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.
Mazie’s Diary, January 5, 1930
The Captain came back.
I thought I didn’t want to see him anymore. I’d written him out of the story of my life. He’s gone, he had a baby. He’s not coming to New York City ever again, or if he is it’s with his new family. Good-bye, good riddance, good night. That was how I wanted the story to end. But I can’t lie to myself, at least not here. I was glad to see him in that line. I’ve known him for so many years. We’ve lain in each other’s arms, we’ve shared our flesh with each other. He knew me when I was but a girl, and I knew him when he was the handsomest man in the world.
He’s not a Captain anymore, not sailing the seas anyway. Now he’s a businessman, working for his wife’s father. No uniform. Just a regular Joe, even if he’s a rich one.
I said: How’s business?
He said: We’ll survive this mess. People need cars.
I said: Can’t we just walk instead?
He said: You’ve lived in Manhattan your whole life. You don’t know what the rest of the country is like. Even if they don’t need cars, people want cars.
He asked me to dinner, and I said yes. We ate steak. He insisted upon it. He told me I needed the vitamins.
He said: You look pale and thin.
I said: I’ve been in mourning.
He said: For whom?
I said: For everyone.
He said: I’m sorry.
I couldn’t eat any more after that.
He said: Come back with me to my hotel. I’m worried about you. Let me comfort you.
I said: You’re a father now.
He said: So?
I said: I don’t know why that makes a difference to me, but it does.
He said: We don’t have to do anything. We could just hold each other.
I laughed so hard at that the entire restaurant turned and looked at me, and then I waved at the lot of them.
He said: All right, all right. You don’t need to cause a scene.
I said: I’ll come back with you.
He said: Are you sure?
Once I told him I was mourning, I knew I couldn’t go home, not right away. I’ve been sad for so long there. All of my sadness is wrapped up in that bed, that kitchen, that woman in the other bedroom. This diary.
And worse comes to worst, I’d have a roll in the hay with a handsome man.
So I went with him to his hotel, a nicer one than usual, nicer than when he was just a seaman. Uptown, a bellman with shiny buttons and downcast eyes. Deferring to the rich man.
There was whiskey on the table, and the room smelled of fruit. We sat next to each other, and he kissed me on my cheek and neck. I didn’t mean to, but I tittered anyway.
He said: You’re still a beauty.
I sighed, and then I held his hands for a moment.
I said: Could we do what you said? Would you just hold me?
He said: Mazie, what’s wrong? What happened to my good-time girl?