Saint Mazie, page 19
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.
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.
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.
Elio Ferrante
Without Sister Tee’s last name it’s impossible to find out any information, and even with it I kind of suspect it would be tricky because the place where she worked closed in 1960. I found out a few things about this place, the Mercy House. It was a settlement house on Cherry Street, not far from Knickerbocker Village, and it was founded in the late 1800s to help immigrants. Basically they fed and clothed poor families, housed the homeless, took care of sick people in their homes. The usual good works. I wish I could have found a record of her. Sometimes I guess we just forget people. Even if their work isn’t forgotten or at least felt in some way.
