She’s become a big woman, it’s true. In particular her arms are enormous, like an ape’s arms. She’s on that downward slope toward being an old woman. Her hair is nearly all gray, battle lines drawn around her lips. Just last week I suggested ever so gently she dye her hair.
She said: For who?
And I said: For you.
Mazie’s Diary, February 6, 1932
William passed. A pal of his told me, this fella Gerard who was looking for money to crash in a flophouse tonight. Hit up old Mazie at the cage, that’s what they all do. I didn’t know his face at first. The street’s aged him. He was a pink-cheeked cherub and now he’s got bags under his eyes and chunks of hair gone and there’s no color left in his face.
I said: Do I know you?
He said: Sure you do.
I said: From where?
He said: I met you with William, that day you let us all in the theater. It was a long time ago, but not too long.
I said: Two years ago nearly, I think.
He said: A lot’s changed.
I said: You were just a kid then. Look at you now.
He said: The cold wind changes a man.
I felt bad. What does he need me insulting his looks for?
I said: You look fine, just fine.
He said: I’ll take your word for it. I haven’t looked in a mirror in a long time.
I said: Hey, where’s that buddy William of yours?
He didn’t say anything, just pointed to the sky. I looked up, not understanding right away.
I said: Oh.
He said: Yes.
It was months ago, and I didn’t even know it.
Mazie’s Diary, February 27, 1932
Called four ambulances this month and checked six fellas into flophouses. Feel like I’m just getting started here, like I could do this forever. Just keep helping them. Because someone’s always going to need help.
Mazie’s Diary, May 8, 1932
I looked up just before close yesterday and there was the Captain. Ben, now. I’m going to call him Ben. He hasn’t been a captain in a long time. He’s not the Captain I used to know either.
It was raining, and we ducked into a diner and sat at the counter. I’d promised Rosie I’d be home for dinner for once, and I felt anxious about that, but on the other hand I knew we needed to talk. About what I didn’t know exactly. Only that there were things left to be said.
We both ordered coffee, and I realized it would be the first time the two of us were together without any booze in us. And the lights in the diner were bright. It was just the two of us. We could only be ourselves.
He showed me pictures of his son, his namesake. He was a cute kid, bright eyes, his hair slicked down and parted to the side, a tiny suit coat. A bow tie. I nearly choked up but I didn’t and I’m goddamn proud of myself.
I asked him what his boy was like and he shifted around on his stool. He didn’t seem too happy talking about it.
He said: He’s angry already and he’s not old enough to be angry at the world yet. And we’ve got a fine life there. Anything going on that might tick him off, he doesn’t know about it.
I said: Kids are smart. He looks pretty smart in that picture.
He said: He’s a good kid. I’m not complaining about him. I feel bad. Ah, I don’t know.
I said: You could change your ways. You can be whatever kind of person you like.
He said: I’ve been this way so long I don’t know how else to be.
I said: All you have to do is choose it. It’s up to you.
He said: You sound like my wife.
I said: The last thing I want to sound like is your wife.
We both waited to laugh but then we did and everything melted between us. I let him hold my hand for a while though I knew I wouldn’t go back to his hotel with him. But I felt like I could talk to him, more than I can ever talk to that priest I visit. Ben’s not anonymous exactly, but it feels safe to tell him everything. He’s a real friend now, and he doesn’t want anything from me except maybe to have someone to talk to. And I found myself telling him things I hadn’t even realized until the moment it came out of my mouth.
I told him about walking the streets at night, helping out the fellas. He told me it worried him, me walking alone out there. I told him I’d been getting to know them all, getting to know their true stories. I didn’t think a one of them would hurt me. They were just alone out there, and I understood that. And then this one thing occurred to me.
I said: I’ll tell you the real truth of why I do it, or part of it anyway. There ain’t nothing wrong with being alone, which is what I am, or what I have been. It’s when it turns to loneliness, when you get to feeling blue about it all, that you’re in trouble. There’s the problem, loneliness. And now I’m never really alone anymore, day or night. Even if I walk the streets by myself, I’m always surrounded by people. It’s like being in the cage, only inside out.
He told me he was sorry I felt lonely. He told me to be careful, that I was precious. He held both of my hands in his. He comes into town every few months on business and he’d like to have coffee with me every so often. Would I like that, is what he asked me. Would I.
Mazie’s Diary, June 1, 1932
A postcard from Winky, thanking me.
It said: Safe & sound & loved.
Mazie’s Diary, November 2, 1932
Thirty-five years old. I wound up at Finny’s, no surprise there. George Flicker was at the bar and I got looped enough that I didn’t mind him looking at my bosom the way that he always does. Happy Birthday to me, why not have some fun? He walked me home and we kissed and kissed and kissed, and I let him put his hands on me for a minute or two or three. He’s an all right kisser. He said he learned everything he knows from French girls.
George Flicker
She said that? She did. Well, I suppose it was true then. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you. I’ve told you everything else I know so far, haven’t I? I was just being respectful of the lady. My generation, we showed some respect. It feels good to show respect. It makes you feel like a man. I wasn’t going to kiss and tell unless I had to. And now I suppose I have to.
Mazie’s Diary, December 1, 1932
It’s cold now again, it won’t warm up for a long time. I’m worried about the fellas. I collect nickels and dimes and quarters. I line my pockets with them. I hand them out freely. I pray every night they won’t freeze to death.
Mazie’s Diary, December 15, 1932
Last night she stayed up cleaning the apartment, every inch of it, not just the kitchen but the toilet, too, and her bedroom, and my bedroom, too. She came in while I was sleeping. She was possessed by a cleaning demon. I thought maybe she was walking in her sleep. I tried to rouse her. I shook her by her shoulders. I said her name and I begged and then I gave up. I put the pillow over my head and waited until she left.
I would give anything to make this stop. I’m used to this pain — it feels so familiar, it’s like it’s my little pinky. But still I dare to dream of a life without it.
George Flicker
The month I can’t remember so well, but I believe it was early 1933. It was freezing out, just a bitter, bitter cold, and she’d been on the streets, and she came into Finny’s. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked very pretty. She’d been avoiding me since we kissed, or maybe I’d been avoiding her. But that night we were both exhausted, and we truly were so fond of each other that we gave in to it. We just liked each other and wanted to talk! And I think she needed to talk about Rosie with someone. It was this burden she carried with her. I had my burden; she had hers. And there are times when you need other people to witness your pain. Not anymore, I’m done with that. All my little aches and pains I’ve lived with long enough now, why bother? I’m one hundred years old. Guess what? I’m falling apart. But then we were young and we still felt entitled to some kind of relief. We believed in the possibility of relief. That we deserved a break. So we shared our problems. And then I knew all about Rosie, with the cleaning and the complaining and the in general obsessive behavior. And then we very naturally came up with this solution to both of our problems. Oh, we thought we were so smart. We were even a little smug about the whole thing. We thought we knew our family so well. Our people, they were our people. But we never could have predicted how it was going to turn out in the end.