Jami Attenberg - Saint Mazie

Mazie’s Diary, November 1, 1930

I’m thirty-three now.

Rosie gave me a walking stick for my birthday.

I said: What’s this for?

She said: I know your back bothers you, and it doesn’t look like you’ll stop walking those streets anytime soon. This’ll help.

I held the stick in my hand. It’s a fine, lacquered dark wood.

She said: I know what you do.

I said: Do you now.

She said: Everyone knows you’re out there helping those bums.

I stood and practiced with it. I stood up straighter immediately.

She said: You’re a good girl, Mazie.

I said: I’m no girl any longer.

She said: Well you’re my girl, and you always will be.

George Flicker

Another time I remember her telling me about Rosie. I strolled into Finny’s and there she was, and I tipped my hat at her, and she patted the seat next to her, and it made me feel special, and a little tight in the pants if I must be honest here. I don’t mean to make you blush, honey. Those early sexual desires inform everything. This is what Freud said. I don’t know much about psychology but I do know what Freud said, doesn’t everyone? And that little boy in me, he liked having Mazie ask him to sit next to her. I asked her what the good word was, and she said, “I got nothing good. The streets are dire and my sister’s a loon as usual.” I said, “What’s the problem, Mazie? Moving day again?” She looked shocked that I knew about it. Maybe a little embarrassed too, I guess. I said, “Not to make a joke out of it.” She said, “I just didn’t know it was common knowledge.” I said, “I work in the business. I’m sorry. Plus I worry about you girls. No man to look out for you.” I thought I’d give it a shot, show a little bravado, see what I could get out of it. “A man to look after us isn’t what we need,” she said. “A man for her to look after is what she needs. Just so she can leave me alone already. I’d marry her off in a second if I could, but she’d never go for it. She’ll love Louis till the day she dies.”

Mazie’s Diary, December 3, 1930

Called an ambulance tonight, and both the attendants were cold to the poor bum. There was a bigger one, an enormous man, who was strong enough to carry the bum in his arms, but he was just flipping him around, dragging him a bit on the ground.

I said: He’s blue in the lips, how about some respect already?

He said: He can’t feel it anyway. Look at him, he’s passed out cold.

I said: Be humane.

I growled it really, and then he listened, took a more tender turn, straightened the bum’s coat for him. I think it was my voice that did it. Lately I’ve noticed it’s as deep as a man’s. All those years under the train tracks, yelling at the folks in my line just to be heard. I know I’m all woman. But I’ll just catch myself here and there, and I’ll forget it’s me talking. It’s good to have this voice on the streets though. It’s good to feel tough. I gotta be at my boldest on the streets.

Mazie’s Diary, January 8, 1931

Walked a young fella with a limp to the flophouse on the corner. Said his name was Winky, and that gave me a laugh. I should write down all these bum names I hear sometime. It’d be quite a list.

Mazie’s Diary, February 6, 1931

William showed up today just long enough to filch some money off me at the cage. His coat was so worn it was barely more than buttons and some loose threads. He wandered off down the street whistling. Well at least he’s happy enough to whistle.

Mazie’s Diary, March 2, 1931

Ambulance tonight for Winky. He showed me his ankle and it was a blue so pale it was nearly gray and swollen, and a little green around the toes.

He said: I don’t want to go to Bellevue.

I said: You gotta.

He said: Come visit me, promise you will.

I said I would but I won’t. I’m only good on the streets.

Mazie’s Diary, April 1, 1931

18 Mott Street, heart of Chinatown, blocks away from the theater so that’s fine by me. Seems like a crazy move, crazier than usual. I don’t know why Rosie thinks it will be any better here but she says she doesn’t mind the noise as much when she can’t understand what anyone’s saying. It’s a new building, across the street from one of our own, and we’ve got the top floor all to ourselves. I give her a month till she gets sick of the smell of food different than her own. She promises she won’t. Says she loves chow mein, could eat it all day. I know my Rosie though. She’ll get her fill.

Mazie’s Diary, April 19, 1931

Saw an old fella stealing another’s suitcase. First bum was too drunk to notice it was gone, the second fella was too drunk to run with it. Then he banged into a wall. He dropped it and the clasp flopped open. All that was in it was old clothes, and they fell in a pile, stink rising. Then a moth flew out.

I rapped him with my walking stick.

I said: This is your comrade. Don’t steal his possessions.

He said: Ain’t nobody my friend on the streets.

I pushed my walking stick farther into him.

I said: If you don’t have any friends, then all you got is enemies.

I made him pick up the clothes and give the suitcase back. First fella didn’t wake up the entire time.

Second fella spit at my feet and I told him to scram. I whacked him in the leg before he left. Wish I’d whacked him harder. All I’m doing right now is sitting here and wishing I’d left a mark and hating myself for feeling that way, too.

Mazie’s Diary, May 4, 1931

Two ambulances this week, got twelve fellas beds for the night, and paid one hospital bill. Also I bought a big box of hotel soaps for the dirtiest of these bums. I figured I should carry them with me wherever I go. If I give it to them, I know they’ll use it. Clean up the filth, one bum at a time.

Mazie’s Diary, May 14, 1931

Winky’s foot is gone, and they gave him some crutches and that’s it. I gave him everything in my pocket.

I said: What’ll we do with you, Winky?

He said: At least it’s getting warm again, Miss Mazie. At least there’s that.

I sat next to him for a spell on the bench. I asked him why they called him Winky and he told me it was short for Winklemans. I said that I used to know some Winklemans on Grand Street when I was growing up and he told me they were his cousins, that he’d come to visit from Philadelphia and never left and he’d had work, and then he hadn’t had work, and neither had his cousins, and then he was too ashamed to go home, and then all of this had happened, and he smelled like rot, and his foot was rot, and his gut was rot, and it was more shame on top of shame. I asked him if he’d rather rot out of pride on a bench or swallow it all and go home. He said he was worried if they’d even want him like this, not being able to earn his keep. I asked him if he had a mother and if she loved him and he answered that yes, he did, and I told him that she’d love him no matter what shape he was in, and this story ends with me hailing a taxi and taking him to Grand Central Station and buying him a train ticket home, and him thanking me and then crying and waving good-bye to me from the window as the train left the station, one of his crutches resting up against the window.

Mazie’s Diary, July 15, 1931

One ambulance last night. And he didn’t even last till they got there. His hand in mine. The stench in the heat already rising, like dirt, like animal, like shit. And I smelled it on me all today.

I can’t tell if it’s making me feel better or worse anymore, writing all of this down. It’s like I have to live through it one more time when I’d rather just forget at the end of the night.