She said: That’s a terrible block.
I said: I told you they’re tearing down those buildings.
She said: It’ll be as if we’re living on a cemetery.
I said: It’ll be as if we’re living in a brand-new apartment building. Rosie, it’s built from scratch. There will be a garden. It’ll be the fanciest in the neighborhood. We could live high up in the air, look at the bridge from our window. Look at the water. No bad smells, no street noises.
She was staring at me across the table, maybe for the first time understanding my desperation although I thought I’d been plenty desperate already.
I said: It’s a chance at a fresh start.
I said: It’s the best we can do.
I said: It’s the best I can do.
Elio Ferrante
I dated a girl who lived in Knickerbocker Village once. This Chinese girl I went out with junior year at Hunter. Her name was Ella, which was not her real name but just what she wanted to be called. It’s weird but I don’t even know what her real name was, or maybe I did once and I can’t remember anymore. It’s not important, I know, my ex-girlfriends.
Anyway there’s lots of Chinese there. Chinese and Italians. The families get in there, and then they bring all their extended family members in, or sometimes the kids grow up and get their own apartment. People move in and just stay. It’s not totally impossible to get in the building otherwise, but it’s hard. The wait list is long. It’s like Stuy Town, only smaller, and with way more soul.
Ella took me on a tour of it once after a big night out on the town so yes that’s code for we were wasted. [Laughs.] There were two courts, an east court and a west court, and the buildings looked over these big courtyards. I don’t remember much more about it physically. The things I do remember have to do with the history. Of course. Like the Rosenbergs lived there before they were executed and there were all kinds of Mafia connections and of course the whole Lung Block thing. That’s the information my brain traps. You know what I mean; you get it. You’ve got a one-track mind, too.
I slept over that night actually. It was pretty dumb of me, her mother was in the next room. I snuck out early in the morning so I can barely tell you what the place looked like. But I could hear birds chirping in the courtyard from her window and I thought when I woke up, before I remembered where I was, that maybe I was in the country somewhere. It was quiet, it was early, and there were birds. And the ceilings were high. I don’t know why I remember that. Oh, and when I walked out the front gate I smelled bread. I followed the scent to an Italian bakery across the street. I bought a loaf of bread and ate hunks of it while I walked to City Hall to catch a train to Brooklyn. Ha! That was a night. Her mother found out and wouldn’t let her see me anymore. Maybe there was another guy involved, a long-term boyfriend. She thought I was a bad influence on her daughter. Me, can you imagine?
Pete Sorensen
We walked by there, you and me, last summer, do you remember? We went to Chinatown for dumplings. You had just cut off all your hair and you asked me a hundred times if it looked good and I told you that you’d look good without any hair at all and then we were standing in front of it, looking inside the garden, and you wondered if we could just walk in…and you tried but the security guard stopped you. “Just a peek,” you said. And he said, “No peeking.” And you tried all your wiles on him and it didn’t work and then when we left I tried to make you feel better about it all and you said, “If I hadn’t cut my hair he would have let me in.” I told you you were so beautiful and you didn’t hear a word I said. Why do you never hear a word I say?
Mazie’s Diary, September 29, 1933
This morning’s crew came, scuffling feet, filthy overcoats. Then the lineup, hands out, wishing me a good morning. I was busy thinking about the move, hoping Rosie can hold out a little longer, so I wasn’t even looking in their faces, in their eyes. Here’s a dime for you, a nickel for you. Told them to get a move on, and I got in my cage. Then one more man said my name while I was pulling out the tickets and the cash box.
I said: Hold on, hold on, buddy.
He said: Mazie, it’s me.
I looked up and up and up because there was the tallest man I’d known in my life, Ethan Fallow.
I was confused for a second, thought he was looking for a handout like the rest of them.
I said: Not you, too!
He said: Not me, too, what?
I eyed him. His overcoat was clean, not a tear, not a tatter. He smelled like fresh soap and his hair was still damp and slickly parted to the side.
I said: You’re not looking for some change?
He thought that was funny.
He said: Change I got plenty of. I just came to talk to you about Jeanie.
I said: What about her?
He said: I’m worried about her.
I didn’t know he was talking to her. As far as I knew I was the only one from New York City she still kept in touch with. I asked him why he was worried and he gave me this long story, the short of it being that he’s been giving her money for a few years to help her out, which I found awful funny because I’ve been doing the exact same thing.
Anyhow he said she sounded sad lately, sad and lonely, and he wondered if he should try to get her a train ticket home, and if he did would I be willing to take her in? I told him she was my sister and I loved her and she’d always have a home with me but if he was going to go to the trouble of bringing her home he might as well just keep her for himself.
Mazie’s Diary, November 1, 1933
Well I’m over twenty-one, that much I know.
Mazie’s Diary, November 13, 1933
Today a truck pulled up in front of the Venice, just before the sunset. The driver left the car running and dashed over to my cage with a big sack of something. He dumped it on my counter.
I said: What’s this?
He said: A fella named Rufus sent it to you. He said to say thanks.
I peeked into the sack. Green apples.
Bums came out of nowhere all of a sudden, like they could smell the fresh air and sunshine on it. I handed them out, one by one, and then saved the last for myself.
Mazie’s Diary, December 5, 1933
Prohibition’s over, and this city’s yawning. We’ve been making our own rules for years. Someone announced it at Finny’s and there were a few cheers and one fella applauded until he realized he was the only one clapping.
Somebody said: I liked being illegal. It helped pass the time.
George Flicker
So the time came for us to move and I set everything up, and I was pretty chuffed about the whole thing, that I had maneuvered us in there. We were living on the twelfth floor, East Court. They had a two-bedroom corner apartment, Al and I had a one-bedroom next door. We both had great views of the bridge. I think there was a little talk at the last minute about trying to get a three-bedroom. Jeanie was supposed to come home. They didn’t really want her there though. Well Mazie did but Rosie didn’t. Or maybe Rosie did but Mazie didn’t. There was tension around her. I told them I didn’t think I could get them a three-bedroom and they backed down. Oh you know what? It was Rosie after all. Rosie was the angry one. Because now I remember her saying, “She’ll have to crawl back on her knees, she should know something about that.”
Mazie’s Diary, January 10, 1934
Jeanie’s back. She took a train from Chicago, no chauffeur this time around. We had coffee at the diner. Her hair’s down to her waist, and her eyes still glitter, and she’s still slender, all tree boughs bending in the wind. But her skin is off. It’s dull and yellow, porridge that’s been sitting out for too long. She’s not the same girl she was, but still she’ll always be beautiful to me. I told her if she didn’t feel like staying with Ethan she didn’t have to. He wanted to throw all that money at her for all that time, it was his problem, not hers. I said the minute she wanted out I’d find her somewhere to go.