbage, and men in fine suits were passed out on the street, and I thought something felt different in the city, but maybe it was just me that was different, having slept on silk for the first time in my life.

Lydia Wallach

My great-grandfather ran the movie theater nearly single-handedly for a good six months while Mazie tended to a sick friend. This was noted as part of our family history because it was during this time the first of my great-uncles got sick and passed away. This would have been my great-uncle Gilbert. My great-grandfather was away from home, working at the theater, so sadly he wasn’t there when his son passed away. It happened very quickly, he got sick and died within a week. No one was to blame. But it was devastating for everyone, Rudy in particular because he felt so helpless, so absent, although I suppose no one can judge who mourns the most. But it hit him hard, harder than one of his heart attacks. My mother told me that her father told her that he was the one to run all the way to the theater to tell Rudy about it, and when he told him he watched the color drain from his face. It went from peach to yellow to white. It was the opposite of blushing, is what he told her. And he never got it back; the color never came back to his cheeks. He became a pale man, and he stayed that way for the rest of his life.